#but this whole thought process is shallow

[kidfoundonstreets]

yeahwhat it all really comes down to is that i hate myself isnt it.

[kaurwreck]

Paradoxes Nothing in the world is as soft, as weak, as water; nothing else can wear away the hard, the strong, and remain unaltered. Soft overcomes hard, weak overcomes strong. Everybody knows it, nobody uses the knowledge. So the wise say: By bearing common defilements you become a sacrificer at the altar of earth; by bearing common evils you become a lord of the world. Right words sound wrong. [Ch. 78 of Tao Te Ching, ascribed to Lao Tzu; English version by Ursual K. Le Guin]

I'm water like how raging rivers are water, so I also find solace and praxis in Ch. 63 (excerpted from the same English version as above):

Consider Beginnings Do without doing. Act without action. Savor the flavorless. Treat the small as large, the few as many. Meet injury with the power of goodness. Study the hard while it's easy. Do big things while they're small. The hardest jobs in the world start out easy, the great affairs of the world start small. So the wise soul, by never dealing with great things, gets great things done. Now, since taking things too lightly makes them worthless, and taking things too easy makes them hard, the wise soul, by treating the easy as hard, doesn't find anything hard.

I'd recommend the entire Tao Te Ching, actually, for self cultivating mettle, but if nothing else, the above is presently, as ever, salient.

If you'd like something more literally applicable, however —

Living With Change When the government's dull and confused, the people are placid. When the government's sharp and keen, the people are discontented. Alas! misery lies under happiness, and happiness sits on misery, alas! Who knows where it will end? Nothing is certain. The normal changes into the monstrous, the fortunate into the unfortunate, and our bewilderment goes on and on. And so the wise shape without cutting, square without sawing, true without forcing. They are the light that does not shine.

(In other words, according to Ursula K. Le Guin's footnote to the above Ch. 58, Taoists gain their ends without the use of means.)

I won't promise it'll be okay, regardless of what happens over the next few days, but I can promise the outcome is navigable.

[please-destroy]

Someone Familiar

Natasha Romanoff x Pregnant!Reader

Word Count: 7.6K

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Being able to build a family with the person you loved was a privilege. You knew that for Natasha, it was also a miracle.

Natasha did not believe in luck, only the absence of it. You could understand why good things made her nervous. You saw the effects of her childhood, of her entire life, every day.

Your relationship had clashed with Natasha’s understanding of the world. She’d told you, on your second date, that love was for children. Her brow had knitted in confusion when that had made you kiss her harder.

Natasha saw herself as fundamentally lacking because of her past. Natasha radiated steady love and then wondered why you trusted her.

You knew it was tied to the graduation ceremony that she’d been subjected to in the Red Room. It had taken years for her to believe in your relationship, in the simple success of it.

In a way, you understood her hesitance. There were too many pieces that had fallen into place. Too many hurdles cleared at the last second. 

Together, you had already built something better than Natasha had ever hoped for. Then, one day, you asked her to build something new together.

.

You took the positive pregnancy test when Natasha was on a mission. You’d been trying for several months already. 

Each negative test had stung more than either of you knew how to process. Everytime, your heart would sink heavily and you’d try to smooth out your expression. You’d meet Natasha’s wide-eyed stare and watch a raw anxiety wash over her. You hated that look more than anything. Natasha had held your hand and taken a leap of faith with you. With every negative test you felt like you were letting her down, asking her to have hope when there was no guarantee. 

There was always an awful kind of silence after a negative result. Hearing Natasha’s shallow breaths echoing in the tiled bathroom. You’d bring your arms around her slowly, only tightening your hold as she folded into your arms. You’d wrap yourself around her softly, like a blanket, making your own heavy disappointment lighter so that you could carry some of hers.

‘It’s only negative this month.’ You would remind her carefully, repeating words you weren’t sure that you believed. After a moment, Natasha would kiss your cheek and you’d know by the way she avoided your lips that it was meant as an apology. Natasha was always apologising for what she couldn’t give you. 

Natasha didn’t chase happiness, because she didn’t know how to have it. 

.

When she first met you, every moment together felt a little frantic. She held your hand on unofficial dates and you watched her unsurely, waiting for her to change her mind. Kisses felt unintentional, hurried but passionate as if neither of you could help it any longer. 

You couldn’t decide who this woman was, why the pieces of her didn’t quite fit together. You wondered when Natasha was ever just herself.

Initially, you only saw it in glimpses. But, Natasha shone through the smallest of cracks.

At night you faced each other in the bed, restfully watching each other in the silence. There was an electric kind of comfort in the space between you. It was those silent moments, in between heartbeats and shallow breaths, that made you certain of Natasha. That you fit together in a perfect way. 

Natasha would lift her hand hesitantly and run her fingers over your skin. She drew light patterns that never seemed to end. You watched her marvel at the fact you were still in her bed. That you weren’t leaving. That you thought you could be whole with her. 

For you, pregnancy was a dream worth chasing. A future that you could build with the person you loved. For Natasha, making a family was soaked in her own failing. The way she saw herself was unfair, it was untrue. Still, the feeling lingered.

It was past midnight when you took the positive pregnancy test. You’d had an inexplicable feeling and you’d been correct.

You smiled at yourself in the bathroom mirror. You barely recognised the person you saw, the giddy excitement reflected in your eyes. Natasha wasn’t there, but you heard your own hitched breaths echoing in the room and felt your joy double on her behalf.

.

You made no plan for how to tell Natasha. You knew the news would be surprise enough. 

In the end, you didn’t even have to say the words.

Natasha walked through the front door around midday. A scheduled mission had overrun and she’d come home straight from the formal debriefing. You were leaning awkwardly against the back of the sofa, perched in anticipation as soon as you heard her car pull into the drive. 

Subtle tension left Natasha’s face when she entered her home. Her smile widened in pleasure at the sight of you. Your returning one was soft and careful.

Natasha scanned your expression casually as she walked towards you. There was a second of normalcy where you met her unsuspecting smile. Your rapid heartbeat thudded in your own ears. Her scan of your face faltered and Natasha’s breath caught in her throat. Your smile widened as her eyes searched yours more closely. Your head dipped briefly in confirmation.

Natasha exhaled all at once, as if she’d finally been allowed to breathe. She dropped suddenly to her knees, a few feet from you. Her hand touched her own waist, bracing as the shock rolled through her. Her mouth stayed open but no air reentered her lungs.

You moved forward instinctively and your hand touched her shoulder. Natasha’s eventual inhale was long and ragged. Her hand brushed the back of your leg. You’d become adept at reading the muted signals of Natasha’s emotions. For the first time, there was nothing subtle in her expression of surprise.

Your hand moved to brush the top of her head, trying to ground her in the reality of the good news. Natasha looked up at you and her eyes had the same sparkle that you’d seen in your own in the bathroom mirror. You grinned familiarly. 

Now that Natasha knew, the reality was settling with you too.

Her hands slid hesitantly under the front of your shirt. Her fingers grazed your stomach reverently. The warmth of her touch settled your jittering nerves for a moment. She started drawing light patterns across your skin and her lips pressed against your midriff. You loved her completely.

Natasha’s hands continued to trail up your sides as she returned slowly to her feet. Now, her fingers touched your face. She looked at you like you might not be real. You could feel the tremor in her touch.

‘Are you sure?’ She asked you suddenly, fingers stilling against your cheeks. You smiled even wider. You nodded again. 

‘We’re having a baby.’ You said simply. The words sounded too much like fantasy. You took her hand and led her to the bathroom, to show her the test that had confirmed every impossible hope.

.

Natasha moved into a new kind of overdrive from that day forward. Nine months stretched before you like a precarious blessing. 

Natasha gravitated around you whenever she could. The casual hand around your waist became a constant when you were together. There was a redheaded shadow for every mundane errand. It was flattering and a little unnerving to have such unadulterated attention. 

Still, you saw the lingering carefulness in the way Natasha looked at you. The insecurities that led her to seek out reasons to touch you. It was fear that made her throat close up when you wondered aloud about baby names.

.

You were sure that Natasha was waiting anxiously for the bump to appear. 

One morning, you caught her lingering, arms folded as she leaned against the bedroom wall. You were half naked, removing your pyjama top, when you noticed her interested gaze. You smirked as you turned around, lifting your clean shirt from the bed.

‘You can see your baby whenever you want.’ You reminded Natasha lightly, filling with a gentle kind of love for her. You held your smirk, waiting to see hers in return. 

Your heartbeat stumbled when she glanced back at you with a hesitant incredulity. You placed the shirt back on the bed and reached out to Natasha instead. Natasha moved closer, her eyes watching your bare stomach nervously.

You ignored the way her stare made you feel like a stranger. She was always familiar to you.

Slowly, you pressed her hand softly against your stomach. Natasha knew your body well enough to recognise the slight change that couldn’t yet be seen. Her other hand moved to mirror the first. You felt her warm palms slide hesitantly along your bare skin. Your breath hitched and Natasha blinked in surprise at the effect of her touch. You watched her expression change as she felt the first proof that the baby was there. Her eyes flitted up to meet yours and you recognised what you saw there. 

Natasha loved the baby already. You wanted to tell her that you understood, that you felt the same.

Your throat closed up when Natasha’s lips found your collarbone. 

Suddenly, she was whispering hurried ‘Thank yous” against your skin. You moaned at the brush of her lips, though her words didn’t sit well with you. You wondered if Natasha understood how much the baby was already hers to love.

.

Natasha would have walked through fire with you. Still, you hated having to make her watch your morning sickness unfold. The waves of nausea found you in sudden onslaughts throughout the day. 

You tried to push through it, ignoring Natasha’s clenched jaw as she watched you gingerly pick at your food.

Every time you ended up running to the bathroom, Natasha insisted on sitting with you on the miserable cold tiles. Her hand rubbed familiar circles along the small of your back. Her touch was filled with concern, but it still soothed you. Natasha always brought you balance.

As the weeks went on, you found yourself crying at every mealtime. The morning sickness refused to lessen and a new sort of uselessness flooded you whenever you couldn’t keep a meal down. Each time, Natasha wiped your tears silently before she cleared away barely touched dishes. You watched her move through the kitchen, her eyes closing for long moments as she fought her own frustrated tears.

You could feel Natasha’s misery at being unable to fix it for you.

The feeling of failure only highlighted your wife’s resilience. 

Natasha tried every non-threatening food she could think of. She returned from grocery shopping with bags filled with the blandest foods imaginable. 

Nothing worked. 

You tried to hydrate as much as possible, tried to frame whatever food you did keep down as a positive. Still, you knew Natasha was starting to internalise your continued sickness as part of her own incapability.

Everything that she cooked or scoured from the shelves at the grocery store was rejected emphatically by the baby.

.

At last, your body finally granted you reprieve, just as the doctor had assured Natasha on several occasions. 

You woke from an afternoon nap, indulging in the lazy weekend feeling of being at home with your wife. Selfishly, you loved being sure of Natasha’s proximity in the house. You wondered absentmindedly if Maria had had a heart attack when Natasha announced she was going to take all her unused time off, effective immediately.  

You wandered sleepily through to the kitchen and over to Natasha. She was sitting with her back to you at the counter, scrolling on her laptop.

You rested your chin on her shoulder, snaking your arms around her back and letting out a satisfied sigh. Natasha let out an answering huff of laughter, leaning back slightly into your hold. There was a small jar of caviar open on the table. You knew she was sneaking it whenever she thought you wouldn’t have to see it. Your nose still scrunched at the thought of consuming something so fishy.

‘I want Mac n Cheese.’ You mumbled unthinkingly as a yawn overtook you suddenly. 

Natasha stiffened in her chair and she turned to face you. 

Her hand touched your chest, tilting back slightly so she could better assess your yawning expression.

‘Really?’ She asked you carefully. ‘You’re hungry?’

You smiled suddenly with the realisation that you were finally feeling able to eat.

‘All I want is Mac ‘n Cheese.’ You confirmed readily. Natasha got to her feet instantly. She looked at you for a moment and you revelled in the fondness of her attention. Her hands squeezed your shoulders in obvious satisfaction.

‘I have to run to the store.’ She rushed out hurriedly, kissing your lips briefly but emphatically. 

Natasha’s love felt like a hot shower, encompassing and addictive. You watched her fly through the house, grabbing her keys and wallet. Her enthusiasm for you caught like a lump in your throat. You fought tears as you gave her a half wave, matching her wide grin as she glanced back before heading out the door.

.

Natasha’s mac and cheese tasted like heaven. As you helped yourself to a third helping, you began to feel sure that this was also your first craving.

Natasha had barely eaten any herself, continually putting her fork down as she watched you moan with delight with each bite. You grinned unashamedly, too blissed out from the relief of keeping the food down and the deliciousness of the meal itself.

‘How have we never eaten this before?’ You asked Natasha dramatically. Her answering smile was soft. 

‘I had it a lot as a kid.’ She answered succinctly. Your surprise was evident, her reply was not what you’d expected. You tried to comprehend the Red Room ever providing Western classic dishes.

Natasha’s head shook in anticipation of your confusion.

‘I spent a few years in Ohio.’ She told you, a tightness in her voice as she forced a casual stab at some pasta with her fork. ‘It was an early mission.’

You stayed silent, knowing far more was omitted than what had been shared. Natasha stabbed another piece of pasta and you reached out automatically to touch her arm. Natasha glanced back at you and suddenly, she looked much younger.

You hated the people who had taken her childhood.

‘Was Mac n Cheese your favourite food?’ You asked, ignoring how strange it was for such an unassuming question to hold such weight. Natasha looked down at her plate when she shook her head. The food started to rest more heavily in your stomach.

‘Not my favourite.’ Natasha clarified in a carefully level voice. ‘Someone else’s.’ She paused again, choosing the right words. ‘A friend’s.’

Natasha looked back at you and you met her gaze steadily. No part of Natasha hinted that she felt off balance. Still, you caught the nervous energy emanating from her.

Your thumb brushed her arm soothingly and you didn’t ask any follow up questions. You both knew that she never had any friends in the Red Room.

‘Maybe it’s the baby’s favourite too.’ You said lightly, trying to alleviate the unspoken sadness that had settled between you. 

You stood up, moving to clear the dishes. You took the opportunity to kiss Natasha’s forehead.

‘At least it’s not caviar.’ You muttered teasingly, stealing Natasha’s fork and the piece of macaroni on the end of it. 

Natasha rolled her eyes and you knew she was settled by your familiar tease about her favourite food.

She stood up too, moving behind you suddenly. Her arms stretched around you to take the empty dishes from your hand, a silent insistence to leave the clearing of the table to her. Her lips touched your cheek and you felt immediate warmth spread through you at her affection. Pregnancy made Natasha’s love even more overwhelming.

Her lips lingered by your ear.

‘That’s okay. I’ve got plenty of time to teach them about having good taste.’ Natasha promised you, kissing you again before taking the dishes to the kitchen.

You stayed quiet, hiding a sudden beaming smile. You wondered if Natasha realised that she’d started making plans as a Mom.

.

Natasha circled the date of your sonogram on the calendar. 

The calendar was already your favourite item in the whole house. Natasha had bought it a few weeks after you’d found out that you were pregnant. She’d filled in every important date that she could think of before hanging it in the front hall. 

You had a suspicion that she was trying to recreate the domestic family life that she’d seen played out in movies. Natasha, the professional spy, was not who you’d expect to display important upcoming dates for anyone to view. 

Your heart felt fuller and heavier when you saw Natasha attempt to become the Mom she wasn’t quite sure how to be.

You ached when you realised how little she had to go on. Natasha could learn anything and you watched her work to understand what she was missing. 

Her bedtime reading became exclusively books for expectant parents. She studied with a quiet purpose that made you wonder if she was expecting a test at the hospital.

As the day of the sonogram approached, the two of you mentioned it less and less. There was a heightened feeling of anticipation that was hard to acknowledge. 

You knew that Natasha didn’t actually care about the sex of the baby. Natasha didn’t believe in horoscopes either. Still, you’d found her plotting out the zodiac the other day, trying to figure out which star signs were likely for your baby.

Natasha was impatient to know her kid better. You related to the feeling entirely.

The silence on the drive to the appointment was full of awkward anticipation. You tried not to focus on your growing need to pee. They’d told you to drink some water before the appointment and you’d gone a little overboard. You turned on the radio for distraction, tuning in unexpectedly to a ‘Cheesy Hits’ station. 

Dolly Parton and Kenny Rogers filled the car and relieved the tension. Natasha’s fingers started tapping out the beat on the dashboard. The shift in the air was tangible and, suddenly, you felt like you were going on an adventure together. 

‘Dolly for a girl and Kenny for a boy?’ You suggested with a smirk, making sure to keep your eyes on the road ahead. Natasha was not thrilled by your insistence on driving today and you were determined to be the perfect model of safety behind the wheel.

Natasha leaned back against her head rest and you could feel her eyes on you as she turned to face you.

‘Mickey or Minnie.’ She suggested drily.

Your lips pressed together as you tried not to laugh. 

‘Barbie or Ken.’ You countered and Natasha snorted. There was silence in the car and you knew Natasha was trying to think of something to make you laugh.

‘Kermit or Miss Piggy.’ She suggested suddenly and you found yourself desperately trying not to pee as you drove.

The giddiness you felt, as you checked in at the reception, reminded you of that first day together when you’d known that you were pregnant. Natasha’s fingers were interlaced with yours and her touch grounded you. 

You didn’t speak in the waiting room, filled with a shared understanding of the moment. Natasha’s eyes didn’t leave your belly. The baby was part of you and so was Natasha. The three of you felt like one person.

Natasha told you that the jelly was going to feel cold before the nurse could. You wondered if she knew it from movies or from her studying. 

Natasha was trying so hard to be a good mom. Things were already too heightened and you started crying unexpectedly. Natasha used her free hand to stroke your hair comfortingly.

‘Soon.’ She promised soothingly and you knew she thought you were crying with anticipation of the scan. 

Natasha made your heart beat. 

Soon, the room was filled with the sound of the baby’s heart beating too.

When the grainy black and white image of your child appeared on the screen, Natasha stopped squeezing your hand. Your eyes moved between the screen and her expression. Unadulterated longing was written across her face. Her eyes turned to you and you met her gaze readily. Her desperate hope mellowed as she watched your steady joy.

Natasha’s smile turned wide and free. You had never seen her entirely unburdened before. Your eyes turned back to the screen, loving your baby entirely. 

The nurse informed you that it was a girl and the announcement didn’t even register. Natasha started crying, burying her head against your shoulder. Your arm curved around her back automatically. The nurse smiled at you and you smiled back. You felt free too.

You started laughing when you were back in the car. Elton John played out the speakers and Natasha stared down at a picture of your baby.

‘That’s your daughter.’ You reminded her happily. Natasha shook her head but her eyes stayed fixed on the picture.

‘I’m dreaming.’ She said dazedly and something about her tone made you blink back tears again. 

You didn’t have the right words. 

Instead, you placed Natasha’s hand back onto your rounded stomach. There was no absence of proof now that her dreams were coming true.

You didn’t drive back home immediately. You couldn’t resist heading to the baby store instead. When you took a left turn and Natasha realised your intention, she sent you an indulgent smile.

You wandered through the baby clothes section with a languid kind of confidence. You were going to have a daughter. Your skin tingled with happiness.

Natasha sought out a store assistant as you browsed. She wanted to know about the safety ratings on cribs. You couldn’t stop smiling when you heard her begin the interaction by announcing that she was expecting a daughter. The store assistant answered her questions readily and caught your interest in the clothing section of the aisle.

‘These are always my favourite.’ She told you conspiratorially as she approached, picking up a onesie that read ‘World’s Best Sister.’

‘We don’t need that.’ Natasha informed her immediately in a level voice. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at her corrective tone. 

‘Not yet.’ You added, sharing a smile with the store assistant before turning back to face Natasha. 

You expected to see playful exasperation in her expression. Instead, you saw a fierce and inexplicable kind of hurt. Natasha’s gaze was painful to meet. The store assistant saw it too, she placed the outfit back and moved away quietly.

‘Natasha.’ You started hesitantly, feeling entirely unsure of yourself. Natasha just shook her head. Everything felt raw and you knew from the way her eyes darted around the store that this wasn’t the right time.

You kissed her cheek in wordless apology. You led Natasha out of the store, expecting some insistence that you should finish browsing. Her continued silence made you worried. 

You saw the way that she swallowed uncomfortably and felt a corresponding lump rise up in your own throat. You didn’t have to understand the sources of Natasha’s pain to feel it too.

You let the Cheesy Hits station continue to play as you drove home. The silence was tense, but the music still offered some sort of reprieve.

You started humming along as the tune of ‘American Pie’ began to play. At first, you didn’t notice the change in Natasha’s breathing. Her hand gripped your arm suddenly and you startled at the unexpected touch.

You glanced over to her and caught her struggling to take a breath. Illogically, your first thought was that she was choking. Then, you heard her rattling inhale and recognised the panic attack. 

Anxiety flooded you too as you tried to keep driving safely. 

‘What is it?’ You asked stupidly as you started moving hurriedly through the lanes of traffic.

Natasha’s words were fearful and they didn’t make any sense.

‘I think my sister is dead.’ She told you as the shaky breaths turned to ragged sobs. 

You pulled over at the side of the road. You moved towards Natasha, ignoring the uncomfortable sound of the other cars rushing past.

‘Breathe love.’ You directed her calmly, resting your hand on her shoulder in an attempt to ground her.

With military effort, Natasha forced herself to breathe regularly. The sound was still shaky and her inhales were desperate. You’d never seen her spiral like that before.

You turned off the radio unthinkingly and Natasha sagged with a weighted kind of relief. You glanced at the car speakers in alarm. You tried to guess what her words could have meant. 

Natasha’s breathing regulated and you confirmed your suspicion.

‘The song?’ You checked carefully. Natasha nodded once, blowing out a slow breath.

‘You have a sister?’ You asked now and she nodded one more time, eyes squeezing shut for a second. You nodded too, trying to reconcile this new piece of information.

‘At the store.’ You began softly as the pieces clicked. Natasha gave you a pained look in confirmation.

‘That song was her favourite.’ She told you in between carefully controlled breaths.

You couldn’t help your eyebrows raising in confusion. The song was too American to fit with Natasha’s past. In a flash, you remembered the Mac and Cheese. You remembered her ‘friend’ in Ohio, you wondered how long that early mission could have lasted.

‘I don’t know where she is. She could have died in the Red Room.’ Natasha confessed and her eyes were filled with an awful self-loathing. You wondered how long she’d been living with this private grief. 

‘Can you track her down?’ You asked her unsurely, feeling the conversation drain away all your earlier joy.

‘I mean, can we track her down?’ You corrected immediately, because Natasha wasn’t doing this alone.

‘No.’ Natasha shook her head and her voice caught. ‘She, uh, she wouldn't want to see me.’ 

‘Are you sure?’ You prompted quietly and Natasha nodded. 

‘We’re not. We weren’t real sisters. There was a mission. It was all pretend.’

You could see the guilt resting on Natasha’s shoulders, you watched her bend forward under the weight of it. Her hands covered her face briefly. 

‘That doesn’t mean it didn’t feel real.’ You reminded her quietly. ‘Blood doesn’t make family.’ 

You took her hand then, it felt too cold. Instinctively, you covered it with both of your own, trying to give her warmth. You ignored the fleeting concern that Natasha wouldn’t see her daughter as really hers either.

Natasha shook her head slowly and abruptly you were sure that you’d said the wrong thing.

‘It felt too real.’ Natasha murmured. ‘She was too young. She didn’t know the truth. Not until they sent us back to the Red Room.’

‘Oh, Natasha.’ You said softly, because your heart was breaking. Your arm slid softly along her arched back.

Sometimes, you could imagine Natasha as a kid, the abandoned girl that monsters had raised. You had seen how protective Natasha was of you, of the child that was still inside of you. You imagined another little girl, trusting Natasha as family. 

You ached for Natasha’s loss, for the failure you knew she saw as hers.

.

‘She might be living happily somewhere, just like you.’ The words fell out of your mouth that evening. You were already in bed, you’d placed the sonogram photo on top of your nightstand. Your mood had swung sharply all day between bubbling joy and weighted tension. 

Natasha was undressing at the foot of your bed. Her breath caught and she looked at you. You saw the same desperate longing in her eyes as you had at the sonogram. You felt the urge to keep speaking.

‘If she’s anything like you. She’ll be busy causing trouble and making a family of her own. She’s your sister, it’s not impossible.’ 

The images sounded too fantastical and you paused uncertainly. Natasha’s eyes clung to yours. She moved over to you, hands touching your thighs as she crawled up the bed. Natasha looked vulnerable and your eyes searched hers carefully, trying to determine what she was looking for.

She lifted your top slowly and pressed her lips to your belly. You watched her reverence and felt a slow heat build inside you. Natasha kept moving up your body and you felt her breasts brush over you as she curved herself around you.

When she reached your mouth, she leaned in to kiss you. There was the slightest hesitation and then you felt her gratitude for your farfetched comfort. Giving Natasha hope was all you knew how to do.

Natasha pressed her lips against yours for a second time. When the kiss broke, more words fell from your mouth.

‘What was her name?’ You asked simply.

‘Yelena.’ Natasha replied and the sound of it was precious.

.

You celebrated Natasha’s birthday on the 1st of December. It was unlikely to be her actual date of birth, but it was the one she used. All Natasha knew was that she’d been born in winter. 

Your baby was also going to be born in winter, but not until the new year. You felt too large now, missing the simple flexibility that you’d taken for granted your whole life.

You’d had plenty of time to think of a birthday present for Natasha. A Russian ballet had seemed like a risky surprise. You’d asked her about it before you’d booked the tickets. 

Natasha’s smile had been shy at your suggestion.

‘I always wanted to be a dancer.’ She informed you hesitantly and you wondered if you’d ever stop finding new ways to love her.

Her birthday had been a languid and casual affair. You were getting tired more easily and yet hormones had woken you before daybreak with unbearable excitement. 

Your eagerness had lasted through most of the lunch at her favourite restaurant. Natasha had flushed self-consciously in front of her friends when you kissed her enthusiastically after she cut the cake. 

Clint’s sarcastic applause seemed to rally Natasha and she marked your nose teasingly with a piece of frosting just to make him roll his eyes.

By the time you returned home, you were living in a new state of exhaustion. Natasha ended up driving in silence whilst you napped in the passenger seat. 

You knew she didn’t mind. Natasha gently led you back into the house and onto the sofa. Your eyes barely opened, trusting her guidance entirely. You remembered nothing after the moment your head had touched the sofa cushion.

You startled awake when Natasha’s fingers lightly touched your shoulder. You smiled lazily when you saw her face hovering above yours.

‘Happy Birthday!’ You told her, arms going wide in a half stretch and half celebration.

Natasha stared down at your upside down smile and blinked back tears. 

You were no stranger now to sudden rushes of happiness. You moved her hands over to your belly. 

‘You can’t get one of these every year.’ You mumbled, still sounding half asleep. ‘Takes much more baking than a cake does.’

Natasha laughed easily, the sound bubbling up in a way that was rare for her. You grinned with satisfaction and your eyes closed for another brief moment as you soaked in the warmth of it.

Natasha helped you to sit up. She lingered awkwardly next to you on the sofa. You knew instinctively what she wanted to do. You lifted your top slightly and gave her a knowing smirk.

‘Love you.’ Natasha mumbled as she kissed your bump. Her cheeks reddened and she purposefully avoided your eye contact as she straightened up. Still, her hand reached out to help you as you moved to leave the sofa. 

When you stood up, you didn’t let go of Natasha's hand. You tapped her wrist twice and Natasha turned to face you automatically.

‘You can’t be shy about loving your daughter.’ You reminded Natasha quietly, trailing your fingers up and down her bare forearm. 

Natasha’s embarrassment flickered for a moment and then turned into something quieter. Her lips touched your neck as she brought you close to her. You felt her cheeks touch your skin as she started to smile widely.

‘I can’t believe I have a daughter.’ Natasha whispered, more to herself than to you. 

You grinned suddenly, hearing the dawning realisation in Natasha’s voice that never went away.

‘I can’t believe I married such a MILF.’ You teased back, arms wrapping around her. Natasha’s head tilted and she left small kisses up the side of your neck.

Since your second trimester, Natasha could turn you on with a wink. You moaned loudly at the sensation of Natasha’s lips on your skin and you felt her smile again.

‘Ballet.’ You choked out, trying to stay focused. ‘Ballet, Birthday.’

‘Ballet.’ Natasha repeated and her lips met yours in a gentle kind of kiss. 

‘Birthday.’ She told you, before kissing you again. 

‘Baby.’ Natasha added and her hands touched your stomach again. Her eyes were bright with excitement and you felt her joy like it was your own. 

You leaned forward yourself now. Your cheek brushed hers as you moved next to her ear. ‘Boobs.’ You whispered, reaching up to squeeze them meaningfully. 

Natasha rolled her eyes playfully. Her smile seemed permanent as her gaze trailed over you.

‘Bedtime.’ She promised and you tried to ignore the way heat pooled between your legs. It was going to be a long night of anticipation.

.

You watched Natasha far more than you watched the ballet dancers. Everything captivating in their performance was reflected in the focus of her attention. Her eyes were fixed on each dancer in turn as they made impossible moves seem effortless.

You found yourself coming out of a trance at the interval. Natasha turned to look at you and you watched her lips draw back into a smile. 

‘I always wanted to be a dancer.’ She told you again and the thought of it made you smile. You tapped the top of your belly.

‘Maybe she’ll want to be one.’ You pondered playfully, reaching for the brochure resting in Natasha’s lap.

“What name should we pick?’ You considered thoughtfully as you began to suggest the names of various listed dancers.

Natasha’s hand on your thigh silenced you before you could finish half-seriously suggesting ‘Katarina.’

‘We can’t call her something Russian.’ Natasha informed you obviously. Her voice was light, but you could almost taste the sudden tension in the air.

You tilted your head questioningly.

“Why not?’ You challenged immediately. 

‘She’s not Russian.’ Natasha answered simply and you recognised the resoluteness in her eyes. You’d been together long enough to anticipate each other’s arguments. Still, you refused to give up.

‘Her mother is Russian.’ You emphasised pointedly. 

‘Not really. Not biologically.’ Natasha countered with a sudden softness. You hated that her tone had changed to appease you. 

‘I’m naming her Natasha Jr.” You decided stubbornly, rubbing wide circles over your belly in an attempt to calm yourself in the large theatre. ‘Good luck avoiding the child support payments.’

There was a pause as Natasha considered your expression. You refused to look at her, staring determinedly at the empty stage below you. If you focused on your anger for too long, you knew that you’d end up crying.

After a moment, Natasha’s head moved to rest on your shoulder. The moment settled immediately between you. You knew she was thanking you for loving her so certainly. You found her hand, still resting on your thigh and held it gently.

Those who’d left the theatre during the interval began to return slowly to their seats.

‘My mother was in the ballet.’ Natasha said quietly into the loud chatter that surrounded you. You fought the urge to turn your head. Instead, your arm moved instinctively around her shoulder, squeezing lightly in comfort. Natasha’s head tilted on your shoulder as she focused down at your bump.

‘I mean, I used to pretend she was.’ Natasha corrected herself. ‘I always wanted to go to the ballet, in case she’d recognise me in the crowd.’

You didn’t speak for a moment. Natasha had been too young, it was unbearable.

‘It’s hard.’ You began hoarsely, in the moments before the ballet resumed. ‘Things have been so unfair for you, but that’s made you exactly who you are.’

The tears began to catch up with your words.

‘And you’re going to be such a good mother.’ You choked out, feeling sadness like a tremble through your skin. 

Natasha didn’t say anything in return. She shifted in her seat slightly, moving almost imperceptibly closer to you. 

When the ballet finished and everyone around you moved to their feet, Natasha finally looked at you.

‘I love you.’ She reminded you quietly as she took your hand. You gave her a small smile.

“I know.’ You assured her, because you did.

.

You hadn’t known how to tell Natasha that you weren’t looking forward to Christmas. You’d entered your third trimester and begun to dread any days that called for increased stamina. 

More than anything, you’d found yourself desperate for the moments when it was just you and her. You were on the precipice of something new and you found yourself seeking comfort in the steadiness of what you’d already built with Natasha.

You should have known that you didn’t need to tell her. 

When you woke on Christmas Day, it wasn’t because of the alarm that you’d set the night before. Natasha was sitting up in the bed next to you, engrossed in a parenting book that you’d left wrapped under the tree the night before.

You hummed lowly in sleepy confusion, shifting in the bed as you tried to piece together the unexpected morning. You should have already been driving to see Clint’s family. Natasha looked down at you and everything about her smile was calming. Her hand brushed the top of your head and you felt assured that everything was going to plan.

‘Don’t worry.’ Natasha murmured and you couldn’t help yawning. ‘I only opened the one present.’

You nestled into Natasha’s side as you fell back asleep. Her hand stayed resting lazily on the top of your head. You loved all of Natasha’s warmth. 

You hadn’t bought any one big gift for Natasha this Christmas. You’d noticed in past years that, more than anything, she seemed to get a thrill just from the act of unwrapping. You had a feeling it was another way that she chased the American fantasy that she’d seen in movies.

Natasha’s giddiness on Christmas morning was your favourite thing. You watched her surreptitiously from the sofa as she opened each of your gifts in turn. You never took a photo of her though, the look in her eye seemed too precious to share.

Natasha was completely herself on Christmas morning. It was magical.

At last, she opened the present that you were most nervous for her to see. You held your breath as Natasha unwrapped the wide book eagerly. She stilled as she read the simple cover.

‘Becoming Mom.’

Natasha turned to the first page unsurely. She startled in surprise, just like you’d anticipated. She’d known that the photo inside had been taken, but she’d never looked at it herself. 

You’d offered your phone to the nurse during the sonogram. 

Natasha’s cheeks were tear stained in the picture and her hand was clasped loosely with your own. The other touched unthinkingly at her own waist, as if the baby on the screen might as well have been inside of her. 

Everything about her emanated a precarious kind of bliss.

Natasha closed the book suddenly and glanced back up at you.

‘The rest is for you to fill in.’ You mumbled unsurely, feeling a sudden need to avoid Natasha’s gaze. Natasha had never looked more vulnerable than in that photo. Everytime you looked at it, you loved her more fiercely than ever. 

Natasha didn’t love herself like you loved her. You weren’t sure what she was going to say. Her pause lasted an eternity.

Finally, Natasha’s choked voice cut through the silence.

‘I look like a Mom.” Natasha said quietly, and you decided that you’d never stop falling in love with her.

‘You are a Mom.’ You reminded her surely. Natasha’s hands moved to your stomach and suddenly you felt like time had lost all meaning. You felt like you’d always known her. Her touch felt more familiar than your own.

‘I love you.’ You told Natasha softly. The corner of Natasha’s mouth twitched upwards immediately. When she looked up at you, her eyes glittered. 

‘I know.’ She replied simply, and you knew that she did.

.

Before lunch, Natasha led you out into the backyard to show you your present. You were having Mac and Cheese for Christmas lunch, saying farewell to a food that was now steeped in different layers of nostalgia.

The air was crisp and immediately you were grateful for Natasha’s insistence that you wear a jacket. Natasha’s cheeks turned red as she stood to your left hand side in an attempt to buffer you from the icy wind.

When you turned the corner, you saw what Natasha had made for you.

The wooden swing and slide set stood perfectly in the corner of the backyard. You gripped Natasha’s hand tight at the warm rush of being loved entirely. Suddenly, the air didn’t feel cold at all. Tears threatened as you tried to process the emotion.

The swing was too big for your baby, it would be years until your daughter could play on any part of the structure. You didn’t care. It made everything better. Natasha had planned for years in the future.

‘I had one like this in Ohio.’ Natasha told you with a serenity that you didn’t expect to hear. Her eyes trailed over the swing set as she spoke. ‘I know it’s not quite right for now, but it was my favourite place in the whole world.’

‘Why?’ You asked timidly. You’d loved Natasha for years already. You realised you were in love with a sun that was still rising. 

Natasha started walking again. Her hand slid around your waist, slipping down to squeeze your ass once familiarly, before resting at your hip.

When you reached the swing, Natasha gestured for you to sit and you did. Your fingers tangled in the metal chain as you watched her face in anticipation. You knew that she’d heard your question.

‘Whenever I was swinging, I would close my eyes.’ Natasha started, and you knew she’d spent the silence planning out her answer in her head. ‘And when my eyes were closed, I could pretend that my parents had bought me the swing set. That people loved me, really loved me, because how else could I have something so nice?’

Her hand covered yours on the cold metal chain. Natasha stood next to your shoulder. You closed your eyes, imagining the impossible feeling that she’d described to you.

You gripped the chain heavily as you pulled yourself back to your feet.

‘I need to show you something.’ You told her as you led her back into the house. You walked quickly, feeling certain of what you were about to do but entirely unsure of Natasha’s response.

You picked up the baby book that had been left on the kitchen counter and handed it back to Natasha.

‘Look inside.’ You directed her with an encouraging gesture. Natasha’s eyes dropped down to the book. She turned the page again, this time moving past the one of her at the sonogram.

The next page had been specially embossed. You’d glued in the card that was presented there. Natasha gripped the book tightly as she read the subsection title.

‘Yelena, aged 0 - 1 month’

When Natasha looked back at you, she seemed uncertain. 

‘After her Mom’s sister.’ You said, feeling uneasy about her lack of response. Your fingers played with the edge of your jacket and you found yourself avoiding her eyes.

‘We don’t have to do it.’ You hedged carefully. ‘I just want her to have a piece of you that can’t be taken away.’

Natasha didn’t speak and you glanced back up. Your shoulders relaxed at the familiar love in your wife’s eyes.

“And you won’t let me call her Natasha Jr.’ You added pointedly, with a sudden urge to lighten the mood.

The book snapped shut abruptly. Natasha moved towards you so suddenly that you didn’t have time to register her proximity before her lips were on yours.

Natasha filled your senses with a perfect familiarity. You loved the heat of her lips, the feel of her body pressed against you, the touch of her hand on the back of your neck as she deepened the kiss. 

Natasha was home and you couldn’t feel lost anymore.

Sharp relief flooded you as you realised that your daughter was going to have the name that you’d been hoping for. 

The kiss broke at last and your hands moved to Natasha’s shoulders as you tried to look at her face. Natasha took a small step back, eyes still closed.

A wave of understanding rushed over you.

‘You don’t have to keep your eyes closed.’ You promised Natasha softly. ‘I’ll still love you when they’re open.’

Natasha’s lips twitched into a shy smile and slowly she opened her eyes.

‘Yelena.’ Natasha repeated as her hands trailed up your sides and gently lingered at the top of your bump.

‘We can save Natasha Jr for the next one.’ You teased again and Natasha smiled wide. 

Her hand pressed lightly on the back of your neck and she pulled you in for another kiss.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 7 - Something I Can See

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Big chapter for fans of yapping and Dean overthinking things.

Chapter title from Something to Believe by Weyes Blood

Word Count: 16.8k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Sam and Dean drive you home. Usual warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, big angst, fluff, monster of the week.

Chapter 6 - Chapter 8

Read on A03!

She was going to be okay. They’d managed to get the knife out of her gut, and Sammy had stitched Her up, so She’d be fine. 

She was still knocked out, but Her breathing was even. The blade had been so hot Dean had needed to use a towel to hold it, but it was out of Her body. Her wound kept bubbling and blistering, but it wasn’t an infection. 

She’d be fine. Dean was going to kill Her, but she’d be fine.

He looked down at Her, spread out across Baby’s backseat and curled into her body. She’d barely made a sound since She’d passed out. Only soft moans and whimpers as they worked on the injury, and a few grunts as they’d moved Her into the car, adjusted Her body in the seat, and set off on the road. 

They’d done everything. All Her shit was in the trunk, Sam was sitting with her to make sure she didn’t fall over or get worse, and Dean was breaking every traffic law he could think of to get there faster. 

To South Dakota.

To Bobby’s.

It had taken Dean too long, in the parking lot, to actually call Bobby. He’d waited until She was settled, until they’d loaded almost everything into the car, and until Sammy was dealing with the front desk so Dean was alone.

He hadn’t been alone. He’d been sitting in the back of the Impala, Her head on his knee and his hand unable to stop tracing over her face.

It was wrong. Looking at Her like this. Features sunken and hollow, lips drained of blood, breathing shallow in a way Dean could feel. It made his own breath labored, his whole body tensed as She relaxed against him, and he didn’t deserve it. He didn’t deserve the trust of Her vulnerability, the way Her beautiful face was half buried in his thigh, the way She’d let out a weak, sad sound whenever he tried to pull away.

He’d hurt Her. He’d spent the entire night after their fight ripping apart the club grounds and roaring Her name, giving Sam daring looks to say a single thing. He’d beaten himself into the mud in fear that he’d lose Her twice. Once with spat words and a cold look of hatred, then again with a shredded body and dulled eyes. 

He’d wanted to strangle Her. He’d wanted to apologize, and shout that he had nothing to apologize for. She’d lied. 

Not about what Dean thought She’d been lying about, but She’d still lied.

Although, admittedly, the truth was far more confusing. 

Because Dean had stared at the small, robot-print letters on Her phone screen—pixilated and fuzzy and flipping his world upside—and not known how to process them.

Bobby Singer.

There could be other Bobby Singers that weren’t Dean’s Bobby Singer. That weren’t the guy who was practically his uncle, who he’d played catch with, who’d made him food and given Sammy run-down toys to play with.

It didn’t make sense for this to be Dean’s Bobby. Dean had half grown up in that house. He’d stayed there for weeks on end when Dad had been on a really bad hunt—hunts where he’d come back with hooded eyes and fisted hands, snapping short orders because they didn’t have time to waste on sentimentality—and Bobby had never once had a daughter. Especially not a hot, annoying, impossible one. 

Dean would’ve remembered meeting Her before. There’s no shot he would’ve ever forgotten Her. He couldn’t. He’d tried. Dean was pretty sure that, even if he’d only laid eyes on Her once in passing, he would’ve been drawn down into Her and never climbed back out.

That was simply what She did. Who She was. A walking, breathing song that Dean couldn’t figure out how to touch but still wanted to try to learn. She got stuck in his head and played there on loop, and if he’d ever seen Her before that moroi hunt, he was damn sure he would’ve remembered.

And Bobby would’ve told him. If Bobby had a kid that was around Sam and Dean’s age, they would’ve known. Dad would’ve known.

Dad should’ve known. And he obviously hadn’t. Whenever Dean had brought Her up, Dad had called Her that little girl.

Hell, Dad had told Bobby about Her. Dad had said Her name and Bobby hadn’t gone Fuckin’ Jesus, John, that’s my daughter. The hell is She doin’ huntin’ a poltergeist.

Bobby had reacted strangely, though. Dean remember him hanging up right after Dad mentioned Her.

And She had mentioned her dad was a gruff, smart hunter. Which described Bobby, and explained why She knew so much random shit about hunting, and that was Bobby’s number in Her phone, and-

She’d lied. She’d said She didn’t know a Bobby. She’d asked Dean what he thought of Bobby.

Like She was curious what he’d think.

Son of a bitch.

Because when Dean squinted, he could see Bobby on Her face. Not physically, but in small divets and shadows on Her face and body and voice.

They rolled their eyes the same way. Like they were done with everyone’s shit, and knew that they were the most competent and reliable person in the room. 

She had the same laugh Bobby had. Dean had only heard Bobby laugh—really, fully laugh with his whole chest—three or four times, but it was the exact same laugh. Loud and powerful and almost cartoonish.

They didn’t walk the same way, but they fought in similar movements. Brutal and effective, with no more or less than necessary. 

And if Dean really thought about it, there were smaller things he could draw together. How She turned a page, how She held a pencil, how She drank her coffee.

Small mannerisms She would’ve picked up from being raised by someone, the same way Dean would spin his keys and Sammy always flipped his wallet in his hands before opening it. 

Like Dad did.

Part of Dean hadn’t wanted to call the number. His thumb hovered far too long as he’d debated if he even wanted to know. If this was really what it seemed to be, and he’d have to piece together a puzzle he hadn’t known existed a fucking hour ago.

She could never know that he’d looked down at Her, and that had been what finally got him. That Her scrunched face had made his heart feel like it was being wrenched and pounded, that he’d run his thumb over Her nose, she’d relaxed, and let out a song-like sigh that had been it.

He’d pressed call, held the phone to his ear, and still not fully believed it until the line picked up after two rings.

“Hey, kiddo, I wasn’t expectin’ you to call until you had that Kelpie down. You alright?”

Dean had frozen, his voice caught in his throat, staring at Her face as static sounded in his ear. 

That was Bobby. Bobby clearing his throat, Bobby grunting Her name-

“Is everythin’-“

“Bobby?” Dean’s voice had been hushed, and he’d watched Her carefully to make sure she wasn’t disturbed. 

There had been a long moment of silence, this time from Bobby’s end, and then-

“Dean?”

“Yeah, it’s-“

“Where the hell did you find this phone, boy?”

Dean had said Her name, his hand tracing over Her brow, still checking she was real. “She gave it to me.”

“She fuckin’- where is she?”

“She’s right here-“

“Put her on, I need to talk to her.”

“Yeah, uh,” Dean had swallowed, and She’d shifted slightly, pressing further into his lap. “I can’t.”

“Dean Winchester, I ain’t lookin’ to kill you, but if you don’t-“

“No, I- I literally fucking can’t, Bobby.”

“Why in hells balls can’t ya’ pass a phone-“

Dean said Her name again, something like lead coating his throat. “Uh, she’s- She’s knocked out.”

There was a brief second of silence, and Dean had winced when Bobby spoke again. 

“What the hell typa’ shit have you two gotten into that she’s knocked out?!”

“A demon attacked her, and we- Bobby, we tried to fight it off but it got a knife into her gut, and Sammy patched her up but-“

“Sam’s there?”

Dean had frowned. “Yeah, uh, who else-“

“Never mind, I thought-“ Bobby had sighed through the phone, something tense growing in his voice. “She stable?”

“Yeah, but she told us to call you.”

“Alright, bring her up here and I’ll be ready. And Dean?”

Dean had nodded, staring at Her gorgeous, almost peaceful face, and there had been a long stretch of silence before he remembered Bobby couldn’t see him.

“Dean-“

“Shit, sorry, what’s-“

“I don’t want you lettin’ a single fuckin’ thing near her but you and Sam, got it?”

“Yes, sir-“

“Don’t yes, sir me, boy. Promise me you’ll keep her in your sight.”

“I will. Promise.”

It had been an easy thing to say. The thought of leaving Her alone had—even as his head spun, and his chest started to mold with the question of why the hell she’d lied—made Dean feel taut and sick.

And Bobby had hung up the phone, and Dean had kept his promise. He’d never left Her alone, not for a second. Sam had sat with Her because Dean didn’t trust himself to care for her properly—didn’t deserve to have Her half slump over his body and sigh against his skin—and Dean’d had to force his eyes to stay on the road, and not drift to check on Her

It was bad enough that his mind had been wandering. Coming up with more and more reasons this didn’t make any fucking sense, and far too many reasons why it did. 

She’d called going to Bobby’s home, and Dean felt something like bile in his throat at the thought that whenever She’d said home before, she’d been talking about Bobby. And lying. And letting Dean think She was living in a fancy gated palace, when she’d just been at Bobby’s. But now, when Dean pictured Bobby’s table, he could see Her at it. She slotted into the scene perfectly, just as She fit so well in every other part of Dean’s life.

And he still couldn’t hate Her. He had far too many questions—where the hell She’d been whenever they’d stayed with Bobby, why had She never corrected Dean, why had Bobby lied about knowing Her—and he didn’t know what the hell was happening, but he just couldn’t fucking hate Her.

“Hey, Dean?” Sam had asked a few hours ago, watching Dean carefully from the backseat. “What happened, last night? You just, you called me and said she’d stormed off, but-“

“Don’t.” Dean had muttered, his grip tightening on the wheel, and Sam had sighed.

“Look, you don’t have to tell me everything, I just want to know why she’d just fucked off, it doesn’t seem like her-“

“You don’t know her, Sam-“

“But you do-“

“Do I?” Dean had snapped, his eyes flicking back to Her in the rearview mirrors. Always close, and untouchable, and a mystery Dean could never seem to get close to solving. “I’m not sure anyone knows her, and I certainly fucking don’t.”

“Yeah, you do, Dean.” Sam had leaned forward, his tone far too careful and gentle. “Whatever fight you guys had, however pissed she got, I can’t be that bad-“

“Yeah, it can be.” Dean had scowled at the road, his voice lowering to a grunt. “Drop it, Sam. I fucking serious.”

Sam had sighed, and nodded. “Alright, what about the demon? Do you think we need to be keeping an eye out?”

“Eye out-“

“For another one.” Sam had glanced down to Her, she’d made a small noise of distress, and the sound had ached in Dean’s chest. “Dude, it- It knew who you were. And it seemed to know her-“

“There’s- How the hell would a demon know her-“

“I don’t know, that’s what I’m asking.” Sam had swallowed, and Dean could see the nerves written over his face in the mirror. “You think Bobby will have an idea?”

Dean didn’t know. He’d snapped at Sam that when they got to Bobby’s they’d have plenty of time to figure out what the fuck was happening, but the question was still echoing around his head.

Why would a demon have gone after Her. She was just a year older than Sammy, so she couldn’t have made that many enemies. She wasn’t some kind of target. There was nothing about her that could-

There was everything about Her. If Dean thought about it for too long—which is all he had time to do—She wasn’t just an enigma to Dean. Her family was still her family, no matter how she knew Bobby. Dad had said She’d stolen something, all those years ago. Maybe the demons would want it.

Maybe others felt that pull. Maybe there was something deeper Dean didn’t know how to see. 

Maybe there was nothing at all, and the demon had been hunting Her because of her proximity to Dean.

That thought made him feel sore and ill. Dad said that it was a demon who had gotten Mom. A demon who had gotten Jess. 

And She wasn’t Dean’s. She’d made that perfectly fucking clear.

But he couldn’t stop looking at Her. Couldn’t stop how the air didn’t feel clean in his lungs because Her breathing was shallow, how his hands kept itching on the wheel to brush over Her cheek and soothe the small wrinkle in Her brow. He could tell himself he just wanted to check for a fever, but he also wanted to move the hair from Her face. Sam was just letting is lie there, and Dean knew she hated people touching it, but she always let Dean touch her. She never slapped his hand away when he touched Her. She leaned into him, and sometimes She smile, and sometimes Dean could pretend she was his-

She wasn’t. She wouldn’t be. Dad had known Mom. Sam had known Jess.

Dean didn’t know anything. He didn’t know why the demon had been after Her, or what She been thinking just stomping off, or why Bobby was her home. 

All he really knew was that this still looked wrong. That the sight of Her in pain was making his heart shred itself in his chest, and that he wanted to reach around the seats and touch Her. Pull Her into him until nothing else could hurt Her, until he could get her somewhere safer than him.

She’d be safer anywhere but with Dean. Bobby had said to keep an eye on Her, but Dean didn’t trust his eyes. All week they’d kept seeing things that didn’t really make sense. Every moment they just made Her more beautiful, even as Dean silently cursed himself for still looking. 

He couldn’t stop looking. He fucking hated Her for lying, but every single sharp and blunted piece of wrath in Dean’s chest felt more searing when it carved on his own ribs. She was a liar, but Dean was a piece of shit. He’d bitten Her too hard. He didn’t have a damn clue about Her life, but he’d still aimed to kill and then been a whiny son of a bitch when his shot had landed.

She may bring out the most of him, but it was still Dean who was made of all those foul, uncontrolled pieces. 

Dad knew how to control himself. Dad wasn’t perfect, but at least he kept himself in line, and he’d tried to teach Dean how to do the same but Dean was just weaker. Pathetic and useless. 

He didn’t deserve to be around Her. No matter how much it pissed Dean off that She was better than he was, it didn’t change the fact. Dean wasn’t worthy of being around Her. 

And he still couldn’t stop looking. She was dangerous, and awesome, and looked so perfect in Dean’s car—fit so well with everything that was Dean, everything that belonged to him—but she also was impossible. And insufferable. And seemed to be trying to break Dean into pieces, because Her eyes fluttered, her breath hitched, and She arched her back.

All while mumbling Dean. 

Her eyes drifted open, a small frown on Her face, and the first thing she said was Dean.

She was trying to kill him.

“Dean.“ Her voice was soft, and weak, and rooted right into the cavity of Dean’s chest. Washing it in silver light with only Her voice, saying his name as Her fingers flexed and she reached mindlessly out into the air.

There’s a brief second where Dean wondered if She was looking for him. Reaching out to see if he’d take Her hand, if he’d reassure her with just his touch.

He needed to get it together.

He didn’t know how.

“I- Dean, what’s- I don’t-“ Her voice was growing distressed, Her slightly gazed as they dragged open. Her fingers seemed to be digging into Her skin as she shrank into the bench, Her breathing speeding up and becoming short and shit- 

It looked wrong. It felt wrong. Dean had no right to touch Her, no reason to tense and balk at the sight of Her in pain—small and panicked and almost feral in his backseat, ducking Her head and hugging her body as if she could shield herself—but he couldn’t stop himself from wanting hold Her until she was calm, to wrap himself around her like a barrier from everything else that could hurt Her in the world.

It was selfish as hell. Dean could hurt Her. Dean had hurt Her. He was the asshole who got them here in the first place, all by not knowing how to just control himself.

He didn’t want to control himself right now. Not as Her face twisted in pain. 

Not as She kept saying his name.

“Where are we- I- Dean-“

“I’m here,” He muttered Her name, gripping the back of his seat to stop himself from reaching for her. “We’re in the car.”

She went silent, Her body stilling completely, and cold seized over Dean’s body. Why was She just lying there. Why wasn’t She speaking, or shouting, or sneering. Asking questions or spitting venom about their fight, trying to get up or curl further into Herself, why was she so fucking still-

Dean was about to damn it, reach further back, and touch Her—just to feel the warmth of Her body, just to get something of a reaction—when She finally spoke.

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, and Dean would’ve never bet on that being what She’d say. On Her seeming to mean it, her face twisted slightly, Her head bowed, and her voice soft. “I- I didn’t mean to.”

He frowned. “Mean to what.”

“Anything.” 

Her eyes drifted open. Bright and seeming to glow on Dean’s, looking at him like She always had. If Dean didn’t know better, he would’ve thought their fight had never happened. There was no possible way it could’ve when She was still looking at him. Right into him, into the deep pit in his body that felt smaller under Her attention. Felt lined or coated in warmth and light, because that was what She did to him. 

And She still looked vulnerable. Just watching him, something more nervous on her face than Dean usually saw, something almost afraid. 

He hated it. She shouldn’t fear Dean, She should trust him. She didn’t, but he needed Her to. At least enough to know that, even if Dean—for some sick, fucked reason—tried to, he couldn’t lay a hand on Her. He could hiss and mock and poison Her with his mouth or presence, but he was pretty damn certain that his body would turn itself to ash before it hurt Her.

Which didn’t make sense. It wasn’t rational, or reasonable, or understandable. But Dean’s hand flexed on the seat, and She practically fucking flinched, and Dean had never felt lower in his life. Any ideas he’d been holding about demanding answers and shouting about everything—their fight, Her lies, his brimming and spilling desire and how She needed to stop doing this to him so he could control himself—began to vanish into thin air. It was impossible to be really, truly angry at Her when she looked like that. Beautiful and fragile and critical to the blood in Dean’s body. 

He’d find that anger later, and they’d fight later. For now he just let out a long breath, and shrugged. 

“’S fine.” It wasn’t. But it was the only good thing to say here, because Dean might rather stab himself than tell Her about how fucking furious he was, and make Her fold further down. He’d wounded Her enough for a while. “You feeling alright?”

“Yeah, I’m-“ She paused, hands padding over Her stomach. “Did you-“

“Sammy gave you some stitches.” Dean said, watching her carefully. “He’s not great that them, though, so don’t move.”

Her mouth twitched slightly. Dean wished he could touch it. “Where is Sam?”

“Getting gas. We got a few hours left until we hit Sioux Falls.”

“Oh.”

Dean didn’t miss the flash of something over Her face. He didn’t know what. He just knew it was wired, and taut, and brittle. That he wanted to ease it, but didn’t know how. Wasn’t really worthy of trying to learn.

But Sam was taking a while. 

And Dean couldn’t fucking stand how fearful She looked.

“If you press on the stitches, does it hurt?”

She raised her brows. “I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to press on them, Winchester.”

“Nah, I know, I’m just trying to figure out how shit a job Sammy did.”

She didn’t look like She believed him, and Dean really wished he’d come up with a better excuse to talk to Her, because now she was lifting up her shirt. 

Her skin looked a little raw and torn around the wound, but everywhere else was soft. Smooth. He’d noticed it while patching Her up, that she barely had any pale, raised patches of skin where other hunters did.

No scars was so fucking rare. 

But so was She.

And Dean needed to pull it together.

“It’ll hold,” She looked back to Dean, and he had to blink at her. Pretend he hadn’t just been gaping at Her bare skin. “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” He muttered, scanning over Her features. She was awake, but there still wasn’t enough color in Her face. Too little fury behind Her eyes, nothing dancing and shining like it usually did. She looked exhausted. Weakened. The little furrow of Her brow tighter than usual. 

They had hours to go, and Dean knew how to fix that. He knew how to poke at Her until she snapped and everything bent with Her—all Her force making the world clearer, Dean’s body stronger—and how to walk right up to the invisible line, touch Her just as much as he was allowed, and make Her relax. Sam didn’t. But Dean did. 

“I’m coming back there.” He grunted, starting to shift in his seat, and She frowned.

“What?”

“Sammy’s gonna drive the rest of the way, I’ll sit with you-“

“No, you don’t-“

He shook his head. He didn’t want to hear Her say he didn’t have to, because it just reminded him that she didn’t feel this. That there was nothing that called Her to Dean’s side, because if there was she’d be fucking begging him to sit with Her. 

He knew that, because he was seconds away from dropping to a new low and begging Her. 

“We had Sammy back there all day,” he held Her gaze, trying to make his voice stern. “Only fair you get saddled with me too.”

“I’m not-“ She cut herself off with a shake of Her head. “I don’t need Sam to sit with me either, De. I’m fine.”

De. She said De, and it was maybe the only thing more powerful than Her calling him Dean. Even if She didn’t mean it, the word felt like a command over his body, and that was only another thing Dean didn’t understand. 

“You’re- you look like shit, Princess.“ He couldn’t stop the nickname from slipping out of his mouth. No matter how screwed things were, the way Her body loosened slightly at the sound of it was always a small high, and Dean couldn’t figure out how to stop chasing it.

She scowled. “Hey-“

“You just got stabbed, and you haven’t woken up in six hours-“

“I’m awake now-“

“And I’d like to keep it like that.” Dean snapped. “I- you just gotta-“ He ran a hand over his face, because She didn’t want him there, but every time Her eyes drooped or Her body twitched with pain it made Dean’s gut contract. “At least keep Sammy. So you’re not alone.”

She rolled Her eyes. It really did fucking look like Bobby. “I’m not alone, dummy, you’re like two feet away.”

“What if you pass out again? Am I just supposed to pull over?”

“Yeah? I mean, I’m not gonna pass out-“

“You can’t know that, sweetheart-“

“I can guess.” She glowered at him, raising Her chin slightly, and even lying down She looked like royalty.  “It’s my body, Winchester, and I feel fine.”

“For now.” Dean muttered, and She wrinkled her nose at him.

“Shut up-“ She cut herself off with a yawn, and Dean’s jaw clenched. 

She couldn’t see Her. Every single second that passed no light returned to Her eyes, and everything just grew duller. She’d just yawned. But Dean was pretty certain that—if She hissed at Sam to get in the front seat and not bother worrying about her—the giant baby would listen.

Dean needed to work around this. She needed to be okay.

“You’ll need to keep talking.” He grunted, holding her gaze. “I hear one second of silence, and we’re pulling over so I can move back there. Understood?”

She gave him a flat look. “Are you serious-“

“Deadly, Princess. Understood?”

Dean might be imagining it, but a little color returned to Her face. The flush. And the breath. And the-

“Understood.” She muttered. “You’re such a fucking dick.”

“You’ve told me.” Dean turned back to face ahead, and she let out a long breath behind him. 

This silence was short, but maybe the heaviest Dean had ever experienced. It weighed on the top of his chest, and he didn’t know how to push it off, and he wanted to look at Her again, but he couldn’t bear it if She didn’t look at him-

“Dean,” She whispered, and his whole body went alert at the sound of her voice. Softer than usual, but still calling him down. “I’m-“

Whatever She was, Dean didn’t get to know. Sam knocked on his window, waving to Her in the backseat, and Dean had to turn and roll down the window so they could hear each other.

“Dude, why are you hunching down like that, just get in the freaking car-“

Sam rolled his eyes, not moving to from the window. “I still need to get coffee, Dean. And,” He said Her name with a grin, completely ignoring Dean’s glower. “You’re up!”

“Yep.” She returned Sam’s smile, and Dean scowled. She hadn’t smiled at him. “Thanks for the stitches.”

Sam shrugged, leaning a little further through the window. “No problem. They feel okay? Because I was rushing a little to get you on the road, and-“

“They feel fine, Sam. I feel fine.”

Those last words were shot at Dean, and he rolled his eyes. “You won the argument, Princess, don’t get all bitchy with me.”

“I am not being bitchy-“

“You’re being dramatic-“

“I just got fucking stabbed, Winchester, I can be as dramatic as I want.”

Dean scoffed, twisting in his seat. “I’m the one who had to watch you get stabbed-“

“How fucking harrowing for you-“

“What the hell does harrowing mean-“

“Hey!” Sam slapped Dean’s arm, shooting both of them a stern look. “You guys can fight all you want when we’re on the road, but we actually need to get on the road. Tell me what you want from the gas station, and kill each other after.”

She let out a long breath. “Sorry, Sam.”

“Thank you,” Sam said Her name, gave Dean a pointed glare, and Dean scowled. 

“I didn’t fucking do anything-“

She scoffed, the sound a rough cough that almost made Dean leap over the bench to pick Her up and hold her to his chest. “Oh, fuck off, Winchester-“

“Wouldn’t you love that, Princess-“

“Dean!” Sam snapped. “Don’t- Just tell me what you want, please.”

Dean opened his mouth, and She cut him off with sharp, short words.

“Don’t say pie. You’re driving.”

Dean was either going to smother Her with his hands around her neck, or with his mouth slammed to Her’s. She was so fucking hot, and annoying, and Dean wouldn’t strangle her because he knew his dumb body wouldn’t allow him, but Jesus, She needed to shut the hell up before Dean made her and then lost her forever-

“Dean?” Sam was raising his brows. Waiting for a response.

“Gimme some coffee.” He muttered, gripping the wheel like it could save him from Her glare, and how it made his skin feel sore. “And jerky.”

Sam nodded, glancing over to Her, and when she spoke her voice was too quiet. He watched to jump over the bench again. 

“Coffee and candy?”

“Sure, you want anything specific-“

“Whatever’s cheap.” She said, and Dean was going to break the wheel. 

His head was churning and spiraling again. She said that like Bobby said it. The same dismissive cheaper is easier, boy, and I ain’t an idiot to fall for fancy fuckin’ packagin’ tone.

“Snickers?” Sam offered, and She must have nodded because a second later, he was gone.

It was silent. So silent that Dean had a brief, stabbing moment of worry that She was passed out again. His eyes flicked up to the mirror again, and Her eyes were open—pretty and glaring at Dean like She wanted to stab him—but they looked lidded. And the little furrow was becoming more prominent, and Her breathing was a little too shallow, and-

“You’re supposed to be talking.” Dean snapped, and She rolled Her eyes. And it was still exactly like Bobby did, but, son of a bitch it was so much hotter-

He needed to get a grip. He needed to figure out how—when they eventually did get to Sioux Falls—he was ever going to be able to look at Her and not wonder how he hadn’t seen it before. He was a little fucking worried he’d look at Bobby and start to feel that gravitational pull. That Dean would start to orbit around Bobby, and smell him all the time, and hear his voice in dreams-

If that happened, Dean would need to give himself a concussion and pray it erased his memory. He already didn’t love how he wanted nothing more than to crawl over Her and make her smile, and if he started to crave Bobby’s attention too, he’d lose his mind. Crashing into Her was usually good, when she wasn’t trying to give him a heart attack or being the most impossible person Dean had ever met. Crashing into Bobby would be gross. If Dean had to start fantasizing about Bobby under him when he fucked someone, he might just have to kill himself-

“Dean!” She was shouting, Her voice slightly strained, and he turned to frown at Her.

“What’s-“

“What am I supposed to be talking about?”

He frowned. “I don’t fucking care-“

“Alright, then I won’t-“

“No.” Dean pointed a stern finger at Her, narrowing his eyes. “You gotta talk. That was the deal.”

“I didn’t make a deal, you just ordered me to talk-“

“I did not order you, Princess, I’m trying to goddamn keep you alive after you went and got stabbed-“

“Oh, suck my fucking dick-“

The car door opened, and they both turned to see Sam leaning into the car, coffees in hand and snacks under his arms.

“Oh, good, you didn’t murder each other.” Sam passed out their coffees and snacks, his voice a dry mutter that was gonna get him punched. “Actually,” he frowned between them. “If you’re going to fight for the rest of the ride, can Dean  sit in the back so I can tune it out-“

“Neither of you are sitting in the back.” She pushed Herself upright with a small, weak sound, and Her hands were shaking. Dean was going to tackle Her.

“Maybe, uh,” Sam glanced at Dean as he said Her name, like he could see the rough tension over his heart at Her insistence to be as difficult as possible. “I mean, I really don’t mind if I do have to sit with you-“

“I’ll be alright without a babysitter-“

“Because you’re going to keep talking.” Dean muttered, drumming his hands on the wheel. “Sammy, apparently her majesty can’t come up with a topic, so that’s on you, but I don’t want a single second of silence, sweetheart, or-“

“You’ll pull over and be a massive fucking baby.” She snapped, and Dean wished She wasn’t so hot when she was pissed. “He threatened me, Sam.”

Dean scowled. “I did not threaten you-“

“Fine. It was blackmail.”

“It was- I-“ Dean whipped around to glower at her. “You’re such a fucking-“

“Bitch?” She sneered, holding his gaze. “Am I a bitch? Am I a spoiled little bitch?”

“That’s- You know I wasn’t-“

“Trying to hurt my little bratty girl feelings-“

“I never fucking said-“

She scoffed, and Dean could swear something hot and wired was fueling all his anger. Maybe it was how the air in the car seemed to be waving, or how every word was venomous and cold and making something inside of him wither, or how breathing was so fucking painful when She was furious and sneering-

“That I’m a bitch? That I’m a controlling fucking bitch-“

“Shut up! What the fuck is wrong with you?!” Dean slammed his hand on the bench, and She flinched. Visibly flinched. Recoiled. 

“I- I didn’t-“ She swallowed, staring at Her cup in her hands. “Sorry.”

Dean was a piece of fucking shit. He’d done it again. He’d pushed it too far because he was an asshole.

He muttered Her name, his voice low. “I didn’t- I’m-“

“Don’t.” She mumbled, and She wouldn’t look at him. “I’ll keep talking.”

Dean’s jaw clenched, and all he could do was nod. She looked sick. He fucking felt sick. He kept slamming his fist between them, making everything worse, hurting Her in a way he’d never seemed to be able to hurt anyone before-

Sam cleared his throat. Dean had forgotten he was there.

“So, uh, we’re talking.”

Dean opened his mouth to say no, they needed to fucking patch whatever the hell was wrong with him with glue, so he could shove himself into her hands as a pathetic, useless apology, but She was faster. Better. Still a liar, still in pain, but also still beautiful. Still so far away from Dean.

“Yeah. Get in the car.”

Sam nodded, shooting Dean one last look, and leaned out of the car. Dean started the engine—biting his tongue not to vomit a million apologies he knew wouldn’t come out right—and they were back on the road.

Four hours until they hit Bobby’s.

Four hours of beating himself bloody in silence, and listening to Her speak.

Normally Dean would’ve thought there was no better way to spend his time than being drowned in Her voice, and hearing her say anything at all. But normally She wasn’t in this pain, where She’d gesture too broadly and hiss, or Baby would hit a bump and She’d whine. Normally he didn’t have to force himself not to look at Her—and whenever he lost control and his eyes slipped to Her in the mirror, she didn’t look so colorless and drained—and normally Dean allowed himself to speak to Her in more than grunts. 

She was acting like everything was fine. Sometimes he’d look back and She’d be smiling, and it didn’t reach Her eyes, and Dean had done that. That wasn’t the injury. 

That was just Dean. Ruining everything because She’d fallen from the sky into his hands and he’d bashed Her into the mud.

“There’s…” Sam was said Her name, his voice filled with disbelief. “You don’t actually think that, right?”

“I wouldn’t have said it if I didn’t think it-“

“But it’s Star Wars! I mean, it’s not perfect, but you can’t seriously believe it’s bad.”

“It is bad, Sam. It’s objectively poorly written, but it has iconic imagery, music, and actors-“

“Because it’s not bad!”

It had been thirty minutes of this. Sam hadn’t needed to look that hard to find a topic, and the moment he’d said the words Uh, you like movies? Dean had known it was over. He’d had this exact conversation with Her before, and it had involved a lot more yelling and shoving than Sam was getting.

It had also involved Her giggling and smiling and leaning so close that Dean could see even the smallest features on her face—tiny bumps and scars, little divets that somehow made Her more beautiful—and smell that strange fruit until it intoxicated him, and he’d thrown his hands up in surrender. 

Her eyes had sparkled then. She still wouldn’t look at him now. Even when Sam would echo a point Dean had made before, She shot it down with ease—and a careful, detailed argument that made Dean think She’s been freaking practicing—and Sam would let out a sigh that sounded a little like a whine.

“I don’t think it’s useless, you know. I’m saying it’s not-“

“You just called it the most overhyped movie ever made!”

“And it is, but that’s why it’s not useless. It was the primary cause of science fiction being popularized-“

“Because people liked it!” Sam looked to Dean with wide eyes—as if Dean could fucking do something about this—and then back to Her with a shaking head. “I- They’re maybe the most popular movies of all time-“

“Popularity doesn’t equate quality, Sam.” She said, and Dean hoped She couldn’t see him mouthing along with her every word, knowing exactly what she’d say. “It can, but it doesn’t have to. Star Wars being popular is its greatest strength, because that mean it was able to serve as inspiration for many, better things.”

Sam scoffed. “Like what?”

That was a mistake. If Dean was allowing himself to participate in the conversation, he would’ve been able to tell Sammy that saying that—especially in a doubtful tone—was never a good idea. She’d have examples, and if She didn’t, she’d come up with some right here in the car.

Dean had fallen for that trap before. And he was too fucking tired and bitter to save Sam from it.

“I’m so glad you asked, Samuel.” Dean glanced in the mirror, and that was a wide, blinding, almost manic grin that appeared when She was about to hand Dean’s ass to him on a platter.

He almost felt bad for Sam.

“I- Samuel?”

She hummed, completely ignoring Sam’s indigence. “Almost all science-fiction movies are somewhat inspired by Star Wars, or owe Star Wars the popularity of the genre. And, Star Wars significantly popularized the use of Monomyth in film-“

Dean didn’t remember what Monomyth was. Sam didn’t seem to either, because She cut herself off with a sigh.

“The Hero’s Journey. In movies.”

“Oh.” Sam frowned. “Dean said you didn’t go to college.”

Dean cringed slightly, feeling Her glare through the mirror. 

“Did he.”

“Yeah, it’s just surprising, you’re smart-“

“I don’t have to go to college to be smart.”

“No, that’s not what I’m saying, you just- You don’t sound like you didn’t-“

“I’ve read a lot.” She said, and a vision of Bobby’s library flashed through Dean’s head.

There were a shit ton of books in there. Even Sam hadn’t read them all, and Dean was pretty sure Bobby hadn’t either, but he also remembered Bobby saying that they’d all been read.

By Her.

“And,” She was still talking. Of course She was. “I’ve watched a lot of TV, which is how I know I’m right. Star Wars is terrible-“

In the corner of his eye, Dean watched Sam open his mouth, and then make his first good choice of the day and close it.

“But it’s also the only reason we have Indiana Jones-“

“You like Indiana Jones?”

Dean rolled his eyes. Another mistake from Kid Genius in shotgun-

“Shut up, Winchester.”

Dean blinked, scowling at the road. “I didn’t say anything-“

“You were going to.” She snapped, and when Dean glanced back, she was glaring at him. “So shut up.”

Sam frowned between them. “Why would Dean-“

“Her majesty loves Indiana Jones.” Dean grunted. “Good luck, Sammy.”

“Don’t wish him luck, I’m not going to try to kill him-“

“Sure, Princess.���

She kicked the back of Dean’s seat, and he didn’t even grunt. The hit was weaker than usual, and it wasn’t because She wasn’t trying.

She was just weaker. She was still coughing and taking breaths that were far too long. Her eyes were still a little hollowed, and lips in too tight a line, and brow drawn in pain. Dean couldn’t fucking stand it. He wanted to pull over, grab Her and demand that they forgive each other now—or at least try to pretend nothing had happened in the first place—because she was hurt and needed Dean’s help-

“I’m not going to kill you, Sam.” She said, and Sam didn’t look all that reassured. “And I do love Indiana Jones. I think it’s fun.”

Sam frowned. “Star Wars is fun.”

“Star Wars parodies are fun. There’s an episode of the Muppet Show with the Star Wars cast, and it’s better than all the actual Star Wars movies combined.”

She and Sam kept talking—Sam refused to believe one single episode of television could be greater than a film trilogy, and Dean didn’t think She was capable of just surrendering any sort of argument—and Dean’s head started to wander again. Back to Bobby’s house, and every single sign of Her he’d never noticed. Never had reason to notice, or dwell on, or observe, but now he couldn’t stop remembering all the grenadine in Bobby’s fridge that the man himself never seemed to touch, but always seemed to be in use. All the normal books that weren’t for hunting, and didn’t seem like things Bobby would read.

If Dean squinted in his head, he could see the VHS tapes stacked near the TV. There had been a lot of movies he’d stayed up late to watch—action movies and westerns and some fancy art films he hadn’t action movies and TV shows-really understood—but also some he’d never touched. Comedy films and chick flicks and-

“Bobby had that show.” Dean muttered, and She and Sam fell silent. “The Muppet Show. He had a freakin’ VHS tape.”

They hadn’t mentioned it since She woke up. The looming axe over all their heads, that they were heading to Bobby’s, and She’d fucking lied about knowing him. 

But Dean hadn’t been able to stop himself. He was never able to stop himself with Her. It was fucking amazing, how he kept managing to make this whole thing worse.

“Yeah.” She muttered. She’d tucked Her knees to her chest. “He does.”

Sam cleared his throat, his voice gentle. “I, uh, you don’t have to answer, but can I ask how you know Bobby? Dean said he raised you-“

“He did.”

“Oh.” Sam looked between Her and Dean with a frown. “Really?”

“Yeah, really.” Her voice becoming taut, and it squeezed around Dean’s throat. “I’ve told you my dad is a hunter-“

“So Bobby’s your dad?”

“No, it’s-“ She sighed. “I- It’s easier to say father than man who raised me. We’re not related.”

Sam nodded slowly, and Dean stayed perfectly fucking still in his seat. If he moved or breathed wrong, She might remember he was here and stop sharing things. 

“If you- How have we never met before?” Sam’s voice was cautious. Dean understood that. “It’s just, Dean and I have known Bobby our whole lives, we’ve spent weeks at his house-“

“I was…” She swallowed, Dean didn’t have to look back to know Her head would be bowed, and she’d be picking Her skin bloody. “Really sick. I had to be kept separated from other people.”

It wasn’t a lie. Dean could fucking hear it, could feel the sinking ache into his bones at Her tired, heavy voice. And it didn’t matter how vague and useless an answer that was—how it just left him with more questions about how sick She’d been, what type of sickness, if She was alright now when she didn’t really seem to be—because it was the truth. 

And She looked sad. She wouldn’t look up, and She was tucked into Herself, and there was hair blocking all Her features from view, and Dean wanted to move it and touch Her, trace his hands over Her face until she smiled and her body went loose-

She wouldn’t let him touch Her. If he tried, he’d probably get punched in the gut, and it would leave a gash in his intestine he didn’t know how to prevent or heal.

He was still pathetic though. Still feeling an itch on his skin the longer She looked like she was trying to hide from something invisible, the longer Her brow pressed to Her knees and the acidic silence stretched on.

He couldn’t just stop.

“Keep talking, Princess.” He grunted, and he could feel Her glare sear through his head. It was better than nothing. 

“Dean,” Sam’s voice was too gentle. He didn’t get it. How She was too quiet and too bendable and it was making Dean feel sunken and empty. “Maybe we can just listen to music or something-“

“No. Talk.” 

Sam’s eyes widened, and if he kept gaping like that, Dean was going to kick and punch him. 

“Well, Deano,” She was still glaring at him from the backseat. “What the fuck should I be talking about?“

“Anything, just-“

“Anything isn’t helpful-“

“Tell Sammy what food he is.” Dean snapped, and Sam blinked. 

“Tell me what?”

“I’m pie,” Dean muttered, his grip on the wheel white knuckled. “Because the smartass back there is a little genius.”

“I am a genius.” Her voice was harsher than before. Stronger. “And I didn’t just say you were a pie, I said you were pecan pie, you asshole-“

“Same thing-“

“It’s not. The specification is important-“

“It’s damn pie, sweetheart. Pie is pie-“

“Why pecan?” Sam asked. “I mean, why not apple, or cherry-“

“Because I don’t pander.” She said, and Dean had to bite down a snort. “And he’s not nearly sweet enough to be cherry-“

Dean frowned. “Hey-“

“And,” She pushed on, ignoring Dean entirely. “The chewiness of pecan is very Dean.”

He didn’t know how to protest that. He didn’t know what to say to that. Not when he glanced back in the mirror and Her face was so unreadable.

She didn’t sound as pissed anymore. Dean didn’t know what to do with that.

“Okay.” Sam was nodding, looking between Her and Dean with another unreadable expression. Everyone needed to start saying what they were thinking soon, or Dean was gonna lose it. “I- Yeah. I can see that. What food am I, then?”

“Bubblegum.” 

Her answer was quick, and if Dean didn't have to drive and brood, he would've laughed at the look on Sammy's face.

"I- Why?"

“You’re sweet. And flexible but still kinda stiff.” 

Dean frowned, lowering his voice to speak under his breath. “I’m sweet.”

She hummed. “Yeah, but you’re an acquired taste, Deano. Like pecan.”

She kept talking, but the word bounced and echoed around Dean’s head. Deano. She only called him Deano when he’d said or done something stupid, but She wasn’t really that pissed about it. Deano had an underlying tone of affection to it. A higher sound on the De and a long moment on the O.

She might not hate him.

“Okay.” Sam was nodding slowly, still twisted in his seat. “I can be bubblegum. Is- Do you do that a lot?”

“Do what?”

“Uh, sort people, I guess? Like, what type of drink would you say I am?”

“She doesn’t drink, Sammy.” Dean muttered, and his seat got kicked again.

“I still know what drinks are-““Could you tell us what each one is like?” =

There was a brief pause—Dean could imagine the small, pouting frown on Her face—and then- “No.”

Dean shot Her a wink in the mirror before he could think better, and it was a mistake. She was glowering at him. She was really hot when She glowered at him—Dean could easily imagine smoke rising off Her body and small, silver spark flying over his skin when he touched Her—but her easy, high beauty wasn’t nearly enough to distract Dean from how shitty she looked. There was more gray in Her face than before, She was curled more into her own body, and, son of a bitch, Her eyes were fluttering slightly-

“What about music genres?” Dean said, just to keep Her talking, and She blinked at him. “What?”

“Music genres, Princess. You know hip-hop, pop, the blues-“

“I know what music genres are, asshole, why are you-“

“Which are we.” Dean gave a vague, one-handed wave between himself and Sammy. “Do your thing.”

“I don’t have a thing-“

“Yeah, you do. Give it a shot, sweetheart. Music genres.”

Sam gave Dean an unwelcome, amused look. “You know, it kind of feels like one of us-“

“Shut up, Sammy.” Dean looked back in the mirror, raising his brows at Her. “And you’re supposed to be talking.”

She wrinkled Her nose him, but she also started talking, so Dean didn’t really care all that much. He was rock—but She was annoying, said Latin pop first, and giggled for five straight minutes after—and Sammy was jazz. Fancy bar Jazz. 

Dean didn’t know what that meant.

But he really liked the sound of Her voice, and the way She said most everything. She could’ve probably called Sam country music and he’d agree, just because of how She’d say. With a smooth, passive authority that told something in Dean’s brain She’s right. All the freaking time, even when She’s obviously wrong, she’s still right.

Sam was starbursts, and Dean was a KitKat. Dean was dusk, and Sam was noon. Sam was a Lily of the Valley, and Dean was a rose.

Dean had no interest in being a flower. He did like Her telling him what he was. He liked the idea that She’d been looking at him. That She’d thought about him enough to think he’d be a car if he was on object—which was a cheap shot, but still made Dean feel fuzzy—or a tree if he was a plant, or a seal if he lived in the ocean.

He frowned, waiting for Her to elaborate—he still wasn’t allowing himself to speak all that much, because this felt delicate and still slightly fractured—and decided he wouldn’t kick Sam’s ass for being a butthead the whole car ride when the kid took the bullet for him. 

“Why am I an octopus?”

She yawned. It made Dean’s stomach clench. “You’re productive and floppy.”

Dean snorted, and Sam shot him a glare.

“Well then, why’s Dean a seal-“

“Cause he’s all big and toothy.”

Dean scowled. He wasn’t nearly as big and toothy as Sammy was, but fighting with Her on reasoning almost always ended up being a dead end. Just as how asking Her what she was only ever resulted in a hum and shrug. Dean’s goal was to keep Her talking, so he had to move on. 

“Whatever, Princess. What about out of the ocean animals?”

She shifted a little in Her seat—letting out a small noise that hurt Dean’s whole body—but kept talking. Sam was this, and Dean was that. Dean was that, and Sam was this.

And every time she spoke, Dean could imagine the tilt of Her head, the way she was probably rubbing Her skin at she examined them and thought of an answer with far too much sincerity. He wanted to rub Her skin. To trace his hands up Her legs, watch Her look at him with nothing but softness in her eyes, feel nothing but molten light fill him up from the inside-

He needed to figure out how the hell She always did that. How all of Dean’s fury was now smothered and coated Her, how all the way in his soft tissue he just really wanted to touch Her. To stop giving Her reasons to sneer at him, to stop pushing Her until she fell away forever, for everything to just be alright. 

For this conversation to be not edged with the knowledge that She probably didn’t want him around now. Even if She didn’t hate him, he must have snapped everything too much to fix it. 

But Dean was pathetic, so he still wanted to care for and protect and follow Her.

He wanted to fix this. To salvage it. 

He didn’t know how. He didn’t know why he couldn’t just drop this, just sit with the fact that everything was ruined and over. Why something to the right of his heart seemed to pound and roar at the idea of never touching Her again. Not ever a hand on Her back or brief high-five. 

Worse was imagining never hearing Her voice again. Only hearing it call him on the wind.

He couldn’t really hear Her voice now. 

She’d slumped forward, Her brow resting near Dean’s shoulder and her eyes turned towards the floor. 

“Dean.” She mumbled, and his whole body tensed. “Can we be done with the talking game?”

“No,” Dean grunted Her name. “It’s not a game, you gotta keep talking-“

“I’m good.” She let out a long breath. It was too ragged. “I- I think I’m just a little tired.”

“Well, I need you to keep fucking talking-“

She shook Her head, her temple pressing right into Dean’s arm. “I don’t- it hurts, Dean.” She made a high, weak noise, and Dean was going to break the wheel with only his hands. “Can I have five minutes, please?”

Fuck. She was saying please. 

“Princess, just- shit- for an hour, keep talking for an hour- Sammy-“

“Got it. Hey,” Sam said Her name, and his voice was too gentle. She needed it to be shouted, She needed to hear that she had to stay awake, that it wasn’t a damn option for Her to sleep. “Can you tell me more about, uh, movies? What’s your favorite movie?”

She didn’t have a favorite movie. She had about fifty, and they were all dumb, and She was always adorable when She told Dean about them, and why wasn’t She talking-

“Sammy.” She mumbled, grabbing Sam’s arm and turning Her head to him. Away from Dean. “Why does Dean call you that?”

“It was, uh, it was my nickname growing up.” Sam swallowed, giving Dean a desperate look as he continued. “Did you have a nickname, when you were a kid?”

“No.” She mumbled. “People don’t give smart little whores nicknames. But,” Her voice got softer, dropping like She was telling a secret. “Dean calls me Princess sometimes.”

“Yeah, uh, I’ve heard it. He said it like five seconds ago-“

“I like it.” She said, and Dean was going to grind his teeth to dust. “I like him. He’s an asshole, Sammy, but I like him.”

Sam had no right to look like he’d been punched. Dean was the one who had to keep driving and acting like he couldn’t hear.

Sam said Her name, his tone slow and careful. “I think-“

“There’s something wrong with me.” She said, and there was nothing angry in Her voice. She really just sounded sad. Sad and tired. “It really hurts.”

“I know, but Dean’s right, you need to stay awake until we get to Bobby’s-“

She groaned, and leaned further into Dean’s arm. “He’s gonna kill me-“

Sam shook his head. “I don’t think he’ll kill you-“

“He will. He’s gonna tell me I’ve been dumb and reckless, that I was supposed to-“ She paused, then sighed. “I’m not supposed to tell you.”

Sam frowned, looking back to Dean. He needed to stop doing that. Dean didn’t have a clue what was going on. “Why?”

“You’ll tell Dean. Then Dean will kill me. I like him, I don’t want him to kill me.”

“I’m pretty sure Dean’s not gonna kill you-“

“He is.” She let out another sad, little sigh. “He already hates me, Sam-“

“He doesn’t-“

“I don’t…” She yawned, shifting Her head just enough for Dean to see her eyes were closed. “I don’t hate him. I think he’s…”

She yawned again. And She didn’t finish her sentence, and Dean could swear their bodies were going to be glued together. She didn’t seem to remember he was there, but She was still moving closer into him, and he was going to go fucking insane.

Because She was asleep, and they still had an hour to go.

Dean swerved over from the far-hand lane, stopped Baby on the side of the highway, and got out of the car. Sam was smart and understood what was happening—scooting into the driver’s seat without a word—and She just kept fucking sleeping. 

She barely stirred when Dean pulled Her backwards, letting Her head rest on his chest and her body slump in his arms. He wasn’t supposed to allow himself to touch Her like this. She might stab Dean if she found out he was hugging Her, holding Her like she was fragile and vital to everything around him. She would stab him again when he’d tell Her that’s because she was. 

Everything was easier when he stroked his thumb down Her nose, and She let out a soft, breathy sound before curling fully into his body. The same way She’d tuck into herself, or sink into the mattress or couch after an episode. Like She was trying to shield herself from something. 

But now, Dean was Her shield.

And he was so goddamn confused.

They had an hour until Bobby’s—more like fifty minutes now—and Dean still couldn’t wrap his head around what was becoming more and more obviously the truth. 

If it was, She wouldn’t be spoiled. And that would make sense—She’d never really seemed spoiled, mostly just smart and confident—if that didn’t really mean that She’d been raised by Bobby. That the girl who’d painted Her nails on Dean’s motel table, who always smelled like sugar and fruit and kind of looked like She was forged deep in a star, had been raised by freaking Bobby. Beer and books and cars and no need to give me extra attention Bobby. The Bobby who was practical, and sharp, and didn’t take any shit-

Son of a bitch. 

It still didn’t make sense. There was no reason for Her to lie about knowing Bobby. Dean had even told Her he liked Bobby. That Bobby was the best hunter he knew, after Dad. 

He’d probably yell at Her about it, if he could. Shout and sneer and bite—he didn’t know how to just be moderate with Her, how to hold himself the hell together—until She gave him answers. And that never seemed to work. 

But Dean also never seemed to learn. Not when it came to Her.

Because even as the confusion and anger bubbled in his chest, it wasn’t nearly as powerful as how goddamn sick he felt. Yelling at Her had gotten them here, and Dean never learned. If he hadn’t pushed and snapped Her, she never would’ve gone off alone, and the demon never would’ve seen her. It had probably realized that She was a hunter and stuck to her trail.

She wouldn’t be in all this mumbled, whined pain if it wasn’t for Dean. She wouldn’t be in danger. She’d probably just be sitting with him and Sam at a diner, laughing and talking until they parted, then found their way back to each other’s paths a few weeks later. 

This time, Dean didn’t think She’d come back. One way or another, She’d be gone. There was the way that made the pit in his chest turn into a chasm—the way he outright refused to entertain—but there was also the second, slower way. Where She didn’t hate him, and She wasn’t gone, but Dean still lost Her. She left, and he was alone.

Dean wouldn’t allow the first way to happen. Every time Her breathing was too shallow, he’d snap at Sam to hurry up and try to soothe Her until it was even again. He could give CPR, if he had to. He didn’t know how to do CPR—he should probably learn—but he’d seen Sammy do it, and it didn’t look that hard. Dean could sing Stayin’ Alive. He could press his lips to Her’s and give her his fucking lungs out of his chest to fix this. He could peel off his skin and patch it over Her wound if he needed to. 

Stab wounds aren’t supposed to be this bad. And Dean had never been stabbed by a demon, but he was pretty sure it wouldn’t be any different. The knife that the son of a bitch had lodged in Her gut hadn’t even been all that special. Just a smooth, iron blade that was knocking Her—Her—down for the count. 

She had to hang on. Dean would want it to be for him, but he knew better, so he’d settle for it being for Bobby. 

Because Sam finally parked the car in Bobby’s yard, and Bobby was already outside. Hunched on the step, shooting to his feet before the engine was even off. 

Dean suddenly felt like he really shouldn’t be touching Her, or holding her tight against his chest, or trying to smell Her like a creep every few minutes. She smelled good. Like wet dirt—but in a sharp, earthy way that mostly made Dean feel comfortable—chlorine, something vanilla that was cheap and strong, and there was the fucking fruit-

Bobby probably wouldn’t care that She smelled like an odd, unplaceable fruit. He also didn’t have to know why She smelled like chlorine. Dean wasn’t looking to get shot and—based on the way Bobby was glowering at him through the window—explaining what they’d been doing last night didn’t feel like it would be welcome information. 

Because Bobby had never looked at him like that. Really fucking angry, with a drawn brow and deep scowl. Dean couldn’t tell if the glare was at him, or for Her, but he knew Bobby was pissed. If his expression wasn’t a give away, the gruff, low tone of his voice was.

Dean was barely out of the car—Her body cradled carefully in his arms, an apologetic grimace already on his face—when Bobby started snapping.

“Fuckin’- balls- Bring ‘er inside Dean, and Sam, grab the stitch kit. My stitch kit, I don’t wanna be usin’ that fuckin’ weak one in the trunk of your car.”

Sam nodded, walking into the house with a tight, nervous expression at Dean over his shoulder. Dean would’ve shrugged in return, but he didn’t want to shake Her in his arms, or make Bobby think he wasn’t taking this seriously. He was. He couldn’t not, because it was Her. And Her breathing was weak, and Her features were so washed over and Her lips were pale and she kept clinging to Dean’s arm-

“Dean.” Bobby grunted, jerking his head to the door. “Inside, now.”

“Yes, si-“ Dean cut himself off, changing himself to only a nod as he moved her into the house.

It was exactly as he remembered it. Nothing ever really changed at Bobby’s house, and every piece of furniture and color was exactly in place with how it had been in Dean’s head, but there more now.

Things Dean had seen but never really given deeper thought, like a mug that was a soft pastel color in the side-table—slightly stained with coffee, and looking long-empty but never moved—and chapstick near the TV, and-

“That’s her jacket.” Dean said, a little stupidly, and Bobby shot him an odd look.

“What’re you talkin’ about-“

Dean said Her name, nodding to the leather jacket that was hooked over a chair. It was a woman’s jacket, not really Bobby’s style, and Her’s. Dean knew it was Her’s. She about ten different jackets—all in different styles and cuts and materials—but Dean also knew all of them. That was the one She’d been wearing on the onryu hunt, that had ended stained in her own blood and the spirit’s ash. She’d shoved it into her trunk before She left the next day, and told Dean she’d clean it later when he’d offered, because he was pathetic and hadn’t known how to not offer. 

He’d asked if She even knew how to clean it. She’d flipped him off, told him She did, and said that she’d do it when She got home.

A small part of Dean had gotten toxic at the idea of Her being home. That maybe She’d just pass the jacket off to a servant she didn’t know the name of—She’d probably have known the name, but it served Dean’s anger better to imagine she was worse than she was—and let them touch a piece of Her instead of Dean.

But She’d been here. Cleaned the jacket here, at Her home. 

And there really wasn’t any evidence to prove that She didn’t belong here. So Dean was fucked.

“That’s… It’s her jacket.”

Bobby sighed, rolling his eyes. “Believe it or not, Dean, I’m aware. Put ‘er down on the table.”

Dean nodded, tearing his gaze away from Her jacket and setting her flat on the dining room table. She tried to hold onto him. Dean pulled back, and She tried to hold onto him, and he was going to go insane.

Bobby didn’t wait for Dean to fully step away before he was moving. Adjusting Her on the table so She wasn’t trying to sink into the wood, scanning over her with a tight, unreadable expression.

“Knife got in her gut?”

“Yeah,” Dean muttered, his hands fisting at his side. “Sammy did stitches, but they were quick, and-“

“I’ll fix ‘em.” Bobby grunted, hiking Her shirt up her stomach and-

Fuck. 

The wound was worse. The stitches looked frayed in Her body, and her skin was definitely blistering, and there was something yellow and sticky that smelled horrible-

“Dean,” Bobby’s voice was tight, his eyes never leaving the wound. “This ain’t lookin’ like a stab wound-“

“It was, Bobby, I saw it-“

“You still got the weapon?”

Dean nodded, and Bobby let out a long breath.

“Alright, go get it while I deal with ‘er.”

Dean didn’t want to go get the weapon. He didn’t want to leave Her side. She was in pain, and She’d tried to hang onto Dean and he didn’t want to leave Her-

“What’re you just standin’ here for-“

“You can-“ Dean swallowed, his attention trapped on Her dulled, beautiful face. “Bobby, you can fix this, right? She’ll- She’s gonna be okay?”

“She’ll be alright. Gonna have some explain’ to do when she gets up, but she’ll live.”

“Explaining-“

“How the hell she ended up with you boys and a knife in her damn gut. Matter of fact, you and your brother better start gettin’ your story straight, cause I ain’t just gonna let you drop my kid off bleedin’ on my doorstep then drive away.”

Dean tensed, and finally managed to really look at Bobby. His expression was still flat, still neutral, but there was something in his eyes Dean hadn’t seen before. Not glazed, but not sharp, just… heavy. Bobby looked heavy. He was staring at Her body with a painfully neutral face that had slightly lines of tension on the edges. He was standing taller than usual, his whole body rigid and wound up, and Dean could really, truly see it. 

It had been the truth. If the way Bobby stood and spoke—in tight, clipped words like he didn’t have room to be anything but short—wasn’t a giveaway, it was those last words.

My kid. 

Bobby’s kid.

She was Bobby’s fucking kid. 

Dean forced himself to move away, his head ducked down and his steps quick as he passed Sam with only a grunt of acknowledgment and returned to the Impala trunk. Sam hadn’t been careful about how he’d grabbed Her things. They were smushed and scattered, pressed against each other and all looking like Her things. Those were things she owned, that they’d grabbed from Her car and motel room. Clothing that wasn’t covered in blood and dirt, a lot of notebooks Dean really had to fight himself not to read, and fewer personal possessions than he would’ve thought. 

There was that small, colorful bag that had all Her girl stuff in it, and Her knife, and a backpack that—when Dean zipped it open—was filled with more notebooks, and… plants and rocks. A lot of plants and rocks.

He didn’t have time to try and work out why the hell She was keeping plants and rocks in her bag. He didn’t have time to overstep and push it like he always did, and let himself comb through those notebooks. One did fall open, but nothing Dean saw in it made sense—he didn’t speak that language, he didn’t even recognize it, and there was a weird drawing that he didn’t even know how to start interpreting—so he had to move on. To grab the demon’s knife from when he’d tucked it in the back and close the trunk, because all of this could wait until She was better.

She’d have to get better. 

Sam and Bobby were working in silence when Dean returned. Sam holding Her arms to the side as Bobby cleaned the wound and re-did the stitches, a bottle of water at his side that he kept pouring over her skin.

Dean set the knife on the kitchen counter, walking over to stand by Her head. That little wrinkle was back, and Her lips were pressed together, and She was in pain-

He had to restrain his hands to stop them from moving to touch Her. To sooth the wrinkle and brush sweat and hair from Her face. Sammy wasn’t holding Her right. His grip was too tight, and Her arm didn’t look like it was at a good angle, and Dean could hold Her better-

She took a slow, ragged breath, eyes fluttering, and Bobby glanced up to where Dean was standing over Her.

“You get the knife?”

“On the counter,” Dean muttered. “She’s…”

He trailed off, and Bobby let out a long breath. “She’s alright. Almost done with these, and I’m gonna have to fight with her about restin’ when she gets up, but you get ‘er here quick enough. Nothin’ that can’t be patched up.”

Dean glanced down to the wound, and that seemed true. Bobby’s stitches were cleaner than Sam’s, and the pus was half-gone. He didn’t really know how that was possible. Infections didn’t usually just… vanish. But Bobby splashed more of the water over Her stomach, made another stitch, and Her breathing grew steadier. 

There were too many questions. What was with the water. Why had one stab wound managed to infect and maul Her skin like that. How the actual fuck was She Bobby’s kid, and why had Bobby never mentioned Her, and why had She lied about something so dumb, and did Bobby know about Her family? About the shit Dad had found, about Her past, about all those weird episodes and how She always hunted alone, except when She was hinting with Dean-

Dean didn’t think Bobby had known they were hunting together. Which offered another question about why. Why hadn’t She told him. Why did She think Bobby would kill her for this, when it wasn’t Her fault, it was Dean’s.

Bobby might kill him. Dean had never seen Bobby so pissed with him. Every time he grunted for Dean to pass him something, his eyes were harsh and focused. It wasn’t hateful, but it was angry.

But Dean had gotten Her hurt. He deserved it. 

If She stopped talking to him after, he’d deserve that too. If Dad snapped at him for being an idiot when Bobby told him they’d been hunting together, Dean would deserve it-

“You say a demon attacked her?” Bobby’s question was quiet, and Dean almost didn’t hear it. 

He nodded, and Bobby’s jaw clenched.

“You see the assholes eyes?”

“His eyes?” Sam frowned. “You mean the demon-blink thing? Where their eyes go all black?”

Bobby looked up, frown deepening. “They were black?”

“I- I think so?” Sam looked for Dean for help, and Dean just shrugged. He hadn’t really been looking into the demon’s eyes, more focused on beating the shit out of it, and helping Her. 

“I dunno, Sammy-“

“Did you see them?” Bobby interrupted, glaring between Sam and Dean as he cut another stitch. “See the bastard go all black?”

Sam shook his head. “I didn’t, but demons have black eyes-“

“Not all demons.” Bobby muttered, glancing up to Her still pained face. “I’ve seen black eyes, orange eyes, and red eyes. If you boys saw anythin’-“

“We didn’t.” Dean looked over Her, then back to the wound. “It attacked, stabbed her, and Sammy exorcized it. Son of a bitch got away-“

“It give you a name?”

Dean frowned. “We didn’t exactly have time to introduce ourselves and shake hands, Bobby-“

“No, ya’ idjit, if we have a name we can know what we’re lookin’ for.”

“Looking for?” Sam leaned forward, looking between Her and Bobby with a frown. “Has- Have you needed to look for a demon before? Like dad?”

“No, Sam, I ain’t-“ Bobby cut himself off, his head shooting up to glare between Sam and Dean. “Did John know you boys have been huntin’ with her?” 

“That’s uh…” Sam cleared his throat. “That’s a question for Dean, I think.”

Bobby raised his brows, and Dean scowled. Sam was back on the getting punched list.

“Never got a chance to mention it.” He muttered. “Haven’t seen Dad in months.”

Sam rolled his eyes—punched and kicked—and Bobby’s shoulders visibly relaxed. Dean wanted to ask what the hell that was about—Dad was a good man, even if Dean never really wanted Her around him—but Bobby was already moving on.

“How long you been huntin’ together?”

“A few years.” Sam said, and Dean shot him a glare.

“How’d- You weren’t even fucking there, Sammy-“

“She told me on the onryu hunt.” Sam shrugged, looking back to Bobby. “They’ve been hunting together for years.”

Bobby’s jaw tightened. “That true, Dean?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dean, you call me sir again and I’m makin’ you wait outside-“

“Sorry, I-“ Dean let out a long breath, his gaze trapping back on Her. In so much fucking pain. “It’s true. And she, uh, she never mentioned she knew you, Bobby.”

Bobby huffed something that might have been a laugh. “Wish I could say I was surprised by that.”

“You aren’t?” Sam blinked. “I mean, I- I’m still not understanding-

“Questions later, Sam.” Bobby grunted, cutting the last stitch. “Right now I need your hands brinin’ her shit inside.”

Sam frowned. “Can’t Dean-“

“Dean’s stayin’ here.” Bobby shot him a glare, and Dean swallowed. “No fuckin’ funny business while I’m gone, boy-“

“She’s passed out, Bobby-“

“And if she wakes up, you’re askin’ her how she feels, callin’ me, and droppin’ it there.” Bobby’s eyes narrowed. “No fuckin’ interrogations. You can ask me questions when we get ‘er settled. Understood?”

Dean scowled, but nodded, and Bobby let out a long breath.

“Good. Sam-“

“Coming.” Sam threw Dean a what the fuck is happening look over his shoulder, followed Bobby out of the kitchen, and Dean was left alone with Her.

She didn’t wake up. In the long moments where it was only Her and Dean in the whole world once more, She didn’t stir for even a second. Her breathing grew more and more even with every passing moment, but She didn’t open those brilliant eyes and look at Dean.

Dean didn’t know if She would ever really look at him again. 

She didn’t hate him.

She’d been keeping secrets—so many fucking secrets—but She didn’t hate Dean, and when he allowed his hand to trace over Her cheekbone, she leaned into the touch.

Maybe She would leaned into anyone’s touch, but she wasn’t. Right now, She was leaning into Dean’s. 

He let his hand linger there as long as he could. She was warm, too warm, almost burning, but it was better than Her being cold. Color was returning to Her face, and there was a heavy flush over her pretty cheeks, but it was better than nothing. No color. No slightly uneven breaths or dried sweat on her brow.

Dean finally got to brush the hair away, and he wasn’t sure how She only got prettier. She was pretty in a way Dean never really cared for before her. She looked like a bird. Untouchable and free and delicate. Breakable, but not because She was weak. Because She wasn’t supposed to be on the earth like this, just how Dean wouldn’t be free or light enough to go where she went. 

Because even if this was Her life—even if she wasn’t spoiled and born from comfort Dean would never know—he still couldn’t have Her. If anything this just made that more certain. That She was so good and unnaturally better, that She’d been living down in the mud with Dean this whole time and he’d still been blinded. If She ever managed to crawl out of here, She might become ethereal. Glorious. Brighter than the sun and more heavenly than a paradise Dean didn’t believe in.

And if Bobby really raised Her, everything Dean tried to loathe about Her would probably vanish into the air. Bobby was smart. And good. And didn’t like pointless shit, so there was no way he’d let Her become spoiled or entitled. She wasn’t spoiled or entitled. 

She was just awesome. 

And Dean didn’t know how the hell he was supposed to live with that now. That he’d bitten Her, and the mark was festering in him.

She let out a soft breath when Dean thumb stroked down Her nose, the movement subconscious, almost automatic. 

He had to yank his hand away the floor creaked, and Bobby turned the corner only a second later.

They didn’t speak at Bobby hauled Her up and carried Her away. Dean wanted to go with Her. He needed to go with Her. He needed to have Her look at him one last time, and he needed to work out how to apologize in a way that didn’t make him sound like a little bitch, and-

“Dean.” Sam leaned into the kitchen, tilting his head back to the living room. “C’mon, dude, Bobby said we could get three questions.”

“Three?” Dean frowned, glancing past Sam to where they’d vanished up the stairs. “We only get three-“

“Between us.” Sam sighed. “And he, uh, I think he might be pissed at us.”

A door slammed upstairs, and Dean raised his brows. “You think?”

“You two.” Bobby appeared behind Sam—for a fairly big dude, he could move faster than thought he had any real right to—and pointed between them with a glower. “Sit. Now.”

Sam shot Dean a worried look and shuffled to the table, tugging Dean into a seat as Bobby stood before them, arms cross and eyes narrowed. 

“What the hell did you idjit’s say to her?”

Sam blinked. “We didn’t- I mean, I didn’t say anything-“

“Hey!” Dean shot him a glare. “Dude, what the hell-“

“I can’t speak for you, Dean! I mean, you guys are a lot closer-“

Bobby’s glare turned to Dean—the feeling of it searing through his skin—and Sam was now getting punched, kicked, and body slammed.

“Sammy.” He hissed, bracing a fist on the table. “Shut your fuckin’ face-“

“How close would you say you two are, Dean?” 

Bobby’s question didn’t need to have that silent, underlying threat for Dean to flinch. It was already a question he didn’t know the answer to. She lied and he sucked ass, but She also liked him—enough that he’d been allowed to hunt with Her at all, enough for her to slur it to Sammy in the car—and he couldn’t stop thinking about Her if he tired. 

And he had tried.

And he’d never really seen Her interact with people except for Sam and Dad. And She and Dad clashed, but She and Sam got along, and Bobby obviously cared for her so maybe her liking Dean wasn’t all that special-

“Dean.” Bobby snapped. “Answer my question.”

“I, uh, I don’t-“

“Sam?”

“They’re just friends.” Sam shrugged, saying Her name in a voice that wasn’t nearly reverent enough. “From the hunting.”

Sam was back down to being kicked and punched, because the little shit could’ve easily laughed and said that Dean had a crush on Her—he didn’t, She was just his best friend and the only person he liked to hang out with—but that would’ve probably made everything worse. Especially given Bobby didn’t seem all that happy with the just friends answer either.

“How many years you two been huntin’, exactly

“Uh, I’m pretty sure it’s been like two- But that,” Dean pointed up the stairs. “Hasn’t happened before, Bobby, I swear-“

“I don’t give a shit about that.” Bobby snapped, jerking his head back. “You boys did the smart thing, for once in your damn lives, and listened to her. Brought her here.”

“If you don’t-“ Sam frowned, his face returned to pure confusion. “If you don’t care that she got stabbed-“

“No, Sam, I care that she got stabbed.” Bobby let out a long, breath, shaking his head. “I don’t give a shit that it happened with you two. If she’s gotta get stabbed, I’m happy she ain’t alone to try and stitch herself up, cause that girl ain’t good at takin’ care of herself in way that matters.”

It was Dean turn to frown, sitting a little straighter in his chair. “What do you mean, she can take care of herself-“

Bobby scoffed. “She can do her hair, Dean. She ain’t gonna do stitches.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Has she never done stitches on herself?”

“Not good ones-“ Bobby cut himself off with a glare between them. “This ain’t the point. What’d you do, Dean.”

Bobby and Sam were both looking at Dean, and he groaned. 

“I didn’t do anything, Bobby, and if you’re not pissed about her getting hurt-“

“Some injuries ain’t on the surface, boy. I could give a flyin’ fuck about what danger she puts herself in, I know she can handle it better than you two dumbasses, but if you hurt that girl, I ain’t gonna stop her hurtin’ you.” Bobby sighed, running a hand over his face, and Sam cleared his throat.

“Bobby, how, um-“ He glanced to Dean, expression nervous. “You said she’s- I still don’t understand-“

“Sam, if you got somethin’ to say-“

“How do you know her?” Sam’s words were quick and frantic. “That’s- you said we get three questions, and that’s our first.”

They hadn’t actually discussed the questions, but Dean could live with that one. Shit, he’d spent the whole day trying to work that one out himself, and Bobby seemed to know it had been coming, because he dropped in a seat across the table with a long sigh. 

“It ain’t my place to tell you everythin’,” he muttered. “All I can tell you two is that I met her when she was a kid-“

Sam opened his mouth, and promptly shut it as Bobby shot him a glare.

“You ask that question, Sam, I’m countin’ it. She was eight, I found her wanderin’, I took her in. Kept her from killing herself, raised her like the daughter I didn’t get before. Which,” Bobby turned to Dean, and it wasn’t fair that he was being singled out. Sammy was here too, hell, he’d asked the question- “She may not be my blood, but she’s the closest thing I got. Understood?”

Sam mumbled an agreement, but those words weren’t for Sam.

So Dean nodded, and hoped Bobby could see all over his face that he really just wanted to go upstairs and check on her. He’d do that after, if he could get away with it. And She was probably fine—Bobby wouldn’t have left her if she wasn’t—but Dean needed to see it. With his own freakin’ eyes, making sure she was comfortable, and relaxed, and peacefully asleep-

“What’s up with those, uh- the-“ Sam swallowed. “Those weird episodes?”

Bobby’s eyes narrowed. “Episodes?”

“When she likes, freaks out and shit. I mean, is it like a really bad panic attack?”

Sam was back to getting punched, kicked, and body slammed. That wasn’t their thing to tell Bobby about. Bobby might know more about Her past, but he obviously hadn’t known that they’d been hunting together, which meant there might be other shit She didn’t want to tell him. Other shit She’d trusted them—trusted Dean—to see, that Sam had just fucking told Bobby-

“Those aren’t panic attacks.”

Sam frowned. “Then what-“

“Not my place.” Bobby said, his tone making it clear that was final. “I know what they are, so does she, and if- It’s up to her what you know. She’ll tell you if she wants, but she’s had a rough time, Sam. So don’t go pushin’ her about it.”

Sam nodded, even as the nervous expression remained on his face, and Dean cleared his throat. He had to ask. Even if all he got from Bobby was a not my place, Dean just needed to spit it out and ask.

“Why’d you… I mean, how did we never know, Bobby?” Dean held Bobby’s gaze, every word slow and careful. “You said she was eight, Sammy would’ve been seven, so we knew you by then. Shit, we were here all the time but never even heard her name. I don’t- Why?”

Bobby let out a long breath, shaking his head slowly. “It’s complicated.”

Dean scowled. He was really starting to fucking hate that word.

“But,” Bobby pushed on, giving Dean a firm, solemn look. “I wasn’t ‘cause of you boys. I said it already, I ain’t gonna tell you what’s not mine to tell, but I never liked keepin’ you apart.”

“But you did.” Dean grunted, and Bobby sighed.

“Yeah, I did. And I’m not gonna tell you I had reasons, cause that’s fuckin’ bullshit help and we know it, but I will say it was all I could do. Not for the best, but the only damn option.” 

Dean was pretty sure he was telling the truth. It wasn’t the same alarm he’d learned to set off with her, but it was close. That seemed to be the truth. 

Dean wished it wasn’t. 

“She said she was sick.” Sam muttered. “When she was a kid. And that’s why we couldn’t know each other.”

Bobby let out a dry, humorless chuckle. “Course she did. Sick is one way of puttin’ it. I-“ Bobby looked between Sam and Dean, something weighted behind his eyes. “There were times when she could’ve used you two. Glad she seems to have you now. And I don’t know where your Daddy is, but-“

“He’s hunting a demon.” Sam said, and Dean was out of ways to kick his ass for saying stuff. “The one that killed our mom.”

Bobby’s eyes widened, and the conversation moved on. Bobby asked if She and Dad had crossed paths, Dean told him not for years, and Bobby and Sam started to talk demon. Bobby had books Sam could read. Sam had questions about what Bobby had run into, with his own wife. 

She’d told Dean Her dad’s wife died.

Fucking hell.

Eventually, Bobby went out. They’d stayed at the table as Sam and Bobby descended into nerd talk—mostly just Sammy being a little dweeb, Bobby was just smart—and Dean had spent the hours stealing glances up the stairs and wondering how he could get up there. How he could see Her, check on her, without Bobby getting on his ass and shouting about Dean being careful with Her, because he always was-

Except when he wasn’t. Expect when he poison and ruined and wrecked Her in a way he’d never wanted to. When he made Her sad or hollow, put Her in danger, showed her exactly why Dad had been right, that they shouldn’t be close to each other. 

Dad had just gotten the wrong reason. Dean shouldn’t be near Her. She was annoying, and stubborn, and reckless, and a know-it-all, and kinda mean, but in a hot way. She was bossy, but it was adorable. She’d snap and taunt Dean, but she never did it in a way that left a mark. Dean always left a mark. And invisible bruise or scar that Bobby must have seen somehow. It must have been why he was so automatically pissed, why he’d accused Dean of hurting Her.

And he had.

So he didn’t deserve to go up those stairs and see Her.

But he was still selfish. And he still didn’t know when to stop.

Bobby muttered that he was going off to get food. The he hadn’t been expecting Her back for a while, let alone Sam and Dean with her, so all he had was canned food that tasted like pig-shit and a half-eaten chocolate cake in the fridge. 

Sam grabbed the tiniest, most bitch-baby piece of chocolate cake with a mutter of long week, and moved to settle in library. 

Dean started to snoop.

It was so plainly obvious She belonged here. Just like with Her mannerisms—seeing Bobby all over them once Dean squinted—all it took was one quick scan of the kitchen to see more places She’d probably been before. Not just grenadine, but a box of cheesy kids snacks in the back of the pantry. Dean had always assumed Bobby had gotten them for him and Sammy, then never thrown them out. But he’d seen Her buy those exact snacks countless times, and a few of the boxes looked practically unopened. 

In the living room there were all those books and movies, and a blanket that was far too fuzzy for Bobby to like. A pair of women’s sneakers and boots near the door. A glittery toothbrush on the bathroom sink, some of that sugar-smelling shit Dean knew she used under the skin, and fancy shampoo in the cabinets.

Dean had seen some of this stuff before, but he’d always assumed Bobby just had a lady-friend. A weird, sparkly lady friend who wrote notes on the margins of some of the lore books in that same language from before. From Her notebook. In Her handwriting. 

Lady friends didn’t use a towel—carefully tucked and folded in a closet—that had a little princess stitched onto the corner. Lady friends didn’t watching animated children’s movies so much that, when Dean open the case, the tape looked well-worn and used.

And lady friends didn’t draw with crayon. 

But in Dean’s defense, he’d never seen the drawings before. That was part of the snooping. Shifting casually through Bobby’s desk for more evidence, and coming out clutching old, well-worn drawings of colors. A lot of colors. Most of the drawings seemed to be odd shapes and patterns, all in bright colors.

There were a few more, where the drawings were red and black and yellow, with sharp lines and jagged symbols that resembled Her strange writing. Those symbols were repetitive. 

Briefly, Dean had an image in his head of a smaller Her, holding a crayon and sitting on the floor of Bobby’s living room, scrawling those symbols over and over until Bobby took the paper from Her. She had braids in that vision. Oddly complex braids that Her small, swollen fingers couldn’t have done. 

But Bobby could’ve. And now Dean could see that same small version of Her on the couch, humming to herself as she read a book that looked far too big in tiny hands, while Bobby braided her hair with a scowl. 

Dean blinked, and returned the papers back to the drawer. He was about to close it when something shifted in the very back, and a last drawing caught his eye. 

It had been separated from the others, and drawn on black construction paper. Tucked into a book and folded carefully. And it was the only one where Dean could tell what the hell it was.

A stick drawing—round body and tiny arms and legs—of a man with a thick blue line on his head and scratches of brown on his face, holding the hand of a girl. Same eyes and hair as Her.

She’d drawn this one too. Of Her and Bobby. 

She’d used a light green for Bobby’s skin, though. And a metallic silver for Her own. And the grass was golden and the clouds were red and the sun was white. It was really fucking weird. 

Dean chalked it up to the creative liberties of an eight-year-old, and carefully returned the drawing to its place before sneaking up the stairs. 

He needed to see Her. 

It took him a minute to find Her room, because up until yesterday, he’d thought he knew all the rooms in Bobby’s house. Kitchen, library, living room, bathrooms, and guest rooms. The only room he’d never been in was on the third floor, because Bobby said that room was off limits, and-

Son of a bitch. 

He’d always assumed that was Bobby’s room. That Bobby just didn’t want to little boys snooping around and finding his private shit. Dean had imagined that the room would have a wooden-poster bed, dresser, chairs, and simple decorations. Not all that lived in, because Bobby was practical, and knew that in this life getting attached to a lot of personal possessions was pointless. 

This room was lived in.

By Her.

Those were books Dean had seen Her grab from public libraries, or exact copies that She’d pulled from her bag. CDs of albums he’d known She liked, plus a few he hadn’t. A few Dean liked, scattered on the dresser next to a book he’d seen Her read, sunglasses he’d seen Her use, and a shirt that he’d never seen Her wear.

It was monotone black, and not Her style or size, and looked like a men’s shirt. 

The was a bitter, hot pang in Dean’s intestine and along his heart chamber, because why would She have a men’s shirt. If the overflowing dresser was any indication, She certainly didn’t need more shirts, and it certainly wasn’t Bobby’s, so it all together meant that was the shirt of someone who had given it to her. And she’d kept it, because it looked clean, and Bobby had said he hadn’t expected her back, so it had been there for a while, and who the fuck was giving Her a shirt-

She shifted on the bed, and Dean’s head turned without his permission to look at Her. He’d been trying not to. Gun pressed to his temple, he’d swear he’d tried so fucking hard not to watch Her sleep like a pervert creep. But Her siren-like voice made a small sound, and this room was drowning in that fruit smell, and Dean couldn’t fucking help himself. 

It took him a second to find Her. She’d burrowed herself under the covers, the only parts of Her that were visible being a single hand falling over the mattress and Her gorgeous face smushed against the pillows.

Her bed was shockingly normal. This whole bedroom was shockingly normal. She had curtains and a nice carpet, a desk and chair, a large amount of blankets and a hamper and a cork board on the wall. Pinned with notes that were in English—Dean could read those, and they mostly seemed to list new monsters and reminders for hunts—and a few more in that odd language. The walls were painted a dark color, and it made the room feel smaller. Safer. Like this was the only place in the world.

It might as well be.

Dean dragged a chair to sit at the side of the bed, because that felt less creepy than standing over Her as she slept. For a long while he only watched Her sleep peacefully. Softly.

Then Her brow wrinkled, and Dean’s hand moved without thought. Petting over Her nose until she relaxed, and made a soft noise that kicked him right in the heart and reverberated over his ribs.

He let out a long breath, and started speaking in his lowest, quietest voice. Before he could think better.

“You… you got a lot of explaining to do, Princess.” He muttered. “Bobby handled some of it, but he also won’t tell Sammy and I jackshit that matters until you give the go ahead. So you gotta wake up and do that. Plus, I want to call you a fucking idiot for hiding something so freakin’ dumb from me, and I can’t do that while you’re knocked out. So… Wake up. Soon. Get better and wake up soon and I’ll be waiting, because I- I’m just gonna stay a while. ‘Least until you give me some god damn answers. And,” he let out a long breath. She couldn’t hear him. He was allowed to say it, when no one at all could hear him. “I don’t want to leave. I like you, Princess, and if you really don’t hate me, I’ll stick around.”

He had more to say.

But She hummed like she could hear him, rolled a little closer to the edge of the bed, and none of it really seemed that important anymore.

Her fingers flexed. She didn’t hate him. 

Dean took Her hand, and he fell asleep at Her side because he never learned, and really didn’t want to.

And when Sammy woke him up, saying Dad needed them for something back in Colorado. That he’d called Dean but he hadn’t picked up—his phone was in his jacket downstairs—so he’d called Sam instead. 

Sam had said they were on their way, and told Bobby they were heading out. That they’d let Bobby know how it went, and hopefully be back with good news about the son of a bitch who killed Mom rotting in whatever was lower than hell. Sam hadn’t mentioned Her.

And Dean had to go, but She was still asleep. He needed to go, because Dad wanted him there, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to stay here, in Her small room that was he could sink down into if he tried.

But he had to go. 

He wanted to leave Her something. To promise in silent words that could be right to not hate him. That he’d really like Her to keep not hating him. But he didn’t have much. He had his car, and his jacket, and ring-

He set his ring on Her dresser. He’d come back. He didn’t know how not to come back, and hopefully when he did, She’d still like him. At the very least, She wouldn’t have started to hate him. 

Because Dean knew at this point that there was no way in hell She felt the pull. He also knew that he’d still follow Her all the way down, and up, and just here. 

Dean might just like being with Her anywhere.

And She didn’t hate him.

So he’d press a soft, dangerous kiss to Her brow because he couldn’t help himself, and look back because he had to, and come back because he wanted to. 

He’d come back. 

End Note: One of the glorious things about nearing the end of the season 1 arc is all of us knowing what happens at the end of the season 1 arc.

Also, as we hit 100k words, I'm unspeakably grateful for the support of the story!!! I can't say it enough, thank you so so much for reading!! I hope y'all continue to enjoy the story!

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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[freeluigihesbae]

𝓹𝓸𝓹𝓹𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓫𝓾𝓫𝓫𝓵𝓮𝓼 - 𝓹𝓪𝓻𝓽 1

(3,081) words

summary: you're mean. you're bad. but your smart enough to get grades and attention and yet, breaking luigi mangione to be the kind of person you are doesn't seem to work.

little do ya know, he's about to break you instead.

ᴛᴡ: ɴᴏɴᴇ, ꜱᴇxᴜᴀʟ ᴛᴇɴꜱɪᴏɴ, ɴᴏᴛ ꜰᴜʟʟʏ ᴘʀᴏᴏꜰʀᴇᴀᴅ

~

Computer Science.

Now, hear me out would be the best phrase. Yeah, that's right. You're a woman in computer science at one of the snarkiest, headstrong universities in the country. Penn wasn't all that bad excluding the thousands of students that made it up. Normally, situations would push you be the bigger person and reserve some sense of decency. But in such a competitive market where you were paying to get paid, you had to be nasty.

It just so happened that what started out to be a guide now turned into you. You were and still are a snarky, irritating person that somehow turns heads every time you walk into the room. You've got the typical high-school style clique of girls fawning over you and everyone elevates your position because they are no better.

It does you good, this attitude, because it took you all but two whole semester to kick your grades up so high and absolute shatter the expectations of the degree that people didn't mind ignoring your arrogance to admire how smart you must've been.

Don't get it wrong, because you were and are smart. You're a student but better, you're the Kris Jenner of your year. You were good at marketing shallowness that somehow, was keeping you afloat with profit coming in the form of grades, internships, and attention.

In process, it became frustrating to see others who happened to be in a similar place. You wanted all the eyes on you so you went low with your actions and words to make sure it stayed that way but then, Intermediate Systems - COMPSCI 1570, rolls around and you're paired with Luigi Mangione.

Not paired with, actually, but put in a class with him. But paired in the sense of competition - who could get the most attention. You hate eo admit it, but the guy has got these ridiculously well-defined curls that are so tame yet alluring, it makes you want to rip his head off. You hate the way his smile is effortlessly charming and warms you heart. You hate the kindness that it makes bubble up inside of you.

On the more technical side, you hated how well-rounded the competition between you two was. He knew exactly who you were and you knew him, which meant he always played to get at you. You heard from everyone about how his nose was deep in the books and computer, trying his best to ace the exam only to quietly pass his grade to you. Sometimes, you did better. It made you feel like you're walking on Cloud 9, knowing this irritatingly handsome asshole could be squashed beneath your foot for this one moment, but other times? Oh, he decimated you. The professor would let his name escape from their lips, rather than yours.

It was an ultimate motivation, as you sit there, digging your nails into your palm and wondering why Luigi deserved it. How dare he step above you? How dare he pursue ambition rather than letting you have it all for yourself?

It was such a selfish notion and pursuit that had managed to seduce you with such blindness you never thought to question how you could be such a cruel, tasteless indivdual.

Yet he did. And he did so in all fairness. He, unlike you, was friends with everyone. With the bright-hair colored wimps in the corners and the sluttiest-for-him girls that applied themselves onto him with utter desire which he only combated with smiles and ultimate respect.

How frustrating, really, because even when you did beat him in an exam score, you could never beat him character wise. He would always stand above you and in truth, you were the bug. You were the dust beneath his feet so apart from your degree, you had another thing to acheive.

Him.

Not sleeping with him, no. Not fucking or kissing him throat deep. No.

Rather, being able to break his goody-two shoes act, you called. In reality, it was just him. Luigi Mangione just was a good person and that truth was so sour you only looked at him to arrogantly call him such a good boy and you hated it

You had to make him mean and nasty just like you.

That's exactly what you were going to do.

Or try to.

~

Luigi is sitting at his computer, working away on a new project the professor had assigned a few days ago. No matter where he was, he caught your eyes and this time was no different.

You walk over, swaying your hips a bit too seductively, biting your lip and wearing a stupidly sardonic smile. Your top is a low v-cut, exposing the rounds of your breasts that you were sure to apply body glitter on so everyone's eyes would stare like they were the prize. Your skirt was hiked up just enough to stir wonder and want, and as always, these were only ingredients for your experiment named Luigi Mangione.

"Hey Luigi." You wink before pulling a chair and sitting down next to him, tilting you head to the site with a pout while staring at the screen, scanning his code. It was habit, so your mind was translating the numbers and symbols into understandable language, hiding how impressed you are at all costs.

You're also relieved because you have the same answers, but we don't speak of that, now do we?

"You again." Luigi turns his head and you feel like clawing your heart out of your chest just to stop the butterflies you feel in your stomach. His lips are parted and puffy, the gap speaking a quiet invitation as if they're meant to be kissed. His nose bridge is screaming an intelligent form of dominance over the situation, as his facial curves the remainder of his gentle vice towering over you, soft yet present in all its overwhelming glory.

"Don't like me Lu? Am I too smart for you to admit?" You giggle, high pitched and bend forward, letting your biceps squeeze your breasts more as you bite your lip and look up at him with poisonously doe-y eyes, trying to make him fall. He takes a cursory glance, though, at your body before chuckling and typing away at his code.

"Are you too poor to figure that out for yourself?" His words cut at your ego and your expression instantly falls, sitting back in the chair and your loud, shocked exhales doesn't go un-missed by either of your. You curse at yourself quietly for letting it make a sound while Luigi only types away, as if he heard nothing.

He heard. Oh, yes, he did.

"Mangione is being an ass today? Code giving you a tough time Lu?" Your voice shakes at first, tears coming to your eyes in reaction to his demeaning question and he doesn't make that much better, ignoring you but smirking as if you're in desperate need of pity and attention.

Because you are and without saying it, he loves showing it to you time and time again.

The lack of answer enrages as you as you feel your heart rate shoot through your chest, prompting you to slam a few keys on his keyboard to which he only pauses, staring at your fingers. He watches how they shake, your acrylics getting stuck in the gaps between the board and keys. The way they wince from the tug of those pauses yet, there is an innocent and pitiable need that he sees and recognizes but staying silent.

Luigi turns his head toward you, cocking his neck down and to the side.

"You done? 'Cause I'm almost finished my code and seeing your excursions on Instagram makes me think your situation is otherwise." He smiles at you and you pant, removing your hands from his keyboard.

"You infuriate me Mangione." You dig your hands into your palm before continuing. "I'm finished dimwit. It's a one-part project and I submitted it yesterday because as always, I would never submit it the day its due, which is today and which is fairly typical for you." You twirl your hair between your fingers, uncaring if he admires you body as your get drunk in the expectance of hearing him sarcastically compliment you.

It's still something, even if he won't mean it.

But instead, his mouth parts and his eyes widen before contorting into a concerningly amused smile and before you know it, he's bending over the table and laughing into the table before looking back up at you.

Your expression is unchanged, but your body goes rigid with expectation.

He pulls his body away from the computer, shutting it down and putting it in his back before he places a hand on your knee.

A shiver makes its way from his fingers to your neck.

"Sweetheart," He starts talking, drawing out the pet name before his other hand slams a packet on the table.

You stare at the papers and back at Luigi.

"Is this a lecture for how I'm supposed to be a good girl?" You bite at him, words unforgiving. He raises his eyebrows before shaking his head and standing up. Your eyes follow, taking in the beauty of his height.

Heat seizes your comfort in the moment as he bends down and speaks into your ear, letting both arms cage you in the chair.

"It's a 3-part assignment. You forgot to scroll all the way down, sweetheart." You eyes widen and you turn your head up to look at him, nearly whimpering when you realize his lips are less than an inch away from yours. Suddenly, all your egotistic ideas and bubbles burst and melt away, leaving you naked as you fight the obligation to cross your eyes from how close he is. He stays in place, pushing himself back while staring into your eyes.

Your lips are parted, vulnerable in arousal and shock as a hand comes to push some loose threads behind your ear. You blink slowly, lips quivering as your realize your royally fucked because one part took four days and now, you had to complete two more in less than eight hours.

Luigi coos, watching how you break slowly in front of him, before his face is back the stoic yet kind approach he utilizes.

"See you at the submission deadline. Or not." He leaves after lifting a hand of yours and placing it on the flipped over directions packet, one that held a dirty, ugly, and devastating truth that you were lef tto fend with until 11:59pm.

~

"You look like you need a beer." Your roommate, Kate, pats your head as you're hunched over, posture despicable as you somehow manage to finish the second and half of the third part using some of your own ideas and resources.

Those resources... which aren't supposed to.

But you could care less.

"Right." You give a curt reply, ignoring the sound of a Coke popping open in Kate's hands, which you don't even need to see to realize.

"Why don't you just let loose for the evening?" Kate casually asks and you half slam your hands on the table.

"I've got this stupid project for my Systems class which I need to finish. Didn't read all the directions and now I'm cramming, so no thank you Kate." Kate raises her eyebrows before laughing.

"Hey, isn't that the class that Mangione guy is in?" She asks curiously and you freeze up.

Not him.

You rolls your eyes, ignoring how your breaths falter as you turn around and nod. "Yeah, what about 'm?" You furrow your eyebrows, licking your lips as they suddenly dry up. Kate gives you a suspicious look.

"I've heard he's one of the smartest guys. Maybe you should ask him at his frat party later." Kate supplies and before you can scream and shout in retaliation, she gets up and opens her closet.

"You can unshackle yourself and get that assignment done. Win-in to me." She rummages through her bling and glitter bodycon dresses, unbeknownst to your fuming.

You had to let her know that was out of question.

"Over my dead body." You spit the words out and Kate turns around, a dress in her hand but she barely reacts.

"And a shit GPA. Suit yourself hardass." She nudges your sitting figure with her hips before before leaving the room, leaving your to your thoughts.

This was, like any other, a crucial project and this was one of the most important classes because a stellar grade in this class meant a higher chance at a scholarship you were applying for. They liked you, but they wanted to see the grade you get in this class as a deal-breaker. If you aced, you got the scholarship.

It was everything, then, this class. You already were utilizing ChatGPT, your textbook, GitHub, and every source on the planet.

Just a half-part more.

But somehow, the last half was the hardest and it ate away two hours of your time already. Every late submission was docked 30% which would drop your grade into a B+ range, something you did not want to admit. Something that would happen because those few times Luigi beat you, he crushed you by over 20-30%.

You were not doing as well as you wanted to in the class.

You check the time, letting the 9:30pm flash into your eyes before the screen quietly goes black.

Maybe an hour wouldn't hurt.

But whatever you did, you were going to walk out finishing this project yourself and not asking Luigi.

~

"You came?" Kate is yelling over the music, dragging you by the arm as you stumbled through the people dancing over the music.

"The fuck? I didn't know Psi Kappa was this disgusting!" You nearly scream, letting Kate guide you through the place. You scan the crowd, trying to find familiar faces and friends so you can gain some footing in the place. The music is too loud, making your head pound.

The smell of alcohol, something you refused to drink, kicked around the nausea and for a second, you regret even stepping foot into this place.

Of course, that all melts away when your eyes land on Luigi Mangione.

He's wearing a white polo shirt, unbuttoned 3/4 of the way down as his pecs and defined abs scream for everyone's attention, detailed in their allure. His arms are deliciously toned and even, despite the flashy lights and revolving colors of the place. His head is craned to the side as you watch him talking up another girl, letting her feel him up.

You don't realize you're staring until his eyes suddenly swerve, directly piercing into yours. You physically feel yourself stutter, freezing as you let him hold the eye-contact. An ever-so teasing smile grace his lips before he's bending down and whispering something into the girl's ear.

You watch her pout, a face she quickly replaces with a flirty smile before letting her sight linger on Luigi and choosing to walk away. He chugs the rest of his drink down before, to your horror, he's walking in your direction.

Funny enough, the crows shifts to the start of a new song and the new gap in front of your confirms he's walking only towards you.

You instinctively take a step back against the soft strain of your own bodycon dress, feeling your legs shake as you hit the bar counter and reluctantly, you face a now towering Luigi smirking down at you.

"What happened to that attitude?" His question should sound a lot meaner, but instead, it comes out soft with a warning and hint of shame intertwined. Your head pounds as you force yourself to come up with some jumble of words to respond.

"It's there." You breath the statement out, but it's not too convincing. Luigi uses that to take a step closer and now, you're forced to stare up and into his eyes.

"Doesn't seem like it. How's that project comin' along?" He cages you in again, both arm circling around your already very limited space and you turn your head to the side, steeling yourself against his presence.

Something about the effect he has on you is so humiliating. This wasn't matching your brand - bitchy, arrogant, and perfect. Rather, this was a complete juxtaposition. You always keep control of the situation with your machinations or outright insults but now, that was not happening.

"Fine." You answers through your teeth, facing away from him still and suddenly you feel his mouth too close to your ear.

"Liar." He whispers it and you nearly moan, gulping down the sounds. He watches you shiver lightly, soaking in the helplessness that is starting to take over your figure.

"You need help baby?" He pushes the boundary, enjoying how you squirm more with every second he forces himself into your space. You're at a loss for words now, unable to distinguish between arousal, frustration, and utter confusion at your behavior right now.

So, you simply shake your head no.

It's an insufficient answers because Luigi's fingers are suddenly gripping either side of your face, making you gasp, before he forces you to look at him.

"Tell me the truth baby." Fuck, that name was really getting to you and his fuckable lips and hands were not helping right now.

Relinquishing the control you never had didn't seem like too bad of an option right now.

"I don't answer to you." You steel yourself, contorting your face and looking up at him with siren eyes which doesn't stand for long before his other hand is making it's way up your thigh and between your legs.

"I don't have a problem," He talks low and seductively in your ear, making your listen to the gravel in his voice, teasing his fingers upwards and watching you heave you chest up and down with increasing nervousness. You let your guard down, whimpering for a second before he retracts both hands.

"I'll get it out of you baby. We all need help sometimes and you..." he trails off, staring at your face that is lolling, lips parted and undoubtedly watery.

"You deserve to get the attitude fucked out of you." And with that, he pushes himself back and through the crowd, not even caring to give a glance back before leaving you alone and shaking, ready to cry.

You were such a weak, pathetic little girl and now, Luigi knew it.

~

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[sallieraptor]

[huge post about Mastermind]

I'm thinking a lot about everyone's faces when they saw Blitz on the guillotine.

so here's a yapping post. a big one! you can say it's an analysis? a shallow one, with my interpretation of what was going on in their heads and some hcs. just for me, so I can get these worms out of my mind! that's why it's not well developed and has typos ^^

starting with Moxxie,

who politely protested throughout the whole trial, was in denial the entire time, spoke his mind several times, and tried at all costs to defend Blitz. when Blitz's sentence sank in his mind, he could only cry, close his eyes and bury his face against Millie's body to seek comfort from her.

being the first to be recruited, taken out of prison and taken away from the dark mafia life by Blitz, Moxxie did what he does best, spoke up, and continued to try to save Blitz, just as Blitz first saved him.

how could he bear the loss of the person who saved him from the clutches of his abusive father? how could he watch the death of the first person who made him smile after going through hell? the person who gave him hope after he was abandoned and thrown behind bars?

of course he sought comfort on Millie and couldn't bear the thought of watching Blitz die. Blitz was like a re-start in Moxxie's life, he was the one who gave him a second chance. who pulled him out of the hole he was sinking into.

and Moxxie tried to speak, he really tried to stop it. he questioned Satan, more than once. when Andrealphus said that Blitz was forcing himself on Stolas, and they muzzled Blitz, Moxxie was the one who protested. he was the one who said that that wasn't what really happened.

the whole time Moxxie was in denial, until the last second. he couldn't accept that he was going to lose Blitz there. so he cried, and the only thing he could do was cover his eyes.

Millie,

who didn't say a single word during the entire trial, but kept an eye on Blitz the entire time. so much so that, when Blitz looks at Loona, Millie looks at her too, worrying not only about him, but about Loona's future as well. worrying about how she's feeling right now.

when the chains pull Blitz to his knees, the ax rises and he looks at them one last time, Millie is the only one who doesn't look away at any point and continues to make eye contact with Blitz until the end, while continuing to comfort Moxxie.

being the last to be recruited, and apparently being the person Blitz trusts the most to take care of things, knowing how much Blitz believes in her potential, I believe that in that moment, by the way she acted, Millie was clearly understanding that she would be the new person responsible for taking care of everything for Blitz. responsible for taking care of Loona, of Moxxie, of everything that's left. take care of Blitz's family. and she would do it willingly.

the only moments Millie closed her eyes were to process the things that were being said. other than that, she continued looking at Blitz, Loona and Moxxie. silently observing the situation, checking each one of them.

I don't know why she didn't speak. maybe she felt like she shouldn't, that she couldn't. because after all, fuck, look where they are! it's Satan in front of them! even if she spoke, would anything change? she probably thought it would make things worse. after all, she is the muscle of the team.

and as much as she knows how to deal with this currently, I believe that in this moment of tension, there is no way to prevent these sabotaging thoughts from surfacing. it's a delicate situation.

but anyway, there she was, watching Blitz until the last second, holding Moxxie, and I'm sure she was internally promising herself to take care of Loona. exactly the way Blitz, - her best friend, the person who opened new doors in her life - would like.

Loona,

who was deprived of protesting throughout the trial, the only one to have been immediately muzzled and collared, treated harshly like an animal, just as she was treated during the years she spent in the orphanage.

she tried all the time to convey her feelings to Blitz through her eyes.

[hc moment lol] their relationship is certainly one of my favorites, and I can only think that at that moment, Loona was probably feeling a lot of guilt. even though she loves Blitz with all her being, and is forever grateful for him (which is no secret), I keep thinking that she must be replaying in her head all the times she treated Blitz rudely, every time she yelled at him, fought with him, every time she hesitated to call him "dad". imagine thinking about all this and not even being able to defend him. not being able to even say "dad" one last time.

anyway, ignoring the hc, I think it certainly hurt her deeply to see him there without being able to say or do anything. of course she couldn't bear to watch his death, the person who saved her, gave her home, food, and love. the person who, despite always getting on her nerves, it's her dad. a extremely loving dad. of course she turned her face away and closed her eyes. watching him die would be too much to bear.

Fizzarolli,

Fizz knew that Ozzie was on a trial, but on Blitz's trial?! can you imagine the feeling of despair when he saw Blitz's face on tv?

the urgency he felt when he saw the face of the boy he grew up with on tv, the face of his childhood best friend! more than that! we all know that it's undeniable that there were at least a situationship going on between them. it's obvious the affection and love they had and still have for each other.

the despair that Fizz must have felt, at the thought that he was going to lose a person that he had just gotten back, just re-established a relationship with, a healthy relationship! after all the shit they went through together.

and damn, he must have thought he could do something. so much so that he desperately asked Ozzie to do something! Ozzie was there! shit, do something!

and when the blade was about to cut Blitz's neck, the only thing Fizz could do at that moment was hold his phone tightly and watch. watch someone he loves leave. once again.

Verosika,

oooof as a Verosika apologist this scene made me completely sick BUT I'll try to say what I thought in a not so crazy way.

from what I read in her eyes, she seems to be feeling a lot of anguish. this is obvious, you don't need to be a genius to understand.

the point is, I constantly see people hating on Verosika for nothing, especially after Apology tour. and I'm not really going to go much into this subject now, but it's OBVIOUS that Verosika still cares about Blitz.

I don't think she still feels anything ROMANTIC for him, but it's undeniable that she cares. if she didn't care, she wouldn't have sat next to him and talked to him in Apology tour, wouldn't have listened to his point of view, wouldn't have let him talk about his feelings.

I see a lot of people seeing Verosika as a villainous and evil person towards Blitz, and honestly, if you think like this, you are simply blinded by your love for him. really.

she is a hurt woman, who had found a cool and fun boyfriend, who made her laugh and feel happy. she loved him, and was abandoned and stolen by the same person. of course she was mad at him for so long. and we don't know what their relationship really was like, who knows what their real dynamic was? we can only imagine based on angry and spiteful comments made by both of them.

either way, Verosika's heart was deeply broken, she was overcome with confusion and frustration at not being chosen, at not being loved back. but that doesn't change the fact that she loved him, that she cared about him.

it's obvious that her heart sank as she watched his execution. how could it not? a person she once loved, who made her feel so many things, was being sentenced to death right before her eyes. and all she could do was move closer to the tv and watch.

Stolas,

oh, about Stolas .... who was probably slumped on the couch for days, trying to cope with his favorite novela, just like Blitz in Ghostfuckers.

damn, the number of beats this man's heart must have skipped. seeing the face of the man he loves, on tv, about to be executed. all because of him.

his feelings are self-explanatory. he got up from the couch, went to the trial and stepped in front of Blitz. he risked his life to save him. how could he not?

I see a lot of people interpreting Stolitz as if Blitz forced Stolas to do something, or vice versa, but??? please, no!

Blitz never forced Stolas into anything. Stolas genuinely loves him. and he would easily risk his life for him over and over again.

it's not the first time Stolas has saved Blitz. the difference is that this time, Stolas risked absolutely everything he had, even though he was still pissed and extremely hurt by Blitz. he risked everything to save him again. after all, Blitz was the one who saved him first.

and he is extremely grateful for that. no matter how upset he is. Stolas loves Blitz deeply, and would never be able to bear the thought of losing him forever like this.

in conclusion, this all makes me think of Barbie. did she saw? if so, what did she feel? seeing her twin brother who she holds such a grudge against because of their past. I'm looking forward to seeing more of them!!!

[eccentricallygothic]

Depraved Night's Watch Lord Commander!Jon Snow and Arrogant Noble Woman!You…

Warning(s): Noncon/Dubcon, dark!Jon Snow, kidnapping, kissing, groping, forced stripping, manipulation, breeding kink, bastard shaming, humiliation. MDNI. 

Note: Can/Does this qualify for Kinktober/Halloween?

. . . 

His bushy lips that are akin in their roughness to his fingers that ‘gently’ move your hair away from your back that he further exposes by pulling on the harness that had been holding your blouse together feel harsh against your soft skin. He pushes the mass of your soft strands over one of your shoulders from behind and a beastly arm is wrapped around your waist to pull your body closer to that of your captive so he can press his deranged and lewd kisses along the length of your spine, the sickening sensation causing for your body to curl in disgust.

Jon Snow is a bastard in every sense of the word. 

Having meticulously crafted the persona of the gentle warrior full of valiance, endurance and better sense, you now understand with a frightening realization that he tirelessly worked for the construction of his present circumstances for years so he could perform a flawless execution of his plan that you are living now.

Although for reasons not particularly aimed at the shallowness in his facade that you can see through now, it is now that you know that you had always been right in your unyielding contempt of him. That your intuition that there festered something dark and twisted behind those ‘innocent’ eyes of his that were black as night and thus your accordingly treatment of him was justified. 

Jon had taken your unrelenting shaming and insulting of his origin, your humiliating rejection of his proposal to you and your vehement refusals of any and all attempts at any kind of an alliance between the two of you with a smile for years so as to portray you an unruly beast-like daughter of an influential man only so he could do this. 

Your chapped lips curl in fury and disdain that you feel for the thought as well as yourself. You had always considered your skills in self defense and swordsmanship to be on par with any other lad your age. 

Only for your mind to not even process your abduction when it was underway let alone your combative learnings to come into play. 

Your body stiffens when one of his hairy paws reach for your bare breasts and you almost smack it away but your stomach lets out a painful growl and the lining of your stomach painfully retracts into your organs at that very moment almost as a signal to make you stop and reconsider your urges. Your body freezes and you let your eyes wander to the object of your humiliation and assured desecration. The sight causes for your dry mouth to salivate in a way you had been a stranger to before this.

A steaming bowl of stew with a jug of water. 

That is the deal. Jon says he will not force himself on you. No. Rather, you will willingly surrender yourself to his touch and mercy. You are to welcome his acquaintance with your intimates, thank him for it, moan for him, let yourself loose to his touch and enjoy everything he plans to do to you. 

Water for every pinch and grope.

Fire and warmth for every move and sway of your body like the whores you've shamed your whole life.

Food for every adulterous act. 

A treat for every ‘experimental’ position in the bed that is currently a heap of carelessly woven straws.

A possible improvement of living conditions for every bastard you bear him.

He can easily bring the appropriate means down in this dungeon that he has built specifically for you in the undergrounds of Castle Black to marry you and legalize as well as religiously sanction this depraved dynamic he has devised for the two of you. 

But just why would he do that when he can easily get what he wants from you whilst torturing you to live through exactly what you have shamed him for all your lives? 

. . .

MASTERLIST

[hgfictionwriter]

Gravity - Part Two

Jessie Fleming x Reader

Summary: Jessie learns you're engaged. The lies you've been living implode on you both. It's now or never.

Warning: Smut. Dry humping Simulated intercourse, eventual intercourse, possessive sex, cheating, language.

A/N: Angst with a happy ending. Final part of the series. Part One is here. Jessie and Reader's behaviour in this is not healthy lol but I love the drama haha.

Jessie stared at the screen in her hands and felt numb. She couldn't feel her body and her mind was vacant as she sat there motionless. Her eyes remained fixated on the shine from the newly placed ring on your finger.

Someone else's ring. Not hers.

Jessie had no sense of time, unaware of how long she stared until she managed to click on the comments.

Congratulations!!

So excited for you two!

About time!

Can't wait for my invite!

She swallowed and tried valiantly to ignore the stinging sensation that was building behind her eyes. Her grip on her phone tightened. She didn't notice her knuckles growing white.

This couldn't be real. It just couldn't be. You wouldn't get engaged. Not to someone who wasn't her.

Her breathing began to grow shallow and quick and she ground her teeth together hard. She tore her eyes away from her phone and stared hard at the wall as a cacophony of thoughts and feelings began to churn.

How could you? Was she crazy? All these years, these secret rendezvouses, passion-filled sex with proclamations of love every time. She would've swore you were making love - reconnecting and cherishing each other, small moments of reprieve as you held each other between the droughts of separation. She would've gone to her grave believing that your eyes were filled with love for her.

Maybe she'd been lying to herself this whole time.

Maybe she was just a fool.

A wave of anger and devastation went through her and her shoulders shook as she choked back a sob. She sniffled, making the mistake of letting her gaze fall back down to her phone and the image of you and your girlfriend - wrong - fiancée. Another strangled cry formed in her throat before she angrily forced it down.

She really thought you'd wait for her. At least some deep-seated part of her did; that you were just killing time with these girls. A distraction while she was away. That's all her girls ever were. They were never meant to replace you; simply pass the time and give some semblance of normalcy every so often.

Anytime anyone got too close, she'd use her career and her schedule as an excuse to not go deeper. In her mind, she really saw herself coming home to you at the end of it all.

Tears fell onto her screen, distorting the image of you. She screwed her eyes shut.

She didn't understand. If you didn't feel the same way, then why did you come back to her every time she was in town? Why would you jeopardize your relationship? It didn't make sense.

Maybe it really was just fucking. At least for you.

She sniffled, again clenching her jaw as she tried to keep the full weight of her emotions at bay. She exhaled shakily as she started a comment on her phone.

Congratulations

No. She could hear the bitterness.

Congrats

No. Even worse.

Eventually, she settled for a heart emoji. She hoped you knew it should've been the opposite.

And, maybe she was a sucker for punishment.

Jessie clicked off her phone. Full sobs finally wracked her body as she tried to process. Maybe even grieve.

--------

The months passed and the news of your engagement was still a dull ache in the depths of Jessie's chest.

You'd texted her along the way and she left you on read. Something she'd never done. Jessie felt an overwhelming sense of disappointment and dejection at how much effort it took to do it. It should be easy to cut you off completely.

You'd texted again a week later to ask how she was. Jessie chose to lean into the anger she felt and ignored you once more.

You followed up again.

Please don't do this.

Jessie felt an insidious sense of vindication at how you chased her. As superficially fulfilling as it was, she didn't like this side of herself.

One night Jessie was at home relaxing after a hard day of training. She should be sleeping, but truth be told, she hadn't really slept well in months.

She didn't like lying awake in bed, so she'd gotten up and was instead immersed in her book on the couch. She was about to flip the page when her phone began to ring. She frowned and glanced over at it.

She froze momentarily when she saw your name on the screen. She subconsciously reached out, her hand hovering over the phone before she managed to pull back. She huffed in irritation before resettling herself on the couch and determinedly returned to her book until the buzzing of her phone stopped.

A mixture of relief and loss went through her when silence filled the room once more. She clenched her jaw as she tried to center herself.

You never called. And especially not at this hour. Her latent anger was briefly replaced by worry. Were you okay?

Before she could spiral too much her phone lit up again with your name.

Jessie studied the device wordlessly as your name was displayed insistently. She swallowed and her hand shot out sharply to pick up the phone. She was going to regret this.

"What."

"Jessie." If you were bothered by her antagonistic greeting, you didn't show it. Her name came through with a blend of relief and emotion.

"What." Jessie's response was harsher this time.

"You haven't talked to me." Your voice was small and Jessie frowned. It wasn't like you. Yet, she let out an abrasive scoff.

"Yeah? So what."

"I can't stand it," you said, a waver in your voice.

Her features screwed up in anger and she shut her book with a slam, abruptly pulling herself up to sit on the edge of the couch cushion. She shouldn't engage, but all of the pent up feelings she'd worked tirelessly to dampen came boiling up.

"Well maybe you should've thought of that before," she said venomously. You didn't reply right away and Jessie swore she heard you sniffle. It put a chink in her resolve. A deep frown lingered on her face, but her posture softened just so. "Why are you calling."

"I need to see you," you said, finding your voice again.

Jessie shook her head in confusion. "What the heck are you talking about."

"Can we talk? Can I come up?" You pleaded. Again, Jessie's face screwed up in confusion.

Jessie clicked her tongue in irritation. “Even if I was willing - how would you propose that, hm?”

"You didn't hear?" You asked. "I'm in town."

Jessie was beyond baffled now. You answered her question before she could ask.

"I planned for my bachelorette to be here," you went on quietly. Emotions flared up inside of Jessie again.

"Well that's a fucking coincidence," she said snarkily.

"It's not." You undermined her sarcasm without hesitation. She swallowed again and closed her eyes.

"So. Wait. Where are you?"

"Outside your apartment," you said quietly again. A beat passed. "I got your address from Teagan."

Jessie didn't know what to feel. She was outraged, but it was dampened by something else. She was so overwhelmed right now she couldn't discern how to react.

She raked her fingers over her face tiredly. “Your fucking bachelorette,” she muttered in a mixture of bitterness and disbelief. She took a sharp breath and continued.

"And where are you friends? They just let you leave your own bachelorette?" She questioned curtly.

"[Y/best friend] knows where I am." You replied. Jessie knew her - she’d been your best friend for years, meaning Jess had been friends with her at some point, too. "She's covering for me."

"Oh for fuck's sake," Jessie said as she let herself fall back against the couch and held a hand wearily to her face once more. This was insane.

"Jessie. Please let me in."

A whining grumble emerged from Jessie's throat and she inadvertently dug her fingers into her face before growling and standing up like a shot off the couch.

"Fuck," breathed harshly. "Jesus. Fine. I'll buzz you in."

A short while later, Jessie paced the entrance of her apartment back and forth as she waited for you to come up. She cursed herself and cursed you, but she also couldn't ignore the way her heart raced and something akin to anticipation filled her.

Her eyes flit to the door as a light knock came through. She stood motionless for several seconds before she cleared her throat and walked over. She took a deep breath before placing her hand on the door knob and turning it.

She clenched her jaw unknowingly as her eyes fell upon you standing before her. You were in a dress and your hair and makeup was done up, but it still didn't hide the subtle bags under your eyes. Seems like you hadn’t been sleeping well either.

You held Jessie's gaze wordlessly, silently seeking her permission to come inside.

She eventually cleared her throat once more and stepped aside to make way for you. You flinched slightly as Jessie shut the door behind you harder than necessary. When you turned back to face her, she was standing there arms crossed and feet planted, a stern look on her face.

"Well. You're here. What do you want." Her voice was anything but inviting and a far cry from the tone you were so accustomed to with her.

“I needed to see you,” you repeated. Jessie narrowed her eyes.

“Why?” She exhaled, her voice growing cold. “We have nothing to do with one another anymore.”

Your gaze dropped immediately and Jessie saw your jaw tighten. You eventually met her piercing gaze once more.

“I-I don’t think I can stand that. I thought I could. But…I can’t.”

Jessie tossed her hands up in frustration. She was normally pretty composed during confrontations off the pitch, but you had her feeling out of control.

“What do you want me to say to that?" She laughed incredulously. "That we can keep fucking a few times a year, texting in between and everything can stay the same?” She paused briefly, fighting off a sudden pricking sensation behind her eyes. She took a breath. “Now that I know how you actually feel, there’s no way.”

“No, Jess-” You took a step forward, causing her to take a quick step back. You stilled. “Jess. I know how it seems. I never lied to you. I just…,” you trailed off.

“Just what?” Jessie cut in acidicly after you took too long to find your words. “And you did fucking lie. Because if you love someone you don’t go off and marry someone else.”

You gave her a hard look and spoke evenly.

“Honestly? I didn’t think you’d care.”

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jessie seethed.

“What exactly did you expect?” So far Jessie had been the only indignant one, but her accusation sparked a fire in you. “You��re off playing all over the world and I get your scraps whenever you happen to be around. You fuck me and then off you go again until the next time you hit me up.”

Your declaration silenced Jessie momentarily. She hadn't necessarily viewed things like that. And she certainly didn't think that was your perspective.

“I told you I love you.” Jessie’s voice strained as she took a step toward you. You remained rooted to your spot. “I tell you every time. I tell you I won’t play forever.”

You let your hands fall away from you listlessly. “And what was I to do with that?” You asked, your voice tense. You saw the expression on Jessie’s face and you clarified. “That you won’t play forever. That’s no guarantee of anything. Loving someone doesn't equal building a life with them.”

Jessie ran both hands through her hair, digging her fingers into her scalp painfully as she did so. She inhaled a shaky breath and did her best to speak calmly.

“I told you I love you. What do you think that means? You think I say that to anyone else?” Her defense brought up the reality of your situation and her anger returned. “No. That’s what you do. But not me.”

The hurt she felt began to boil over and she lashed out further.

“You were almost always seeing someone else. And I wasn’t going to ask you to wait until I was done. I’m not that selfish.” She paused, swallowing the emotions as best she could. “I thought.” She had to stop, dropping her gaze briefly as she reset. “I tried my best to not let it get to me, you seeing other girls - and I know I saw other people too - but I thought when everything was said and done…,” she trailed off as a lump formed in her throat. “Never mind. It doesn’t matter anyway.”

Jessie turned on her heel and walked over to the couch and sat down heavily. She leaned back and crossed one arm over her chest and brought the other up as she mindlessly chewed at the skin of her thumb.

You didn’t move right away, contemplating what to do next. You watched Jessie who determinedly stared at the wall; you decided to step tentatively into the room. Jessie’s eyes flicked over to you momentarily before pointedly returning to the wall.

“Why didn’t you just tell me you wanted this,” you asked as you gestured between you and her. You suddenly felt worn out and weary. “Us.”

Jessie’s eyes snapped towards you and her tone was sharp. “I wouldn't ask you to put your life on hold. And you chose not to come with me to London. Why would I ask you to wait?”

“But you wanted me to.”

Jessie sat up, her lips drawn tight in frustration. “Well you clearly didn’t want the same,” she said with a meaningful glance to the ring on your hand. She sat back heavily once more. “So I’m glad I never asked.”

“Jessie. I came here tonight because I do want you,” you countered, your voice taut. “The closer I get to the wedding…,” you trailed off, your gaze falling to your feet as you swallowed the discomfort you felt. You felt Jessie’s eyes on you. You blinked back the start of tears and forced yourself to look at her. “The closer I get,” you started anew, voice stronger this time, “the more I realize I’m making a mistake.”

Jessie held your gaze, her jaw set. She eventually exhaled and looked away.

"You're drunk," Jessie said, her voice low.

"Hardly," you said. “My feelings for you are present all the time. The more I drink, the harder they are to hide. That’s all."

Jessie bristled and shot you a look before saying dryly. "Lucky me." She frowned, frustration anew. "And lucky for your fiancée. What a fucking joke." You heard the break in her voice. She turned her head away from you.

You sniffled, subconsciously picking at the fabric of your dress as you watched her. It broke your heart to see how you’d turned this kind, sweet woman into a shell of herself, now protecting what was left with acidic remarks and seething anger.

“I came here because I needed to know if you felt the same. Really felt the same.”

This time, when Jessie’s head snapped back towards you, her eyes were brimming with tears.

“I begged you to come with me to London. I’ve barely dated anyone, but those I did never stood a chance. I was always too preoccupied. And I don’t just mean soccer.” She blinked back her tears and ground her teeth. “I’ve always loved you. I still do. Whether you’d come with me to London or we did long distance or whatever - I felt like no matter what, you’d be my wife one day.”

Finally, a couple of tears started to fall and when Jessie spoke her voice trembled. “And it’s fucking devastating waking up every day knowing you’re going to marry someone else.”

You crossed the room to her on instinct alone and she stood as you approached. You stopped shortly in front of her and you held each other’s gaze wordlessly. Her shoulders rose and fell with deep breaths as she tried to not fall apart.

“I still believe I shouldn’t have come with you to London.” Your gaze was unwavering and you saw how the set of her jaw tensed further at your proclamation. “But I think we should’ve tried. It wouldn’t have been easy to be apart, but it would’ve been better than pretending that we didn’t need each other.”

Now tears began to form behind your eyes. When you spoke your voice was thick with emotion.

“I missed you so much. All the time. I felt numb without you. But I really couldn’t believe you’d ever truly come back for me. How could you? After all you’ve achieved and the amazing journeys you’ve been on, why would you choose me in the end?” You let out a shuddering breath. “At some point I think I felt like I needed to move on - as best I could anyway. Stop waiting around for someone who was never coming home.”

Jessie’s lip trembled as she held your gaze. “I would always choose you. You should know that.”

“But I didn’t,” you returned, your voice tight. “I’m sorry.”

You brought your hand up and gently cupped her cheek. She winced initially, her features screwing up in emotion before she subtly leaned into your touch.

“Truth is. I’m lost without you, Jessie.”

When her eyes opened, they were glistening with tears and she looked so sad.

“I’m sorry it’s ever felt like I was using you or I didn’t care.” Her voice was taut and she frowned as she worked to hold back her emotions. “Because, truth is, even after all these years, being with you feels like home.”

Hearing her words sent a wave of emotions through you and you closed your eyes and leaned forward to kiss her. She passively accepted your kiss.

You pulled back momentarily to look at her. Her eyes fluttered open to meet yours. They were truly the most beautiful eyes you’d ever seen. You leaned in and kissed her once more. This time she returned it.

Your kiss deepened over several moments before you broke away long enough to gently push her down onto the couch. She looked up at you, not breaking eye contact as you hiked up your dress enough to straddle her lap. She swallowed but her hands came up to rest on your hips over the fabric. You leaned down and captured her lips in another kiss.

You subtly began rocking your hips against her and her fingers dug into you. She kissed you a while longer before pulling back.

“You’re engaged.”

You brought your hands up to clasp behind her neck, your thumbs rubbing up and down the taut muscles there.

“I know.” Your eyes remained locked on each other. “It should be to you.”

Her mouth fell open subtly and her breathing deepened. Her gaze was fixed on you.

“I know.” Her tone was almost stern before softening. “It could be.”

You leaned in and kissed her hard. She met you, returning the kiss greedily. She gripped your hips and began helping you rock against her before she stopped abruptly, moving her hands down your dress to rest on your legs.

“You’re still engaged,” she repeated. “It’s different than before. We shouldn’t…”

Despite her words, her fingers were kneading into the muscles of your legs and she still kissed you eagerly. Morally - yes, you should stop. But, as always, this was Jess.

You placed your hands on her shoulders and shifted yourself so you were straddling a single leg of hers. You moved a bit further down her leg and rolled your hips against her, your core rubbing against her muscular leg. Even though you still had your panties on, the friction sent irresistible waves through your body and left you wanting more.

Jessie could easily feel your heat through the thin fabric of her pants and it sent goosebumps all over her. She dug her fingers into your legs through your dress.

“Y/N…” Your name came out both pleading and as a warning. She tried to ignore how she instinctively flexed her leg against you. Your grip tightened on her and soon you were whispering in her ear.

“Do you know how many times I’ve touched myself while I think of you?” Your hot breath in her ear sent shivers down her spine.

“How many times you’ve made me cum without ever actually touching me?”

A small groan worked its way up Jessie’s throat and she flexed her leg again, you ground down against it immediately. You kissed Jessie hungrily and she returned it eagerly. She could feel your arousal starting to seep through the fabric that separated you.

She was trying so hard to be good, but you grinding against her and breathing in her ear was making it nearly impossible.

Jessie let out a shaky breath and despite her intentions her hands began to work their way under your dress. She stopped herself by your knees, digging her fingers into your skin there.

“I don’t want to just make you cum,” she told you between heated kisses. “I want more.” Jessie dug her nails in. “It kills me to think I’ve just been a fuck to you.” She hissed as you dragged your nails down the back of her neck.

“You’ve never been just a fuck. Ever.” You told her resolutely as you continued to grind against her leg. You could feel how your underwear was nearly soaked through already. “You’re so much more to me. You’re everything. I’m in love with you, Jess. That never changed.”

Jessie’s head fell back against the couch and she lifted her knee to give you more friction. She watched your eyes shut as you rode her leg.

“But I’m not the one who falls asleep next to you,” she challenged you. You locked eyes with her again.

“You could be.”

Jessie let her hands roam further up your legs until her thumbs rest in the crook between your thighs and hips.

“I hate that she gets you every night.” Jessie leaned up and kissed your neck. She smiled to herself as you moaned and began running your fingers through her hair. “That she gets to make love to you.”

“I think of you when she’s on top of me,” you said as your fingers continued to roam through Jessie’s hair. She flexed her leg and pushed up towards you, her hands now pulling you down onto her as well. Another moan fell from your lips.

“It’s always your name on the tip of my tongue,” you continued.

Jessie’s breathing grew heavy and a few subtle grunts escaped her as you brought yourself closer and closer to your climax. The fabric of her pants was wet with your arousal now and it was driving her crazy.

Jessie and you were in a rhythm and you pulled back to see each other. She stared into your eyes, your gazes unyielding, and it wasn’t long before you tensed up on top of her. Your panties were soaked completely through and you dug your fingers into her crown as you came.

You fell against Jessie as your orgasm faded and she absently massaged your thighs. She kissed your neck chastely and urged you to pull back to look at her. When you did, her expression was set.

“We’re not friends,” Jessie told you resolutely. “We never will be. I can’t look at you and pretend I’m not in love with you.” You nodded and kissed her tenderly.

“I know. It’s the same for me. I’ve been in love with you since I was 19, Jess.”

While Jessie’s expression was stoic a moment ago, now her lower lip trembled and her eyes glistened.

“You can’t marry her.”

You sat back momentarily and took in this woman before you.

“I won’t.” You promised her.

Jessie’s fingers dug into you once more and her jaw clenched.

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure.” You told her with confidence.

She brought one hand out from under your dress and grasped your left hand. Her fingers gripped your engagement ring, giving it a solid tug and removing it. She didn’t break eye contact with you as she placed it in your palm.

“It should be my ring on your finger.”

A rush of emotion went through you at her declaration. You took the ring and set it aside before kissing her.

“So put a ring on my finger.”

Suddenly, everything Jessie had been holding back tonight came bursting forward. She gripped you tightly and carried you to the bedroom, quickly doing away with your dress and your ruined underwear. She kissed you possessively as she wasted no further time and ran two firm fingers through your folds.

“You’re mine from now on,” Jessie told you unequivocally. “I’m sick of sharing you.”

You moaned in her ear before adding, “Same applies to you. No more fucking other girls.”

She smirked and began circling your clit. “They never compared anyway. And why would I want anyone else if I can come home to you.”

“Remember that,” you panted, “when you’re halfway around the world and surrounded by beautiful women.”

“You’re the only one I want,” she said with no hesitation.

“Jessie,” you pleaded as you tugged at her shirt. “I want your skin on mine.”

She smirked into the kiss. “Take it off me, then.”

You reached down and pulled the shirt up her back and over her head. She sat up, straddling your leg and inadvertently showing off her incredible physique as she tossed the shirt to the floor. You tugged at the waistband of her pants and she continued to give you a charming smirk as she rose off the bed briefly to remove them.

She climbed back on top of you and ran her hands along your chest and down your stomach with a low growl rumbling in her chest.

“No more sneaking around,” she proclaimed as her eyes met yours. “I want people to know about us.”

You were dripping wet already, but the intensity of her words and the way she looked at you made your core pulse.

She leaned down and ran a thumb along your jaw, her lips hovering just above yours.

“We’ve wasted enough time. I don’t want to waste anymore.”

“Me neither,” you agreed as you cupped her face.

“Starting now,” Jessie asserted as she shifted so she was between your legs, which you readily spread for her. Her hands ran along your legs, wrapping them around her waist as she ran her fingers through your slick folds once more, lubing up her fingers with your wetness before sinking inside of you. “Fuck,” Jessie hissed as you clamped down around her fingers. “You feel so amazing each and every time.”

A wanton moan left your lips. Your fingers dug into her shoulders as you tossed your head back as you felt her digits fill and stretch you.

“God, Jessie, you always make me feel so good,” you said, feeling short of breath already. You felt her body jostle against you as she let out a smug snicker.

“I haven’t even gotten started,” she said as she withdrew her fingers slowly before plunging them back inside to her knuckles. She pulled your earlobe between her teeth and flicked it with her tongue.

“You’re always so good,” you told her as you arched into her. You chuckled. “It’s embarrassing how easily you get me off.”

“Mmm, let’s not call it easy, baby. I very much made a point of ensuring you’d remember me and how I made you feel regardless of who you were going back to.” Her breath was hot in your ear and she traced her tongue along the shell of your ear.

“Then you were very successful,” you told her, your words truncated by subtle moans as she pumped in and out of you, her body rocking above you as she did. “There were too many times I almost said your name.”

A low growl formed in Jessie’s throat again and she quickened her thrusts. “I wish you would’ve.” Despite herself, Jessie’s hand made its way up to your throat and it rest there at the base, her fingers ever so slightly wrapping around you. “I want to be the only one you cum for.”

You ran your fingers through her hair and nodded. “You will be - I promise.” You moaned loudly as Jessie’s fingers curled inside of you and stroked your g-spot repeatedly.

“Now.” Jessie commanded. “Starting now. I’m the only one who fucks you, has sex with you, makes love to you. You aren’t sleeping with her again. Or anyone else.”

You nodded mindlessly as your moans continued to fill the room alongside the sounds of her strong thrusts in and out of you.

“Say it,” she demanded. “You’re mine now. Your body, your heart, your everything - belongs to me now.”

“Oh fuck,” you said in a low moan as you writhed beneath her. “Yes, Jessie. I promise - I’m yours completely.” Jessie groaned and her strokes grew harder.

“I’ll buy a place for the two of us. And I’ll come home to you as often as I possibly can. And I promise I will make every minute away worth your while.”

You clawed at her back and she continued to chant declarations in your ear. The bed creaked with each thrust as she pushed you deeper into the mattress.

“I’ll give you so many orgasms you’ll need a break from me. And I will love you so thoroughly and deeply you’ll never feel alone no matter how far away I am. I promise.” Her voice softened.

“Jesus Christ, Jess. I’m so close.”

Jessie lifted her head and kissed you deeply.

“Marry me. Please. It doesn’t have to be soon - but please, let it be me.”

You kissed her hard, pulling her even closer towards you. “Yes. Oh my god, yes, Jessie.”

Jessie didn’t break your kiss as she continued to pump into you desperately. You both groaned deep in your throats and soon your climax took you.

You continued to moan into each other’s mouths as she rocked into you, your arousal dripping down her palm and onto the sheets. When your body grew limp, she exhaled heavily and let her weight rest upon you as you both worked to catch your breath.

She was absently stroking your hair with her free hand when you came around. You slowly blinked, your vision coming back into focus.

“Did you just ask me to marry you?” You asked.

Jessie hummed and lifted herself up enough to look down at you. “I did. And you said “yes” - but if-”

“No, no. I’m not changing my mind. I just wanted to make sure I didn’t imagine it,” you told her lightly. She chuckled softly and kissed your cheek.

“I mean, we need to have some deeper, bigger conversations about how all of this will work, but my feelings stay the same,” she told you. You nodded in return.

“I know. It’s going to be very complicated and messy for a while. Are you up for that?” You asked and she stared at you steadfast.

“I’ll endure anything if it means I get to be with you at the end of the day.” You smiled at her, but her eyes began to shimmer with tears once more. “Please don’t change your mind in the morning. It would devastate me.”

“Jessie.” You kissed her reassuringly. “You’re the one I’ve wanted all along. I’m not changing my mind.” It was your turn to frown. “If you’re uncertain at all - you have to say it now. I cried every day when you went to London. I can’t do that again.” You took a breath and held her gaze. “I can’t have my heart broken a second time.”

“You won’t go through that again,” Jessie promised. “No more heartbreak. I swear.”

[the-dragon-hoarder]

Humans are the LATEST Space Orcs from the Earth

Okay, I've had this idea floating around in my head for a while now, and I have to get it out before it drives me up a wall.What if Death worlds like Earth aren't all that uncommon and do, in fact, produce complex life that leads to at least ONE space-faring civilization during it's Goldy-Locks phase (weather it's native or via colonization).

What if what makes Earth so relatively unique is the fact that Humans are only the LATEST over the past few billion-ish years?

Just think: Galactic Aeons measured not necessarily in Celestial, Galactic or Political events, but in the latest species from Earth reaching the stars? An event that happens with a relatively predictable timescale and with astounding regularity that the galaxy can set an approximately 100 million year (+/- 20 million year) Aeons for everything?

I mean, there's the whole Oslo Fission reactor (A naturally occurring nuclear reactor, currently thought to be the result of ironically precise, though naturally-occurring processes) that was active about 2 Billion YA; so what if that was merely the first species? Granted, those inhabitants came from another planet and had colonized the Earth's early shallow oceans (Along with the next several cultures), but they had genetically modified themselves to survive here.

Now, imagine what sets Human Kind apart from everyone else that came from the earth, is that we arrived about 20 million years early. Humans are roughly-everything that our predecessors estimated that we would be like, with a few surprises here and there (which is to be expected from the Earth). In fact, our arrival is so early and sudden, that it throws the entire galaxy into chaos!

I mean, we all know about the K-T extinction (which killed off the non-avian dinosaurs). So, what if a space-faring society was born of one of those lineages? What if the asteroid that crashed in the Yucatan was a space station built into the body of an asteroid (maybe an old mining colony turned space-port?) that was knocked out of it's orbit? It doesn't matter weather or not it was intentional, it happened, and they left the Earth as a consequence, and then stayed away because of Galactic Law?

Now, here comes the Humans. The latest children of the infamous Death World…and we're so early, that a few of the verifiable descendants of the non-avian dinosaurs are still around?

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Save Me, Brother

Dean Winchester x little sister!reader, bit of Sam Winchester x little sister!reader

Requested by Anonymous

Synopsis: instead of the little boy, it’s you who almost drowns in 1x03

“Stay in the car, alright?”

You nodded at your oldest brother.

Dean lingered by the car to let Sam get ahead, before turning to look at you.

“Hey, you alright?”

You gave him a small smile in return, and he glanced back at Sam, torn between finishing the job and staying with you.

“Yeah, ok,” he said finally. “Well I’m gonna be back soon, ok? Just stay right here.”

You nodded again, and he sighed and turned to follow Sam.

You hadn’t been speaking much since John left, and Dean had just rolled with it thus far, but it was starting to worry him more and more.

You still spoke occasionally, but you’d been withdrawn lately, and Dean was struggling to figure out what to do about it.

…

When you saw the little boy heading down the path towards the lake, you couldn’t stay put. You wanted nothing more than to listen to Dean’s instructions and stay in the car, but you also knew what could happen if that boy went to the lake.

You reached the dock just in time to see him stick his arm out towards the water, straining to reach something. You ran across the dock, reaching down to pull his arm back when it happened.

A cold hand exploded out of the water and latched onto yours, which had just gotten in the way of the little boy’s.

“Y/N, no!” You heard Dean’s desperate cry as you were pulled under, the spirit going deeper and deeper until your ears popped, and your lungs began to strain.

You saw a dark figure appear above you—Dean!—and despite your better judgment, your panicked instinct to call out to him won out, and you let out what little breath you had in desperate cry, which only resulted in a cluster of silent bubbles escaping in front of your eyes.

You kept your eyes on the dark shape as it inched closer to you.

Not fast enough, was your last thought before the darkness pooling at the edge of your vision took over completely.

…

“No, no no, come on Y/N!” Dean panicked when he saw how still your form was when he laid you down on the dock. “Come on, breathe,” he began the process of CPR, and within several seconds you let out a hacking cough that released the water that had gotten into your system, before taking short, shallow breaths.

“Hey, hey it’s ok,” Dean sighed in relief, pulling you up to a sitting position and leaning you against his chest. “Breathe slowly, take a deep breath.”

Your hands clutched at him as you hyperventilated, tears springing to your eyes. The sobs that wracked your body only made breathing even harder, and the desperate wheezing that escaped your lips made Dean’s stomach knot with worry.

“Baby come on, you need to calm down. You need to breathe, ok?”

Your breathing began to slow gradually, but it was several long minutes before your sobs subsided. When they did, and you began to breathe evenly, Dean noticed that you were shivering. He immediately tugged off his coat and placed it around your shoulders, and you pulled it tightly around you.

Dean lifted you carefully into his arms and carried you to the Impala, Sam following behind him.

When he set you down in the back seat, you grabbed onto his arms to keep him from moving away.

“Hey,” he knelt down in front of your hunched form and placed a hand on your knee. “Baby, you’re safe now.”

You kept your grip on his arms, eyes locked on his.

“Ok,” he turned to look at Sam, “Would you drive? I’m gonna stay back here.”

Sam took Dean’s usual position in the drivers’ seat while Dean climbed into the back with you. You continued to shiver, huddling in on yourself.

“We’re gonna be there soon, and you can get warmed up,” Dean promised.

The rest of the ride was dead silent the whole way to the motel, and the silence continued on into the night. Eventually, you crawled into the bed you and Dean were sharing and settled down to sleep. You’d tugged on Dean’s arm, trying to get him to go with you, but he’d remained in his chair.

“I’m coming in a little bit, ok? Get some rest.”

…

You were drowning again. Water entered your nose and mouth, stinging your eyes and burning your lungs. You tried to swim up, but the cold iron grip on your leg pulled you lower, lower…

It was worse this time, because there was no dark figure reaching out for you. No Dean to save you.

He was gone; he left you. Like Sam. Like John.

And you were drowning.

“Y/N! Come on baby, I need you to wake up. Wake up!”

You jerked upright, gasping for air. The water was gone, the pain in your lungs with it.

“Hey, hey,” strong arms pulled you close, and the familiar scent of Dean’s cologne washed over you. You relaxed completely, breathing deeply to try to slow your racing heart. “You’re ok baby, it was just a dream.”

“Don’t go,” you fisted Dean’s shirt in your hands, leaning against him.

“What? I’m right here, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Don’t go, don’t go…”

Dean pulled you into his lap, hugging you against him while you repeated the phrase over and over.

“Don’t go.”

“Dean?” Dean looked up at the sound of Sam’s voice.

“We’re ok,” Dean told him. “Just a nightmare.”

Sam swung his legs off his bed and came over to stand by Dean’s, leaning down to be closer to you.

“You ok sweetheart?”

You’d stopped your mantra, falling silent as you clung to your big brother. You nodded in response to Sam’s question.

“Do you wanna talk about your nightmare?” He asked. You shook your head.

“I think we’ll just stay like this for a little bit,” Dean directed this at both of his siblings, before looking at Sam. “I’m sure she’ll go back to sleep, we’re fine here.”

“Alright, well wake me if anything changes,” Sam relented, going back to his bed.

“Ok baby,” Dean spoke quietly to you, trying not to disturb Sam. He leaned back on the bed, taking you with him so that you were resting with your head on his chest. “Why don’t we try and get some sleep?”

“Don’t go away,” you whimpered, your eyes closed tightly. “Don’t leave me, don’t let-let me drown.”

“What?” Dean’s arms tightened subconsciously around you as he brought his hand up to cradle your head. “Baby I’m never gonna let anything happen to you, ever.”

“Don’t go,” you repeated.

“I won’t,” Dean accompanied his words with a gentle kiss to the side of your head. “Baby I’m not going anywhere, ever.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

You fell asleep not long after that, resting in your brother’s arms and trusting in his promise.

You didn’t have any more nightmares.

[mama-emeritus-i]

You're My Sacrifice (Frater Imperator!Copia X Reader)

Frater Imperator!Copia X Reader Smut

SPOILERS FOR RITE HERE RITE NOW. KEEP SCROLLING IF YOU DON'T WANT THAT. Dude... Dude... I originally wrote this for Terzo but I knew I had to make this Frater Imperator after seeing the movie. Rite Here Rite Now made me feral, so enjoy. I'm going to hell in gasoline underwear for writing this.

Warnings: This is blasphemous and sacreligious... like seriously. Improper use of ritual oils, altar smut, Unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it) but I think that's the least of your worries in this one, glove kink, I didn't proofread this (if, I, do, then, it, would, look, like, this), plot if you squint with 20/20 vision

SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT. DON'T SAY I DIDN'T TELL YOU

"Copia, where are we going? Isn't it a little late for chapel?" While you two had been friends since childhood, this all started right before Copia's ascension to "Frater Imperator"- a tangled dance of more then friends but not anything with a label yet. He was usually very gentle, never trying to adventure outside your bedroom, so it was a surprise when the young Frater took you aside after dinner, leading you through the darkened hallway, towards the chapel.

You heard Copia mutter a small "Forgive me" under his breath as he continues to lead out through the center of the room. The stained glass murals and old oil painting sit there, illuminated by the moonlight, staring at you- as if they knew what was going to happen.

You both walk up the shallow steps, stopping before the altar set up behind the podium. Copia steps behind you, placing his leather clad gloves on your shoulders as you hear his voice, just above a whisper.

"Do you know what this is, Caro? Its an altar... My altar and tonight you are going to be my sacrifice... if you are alright with that, that is?" his voice was rough, and filled with lust and something utterly debauched. You nod, before placing your hands on the altar, feeling the silk cloth under you fingers. Behind you, Copia admired the sight before him, inhaling sharply as you arched your back.

After a moment, he finally speaks, "Very Caro, but not good enough... yet." You felt Copia's hand on the small of your back, guiding you to bend over the altar. He gently took your wrists in his free hand, guiding them above your head and resting them on the teal cloth.

He moves away for what feels like forever, leaving you in this vulnerable position. Anyone could just walk in at any moment, and see how the great Frater Imperator was going to defile you as a sacrifice, in a way that made satan himself turn his head. The thought of it made desire pool and your face flush red.

When Copia returned, after just a few moments, he held a cinture in his gloved hand. You can almost feel the small smirk that tugs at the edge of his lips as he sees you exactly how he left you. Before you could truly process what was about to happen, Copia made quick work of knotting the rope around your wrists and hands. Despite how incredibly intimate this whole situation was, he was handling you like glass, as if you were going to break if he was too rough with you. He muttered something to himself before gently kissing your cheek, his now free hands sliding under the rope to ensure that it would be comfortable for you.

Copia's body felt like it was on fire, and only you were able to tamp out the flames, need engulfed every inch of his skin, and the only way to douse this fire was to sink into his sacrifice. Sure, he has had flings and the occasional relationship, but with you it was different. You made him feel whole.

Everything in him is telling him that is wrong, that he should just go back to his duties, and continue as he always had, but he doesn't. He can't.

The Frater Imperator stepped back to admire his work, the way your arms look all stretched forward and bound, almost like fresh caught prey. The way your black heels dig into the carpet; the way your ass was on perfect display for him, and him alone. When he lifts the hem of your dress, you felt his gloves against your skin, exposing you to the cold of the chapel.

My... My... this shows quite a lot caro mia, do you know how much?" You turn your head to look at the man before you, watching as he slides his gloves off, exposing his hands. His eyes were blown out with lust, his focus on you.

"I know, I can feel the air on me, Frater." Copia knelt down behind you, chucking slightly as he notes that your dress does indeed just cover what it was supposed to. However he also notes how the smallest lift or breeze would expose your soaked core to him.

His finger gently ran through your still clothed slit, before eventually cupping your core, it was hot and swollen against his skin, and it took Copia all of his willpower to not absolutely ruin you.

"I... it feels wrong to say this, but I want to be rough with you tonight, I want everyone to know you're mine, but you need to tell me Caro, is that alright?" Always the gentleman to check up on you, even when he was so intoxicated by you, his nerves feeling like they were vibrating.

"Please... Copia, be rough. Leave marks, show everyone that I am yours." You barely finish the sentence before you feel a kiss on the back of your neck, then a loud smack against your ass, before a gentle hand runs across to soothe you. You feel something warm and liquid against you as Copia dropped some of the ritual oil into his hands, rubbing it across your ass and legs- anywhere he could reach you.

"Stand up and turn around" His voice was gentle as he helped you move back up to your feet and turn towards him. The look on your face was enough to send Copia to hell right then and there, your look of absolute bliss and need. His swim in his mind of everything he wants to do to you.

Copia kneels down again, making work of the white ropes on your wrists, before taking them in his hands, gently kissing your wrists and hands. He then moved one hand up to your dress, slowly unzipping it and letting it pool on the floor with the now forgotten rope, before quickly taking your panties off and letting them join the fabric puddle.

One hand still clasped in yours, Copia takes a minute to stare at you, like you were the first rain of a drought or like you were Aphrodite herself. You help him remove his clothes, slowly removing the clips and jacket, followed by the top, and after a bit of struggle-the pants (he has to jump into those things, let me real).

Usually he stays relatively covered during sex, as the past few months have not been kind to him, but you can't take your eyes off of the new Frater Imperator in all of his glory. He pulls you into a kiss, his lips were a bit swollen, but so giving and soft. You feel him groan into your mouth as he tried to claim your mouth with his tongue.

His hands never leave your body, moving from your breasts, to your waist, hips, wherever he could find purchase against you. You only move away when you can't catch your breath any longer. Copia helped you sit up on the altar, motioning for you to lie back on the table.

The altar was long enough to fit you comfortable, with room to spare. Copia's hands travelled across your stomach as he moved towards the back, facing the pews as he used to do every Friday morning. A kiss behind your ear before he slowly runs his lips across your jaw, and down your neck, leaving a small trail of black face paint, your back arching to meet him at the gentle touches.

His gentle touches were like a breath of fresh air, and you were both reveling in every minute of it. Once he reached the bottom of the table, he moved your legs apart, biting the inside of your thighs.

He circles every inch of your core with his tongue, wanting nothing more then to stay between your thighs forever, eventually moving to pay attention to your breasts. Kneading, sucking, and biting like a man starved and the only thing that could satiate him was your skin. He didn't stop until you were moving against him, almost writhing there.

Eventually you feel his hand move down to your soaked core, feeling it drip onto the cloth below you. Copia slowly inserted two fingers into you, and you could swear he was enjoying the feeling of feeling you more then you were enjoying the feeling of him curving his fingers into you, trying to find the spongy spot inside of you.

He was groping and squeezing you in the most debauched and feral way, his slow and calm demeanor slowly starting to wilt, feeding on your sighs and small noises. After many weeks of sex, he knew your body ques, ever the observant man- halting his movements, and removing his hand when you were nearing your tipping point.

The noises of frustration that left your lips made Copia harder then he can remember ever being. You can tell he wasn't fully thinking straight, as he climbs up on the altar table with you, kneeling between your legs. He opens and closes his mouth a few times, trying to find a way to pieces his words and thoughts together.

"You are absolutely divine... This..." Copia took a deep breath, lining up his cok against you, pressing against your entrance, "this is your body..." he leans down, sweeping you up in a kiss as he plunges inside of you, breaking it soon after- letting out a breath "that is you, that you gave to me."

He was patient, waiting as you got used to the stretch, Copia knew how to use what he was given so even after all this time, it felt like getting the wink knocked out of you as he buried deep inside you. Copia on the other hand, was worried that he was going to fall apart and cum right then and there, feeling you clench against him- trying to adjust.

Once you nodded, giving the all clear, he pulled out, reaching down and rubbing your clit, feeling as you grip onto his cock like a vice. He starts off slow, trying to gage how you feel... until you start pushing back against him.

"please... be rough with me. I need it, I need you, Copia." You slide your arms around him, pulling yourself to whisper in his ear, "I want you to fall apart the same way I fall apart for you... I know that's what you want, Frater Imperator." With a groan to test out the waters, Copia all but slammed himself into you, as you feel the primal and hot need climb up your spine.

"Forgive me..." You hear Copia mutter as he fully lays over you, holding himself up with his arms, effectively pinning you down. He moved into you over and over again, knocking the breath from your lungs each time. Even if he wanted to, Copia could not stop- the way your velvet walls hugged him made him feral, and the whimpers and moans from you were not helping.

He could see the ritual oils against your skin, the smell of lavender and tigers blood reminding him just how debauched this is. The sounds of slapping and moans filled the empty chapel, as the portraits and stained glass of the windows looked down on them.

You spit out incoherent sentences, and it was making Copia's mind foggy "close... so close, only for you Copia... please". He continued to try and thrust deeper into you, kissing you deep and furious, as if he was worshipping you. After one particularly hard thrust against your G-spot you snapped, writhing and bucking against the table, your nails leaving claw marks across Copia's back and shoulders. Watching you fall apart under him, Copia wasn't far behind, spilling into you soon after.

You both just laid there for a while, Copia pulling out, watching his spent spill onto the table below you, not leaving back to your rooms until the wee hours of the morning.

"Amen..." you mutter as you both lay there in total bliss.

[kenananamin]

All I ask, All I want

SHIBUYA SPOILERS... KINDA.

*This story will slightly alter the events during and after Shibuya.

Summary: Nanami makes his way to you after Shibuya in a delirious state and crashes into your apartment with severe injuries. He cannot process his current state and shows you what he was always worried you would see. You question everything you thought you knew about him and you're anxious to ask him for the truth but worried if he'll even survive. post-shibuya angst, worried nanami and reader, angst, pain... i'm sorry. happy ending ~2.7k words

I'm almost there, she's right past this alleyway.

Nanami slowly walks to your apartment and leans on a parked car for support. He can't hold his head up for longer than a few seconds at a time, but he's memorized your neighborhood after patrolling it so often for any curses that might hurt you as a non-sorcerer. I'm almost there, she's waiting for me...

———

You hear your door handle clanking and slowly get up from your bed without making any extra unnecessary noise. You grab your phone and open Nanami's contact just in case you need to call and lower your head to the door's peep hole. You smile as you see the very top of a familiar blonde head and open your door, "Oh gosh, I was about to panic call you until I — "

Nanami crashes into your entryway and you fall back to the floor when you see him. You're in shock and it takes you a moment to realize there was a bleeding man with severe burns in your entryway... and that man was Nanami Kento. Your brain catches up with the scene in front of you and you let out a blood-curling scream as you crawl towards your boyfriend. He's laying flat on the floor by now and the rug underneath him starts to soak up the blood from his shredded and burned skin.

"Nanami! Fuck, what do I do?! Kento!! Oh my god, oh my god," you reach for your phone but pause as you're about to call for an ambulance. Nanami had mentioned weeks ago that you should call his... friend if he ever had an emergency. You didn't understand at the time but Nanami said it was just a precaution he wanted to take early on. You look for the contact and find 'G.S. Emergency'. No answer. You look for the second emergency contact 'K.I. Emergency'. No answer.

You look at Ken who's shallow breathing has filled every corner of your apartment and soul. You place the call on speaker and start to ramble to the operator while hiding the cleaver knife-like object in his hand.

———

You thought something was off when Nanami would look behind the both of you and excuse himself for a second in the middle of your dates. Or when he'd tell you to stand still and close your eyes. Or when he told you to get inside first and you heard light grunting and his fast steps outside your door before he breathlessly entered the apartment.

You thought something was off, but you could have never imagined this. Nanami lay in a hospital bed, wrapped in special bandages, but you guys weren't in a hospital. It was a clean and sterile room, but you could open the large window and see a horizon of lined traditional temples.

You push any other thoughts away and return to your spot next to Nanami and clasp your hands together. You weren't sure who you were praying to this whole time, but you hoped that someone out there, anyone, was listening and taking pity on you.

———

Nanami wakes up and feels like he's floating. He can't feel the bandages he clearly sees on himself and especially — you. You were sitting on a chair near the foot of his bed with your arms crossed on the bed, sleeping peacefully. This must be heaven. There was no other reason why you'd be in this room with him, in Jujutsu Tech. No wonder he felt like he was floating, this was the afterlife that was being blessed upon him to spend another moment with you. Fleeting moment or a permanent heaven, Nanami wanted to touch you again, hear your voice, and look into his favorite pair of eyes.

"y/n," Nanami squeezes out your name from his dry throat. He doesn't have the strength to move his leg and try to shift your arms so he keeps repeating your name and nicknames to wake you up.

You had fallen asleep for the first time in a while but you hear your name very very softly. You open your eyes and see half of Nanami's face moving. You sit up and see him smile, "y/n. Hi baby."

You shove the chair back and stand up to touch what you can of his face while repeatedly pushing the button on the side of the bed, "Hi Ken, don't move too much, ok? You need to rest first."

He lazily smiles, looks at you with a half-closed eye and slowly says, "Thank you for seeing me off. I love you, y/n." Nanami gently closes his eyes right as Shoko comes in and you see him drift off.

"I love you, Kento," you whisper and kiss his knuckles as you feel the tears prickling your eyes again.

———

Nanami was finally awake. He woke up to see you sleeping on a small couch by the window where the sunset lightly reflected off your skin. He thought he was dead and he'd spend the rest of eternity with you in that room and right as he was finding peace and comfort with the idea, his student walked into the room with a tray of food and water.

"Na— Nanamin?" Yuji stared at his teacher and leaned out the door to scream for Shoko to hurry in.

Nanami starts to shush him and his previous thoughts of being in the afterlife shattered. There was relief to know he was alive, but his panic slowly started setting in when he wondered why you were in the room and just how much you knew.

Yuji and Shoko rush in and he can hear questions being asked and hands touching him to check on him, but he interrupts them without looking away from your sleeping figure, "Why is she here?" Nanami looks at them both, "What does she know?"

Yuji sits on the chair that Nanami had seen you in before and quietly starts to explain that he had left Shibuya after fighting Jogo. Nobody knew where Nanami was and some people believed they should look for his body only instead, predicting he'd be dead. Yuji shares that everything was shattered and hectic but they received a call to rush to a local hospital.

Shoko continues as Yuji grabs some new bandages, "Our van got to the hospital at the same time as the ambulance. y/n told them she was your wife to avoid any resistance in going with you and started fighting us when we wanted to take you. That was when I realized that she didn't know anything about us, about this world. She cried and begged to let the hospital take care of you, that only they would know what to do."

Nanami looks over to you and wishes your back was not turned to him so that he could see your face.

"We brought her with us too and let her stay in the room for everything so that she could see we would not hurt you," Shoko pauses in removing Nanami's bandage and whispers, "Nanami, you should tell her. Everything or just something — anything. She has not left the room since we brought you and she won't listen to any explanation from anyone. y/n said she'll wait for you and will only listen to your explanation."

Nanami rubs his eye and begins to wonder how to even start the conversation with you. This, this was exactly what he wanted to prevent. He tried to stay away from you so that you'd never find out about anything he did, he covered his tracks and continued his cover-story of being a salaryman. But even with all his efforts, he was drawn to you like a moth to a flame and was prepared to let himself drown in everything about you.

Nanami glances to his student who's sadly looking at your sleeping figure before turning to nod to Shoko.

"You know Shoko," Nanami takes a deep breath and turns back to you, "she was the only thing on my mind after Jogo. I walked passed some of the most gruesome scenes I have ever seen in my time as a sorcerer, but I could only think about how much longer I had, about how long I could extend my final breaths to see her one last time. I wanted her face to be the last thing I saw."

———

It's nighttime when you stir awake. The couch was too small to comfortably sleep but your exhausted body was willing to pass out anywhere. You shift to look towards the hospital bed to check on Nanami but you find an empty bed with the covers neatly organized. You start to kick your blanket off to hurry out and quietly whisper no, no, no, please, no when you feel a hand on your foot.

You flinch at the touch but squint your eyes to see Nanami sitting on a chair next to the couch and looking out the window. You look over his body to check that he's still wrapped in his bandages. Nanami sees your eyes travel over his body and moves his hand from your foot to pull the robe over his chest to cover what has begun to scar.

Your eyes well up with tears to see him sitting next to you — alive. You move to the edge of the couch closest to Nanami and hold his hand. "Everything," you move one hand to his chest, touching the part he just tried to cover and leaving your hand over his heart to feel the beating. "You tell me everything right now."

Nanami starts from the beginning. He explains what it was like being born to a non-sorcerer family and the fear he would feel as a child when he'd see things no one else could. He describes what it was like to find out there were more like him and being admitted to Jujutsu High. He talks about his classmates, the work that's required, how the curses look and what the process is to exorcise them, a young man named Haibara, a sister school in Kyoto, the levels to the curses and sorcerers, and the weapons sometimes used.

The last part reminds you of the cleaver-like object and you tell Nanami you hid what he was holding. "I wasn't sure what it was, but whatever it was, I felt like nobody else should see it to avoid more questions to the already suspicious scene. The paramedics already thought I was crazy once they got there and saw your body.."

Nanami nods and let's you ask any questions you have about the Jujutsu world. You both lose track of the time and Nanami notices the sky start to turn into different shades of blue with an orange strip on the horizon by the time you ask what you've been holding all night, "Are... will you.... do you have to go back?"

Nanami looks back at you but you're holding his hand with your head down, waiting, perhaps dreading, his answer. "With how things are now, I think I might. I'm not much help right now but with time I ca—"

Your sob interrupts him and you lean your head down further to cry. He tries to scoot closer to you but a sharp pain in his torso stops him. He rubs your hand with his thumb instead and gently shushes you not to cry.

You stand from the couch, right in front of Nanami and start to fall to your knees. He realizes what you are about to do and leans forward to grab your arm to stop you, but you swat his weak grip away and continue into a deep bow.

"y/n, please. Baby, please stand up, please don't."

You cry and let your forehead touch the floor, "Nanami Kento, I am begging you to stop. Please stop being a sorcerer and please leave this world with me. You have taken enough punches and bruises, you don't have to stay in the ring. Tap out and let someone else tap in." Your quiet tears turn into sobs towards the end of your pleading.

You hear Nanami's voice start to shake above you, "Darling, please —"

You interrupt him and sit up to scoot to hold his knees close to your chest, "Tap me in, let me help you, Ken please. Let me protect you, I swear that I will protect you now."

You feel guilty bowing as you are. You are asking this man to leave what he knows, but you don't know what else to do. You have never felt such fear after seeing so much of his body burnt and his breath so shallow. You would bow to anyone for a chance to save his life. You would bow to him and plead him to save himself with this second chance.

"Don't fight anymore. Stay only as a teacher if you want but put that blade away. Don't leave these walls and the protection they offer. This is as much as I will compromise. I do not want you out there regardless of the danger levels. But better yet — please, let me take care of you. Stop fighting and working, follow me out of these halls and I'll do anything for you, I swear it."

Nanami's tears start to fall and he looks down at you gripping at his thighs in desperation.

"Kids..." you continue to ramble, "We can have kids if you want, we can move somewhere far and finally have our kids. You can convert a whole room into your library, you'll have an infinite amount of books and time to yourself to do anything you'd like. I'll make you all your favorite meals and listen to everything you have to say, even open a bakery if you want to try! I'll wear that wedding dress you have a photo saved of on your phone, even do a traditional wedding if you want to. I'll do it all and more, Ken, just please —" You knew your face was drenched and contorting to match your desperate pleas. "I'm begging you, please.."

Nanami reaches out to touch your cheek and a sob escapes his lips. It's the only time you've both cried this way in front of each other.

Yuji is sitting in the hallway by the room door and listens to the desperate rambling. He had been sitting there since he passed by and heard Nanami talking about his adolescence. He knew it wasn't right, but he just wanted to listen to Nanami speak for a while after the overwhelming anxiety of thinking he was dead and possibly not hearing him again.

Yuji stands, steps inside the room and clears his throat, "Nanamin? I — I think she's right. You should go. I can find you if we need help, but we'll be ok," he pauses to walk halfway into the room, "I think you should step out... and maybe have those kids?" the young boy smiles a bit at the thought of young kids running around his usually stoic teacher and calling him dad.

"Nanamin, Jujutsu High will be ok. And you have someone else to worry about now." Yuuji looks down to Nanami's lap where your head is laying on his thighs, weeping and thinking of more ways to beg him. The young boy smiles, "I've got it from here."

Nanami believes his student... and nods. He looks down at the crying woman whose sobs have their whole body shaking. He fights against the sharp pains around his body and leans down as far as he can to hug you. It is not the strong embrace you are used to from Nanami, but a light envelop that warms and calms your deepest fears.

———

Walking out of Jujutsu Tech, Nanami stops and introduces a few of the people he mentioned in his life story to you. He does not introduce you as his girlfriend (which was technically your title at that moment) but as his wife. You widen your eyes the first time he says it but he just smiles down at you and says, "You started using it first, now it's my turn. But I promise to properly ask you soon."

Yuji, Shoko, and Ino follow you both to the bottom of the stairs to say goodbye. You give them your number so that they have another place to reach Nanami and Yuji gladly takes the number with the promise of checking in soon. Nanami lightly pulls you away to finally leave but pauses before taking another step.

You hold Nanami's hand as he looks back to the school one last time. The place that showed him real pain and heartbreak, but also gave him a place to feel like he was making a difference. The place that held so many memories as both a student and teacher. The place that nearly broke him, but gave him the space to heal to return back to you. You rub his hand with both of yours and say, "All I ask is that you are happy, alive, and safe."

Nanami looks back at you with relief covering his features and guilt covering yours while you keep your head down. He gently rubs his thumb on your hand, "All I want is to follow you." You look up and he moves his hand to your face, "I promise, all I want is you."

You nod and lean to kiss him once softly. You wrap your arm around Nanami's torso and he wraps his arm around your shoulders. You motion for him to lean on you as he walks and for the first time in a long long time, he takes the offer to lean on someone else.

Yuji watches from the entrance path of the school as you both turn to leave the premises. He cups his hands around his mouth and yells, "Nanamin, y/n! I'll visit when I can! Read a few mangas for meeee!"

a/n: I saw paramore this summer and their music has been on repeat the whole year. 'all i wanted' is def gonna be in my top wrapped songs and it def reminds me of nanami every. single. time.

[serpenlupus]

On D-16, and how his refusal to grieve led him to becoming Megatron.

I have a longer post on the works about Orion Pax and his relationship to D-16/Megatron on the recent Transformers One movie, but I wanna say this real quick about D-16 because I feel like there's a lot of people completely misinterpreting him and his actions. And a girl has thoughts.

No, he is not in the right, his actions in the movie climax were wrong even if his feelings were justified. Orion was doing the right thing by trying to stop D-16 from murdering Sentinel on the spot. Not just because without the damning evidence, it would have been a random murdering the hero leader of a whole society, and it would have thrown it into chaos, or because Sentinel is defenseless at that moment, but also because killing Sentinel is not going to make D-16 feel better. And Orion knew this.

The movie itself confirms it, after Sentinel is dead Megatron doesn't stop, and lashes out against the city itself and anyone that's inside it. The reason is that D-16 is clinging to his anger, desperately so, because if he stops feeling angry then he has to face the loss of the entire life he has lived, the regret of all the choices he didn't make because of his societal cage, and abandon all the hopes and plans he had made for the future. He has also lost the sense of security he had when he existed within a structured life, it's why he expreses anger at Orion for uncovering the truth about the Prime's deaths, even though that was an indisputable good thing. That vulnerability is terrifying. So instead of letting himself feel that sadness, that fear, and properly processing it all, D-16 holds onto his anger and lets it motivate him forward into the movie.

When he shoots Orion, albeit by accident, he again doesn't let himself properly process the shorrow of having killed his best friend, so to avoid the pain, he latches onto the anger again, blaming Orion instead of realising were that fury is leading him.

And when he kills Sentinel, and there's no relief, the past hasn't changed, the years he lost haven't come back, and Orion is dead, D-16 truly has nothing left. So it's Megatron who clings to his anger and lashes out against the entire city, against any remnants of Sentinel, even if that hurts innocent bots. Because it's easier, safer, to feel that anger, than letting the grief overcome him if he lets himself think about it.

(No Megs, you could kill eveyone in the planet and wouldn't feel any better, please stop ;_;)

Don't misunderstand me, anger is a necessary emotion, it's as natural as any other, anger will motivate you to fight for yourself, however there's a danger to letting it blind you. Megatron had all the right to feel the way he did (although maybe he took it too personal, Sentinel lied in front of everyone's faces Dee, come on), but, that's ultimately the tragedy of the character in many a continuity; that he let his righteous anger turn into hatred and vitriol. And this led him into a path he couldn't come back from.

Anyway that's my two cents! Feel free to add to this or just tell me I'm wrong XD The movie was amazing and I may be feeling a little pasionate about people intentionally misinterpreting it (that guy on Tiktok that said this was the most shallow interpretation of Megatron? Pissed me off, have you even seen any other Transformers media?).

Also on a last note, I feel like Megatron's thoughts when he started shooting at the city were very close to Dracula's "there are no more innocents" sentiment (from Netflix's Castlevania).

It's understandable that he felt that way because Sentinel couldn't have worked entirely alone plus Airachnid, but that still doesn't make it right that his shots put random civilians in deathly danger.

Have a nice day!

[ophidianoccultist]

Admittance

Sebastian Sallow x F!Reader

18+ MDNI

Tags: first time, cluelessness, p in v, some angst if you squint?, interruption, oral (f receiving), choking/leash?

Word Count: 8.3k

"Ah, there you are." Sebastian said.

His face bore the usual composed smile, and his short, brown, curly hair remained tousled atop his head. Freckles dotted his cheeks, while his deep brown eyes exuded arrogance and confidence. Y/N looked up from her Herbology book at her best friend, Sebastian. The two had been friends since their fifth year, and here they were now, going to gradute this year.

Sebastian looked tired and a tad sweaty, appearing as if he had run down every flight of stairs in the whole of Hogwarts. And apparently, he had been searching for her. And here she was in the library, studying for her Herbology exam. Why had he not thought to look here first?

"Are you alright? You look dreadful."

Y/N bookmarked her page and closed the textbook, looking up at her freckled friend.

"I've been trying to find you," he said, his voice tinged with exhaustion. He sat in the seat next to her, looking somewhat dejected and out of place.

"I have something very important to tell you."

His deep brown eyes gazed intently into Y/N's, his expression a strange mix of nervousness and confidence. Her brows furrowed slightly at the urgency in his voice. Oh Merlin, had he been out on some ludicrous errand again?

"Yes, I'm listening. What is it, Seb?"

She turned her body to face him, giving him her full attention. Sebastian took a deep breath and looked down for a moment, before meeting Y/N's eyes and finally saying the words he had rehearsed in his head over and over again.

"Y/N, I've been meaning to tell you this for a very, very long time. Since fifth year, in fact. But I could never find the courage..."

He seemed to be struggling to keep his emotions in check, and his voice was shaking slightly.

"...I'm in love with you."

Both of their faces flushed a deep shade of crimson as she stared at him with a dazed expression. No... He doesn't really like me, right? Did someone put him up to this?

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me."

He was quiet for a moment, the silence broken only by his shallow breathing. His gaze remained locked on Y/N's, his eyes filled with a mixture of hope and fear, like a soldier preparing for battle. After a few moments of painful tension, he spoke again:

"I know we've been friends for a while," he said, "but I was too shy to express my feelings before. Maybe I still am."

He paused again, looking for some response from Y/N. She blinked a few times before she actually processed his words, and then she flushed a deep cherry red. This wasn't a joke, she knew he would never play around with her feelings like that. Sebastian was silly, sure, but he's not mean.

"O-Oh, well... I, um..."

Her hands started fiddling with the collar of her shirt as she always did when she was nervous.

"Look, if you don't feel the same way, that's..."

His voice trailed off, his expression now a mixture of embarrassment and hope.

"It's fine, I would understand..."

After a long pause, he finished his thought.

"But I was too scared to say anything before. And I know I should've probably just kept those feelings to myself, but I couldn't help it."

He looked down again and took a deep breath, waiting for Y/N's answer. It was now or never, she had to tell him. The anger in her was quickly rising though; why did he have to admit this now of all times? She had felt this way about him for ages, and thought he didn't see her the same way.

"Sebastian, why didn't you tell me earlier on? Right when I start to move on, you come out with this and make me confused all over again."

Y/N's voice raised a little, but her tone was more exasperated than accusatory. Sebastian looked surprised at her forcefulness, her words a total shock to him.

"Wait, you've...you've liked me?" he asked.

He could feel his heart leaping in his chest.

"I thought you were already over me..."

His voice was filled with both hope and confusion.

"Are you not?"

"Not completely, I still have feelings for you, but..."

All Y/N would like to do at this very moment is just have a Graphorn bite her head off. It was hard telling him this, but he needed to know...

"I've already begun pursuing someone else? We aren't together, just flirting, but that's the situation."

A wave of sadness washed over Sebastian's face as he listened to her words.

"Oh... I understand."

His voice was quiet and somber, his gaze cast down towards his feet.

"I-I hope you'll be happy, Y/N."

He was clearly devastated, but his tone remained calm and collected. He paused for a moment, biting the inside of his cheek before looking back up at her.

"But what if it doesn't work out...?"

A sigh escaped Y/N's lips, not enjoying being put on the spot like this.

"Sebastian, I don't know who to pursue now. I really like you, but I'm beginning to really like him too. I just..."

Y/N trailed off, burying her face in her hands, wanting to simply disappear and not have this conversation at all. Yet Sebastian reached out and gently took her hands in his own all the same, rubbing her palms with his thumbs in an effort to comfort her.

"Look at me," he said.

He tilted Y/N's head up so that he could look at her eyes.

"Please listen. We've known each other since fifth year; we like the same things, we're best friends... I know you think you like...him, but if you could be with the one you already know and trust, wouldn't you choose that over some new fling?"

He paused for a few seconds, contemplating his next words carefully. He felt emasculated and slightly manipulative saying these things, but as he looked into her eyes, all of those feelings were put on the back burner.

"Please... choose me."

"Can we speak somewhere a little more private? I always feel listened to in here, and not in the good way..."

Her eyes met the bright green eyes of Garreth Weasley, who was the boy she had been pursuing. He shot her a silly smile laced with worry, and it was all she could do to not giggle at him. Y/N turned back to Sebastian and asked:

"We could go to the Undercroft? Or the Room of Requirement? So we can discuss this?"

"Yes, of course."

He squeezed her hand and gave it a little kiss before letting go. Sebastian rose from his seat and held out his hand, gesturing for Y/N to take it.

"Shall we go?"

Hesitantly, she grabbed a hold of his wrist and allowed him to lead her to wherever he was taking her.

"Of course, lead the way."

Even though she was wary of the conversation, Y/N felt a little warmth spread through her body upon touching him. All of the blood rushed to her face as he held her hand and she took a real look at him. Sure, he was cute in his fifth year, but over the past couple of years, he had grown taller so he nearly towered over her. He had filled out a lot better as well, and she could confidently say that he looked handsome. Sebastian slowly led Y/N out of the library, turning to face her as they headed down the corridor. He smiled warmly at her, his amber eyes shining with a glimmer of hope. Sebastian looked back behing him where Y/N was trailing along and took note of her increased height and curves, the flush of her cheeks, and the way her hair moved in the light breeze.

Y/N was far more attractive than she had been at the start of fifth year, and Sebastian's feelings for her were only growing as they headed towards their destination. After a bit of walking and a couple of flights of stairs, they soon found themselves at the Undercroft, which was the place the both of them and Ominis went when they needed to be alone. Although now that she was cured, Anne joined them down there too at times. The gate closed behind them, and Y/N sat down on the slightly dusty sofa in the cold stone room.

"So..."

Sebastian sat down beside her, looking her in the eyes.

"Yeah. So..."

Y/N could see the faint sparkle of tears in his eyes. Sebastian was clearly on the edge, and he felt like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.

"Look, I know you like the other guy. But the truth is, I don't know if I can handle watching you spend that kind of time with him."

He paused for a moment to take a breath and get his thoughts properly aligned, then continued.

"All that time spent together... I don't just want you as my friend."

An uncomfortable and heavy silence weighed over the pair like a cold, wet blanket. It was only Y/N's words that cut through it.

"I feel the same way about you, Sebastian."

Bravely, she scooted a bit closer to him, their knees brushing together, and she noticed Sebastian tense up at the miniscule touch. Just how much did he really feel for her? Sebastian drew in a sharp breath as he felt her body brush against his own. He was speechless for a moment, trying desperately to process his own emotions and feelings.

"You... you like me?"

Sebastian's head was whirring with questions and he felt confused.

"But what about Garreth... I mean, I saw you together... "

"Let me deal with Garreth, okay? I'll wean him off the flirting, we haven't even admitted any feelings to each other, we were only flirtatious. He's sweet and a good friend, and I don't want to lose him."

Y/N took a deep breath as she saw Sebastian's eyes darken at her calling Garreth 'sweet'.

"Look, I want to make this work between us. I really do like you, Seb, and I have for ages..."

Her head settled on his left shoulder and she grabbed his hand in both of hers, the tangle of them resting on her right thigh. Sebastian was taken aback when Y/N placed her head on his shoulder and wrapped her hands around his. Her actions gave him the sudden urge to pull her close and kiss her right then and there. He felt overwhelmed by a wave of emotions and sensations, trying his best to keep his composure. He looked over, their faces only inches apart.

"Then what's stopping us...?"

Y/N could feel the rapid beating of his heart, his deep breaths brushing against the skin of her neck each time he leabed in to whisper into her ear. He cleared his throat and continued:

"What are we waiting for?"

"I..."

A proper sentence or even syllable couldn't even escape her lips. After all, Sebastian was right. What was stopping them from giving in to each other? Yet Y/N was still hesitant. She'd only ever kissed one person, but that was Leander Prewett in their second year; it was awkward and only lasted a moment or two.

Her head rose from his shoulder to stare back into his beautiful brown eyes. It would only take a slight push to close the gap between them, with how close they were to each other. Y/N parted her lips slightly, waiting for him to move in and close the gap for her. Sebastian held her gaze for what seemed like an eternity. His heart was racing so fast, he thought it would jump out of his chest altogether. He knew he shouldn't hesitate, but for some reason he felt scared, like a diricawl in a poacher's crosshairs. He took a deep breath, gathered all of his courage, and finally did it.

He moved his face towards Y/N's in one smooth motion and kissed her. It wasn't a peck on the cheeks or on the lips, but a full on kiss, filled with passion and emotion. That kiss was all Y/N needed to break down her inhibitions. Sebastian's lips were soft and slightly chapped, but the way they moved so well against her own, you'd think he had done this a thousand times before. One of her hands pried away from his to rest on his cheek, smooth and smattered with freckles. Her thumb stroked his face softly, but her whole body froze as his tongue grazed her lower lip. Sebastian's heart almost leapt out of his chest as his tongue was allowed to enter the equation. The soft caress of Y/N's thumb on his face and the heat building between their bodies felt amazing, and he desperately wanted more. He wanted to be touched, to be loved physically, to seal their feelings for each other with such an intimate act.

He slipped his arm behind Y/N's back and slowly pulled her closer, his tongue slowly caressing her lower lip once more before finally entering and tasting her mouth. His hands caressed the small of her back and he could feel his body heat up as they kissed.

"Oh..." he moaned quietly before continuing to kiss her passionately. Sebastian's mouth tasted like tea and mint, and it was intoxicating to her. His tongue explored her mouth, somewhat clumsily from inexperience. But as his hand found her hip, Y/N felt lightning jolt throughout her body, as if she had just had a hearty gulp of Pepper-Up Potion.

The chilly tension in the air was soon replaced with a hot and more pleasant tension. Sebastian's arms around her made her absolutely melt, and she hadn't felt a rush quite like this before. Sebastian's body was simply radiating with lust and desire. His hands roamed her body, squeezing her rear and sliding down her back to caress her hips. Every kiss was more passionate than the last, and he began to moan more and more between their kisses. He felt light-headed and dizzy, and the way his lover's soft lips caressing his body in the dim, dusty room was so much better than how he had imagined it nearly every night for two years.

"I love you, Y/N."

A low groan escaped her throat at the feeling of him getting more handsy with her. She could feel in her soul that he really wanted her, he needed her. On impulse, she laid her legs over his lap; but soon after, she felt him hungrily grab her by the hips and lift her to straddle him instead. For a brief moment, though, sense overrode the near drunkenness she felt from his touch. Y/N broke away from the kiss for a moment, slightly panting.

"Sebastian...what if Ominis or Anne come in here? What if they interrupt us?"

Sebastian stopped his movements and froze when she asked the question. He hadn't thought of that...

...they hadn't even locked the door.

Before he could say anything, however, a faint knock came from the other side of the door. Y/N cursed herself for speaking this situation into existence.

"Y/N... Sebastian... is everything alright in there?"

It was Anne. Her voice was quiet and uncertain, but it was clear that she was worried things were going south. Sebastian told her that he was going to confess, and she just wanted to make sure everything went well. Y/N's eyes clenched shut and she let out a small groan to herself, although she was screaming bloody murder in her head. She exchanged a desperate glance with Sebastian before she rose from her place on his lap and made her way to the door. Sebastian's face, however, seemed to go white as he adjusted his trousers. The door opened to Anne Sallow, who was a bit taller and looked healthier now that she was rid of her curse. She shot her friend a faint smile which Y/N returned.

"Hey Anne, everything's fine. Seb and I are just having a discussion."

The flushed faces and general disarray, however, seemed to suggest that it was more than a 'discussion'. Anne's eyes widened when she saw the flushed faces and disheveled clothing as she peeked around the room. She could clearly tell what had been happening in the Undercroft, and she felt very awkward about it.

"Riiight... a discussion. How nice," she said awkwardly.

She glanced over at Sebastian, noticing the look he was giving her, something between a plea and a death glare. She cleared her throat and spoke again, very disturbed at this point.

"So, um... shall I give you two some privacy? Do you want a few minutes to resume your...discussion?"

"If you don't mind. I'm sorry, Anne, but we have a lot to discuss, so we might need a while. Please don't tell Ominis?"

Her voice cracked and she got fidgety from the embarrassment, and second-hand embarrassment from Anne. Y/N could only imagine how awkward it was for her to see her brother in such a state with her best friend. They both stood there for a moment, still as statues, as Sebastian crossed his legs in an attempt to cover himself. Anne nodded her head quickly, her face still a bit red.

"Right! I'll... I'll be in the library then."

She turned around and hurried out of the Undercroft, closing the door behind her. Sebastian could feel his face flush even more than it already was. He sat in silence, his thoughts filled with embarrassment and shame. He looked over at his lover, his eyes pleading with her to speak, to say something that would break the awkward mood. The shade of red that spread across her face was so intense, she thought that maybe her hair would also turn bright Weasley red. Y/N took a deep breath and then promptly spoke:

"It's okay. It's fine, let's just..."

After locking the door with a wave of her wand, she sat back down on the squashy sofa next to Sebastian once more, looking him in the eyes. Her hand rested on his cheek and she turned his head to look at her.

"Focus on me, okay? Let's not think about her right now..."

Her other hand grazed his thigh, making him tense up. Sebastian felt his body heat up as she touched him. It seemed as if he forgot his sister even existed, judging by the way his breath hitched and his muscles tensed. He was so sensitive, and all he needed now was release.

"Oh..." he moaned quietly, his eyes wandering downwards to her hips as she sat back on his lap. He looked back up at Y/N's face, absorbing every single feature on it, as if this were the last time he would ever see her again.

"It's so hard to think clearly when I look at you..."

Her voice was sweet and calming, and her eyes were piercing and beautiful. Her words managed to break the tension ever so slightly.

"Please, I... I need you..." he pleaded as a blush spread across his cheeks again. Her eyes gazed into his with a suble intensity coming from the both of them. Y/N could almost feel the heat radiating from his body, and her own body was soaking it in.

"Yes?"

Her voice was almost a whisper, as the sight before her was breathtaking. Sebastian took a deep breath, taking in Y/N's enchanting beauty before he spoke. The thoughts going through his head at that very moment could have made a whore blush.

"I need you, you know...in the sense that..."

He looked down at his lap where Allana was sitting, thinking for a moment. He was confused by his own words...he was never one to beg or submit to others, right? But then again, he couldn't deny how much of an influence her presence had on him and how his mind and thoughts were always clouded by thoughts of her.

"I love you. I always thought it was just lust, but there's so much more..."

This time, Y/N didn't even need to think about her words before she spoke:

"I love you too, Sebastian. And if you feel the same, then show me. Make me feel what you feel for me."

Her hand found his, and placed it on her thigh, her gaze never breaking from his. At this point, Y/N was completely drunk on love and desire for Sebastian. Garreth Weasley was put completely out of her mind now; all she needed or wanted now was Sebastian Sallow.

Her lips collided with his once more, needing to taste him again. The second their lips melted into each other, his hands were on her again, travelling over her body. Y/N placed one hand on the back of his neck, and the other grabbed his tie to pull him closer to her. Sebastian's heart seemed to skip a beat as she placed his hands on her thighs. He felt like he could drown in her gorgeous eyes and he knew that he had to make her feel what she made him feel.

As her soft lips touched his, his mind was filled with a rush of pleasure and his body trembled with joy. His hands ran through her hair, caressing her body with every movement. Y/N's lips tasted sweet and he wanted more...the feeling of her on his body was addicting and he couldn't hold back any longer. Their lips danced together, as if it just came so naturally to the both of them. Once more, Sebastian grabbed hold of her hips and rear, shifting them a bit so he could gain some pleasure from the friction. Underneath her, Y/N could feel the bulge in his pants, and it get her even more excited.

"Sebastian..."

Her voice was almost a squeak, like a bunny rabbit, as his name escaped her lips. Her body was so warm now, and the layers she was wearing made her sweat a bit. Sebastian was less dressed than she was, already without his robe and blazer from running around earlier, but she tugged at his shirt all the same. Sebastian felt a rush of pure pleasure as he witnessed and felt just how eager she was. His tongue continued to dance with her lips, exploring her mouth like it was a new continent. His heart was beating so fast that he could hardly stand it for a moment, but when Y/N began to tug at his shirt and move his hand down to her rear, his breathing quickened and his mind went blank.

He looked at her, his eyes reassuring her that she was doing the right thing. It was so surreal seeing the girl he had fantasized about sitting on his lap, so close and intimate. Y/N ceased her movements and pulled away from their passionate kiss to look at him seriously, but her eyes and her voice were still dripping with a sultry desire.

"Sebastian...are you sure about this? Are you ready? It's okay if you aren't..."

That last statement was laced with a subtle disappointment, however, which betrayed her real thoughts. Sebastian sighed, taking deep and careful breaths as he looked back at his lover.

"Y/N..." he said, his voice quivering a bit. "I'm... I'm sure."

He looked away for a moment, thinking about his next words carefully.

"... I'm more than ready."

He could feel his face flush with embarrassment as he said this. The confirmation from Sebastian was all Y/N needed to go all in. In mere seconds, her lips were on his once more, and her hips were now harshly grinding against his. He groaned into the kiss from the friction against the ever growing tent in his trousers. Sebastian was practically melting beneath her, and she was loving every second of it.

Y/N lazily shrugged her robes off of her shoulders, leaving them in a pile on the floor. Soon after that, her hands fumbled to undo Sebastian's tie and began unbuttoning his shirt. Something so simple as Y/N's robes falling to the floor almost sent him over the edge. Her hips grinding against him, her lips pressed against his. The scent of her, her skin, the feeling of her warm thighs against his trousers. It was more than he could bear.

As Y/N's hands fumbled with his tie, he began helping her. He unbuttoned his shirt quickly and pulled it off in the same motion. When the shirt fell to the floor beside her robes, Y/N could see Sebastian's muscular frame in the light of the candles, his hair still mussed up from their intense making out session. The sight before her made her almost drool, but Y/N didn't allow herself to stop now. Quickly, she pulled back to remove her tie and vest and skirt; but as she worked to unbutton her blouse, Sebastian's hand grabbed her wrist and deigned to work on the buttons himself.

Both of their faces grew hotter and redder, as if it was just now dawning on them what they were doing. Sebastian began to work on the buttons of Y/N's blouse slowly. Although it was taking some time without him using magic, fumbling a bit from nerves, it was still an intimate activity to do together. As the blouse slid off of Y/N's shoulders, Sebastian's eyes trailed down her body, the sound of his breaths quickly filling the room as his own excitement rose.

"Darling..."

Sebastian whispered, almost in awe of the beauty in front of him. He felt her skin, it was so smooth and soft, so warm. His body was almost shaking in anticipation of what was to come next. While his lover was smaller in frame, Sebastian was more toned. Not exactly muscular, but still a bit broad, and his chest was covered in the same freckles that decorated his face, and especially concentrated around his shoulders. As her eyes trailed down though, she noticed the outline of his pelvis and the ever so small line of hair that led down to his crotch. It was all Y/N could do not to rip his trousers off of him, but she thought it was better to savor the moment.

Slowly, she reached behind her back to unlace her corset and let it fall to the floor with her robes, leaving her only in her thin cotton chemise. And then her fingers traveled to his trousers, removing his belt and undoing the buttons on them. Y/N's touch set each of Sebastian's senses ablaze. He could feel the smooth fabric of her chemise, the lace on her corset before it fell to the floor. When he felt her fingers undo the buttons on his trousers, his heart seemed to skip a beat. He let out a soft moan as he felt her gently caress him, and when the trousers fell to the floor beside his shirt, it became clear just how excited and eager he was.

He looked at Y/N once more, hoping that she would take the next step... The only thing between them now was her thin chemise and his undershorts. Their breathing was stilted and uneven, since they were both holding back their primal desire to just claw at each other. Wait a minute... Why am I holding back?

Sebastian and Y/N both exchanged an intense look, wordlessly agreeing to not hold anything back. He seemed to understand, as his lips crashed into hers yet again, but then they moved down her jaw to her neck, leaving small bites along the way. His hands grabbed at her body, trailing up under her chemise to grab at the soft bare flesh of her ass.

Y/N's hands, however, palmed at the bulge in Sebastian's shorts, earning a low groan from him at his own sensitivity. Sebastian's heart practically skipped a beat as he swallowed Y/N's moans through their locked lips. Her voice was like honey in his ears as he kissed her fiercely. The feeling of her hands and lips on his body drove him wild, especially so when her hands reached for him under his shorts.

His own hands went back to her body, exploring her curves underneath her chemise. This was something that they had both wanted for so long and he couldn't believe that he was finally giving it to her and herself.

"Y/N..." Sebastian moaned, biting the side of her neck.

"Sebastian... Do you want to take charge?"

She punctuated her question with a small bite to his earlobe, and Sebastian took no time in flipping them over to where he was on top of her. His hands unbuttoned the top of her chemise with a clumsy fervor, and he quickly pulled it off of her body.

Y/N was now left completely bare underneath him, save for her stockings. Sebastian pulled back from her neck to absorb the sight before him with his eyes. It was everything he had fantasized about and more. Y/N stared back at him before muttering out nervously:

"Is everything okay? You're staring, do you not like it...?"

Sebastian looked at the object of all his desires, her breathtaking body and her precious face. He couldn't believe that she was his, that she was finally in his arms. He smiled, looking down at her, admiring her beauty.

"Y/N...." Sebastian murmured. "What would possibly make you think that I don't like it? You are everything I have ever wanted. I'm just...amazed by you, that's all."

He looked at her body, his eyes traveling along her curves, taking in every inch of her. He leaned down and gave her another kiss, his hands still exploring the shape of her body. This kiss was warmer and a bit less hungry than the others, and his hands were less rough. He was comforting with his touches, making sure she felt completely comfortable and loved. He was tender and needy at once, and Y/N loved him for it. It reassured her that this isn't the only thing he wants from her.

His hands settled on her chest, kneading and massaging at the mounds of flesh. It was here Y/N could tell how inexperienced Sebastian was, but at least he was trying. He was experimenting with different things to see what she enjoyed. When his thumbs grazed her sensitive buds though, he knew he had figured out something she liked, and that filled him with a bit of pride and confidence. Sebastian was so focused on Y/N's reactions, her sounds of pleasure and her body that it almost took him out of the moment. Seeing her react to his touch filled him with pride and joy.

"Is that good, darling?" he asked gently, slowing his movements. "Should I continue? Do you want me to?"

Sebastian was almost breathing heavy, his heart beating so fast that it felt as though it was about to burst. All he wanted was to hear his lover's soft voice telling him to continue.

"Please..."

Was all Y/N could croak out as she wrapped her legs around his waist. She made every effort to try and steady her breathing as Sebastian tried pleasuring her. During his excursions to the adult section in the Hogsmeade library, Sebastian had read a few of the more saucy romance novels, and attempted to do the things he read about. Because otherwise, he was completely clueless. He knew well enough how to pleasure himself, but to pleasure a woman: that was something foreign. From what he read, he decided to be bold and lean down to run his tongue over her chest, flicking his tongue at the sensitive bud. This got a gasp from Y/N as her eyes fluttered shut, and he took that as a sign to keep going.

"Never stop, Sebastian."

She mewled out at him. With every movement of his tongue, she could feel the growing heat and wetness in her core. Sebastian took extra care to make sure both breasts got an equal amount of love. After a while, he pulled away to look down at her chest. Her buds were now stiff and red from his affection. He took this as a sign to continue with something else. His hand now trailed down her stomach and nestled down at the short bit of hair between her thighs. Sebastian could almost feel the heat radiating from her core, and according to what he read, this was a good thing. Y/N's breathing was ragged and fast as Sebastian explored her nakedness with his hands. She was almost panting as he traced his fingers over her skin, moving slowly down toward her slick slit.

In that moment, Sebastian began to realize how perfect and beautiful Y/N's body was. He could feel her soft and plump legs against his waist as he kissed and licked her thighs. He made sure to touch her in many different areas to see her reactions and find her sweet spots. From what he was doing, Y/N found out that she was particularly sensitive to him biting her inner thighs, which made her let out soft moans. Sebastian had slid down to where his head hovered between her thighs.

His eyes were dripping with lust, but behind that, he was just as clueless as she was about any of this. Sebastian remembered a certain part of his saucy novels that he found quite strange, but he wanted to try. Y/N felt his lips graze against her core, planting a chaste kiss on her sensitive bundle of nerves.

"Sebastian, what are you doing? Isn't it supposed to be you...in me?"

Y/N asked awkwardly. Sebastian chuckled and pulled back to look at her; her innocence and her confusion was so adorable to him. He gently pushed her knees apart as he nestled his head once more between her thighs. His eyes trailed over every inch of her skin as his fingers trailed over her wetness.

Without looking at her, Sebastian replied simply, "I want to taste you, darling. I want you to enjoy this...as much as I am."

Y/N knew somewhat about how sex was supposed to go, but she had never heard about using your mouth on someone. But all the same, it made her shudder and purr when he experimentally licked a long stripe between her folds.

"Merlin's beard, that feels nice... Where did you learn all this?"

Sebastian gave a warm smile, a smile that said 'just trust me'. He was careful to not be too rough, to not go too fast. Y/N was delicate and innocent, he couldn't be too aggressive. Instead, Sebastian focused on pleasing her, on her pleasure, on her reactions.

Sebastian kept it up, licking and exploring. Y/N's words did nothing but add to his lust and desire. This was her body, he could do what he wanted with it, and that made him feel amazing. And it looked as though his lover's pleasure was increasing as well. As Sebastian licked and sucked and even bit sometimes at her sensitive region, the more she felt that familiar knot tighten in her abdomen. Y/N had pleasured herself sometimes during late nights in the Room of Requirement where she had complete privacy, but it was nothing like what Sebastian was doing to her. Her breathing quickened and her hips instinctively ground against his tongue, needing more of his touch. He took the hint and she felt his finger find her entrance, pushing in.

"S-Sebastian, I..."

Sebastian was almost shaking with excitement. This was real...this was the moment that he had been waiting for. And it was so perfect... Y/N's body, her moans, her lustful breath and her expressions... He was loving every moment of this. He pulled back for a moment, looking at her.

"Y/N, would you like me to continue?" Sebastian asked, his voice almost a whisper.

He felt a rush of adrenaline as he looked at Y/N, as if his body was preparing to release everything that it has in it. Her words were stuck in her throat, so she only looked up at him and nodded fervently. On instinct, Y/N brought her knees up to her chest to give Sebastian easier access as he unlaced his shorts. Soon, his length sprung free and stood proud before her, making her eyes widen.

"Merlin, I don't think that's going to go in.."

Sebastian chuckled, and his expression become a warm and tender as he leaned down and gave his love another kiss. The feeling of her soft lips, combined with her sweet and innocent demeanor, was melting his heart.

"Shhh... trust me, Y/N." He whispered.

Sebastian's hand came to rest upon her cheek, and he leaned down onto her once more as he slowly entered her. Even though he took it really slow, Y/N's face still twisted up in pain. She had never put anything in there before, so Sebastian's thickness was especially painful for her. Once he was fully sheathed, he kept still, letting her adjust.

"T-That hurts..."

A tear formed in her eye and her body scrunched up a little. Sebastian could see the tears in her eyes and that made him feel terrible.

"Darling, I'm sorry." He whispered.

He kept still to give her time to adjust, but he was anxious to continue. He just wanted to please her. He gave her a loving kiss on her cheek, letting her know that he still cared.

"Just keep breathing." Sebastian murmured. "Just relax."

Y/N nodded and closed her eyes, taking deep breaths. Slowly, she felt her insides relaxing and opening up more, and the pain grew lesser.

"You can move..."

Her voice was nearly a whisper as she opened her eyes to look at him once more. Sebastian started to move back and forth, slowly and gently. He was careful not to hurt Y/N, making sure to go at her pace and never force her.

"How does that feel, darling?" he whispered.

With every time he pushed in, she felt tingles ripple through her body. It was nice, even though the size of him still hurt a little.

"That feels lovely, Sebastian... Have you done this before?"

That last question sounded anxious, desperate for him to say no. Sebastian hesitated for a second before he spoke.

"No, actually, I've never done this before." He said softly. "Honestly, my heart is racing right now. In a good way, my love."

He slowed his movements to a stop, not able to speak for a moment. He was so focused on Y/N and the way her body felt, and all his anxiousness was washed away by his desire to make her feel good. Noticing that he stopped, Y/N moved her hips against his and opened her legs up more to reassure him that he was doing well, and that she wanted this.

"I've never done this either, but I've thought about us doing it a lot."

She paused, and looked deep in thought for a moment.

"Could you do something for me? It's just something I've pictured..."

Sebastian's heartbeat quickened at her words. "Yes, of course, my love. What do you want me to do?"

Sebastian was curious as to what Y/N wanted. Her thoughts, her feelings -- these were things he had wondered about. And to finally, be able to do exactly what she asked of him... his heart raced in excitement.

"Uhm...could you..."

Y/N looked incredibly nervous and a little ashamed as the words wouldn't exit her throat. Instead, she picked his tie up off of the floor and tied it tightly around her neck, handing him the long end nervously. Sebastian was taken aback. He understood where this was going, but he was still somewhat speechless.

"Are you sure...?" he asked softly, his voice gentle and calm as he took the end of the tie from her hands. "I... I could never do anything you don't want me to do, Y/N."

His breath was ragged as he looked down at her, noticing that her eyes were closed, almost as if in anticipation for his answer.

"I'm sure, just...pull it. Whenever you like."

She bit her lip and looked off to the side, feeling a bit dirty for requesting such a thing, especially for their first time. But on the other hand, she was incredibly eager for him to act out her fantasies with her. Sebastian looked back at his lover, a nervous smile on his face...and then, slowly, he began to pull as his hips snapped against hers once more. He took in her expression and her body's reaction. She seemed to get more excited the tighter he pulled it. His heart pumped faster in his chest, his breathing faster, and he closed his eyes to experience the moment.

He could feel that Y/N was very close to her release and he continued to pull, his mind in a daze. It was as if he was in his own little world, completely oblivious to anything and anyone else but her. As Sebastian started moving in and out of her once again, her gaze met his once more. Her eyelids were heavy and her breath was hot, just as she always had been while in her bed when she pleasured herself as she thought about him. Soon, he sped up with his movements, his length massaging her walls. The hand that wasn't holding the tie rested on her breast, kneading it and thumbing at her sensitive bud. Y/N's moans grew steadily louder and her legs wrapped around his waist once again, pulling him closer to her.

"Sebastian, I... I love you..."

A harsher wave of pleasure washed over Sebastian. He was overwhelmed with emotion, with love, with affection, as his body moved in tune to Y/N's. Her words washed over him like a warm embrace, wrapping him in a blanket of passion as she pulled him closer. Their lips met in a soft and tender kiss as Sebastian moved even faster, his breath hot and his mind lost in the thrill and enjoyment of the moment. He had never felt this way before... His heart was beating out of his chest and his body was shaking with emotion. He felt like he could cry and laugh at the same time. After their admission of love to each other, Sebastian's pace rapidly increased and he got rougher with her, the both of them overcome with need. The sound of skin slapping on skin reverberated throughout the Undercroft, and only added to their arousal.

Sebastian leaned down to Y/N's neck and left a harsh bite, chewing and sucking at her soft skin to leave a bruise. The hand that was on her breast traveled down to her abdomen, feeling her stomach bulge up slightly every time he pushed in. Sebastian's kisses got more passionate as he got rougher with Y/N. His hands went exploring as he looked for somewhere to leave his mark on her. He sucked aggressively at her neck, biting into her flesh and marking her with his lips so that everyone could know who she belongs to.

His free hand trailed lower and lower until he managed to find the spot that he was looking for. The feeling of his teeth grinding into her skin and his cock quickly pushing in and out of her sent Y/N into absolute overdrive. It didn't take long at all for her to melt into a panting, moaning mess underneath Sebastian. Her hands grabbed at his shoulders and back, leaving long claw marks that would definitely last a few days. That oh-so familiar knot started tightening in her stomach, and she knew she was close to her release.

"Mm, Sebastian, I... I-I'm gonna..."

Sebastian's heart was pounding out of his chest at this point. His breathing was ragged and his eyes were almost glazed over. He could picture those claw marks that would be left on his body and his mind was filled with a fiery excitement.

"Yes, my love, let it out." He whispered, his voice low with lust. "Give into it, darling."

The pure obsession and desire that laced Sebastian's voice was all she needed to reach her breaking point. Y/N's body seized up, her back arched, and she let out a long, loud squeal as her walls clamped around his length. Sebastian felt Y/N's insides gripping him tightly and his body started shaking violently. He felt every last bit of his release and it was more than he could've ever imagined it being.

"Y/N..." He groaned, his eyes rolling back from pleasure. He was out of breath, his heart pumping like crazy.

"That...oh my gods..." he muttered. He could feel her claws digging into his flesh even harder.

"That was so good." He sighed.

Y/N purred at the feeling of his fluids painting her insides, and as soon as he stopped, she relaxed and looked up at him with so much love and need that it made his heart melt. Sebastian soon laid on top of her out of exhaustion, his head resting on her chest. Sebastian kept his body tight against Y/N's, feeling safe and content. His chest rose and fell quickly - he could feel his heart still pounding in his ears.

Slowly, he turned his head to look at her face. He wanted to remember every detail about this moment: every feature on her face, every single expression that she made. He smiled softly as his eyes drifted lower and he traced one of the scratches she had left on his arm with his fingers.

"That...was amazing." He whispered.

"You are amazing, Sebastian."

Y/N smiled warmly at him and played with his messy hair, some of which now stuck to his face from how sweaty they were. And when he smiled back at her...she nearly fell in love with him all over again. The way his freckles looked, the way his eyes smiled as well...it was absolutely precious.

"And you are absolutely beautiful, Y/N."

Sebastian's breath was coming in warm puffs as he looked into her eyes. He felt a surge of emotion and was tempted to give her another kiss.

"I'm so in love with you, Y/N." He whispered, softly tracing her cheek with his fingertips.

"And to think... I almost didn't meet you tonight." She was so special to him; without her, he might not have known what love truly is.

"I'm glad that we're together..."

"I want us to be together. Officially. I want everyone to know."

Sebastian said, a grin spreading across his face and a fire roaring in his eyes. His head rested on her chest once more as they both just basked the afterglow. That was, until they came back to the reality that the Undercroft got particularly cold in the wintertime. The pair sat up and stretched a bit before Y/N spoke:

"Maybe we should get dressed and go let Anne know we aren't dead."

"Oh, I forgot we were in here." Sebastian replied, nodding as he noticed that it was cold.

"Alright then." He stood up and reached down to help her up. "Let me give you a kiss first, before we go back to looking respectable, darling."

He bent down, meeting her lips with his own as his hands gripped her hips. Once he had finished, all that was left was a red mark on Y/N's neck -- it would have certainly given away their activities. Y/N giggled, knowing that she had equally marked him by clawing his back. The two quickly pulled their clothes back on and made themselves presentable once again.

"Oh Merlin, I've never felt like this before."

She couldn't resist pulling Sebastian into a tight hug before the two exited the Undercroft. Sebastian sighed, still reeling from the experience, trying to make sense of the feelings he had.

"Nor have I." Sebastian replied, looking down at Y/N with loving eyes. "I wish I knew how I could make you feel this way all the time."

When the two reentered the Dark Arts tower, their faces were flushed and their hair was still disheveled. They knew it was late, due to the now golden light pouring through the large windows, but neither of them really cared at that moment. They had each other's love, and that was all that mattered. And to Sebastian, it was definitely worth running a marathon around the halls of Hogwarts for.

=====♡=====

maybe a part 2 if yall want, idk?

[woso-fan13]

Whumptober 2023: 1 (Arsenal)

No. 1: “But now this room is spinning while I’m trying just to fill in all the gaps.”

Safety Net | Swooning | “How many fingers am I holding up?”

You had laughed at the viral video of Sam hip checking a pitch invader, the move being such a classic Sam move that you didn’t even think about the possibility that something bad could have happened. It seemed so unlikely that someone would manage to make it past security, onto the pitch, and then over to the players just to harm one of them. 

But it happened. It was the 86th minute and you had just assisted Beth with an absolute banger. You were resting your hands on your head, not paying attention as you tried to force air back into your lungs before the game restarted. 

You weren’t paying attention to much of what was happening, only noticing when you heard multiple players- teammates and opponents alike- shouting your name in a panic. You looked up to see a very large- very scary- man charging towards you. You did what most teenage girls would do in your position and froze. 

He rams into you, knocking the two of you to the ground forcefully. His tackle was definitely more American football style than the type of football you usually played. 

You lay on the ground, this man who is easily a foot taller than you and double your weight crushing you. You can’t scream, can’t move, you’re just paralyzed with fear. 

In a recurring theme, Sam Kerr decides to handle the situation herself. You can finally take a breath- shallow and shuddering- as you watch your opponent pull this beast of a man off of you and stand over him. Your panicked eyes manage to find security, making their way over, but that’s the last thing you see before you’re enveloped into a hug and your vision is obscured by someone’s body. 

Viv. Viv was safe. So you latched on to Viv, your fingers gripping into her jersey as you shoved your face into her neck. You were spiraling and Viv was your safety net. 

The next little while is a blur, but you remember getting taken to the side of the pitch. When Viv tried to push you into someone else’s hold, you freaked out. Sobbing, you clung tighter to her, begging her not to leave. Leah was shocked that you wouldn’t move into her embrace, she knew that you trusted her. Trying to help you out, she unlatches your hands and tries to pull you into her arms. 

You become dead weight, sobs breaking through your hyperventilation. Jonas took pity on you, telling Viv she could be subbed out to stay with you. The woman quickly picked you up off the ground, carrying you back through the tunnel and into the locker room. 

She sat on the bench in front of your locker, cradling you in her lap. She rocked gently, speaking quietly to you in Dutch. You couldn’t understand her, but the process and the soothing tone calmed you and you were able to regain control of your breathing. Even as your sobs slowed and eventually stopped, Viv kept up the calming repetition. By the time you had finally calmed down enough that Viv was no longer afraid that you were going to make yourself sick, you were slumped into her, your exhaustion clear. 

Explaining everything to you before she makes any move, Viv manages to rinse you off in a shower and get you dressed in a sweatsuit. She has you sitting in between her legs as she brushes your hair out when the locker room door opens. 

It was quiet, something that was a rarity for the team. Everyone was in shock still, the previous events having shaken everyone up. You huddled closer to Viv as everyone entered. Realistically, you knew that they would never hurt you- the whole team had become older sisters to you. But still, the nagging thought in the back of your mind was that he might be there, coming for you. 

Everyone’s gaze was sympathetic as they looked at you, giving you a wide berth. You sat still for the next while, watching as everyone went to shower and put on clean clothes. No one approached you until Viv gestured to Leah and Beth to come over. The two women walked slowly, not wanting to spook you. Beth moves to sit next to Viv and Leah crouches in front of you. You can hear Viv whispering something to Beth, but you can’t make out what she’s saying. 

“Schatje,” Viv says, getting your attention, “I need to go shower. You’re going to stay right here with Beth and Leah, and I will be back as soon as I can.”

Partway through her sentence- when you realized that she would be leaving- you turned your body enough to cling to her again. You wiggle as close as you can to her, tears beginning to flow again. 

“I know it’s going to be hard, but you’re going to be okay. I just need 10 minutes, I can leave a timer on my phone. After that, you’re coming home with Beth and I and we can cuddle for the rest of the night,” Viv had hoped that the promise of a quick reunification and snuggles would be enough to convince you to let go. 

It wasn’t. You began sobbing harder, your cries becoming more frantic as you felt someone else rest a hand on your back. You squirmed, trying to get away from the other person while staying as close to Viv as you possibly could. Your panic only heightened when you heard Beth whisper, “just go,” to Viv. 

You began hyperventilating, pleading with Viv to stay between breaths. She couldn’t leave, you needed her. 

You felt her shift under you, and you felt another pair of arms wrap around you from the back. It was awkward, but you were transferred into Beth’s arms, your back to her chest. Her grip around you was tight, her hug keeping your arms down at your side. 

You’re fully panicking at this point, and it only increases when you see Viv stand up and walk away. As soon as the door shuts behind her, you become inconsolable. 

Leah resumes her position in front of you, very carefully moving her hands towards you. She makes sure that you see her, that you’re aware of her presence, before she puts her hands on either side of your face. Still, you flinch. 

She angles your head so that you’re looking directly at her, panic also evident in her eyes. This was a situation that no one had seen before, the team’s happy-go-lucky little sister was broken. 

“You’re alright, Love, you’re going to be okay. Viv’ll be back as soon as she can, and then we’ll get you home. No one in this room is going to let anything else happen to you, you’re safe,” Leah continues to speak calmly and reassuringly to you, still holding your head so you’re forced to look at her. 

Your eyes are wide, frantically searching the room for any possible threats. After about five minutes of Leah reassuring you and Beth holding you tightly, you finally make eye contact with Leah. Both women breathe a sigh of relief. It might be small, but it’s an improvement. 

A few minutes after that, your breathing becomes somewhat more controlled. You’re sobbing and your breath is hitching as you choke and cough around your sobs, trying to catch your breath. But you weren’t actively having a panic attack, which, again, is an improvement. 

Leah, feeling bold, moves one hand to smooth back your hair. When she feels you lean every so slightly into the touch, she continues stroking your hair. You were coming back to them, albeit slowly. 

You’re so distracted by looking at Leah as she guides you through your breathing that you don’t notice the door open. You’re not even aware as a figure approaches, fully trusting Leah and Beth to keep you safe. You only notice as this person sits beside you and rests a hand on your leg. 

Viv. Viv is safe. Again, you throw yourself at her, almost knocking her off the bench. The only difference this time is that your legs are still in Beth’s lap, and Leah still had a hand resting on the back of your head. 

Viv hugs you tightly. She would never admit it, but she hadn’t wanted to separate from you either. Realistically, she knew you were safe and that you would be okay with your teammates. But, still, a little part of her didn’t want to let go and give anything else the chance to hurt you. She could feel your hands gripping into her shirt, clutching like you were afraid she would disappear. She held you just as tightly. 

After you have calmed down from your reunification, Beth and Leah slowly remove themselves. The three women hear as you whimper slightly at the loss, Beth and Leah having to hold back smiles. Instead, they gather all of their belongings, shoving them into bags as quickly as they can. Beth grabs Viv’s bag and Leah grabs yours, and the two return to you in about a minute. 

It would take some time, but the three women would eventually coax you out to the car, Viv settling in the back seat with you. The other two sat in the front, almost constantly staring back at you in the mirror. 

The drive was short, and you pulled up to a familiar house. Viv steps out of the car, pulling you into her arms. The simple act of getting you away from the stadium had allowed you to calm considerably, and you were no longer crying. Your breathing was steady and slow, your eyes blinking heavily as both physical and emotional exhaustion consumed you. But you knew you were going to be taken inside and snuggled between all of the women. Everyone already knew that Leah would be staying, the woman already having invited herself over. And tomorrow, though you didn’t know it, the rest of the team would be showing up with breakfast. With your support system, you would be okay. 

[capricioussun]

Yk, I was thinking about how I've almost always, consistently seen Papyrus's "air walking" ability removed from uf Papyrus, even in multiverse scenarios where UT Papyrus has it and why that is, and it led me down the thought process that that's kind of my problem with fanon UF Papyrus as a whole. All of Papyrus' charm, mystery, and nuance is pretty much just stripped from him to make this very shallow version of his character that basically boils down to "childish egotist" with tacked on anger issues and nothing else.

I think that's also why it's always bothered me a little whenever I see people portray him as significantly weaker than all of the other Papyruses, and in some cases even make him cowardly. It's like there's this expectation to belittle this version of him for being "edgy". Like the only addressable character flaw he should ever have is being too prideful and he should always learn his lesson by being aggressively knocked down a few pegs or shamed for it.

I'm not really sure where this general resentment of him comes from, or why people try to distance him so much from actual Papyrus, but it makes me. Sad, I guess. Honestly I feel that way for most uf characters and how...odd their "popular" characterizations are.