#does he have a wig is the question

[g0gglez-bl0gglez]

Mutant mayhem Donnie would have multiple Miku figures and posters-

[hauntingblue]

Them doing a photo lineup of the mugis for the battle and when it's Robin's turn she just turns and does a blue eyed stare at the camera 😭😭

Look at her 😭😭

[sunderwight]

Cumplane where Airplane, in a fit of either bravery or insanity or positive or negative self-esteem (he's not totally sure) decides to cosplay as Luo Binghe and post the pictures online.

Of course, he doesn't do it as "Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky", he knows he has some questionable fans and doesn't really want to hand them a picture of his face. So he posts the images under one of the pseudonyms he uses for lurking around the comment section and social media tags. It's just a handful of images of him looking like the protagonist in his head, attempting to strike cool poses in a wig and some period clothes (he rented both).

The reception is... mixed. Airplane does not have abs, after all, nor a flawless complexion or much skill with makeup. He is fat, freckled, and awkward. The PIDW readership is not known for being particularly supportive either. In fact they're mostly a crab bucket of negativity and masculine posturing, so he gets a lot of mean-spirited commentary.

It's fine. Nothing he hadn't expected. Really solidifies for him that posting was a fit of madness, actually! What did he even expect? He's bracing himself for the worst when he sees that Peerless Cucumber, notorious hate-reader and defender of Luo Binghe's honor, has commented. Ah, shit. He's probably going to rip into Airplane for daring to sully his precious Binghe's reputation by dressing up like that, isn't he?

The comment is long, too. Fuck. Airplane's not sure if his self-esteem can take a comprehensive beating from the champion hater himself, but he's too curious not to look.

Shen Yuan, in the meanwhile, is just pleased that there has FINALLY been a Luo Binghe cosplayer who looks the part. Of course Luo Binghe wouldn't have exaggerated muscles, those are just a product of dehydration. Binghe spent most of his disciple years running around chopping wood and hauling laundry, and then later doing whatever he could to pack on the calories in order to make it through the Abyss. A hefty workman's build would only make sense for him, anything else would be nonsense. Airplane also described Luo Binghe as having a beautiful face, which Shen Yuan won't blame most cosplayers for not being able to just make happen, but a beautiful face doesn't mean "covered in so much makeup it looks like an anime character"! When would Luo Binghe have the time or inclination to put on makeup? A natural beauty with some inevitable blemishes would make more sense and be much more appealing, and this "Airplane Crashing to the Ground" (funny play on the author's name, Shen Yuan approves) has very pretty features! Everyone hating on this cosplay is just an idiot, the only actual problem is that his wig is poorly fitted.

So in true Peerless Cucumber fashion, he lays this all out.

This gets him embroiled in arguments with several other fans, who even accuse him of actually being the guy in the photos, claiming that there's no other reason why he would defend them. Shen Yuan doesn't care if people think that's him, because that's still the best Luo Binghe cosplay he's ever seen, but he doesn't want them doubting the sincerity of his arguments. So, he decides that the only reasonable thing to do is dress himself up in cosplay as well and then post the actual photos of himself.

While he'd like to dress up as one of Luo Binghe's allies like Mobei Jun, or maybe someone cool like Yue Qingyuan, he is too pedantic to think he could pull that off. Those guys are all strong warrior types, and Shen Yuan is a scrawny pale rich kid who looks like he'd probably lose a fight with a wet paper towel. The only characters he could plausibly pull off would be some of the more consumptive members of Binghe's harem and maybe, maybe, one of the weaker villains like Shen Qingqiu.

Shen Yuan is NOT posting pictures of himself crossplaying to the central nexus of toxic masculinity itself, so... Shen Qingqiu it is!

Poor Airplane has to go sit and stare at a while for a while. Peerless Cucumber likes his cosplay. Peerless Cucumber, ardent defender of Shang Qinghua's sellout crappy main character mary-sue, thinks Airplane is good-looking enough to cosplay as him. And said so. Repeatedly. And then posted borderline thirst-trap villain cosplay of himself, inadvertently revealing in the process that he is hot.

What the. What. What?!

Anyway, Shen Yuan suggests that they attend the next convention both cosplaying together because Airplane Shooting Towards the Sky is supposed to be doing a meet & greet at that one, and wouldn't it be fun to go as a pair? And Airplane agrees before his brain catches up and he realizes that might present a problem.

[bodybaggage]

Oh, It’s On!

DP X DC

Ensue the prank war…

---

It all started with a simple question posed by Dick as he lounged on the Batcave’s most uncomfortable piece of furniture, which he affectionately called "the Bat-Stone."

“So, has anyone actually tested the limits of Danny’s ghost powers?”

Tim looked up from his laptop, always the first to take a bait. “You mean, besides the constant intangible phase he does to avoid Damian’s batarangs?”

Stephanie, who was tending to her bo-staff but was actually poking Cass with the end of it—grinned. “I’m in. If nothing else, we’ll get some decent entertainment. Better than watching Bruce brood in the dark.”

Cass, normally the least likely to engage in such activities, simply tilted her head with a curious look that might have been interpreted as a quiet agreement. She might not speak often, but Cass had developed a taste for subtle chaos.

Jason cracked his knuckles with a smirk. “Sounds like a good way to pass the time. And besides, I’m bored.”

Danny, floating into the room with a glow of mild suspicion, was not as oblivious as they might have hoped. “You guys aren’t planning anything, are you?”

Dick waved a hand dismissively. “Us? Plan something? Come on, Danny, we’re innocent.”

Danny gave him a deadpan stare. “That’s literally the opposite of what you are.”

The challenge was set, and everyone knew it. But Danny, being the ghostly trickster he was, didn’t wait to be pranked first. He struck with precision.

---

The first inkling that things were amiss came when the Batmobiles began moving on their own. Jason was the first to notice, his usual vehicle—a sleek, red tank of a motorcycle—had rolled up to him as if it were a loyal dog wanting to go for a walk.

“Alright, who’s messing with my ride?” Jason demanded, but the vehicle simply honked twice in response, the sound oddly cheerful.

“It’s not me!” Tim called from across the cave, where his own ride had begun circling him like a shark. “I swear, I’m not touching anything!”

Danny floated nearby, feigning innocence with an expression that screamed, I totally did this. “You sure your cars aren’t just excited to see you?”

Jason narrowed his eyes. “This is war, ghost boy.”

---

The Batcave, typically a place of stoic professionalism, had devolved into a battleground of pranks. Stephanie had rigged Danny’s usual hangout spot with a pop-up scarecrow (it looked suspiciously like Scarecrow, but with a clown wig) that would jump out at him whenever he tried to sit down.

The trap backfired spectacularly when Danny phased through the seat, sending the scarecrow careening into Cass, who simply caught it midair with one hand and set it down gently. Without saying a word, she gave Stephanie a look that said, ‘Nice try, but no.’

“Okay, point to Danny,” Stephanie conceded, wiping away tears of laughter.

In retaliation, Danny decided to step up his game. The next morning, Alfred calmly entered the Batcave with a tray of tea, his hair glowing an eternal green. Not a word about the change, not even a glance in the mirror—Alfred was far too professional for that.

Bruce, however, did notice. “Alfred, did you do something... different with your hair?”

Alfred, ever unflappable, set down the tea tray. “Just trying out a new look, Master Wayne. I believe it’s quite... refreshing.”

Bruce nodded slowly, not entirely sure if Alfred was joking. “It’s very... unique.”

Danny had to leave the room, barely containing his laughter. The dry humor had struck a chord, even with the ghost kid.

---

As the prank war escalated, it became harder to tell who was pranking who. Jason found his helmet filled with ectoplasm, while Tim’s gadgets began mysteriously glitching out, causing them to display random memes whenever he tried to access files.

Stephanie set up a system of water balloons throughout the cave, each strategically placed to drench whoever activated the trap. The grand finale was a large balloon precariously perched above the entrance, ready to douse the first unlucky victim.

Unfortunately for Damian, who had been staunchly standing next to Bruce to avoid any involvement in the chaos, his loyalty did not save him.

“I am not a part of this, Father,” Damian declared, stepping slightly closer to Bruce.

A soft ‘click’ echoed in the cave, followed by a loud splash as the massive water balloon above exploded, soaking Damian from head to toe.

Bruce sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Damian, I thought you said you weren’t part of this.”

“I am not!” Damian insisted, dripping onto the Batcave floor. He glared at the ceiling as if it had personally offended him. “This was not intended for me.”

Danny appeared next to him, intangible and dry. “I guess the water balloon had other plans.”

Jason, Tim, Stephanie, and Dick burst into laughter, while Cass allowed herself a rare smile. Even Bruce couldn’t hold back the faintest twitch of his lips.

---

The chaos continued throughout the day, culminating in a final showdown where Danny—now fully embracing his role as master prankster—made every Bat-Suit in the Batcave walk out of their cases and perform the ‘Michael Jackson’s Thriller’ dance.

Bruce had walked in just in time to see his most serious suit do the moonwalk.

“That’s it,” Bruce declared, finally done with the madness. “No more pranks in the Batcave.”

But as he said it, his own suit’s visor flipped up to reveal a pair of glowing green eyes that winked at him before going dark.

Danny’s laugh echoed through the cave. “You’re gonna have to catch me first, Bats!”

Bruce sighed again, mentally preparing himself for the next round. It seemed that in the Batcave, chaos would always have a ghostly signature.

[endless-ineffabilities]

In Your Modern World (a Chemical Override minishot)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: so this lil baby is set some time in part 5, around late August, when they were at the height of their initial relationship. Also, this references the bonus chapter In the Modern World. No taglist for surprise minishots - I hope this will find the chem ov readers in due time! <3

series masterlist ▪︎ main masterlist

The reader and Ewan finally watch his music video. With some interruptions...

"So the concept to this is very straightforward. It's about Martin, and he's a recluse, an aimless youth of sorts, and..." Ewan's words come out in a nervous flurry as he places your laptop atop the duvet. "Do you remember what I told you about it? I mean... that was nearly two months ago, was it? But - "

You can't help but smile at his endearing ramble. "Baby," you say soothingly, letting him wrap an arm around your shoulders. "I'm sure I'll love it."

He presses a soft kiss to your temple. "I haven't seen the final cut myself. I hope I did well."

"It's already the music video of the year," you say with a smirk, brushing your lips against the corner of his, "as long as you're in it."

His cheeks flush, the sight of it making your heart flutter. You can't resist leaning in to kiss him again. It's meant to be momentary, but his hand finds its way to the back of your head, keeping you in place so that the kiss deepens. His other hand snakes its way underneath your shirt - his shirt, oversized on your frame - kneading the flesh of your waist.

"Kissing was a bad idea," he rasps. "Now I don't wanna do anything else."

"Oh, oh!" you gasp and pull back when his hand starts to inch your shirt upward, "Hold on there, baby. Music video time."

He groans in protest, his forehead resting against yours, a teasing smile on his lips. "Alright, then. But the next time I kiss you, there'll be no interruptions."

"Fine," you roll your eyes. Then you reach out and press play on the video.

It opens with Ewan as Martin, black wig and all, brooding heavily as he scrutinises his slimey pet. You spot something in the background immediately. It's right there for viewers to see.

Before you can process it, the shot quickly cuts to another scene of him with a thin paintbrush in his hand, hunched over some figurine. Then another, and another... Martin in his room, going about his humdrum and aimless routine. You spot it - yourself - flashing in and out of the frame.

To your side, Ewan is silently chuckling at your surprised expression. Your lips are parted slightly, eyes squinting like you don't believe what you just saw. He waits for it, gazing at you fondly, forgetting all about his piece of work playing on the laptop.

You let your thoughts win over, hitting pause.

As if in slow motion, you turn to face him, the question practically bubbling from your lips. "Was that me?"

"What was that, darlin'?" He absently twirls a lock of your hair, trying - and failing - to keep a straight face.

You raise your eyebrows, challenging him with a look that says Really?

He laughs. "Yes, I asked to have a poster of Alyna Rivers on Martin's wall. Seemed fitting."

"Seemed... fitting?" you reply. "A grunge boy with a poster of a medieval fantasy character? How does that make sense?"

"Martin likes her," he shrugs, grinning mischievously, "What can I say?"

"Martin?" you tease. "Or Ewan Mitchell?"

"Martin likes you," he taps the tip of your nose, "But Ewan... is in love with you. Completely obsessed."

You shake your head, unable to fight the rush of pleasant warmth to your cheeks.

"There is a difference, darling," he clarifies in a husky whisper.

You glance back at the screen, where the video is paused on a shot of Martin sitting in the car.

"Well, he is pretty hot," you admit with a smirk. "All dirty and reckless."

"Hmm," he chews on his lip, "is he?"

Your hand moves to press play again, but his own darts out to stop you.

His voice is a low, seductive rumble. "Think you can fix him? Think you can fix poor Martin?"

Your lips stretch out in a sultry smile, eyes glinting at his playful instigation. He nuzzles into the crook of your neck, giving in to the pull of distraction. The rest of the music video can wait; he's in it anyway, he's got some clue as to how it goes.

"I think I can, I think I can," you whisper humorously in that famous playground chanting, desire bleeding through your words.

"Lucky Martin," he breathes against your skin, "should I be jealous?"

Instead of answering, you lean forward, pressing your body flush against his and reclaiming his lips, remembering when he said that the next time you do, there will be no interruptions.

Martin can wait. Or he can watch, in the back of your minds, why the hell not?

You push the laptop aside, then climb on top of your boyfriend, straddling his thighs. He smirks openly, in pure satisfaction.

You ask, "Why don't we give him something to be jealous about?"

[suzukiblu]

Day thirty of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut, the final day!! Eyyyyy, gang, we did it! Full month of daily updates for this one, haha. Ended up writing about 24k, give or take a few hundred words. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

The alert on his communicator goes off again, and then again a few seconds later. Tim represses another frown. Nobody double-texts him on Tim Drake’s phone. The only people who ever would are Dick and Steph, and Dick never texts Tim Drake’s phone outside of emergency situations where Tim’s not suited-up and Steph doesn’t have Tim Drake’s number at all; they just use burners and the occassional dead drop. So who . . . ? 

The alert goes off a fourth time. Tim definitely doesn’t panic, but also definitely turns his wrist in his lap underneath the fall of his cape and taps the little armored pocket where he hides one of his micro-receivers for situations where he can’t pull the full-sized one out of his utility belt without being obvious about it. Cissie’s distracted with whatever’s distracting Cassie and neither of them can see his eyes behind the lenses of his mask, so it’s not difficult to slip it into his palm and out from under his cape to glance down at as he thumbs it open to wake up the tiny little screen. Four text alerts, and the caller ID is scrolling “UNKNOWN NUMBER” across the screen. 

Okay, so his civilian number is getting spam texts now. Jesus, he was worried, that’s so–

The actual number of the unknown number scrolls across the screen after the text. Tim . . . blinks. 

. . . that’s Kon’s number. Specifically, the number of the phone he bought Kon. Who is literally right outside, according to Cassie, and . . . texting somebody. While he’s out there. While he’s out there, and Tim is in here, and is being Robin. 

Tim has literally no idea how he feels about this situation, and honestly neither does Robin.

He opens the text log, and there are, in fact, four texts from Kon in it. 

so like 

superweird questin 

liek uh rly superweird tbh but uh 

cn u wish me luck babe??

Tim stares blankly at the messages. “Wish me luck”? That’s–what? 

Good luck, Kon, he texts back after a moment, figuring it’s the logical response anyway and assuming that using the other’s real name will help him feel better about whatever he wants the aforementioned “good luck” for. He’s going to have to try and get a read on him when he comes in, see if he can’t work that out. If it’s something to be concerned about . . . 

thx, Kon sends back with a blue heart emoji and literally nothing else. 

Blue, Tim thinks, yet again having to repress a frown. What the hell does a blue heart mean? Does that mean anything? 

He barely bites back the question, because it’s way too risky to ask even if if anyone knows what different-colored heart emojis mean it is definitely a teenage girl and if he texts Steph with a random question with no context attached and then doesn’t stick around to talk she’ll get annoyed and might leave another glitter bomb in their next dead drop. 

He really doesn’t wanna have to explain glitter in his cape to Bruce again. Or worse, explain glitter in his cape to Alfred. Alfred did not appreciate the glitter tracked all over the cave last time. Very, very much did he not appreciate it. 

Maybe Kon just picked it because he likes blue. Or maybe red seemed like too much to him? Or maybe– 

“I’m back!” Suzie announces excitedly as she spills into the room, and Bart bolts through her smoke trail a moment later and stops on a dime right next to the kitchen table. 

“What’s going on?” he asks, wrinkling his nose down at Cissie and Cassie. “Are you crying? Is it because your wig looks weird? It’s not that weird. I mean, kinda.” 

“That HeroWatch magazine thinks it’s your real hair!” Suzie offers brightly. “So it can’t be that weird.” 

“I am not crying and HeroWatch thinks what?!” Cassie demands, whipping her head up to stare at them both with a horrified expression. “It’s not even real hair! It’s like, synthetic! I buy the stupid things off Amazon!” 

“You should stop doing that,” Tim advises reflexively. There are so many ways for that to end badly for her secret identity. Genuinely so many that he doesn’t even know where to start, in fact. 

“And do what instead, exactly?” Cassie asks with a sullen scowl, leaning back just enough to fold her arms. “I can’t just clear out Spirit Halloween every–” 

She cuts herself off and stiffens, then jerks to her feet very quickly and straightens her wig and jacket even quicker. Tim has half a second to remember that while Cassie’s hearing isn’t super, it’s definitely enhanced, and then Kon walks into the room. 

“Yo,” he says, half-waving a hand at the table and then making a face. “Shit, I’m the last one here? Figures.” 

Tim . . . blinks. Blinks again. Cassie looks downright agonized, and Suzie and Bart both tilt their heads in opposite directions. Cissie raises both eyebrows and looks him up and down. 

“Jesus Christ, Kon, that is borderline indecent expo–” she starts incredulously, and Cassie immediately claps a hand over her mouth and leans down to hiss into her ear: “Cissie, you are my best friend and I love you and shut the hell up right the hell NOW.” 

Tim attempts to make his brain work. It needs to, like–do things. Be usable. Functional. Brain . . . able. 

The problem with that is the fact that Kon is currently wearing the tiny little jean shorts that first made Tim aware of the existence of the other’s thighs and the S-shield crop top that people really should have more respect for Superman than to have made and sold commercially with his usual leather jacket and sunglasses and a pair of heavy black boots that Tim also bought him, plus the sapphire stud earring from their last date with a little bit of eyeliner and chipped black nail polish and . . . thighs. Just–thighs. Kon is very, very much wearing thighs right now. 

. . . thighs.

Tim suddenly understands literally everything about the way Cassie came in acting and literally everything she’d said on top of that. Also, he isn’t sure, but he thinks maybe this is worse than the changing room was? Like, this might be worse than the changing room was. Because Kon’s not posing to show himself off like he was there, and “Tim Drake” isn’t here for him to be showing off for. So Kon is, presumably, wearing this outfit just because he wants to be wearing it. 

Tim needs a minute. Or a year. Or maybe a hard reboot and a new identity and a new reality to move to. Not permanently or anything, just until he can remember how to function like a reasonably-normal person again or he needs to send Kon his allowance, whichever comes first. 

It’s going to be the allowance, he already knows. It’s definitely, definitely going to be the allowance. 

“Huh,” Suzie says, looking a little perplexed. 

“Oh, is that what hormones are?” Bart says, looking surprised. “Weird.”

[spacebaby1]

Rindou Haitani's Girlfriend

Ran might get himself a girl that matches his freak on napping for 11 hours, but Rindou will absolutely get the humorous girlfriend.

The first time he met you was in 🎀police station 🎀he was 12 and had just gotten arrested with his brother Ran, who was 13 then. You sat with the handcuffs on, kicking your feet looking around and being so calm it made him question how the hell were you so calm. You just turned 12, and it was a day before your birthday party. The moment you noticed the as the police officer let him and ran sit on one of the chairs opposite from you, you waved at him with a smile. The officer went to write the report, and you got up from your chair and walked to sit next to them. "Nice hair!" You told Ran, "That's not a wig, right?" Ran laughed, shaking his head, and Rin rolled his eyes at you. "Why are a kid like you doing here?" Rin asked, "Oh, I just wanted to know how handcuffs feel like that's why I busted the cops car window to get arrested." You said with a smile, "No shit, are you crazy?" Ran laughed. "Aren't you too little to be arrested?" Rin asked, and you shrugged, "I'm twelve, I'm actually twelve tomorrow and I'm having a birthday party, hey, wanna come to my birthday party?" You told Rin with a soft smile. He felt his cheeks burn, and then you turned to look at Ran, "if you want, I'll write you the address." Ran just laughed, "you're one crazy girl. Happy birthday, by the way." Rin sighed, "Happy birthday, whatever." You laughed, "Aww, thank you, I'm Y/n!" Ran turned his side to face you now because he thought you were interesting, "I'm Ran, and this is Rindou. My baby brother." You smiled in an aww. That was the last time Rin saw you.

Five years later; he saw you again. Rin had just gotten some serious job done and was heading back home, walking under the cold nights with snow all over the streets. His eyes on his phone screen; reading an email Ran sent him when someone sprinted past him. He didn't bother to look until he heard the footsteps stop, and someone called out his name, made him almost jump. "RINRIN?" He turned back ready to attack whoever called him with hands in front of him and his heart almost stopped when he saw a girl, no, he saw you waving as you ran towards him happily? You caught your breath as you stopped in front of him, titling your head to side, "it's me! Y/n! Remember me the girl from the police station? Oh, that's funny to say." He blinked a few times before speaking and looking at your clothes that were not warm at all. You were dressed in a white shirt and baggy jeans with a weird hat that looked too big for your head. "Yeah, I remember you. You weirdo, why are you dressed like that in the middle of December? Are you trying to die?" He asked, rolling his eyes as he took his heavy sweater off and threw it over you. Making you laugh as you removed the sweater from your head, revelling your smile that made his breath hitch. "I'm jogging trying to run a mile and trying to find out if I can define the cold." He sighed, taking his sweater from your hand and putting your hands in it, then the other, "Yeah, define the devil when you die from cold and get thrown in hell." You laughed at his words. You looked behind him, "Where's your brother? Does he still have his long hair? Wait, your hair kinda looks cool!" Rin rolled his eyes, "you still remember him too. You shouldn't be out at this time of night all alone. You don't know what type of people are out here." You shrugged, taking your phone out and snatched his from his hand, "I'll save my number in your phone, here call me so I can save yours." You handed him the phone and waited for him to call. He looked at him phone then back at you and called. Your face lights up when your phone rang, and you waved it at him with a giggle, "I'll see you soon. Bye bye" you said before walking the other way.

Rin would lie if he said he didn't wait a whole day for you to call. He kept checking his phone every other minute. It's been a whole day now, and you still haven't called. Maybe you didn't care. It was around 12 at night when his phone rang. He picked it up without looking at the name, "RIN RIN!" He sat from where he was sleeping on the bed. "Y/n?" You laughed at his question, "Duh, who else would it be?" He tried to hide his stupid smile even if you weren't there to see it, "Why you calling me this late?" He tried to sound annoyed, but you laughed again. "I couldn't sleep, saw a really scary movie now I'm regretting life and I can't even get up to pee what if the lady with white dress attacks me in the bathroom?" He chuckled at your words rolling his eyes. "And you want me to do what?" He replied. "Stay on the phone with me until I fall asleep!" You replied excitement in your voice, and he felt his face burning; don't couple do these kinds of things? He thought. Nevertheless, he didn't mind staying on the call as you rambled about random things. He could hear you trying hard to stay awake by the time it was 3 in the morning so he decided to be the one talking as you just replied in a hum, he talked in a low voice until he heard you snoring softly on the other side of the call. He chuckled, "idiot. Sleep well." He whispered before putting his phone beside him still on the call.

When you decided to return his sweater, he "forgot" to tell Ran that you were coming honestly he kept asking Ran if he has to be somewhere so when you'll arrive you won't see Ran. Rin wasn't jealous. He's just Rin. Ran heard the bell rang and went to answer the door, "Yes?" He asked when he saw you; at first, he didn't recognise you until you smiled, throwing your hands open, "Ran!" His eyes widened, and he smiled, "Oh shit, it's my favourite prisoner! Come here. " He pulled you up in a hug, and you laughed, "Oh, look at you all grown up. How did you?-, wait, RIN? Y/N IS HERE!" Rin tried to act unbothered when he saw his brother wrap you in a hug, "I met Rin last week, and I came by to return his sweater." Ran looked at his brother, wiggling his brows as you walked behind Ran, Rin rolled his eyes, "she was jogging in a shirt and jeans, " Rin stated. You handed him the bag that had his sweater, and it smelled like you. "So Rin has been gatekeeping you from me? And look at you, you look so beautiful now. You've grown so much!" Ran said, holding your hands as he sat on the couch, and you were standing in front of him. He nodded with a smile, "Your hair changed. It's black here. Looks so cool." You said pointing at his hair, "thanks Gorgeous." You snorted at his compliment, "stawppp, you're making me blush." Ran pulled you to the couch beside him, "come sit with me. How have you been?wow, I can't believe you look so beautiful." Rin groaned, "you said that like a million times since she got here. It's been a minute." You laughed at the two brothers. Ran pinched your cheek, "No more jail, ha?" You shook your head freeing yourself from his grip. "No, sir." You said. Rin watched from where he stood at you talking with his brother. He wanted you to talk to him and sit this close to him.

You'd often run into each other on your way, and you'd always cling to Rin's arm, and he really didn't get bothered by it.

Late night calls were a regular thing. Rin would always wait for you to call him and ramble.

Until one night, you didn't call, nor has he seen you for two days in a row. He was working on a file when the bell ran at 1 am, he thoughts it's probably some random person that will go away ringing the bell on a rainy night but it ran again and he was ready to deal with whoever it was flinging the door open just when he was about to shout. Rin's heart dropped at the sight of you in tears, and you looked distressed as you hugged him crying. He's never seen you cry, and his mind went blank the moment he saw you crying and a small bruise on your lip immediately anger filled his eyes as he shut the door moving you in with him. "Who did this to you?" He asked, and you cried, "my boyfriend hit me." Let's just say that "boyfriend" now ex, apparently lost an arm the next day.

That night, Rin didn't let you leave his sight as he made you change into much comfortable pyjamas of his that looked way too big on you. He even dried your hair after the shower. You were tired, so he let you sleep in his bed, covering you with all his soft blankets as he went back to grab his laptop to work on a file. He sat beside the bed working when you moved in your sleep, brows frowned, he placed his hand on yours hushing you softly and You grabbed his hand in sleep pulling it closer to your heart. Rin's eyes widened, and he flustered, but he also knew you probably needed comfort after whatever you bo-ex did.

Rin didn't want you to leave him or the house when you can be here, safe. And you got used to his care that you just clung on him EVERYWHERE he went; he really didn't mind. It took you a few days to go back to your normal self, joking around and making Rin smile at your words, but it KILLED him every time he'd see that scar under your mouth. He wanted to KILL your ex, but you've long moved on.

You two didn't even make it official that you two liked each other it just happened. None of you asked the other if you'd date each other, but Rin would break anyone's hand if they even looked at you.

One day, you were liying on his lap on the couch watching TV, and you turned to look at him, "Are you my boyfriend?" You asked, making his face turn different shades of red, but he tried to look confident and looked down at you, "Yes?" That came out shaky. You nodded and went back to watching the TV only to get off his lap and cuddle his arm beside him; oh, you loved holding his arm and placing your face on his shoulder. You'd find different positions to sit near him, and each one never fails to surprise him. You got up and sat on his lap, wrapping your arms around his middle part and snuggling into him or you'd sit upside down on the couch beside him to which he always grabs you and pulls you on his lap with your head on his chest. "Hushh, sit still. I'm trying to watch this." You'll always fall asleep in his arms he's just that comfortable to you.

You have to hug his arms every time you sleep. And he just stares at you with a smile, glad that he saw you that day in the police station.

He's only soft for you and does everything you want and deserve, which is not much because you barely ask him anything other than his skilled cooking.

You are dear to him.

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Transferrable Skills Part 4

Transferrable Skills Masterlist

CW: POV depiction of anxiety and dissociation, How It's Made, reader character wearing a wig (positive, protective style), Soap (nosy), mention of sex toys, Simon Riley Is Honesty Just A Big Guy (TM),

Simon and Price are gone for less than a minute before you feel awkward. You’re almost done with the water, so you look around for the TV remote. It’s Gaz, absurdly pretty for some kind of international British SWAT team, who hands it to you with a half smile before wandering off, you assume to the bathroom.

That leaves you clicking through the TV while Soap does something on his phone. All of the local channels are in German, you know, so you look for something to stream. You chance a sidelong glance at Soap, but he’s already looking at you. He grins when you make eye contact.

“So yer LT’s girl, then?”

Fuck, that’s not a question you know how to answer. “Um.”

“Leave it, Soap,” Gaz says, returning from the bathroom. He smiles at you as he pockets his phone. “You don’t have to tell us anything you’re not comfortable with. Lieutenant Riley’s a private person, we understand.”

“That’s… it’s okay.” You tap into the PictureTime channel, since it’s not one you usually have access to. As you browse through the educational options - ooh, How It’s Built! - you say, “I think we’re both… a bit surprised to see each other here.”

“I can’t imagine,” Gaz says, sitting down at the other end of the couch. “Oh, I’ve not seen this one on puzzles and cheesecake.”

You tap into it, because you like puzzles, cheesecake, candles, and paintbrushes. Just in time to finish your water bottle. The armchair is a bit narrow and awkward, so you wiggle the cushion from behind your back so you can plop it, and yourself, onto the ground. You shuffle your legs to start your warm up as the theme song plays.

“How'd'ye come to answerin’ LT like yer military?” Soap asks. “’Acknowledge’, ‘acknowledged’, all o’ that?”

“Oh,” you answer, without thinking about it. “That’s just our protocol, to make sure I understand his directions.”

“’E’s givin’ you enough directions to need protocols?” He gives you a considering once-over. “Interestin’. Impressive that it held up in an emergency. That takes practice.”

Shit. “Yeah, I guess so.”

“’S he your, what’er they called? Dominant partner, then?”

God, Simon, why didn’t you take this one with you? “I’m… not at liberty to say?”

“Leave her alone, Soap,” Gaz says, exasperated. He tosses a throw pillow at Soap’s head. “She’s in shock, Simon’s trying to keep her calm and comfortable.”

“Ghostie adopts a civilian an’ ah’m supposed to have nae questions?” Soap grins at you. “She’s got a signal if she dinnae want to talk. Four fingers, right?”

“Bother Ghost about it, later,” Gaz says. He turns to you. “Do you know what you want to eat? There’s a few places open.”

Soap doesn’t pester you, after that. The three of you settle on Mediterranean food, and then they summarily leave you alone. Gaz seems content to watch the show, though Soap watches you do your floor stretches curiously.

You could probably have moved to another stretch a while ago, but you’re still in your work slacks and blouse. You think longingly of the yoga pants you laid out on your bed before leaving for meetings. And then you cringe to think of Simon coming in to sweep through the room and pack up all of your things. You hadn’t packed a lot, but you’d unpacked into the space to make yourself comfortable.

You realize that your sex toy is charging in the bedside table and cringe. You hope he doesn’t notice it. It’s good quality, but you can always buy another one.

And then you start to worry about your phone. You’d left your personal in the room because of the time zone change slowing down all of your personal messages. You’d lost your work phone and computer today with… everything that happened. Were people trying to get a hold of you? Had news of the incident made it to the US? Would Simon see your embarrassing phone background?

You resist the urge to get up and pace. Instead, you settle into butterflying your legs.

“You need more water?” Gaz’s voice startles you, but you nod and he passes a bottle to you on the floor. “Cap says that they’re done with the official stuff, he’s grabbing food while Ghost grabs your things. Probably less than an hour before they get back.”

Your anxiety shouts that that isn’t enough time. But since you can’t definitively answer the question For what?, you take a breath and let it out slowly. “Okay.”

Maybe it’s because your heart is beating a little faster, muscles a bit warmer, but you have trouble settling Into the show. Your mind races. You have to remind yourself to relax, then have to clamber to your feet and shuffle off to the bathroom because you relaxed your pelvic floor a little too much.

Your eyes in the mirror are a little too wide. The wig - every time you wear a good one, you almost forget you’re wearing it - is holding up admirably, at least. It feathers around your face, a bit squished where you slept on it. But with the smudged eyeliner and mascara you can kind of pretend you’re in an action movie.

Thank goodness agent Ghost rescued me and the other hostages, you think to yourself, pouting your lips dramatically as you wash your hands.

The last time you washed your hands there was a dead body on the floor.

“Nope,” you say aloud, practically flinging yourself into the bedroom. “Nope. Nope.”

You pace in a tight circle, kicking the door closed when you catch Gaz and Soap looking at you with concerned eyes. Two circuits later, the room is too small, so you open the door again and shuffle out to sit in the armchair again, one leg pulled up for you to wrap your arms around.

Throwing your mind into action shots of specialty machinery, you try to force yourself to settle. Your whole body feels like it will shake apart if you pay too much attention to it, so you don’t pay it any attention at all. The episode ends and rolls into the next one, so you learn about bird cages and automated pharmacy drones. You hear Gaz say something soft, and Soap answers, the burr of his voice just as quiet, mixing pleasantly with the murmur of the narrator.

You must lose time, again, because the next thing you know, Simon is crouching in front of you again. Big hands smooth over your arms, and he shushes you as you jump.

“Got y’r stuff,” he says. “Where’s your head at?”

You open your mouth, close it. Hold up four fingers.

“Mm, day’s catchin’ up, again. Go into the bedroom, get changed. No zippers or clasps. Buttons okay. Acknowledge.”

“Bedroom, change clothes,” you confirm, heaving a big sigh. “Comfy. Acknowledged.”

He helps you stand, and you can’t help but tip forward to put your face into his chest. He smells a little. Like stale sweat and gunpowder. His arms stop yours when they come up for an automatic hug.

“Go change,” he whispers into the top of your head, “An’ I’ll get rid of the rest of ‘em, eh?”

The haze around you pops. That’s the only way to describe it. One minute, everything is distantly fuzzy, and the next thing you know you can feel the circulation of the air in the room and his heartbeat against your forehead. The TV is quieter, and you can hear Price and Gaz and Soap talking between themselves.

“Acknowledged,” you say into his sternum. “Gotta go change.”

He has to gently guide you around his bulk. But eventually you shuffle back into the bedroom. Your suitcase is waiting for you in the far corner, and it doesn’t take you long to dig out your lounge wear. Soft, thin pants with cartoon dogs on them and an oversized tee you got from a fundraiser. And then you take both off because that’s not sexy.

Why didn’t I pack nicer stuff? Can I play off these lacy panties as sleep wear? He saw it all and packed it, he probably clocked those as the only sexy thing I have. You shake your head at yourself. He said to wear something comfortable. He knows what you have. This is fine.

Your friend’s son’s basketball mascot grins up at you. You decide to compromise and switch the shirt for a black cami you usually wear under a nice blouse.

When you peek out of the room, Simon’s in the middle of the couch, and he’s blocked one end by dragging the table closer to where he’s sitting. His jeans have been traded for black sweats, but you can’t tell if his black shirt is new or not. Somehow, he looks bigger, but in a nice way. Softer. If a brick shit-house could look soft. A brick book nook.

“’Ey, pretty girl,” he says, leaning enough to put an arm across the back of the couch. “Come sit, we’re gonna eat and then we’re gonna talk.”

When you get close, you realize that there’s not enough room for both of you to sit unless you’re half on top of him.

You want to throw yourself entirely into his lap. But you can smell the food now, and you’re so hungry. So you perch as much of your ass on the couch as you can and swing your legs over one of his. You meet his eyes just as his arm comes down across your thighs. His hand cups the outside of your leg in a way that makes you remember what he said.

He’s not letting you go, now.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 4 - You Bleed Like Me

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Starting a tradition for my long series when chapter 4 is just love interest bonding. Enjoy!

Chapter title from clementine by Halsey

Word Count: 16.9k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You and Dean have an arrangement. Usual warnings, extra graphic violence warning.

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

Chapter 3 - Chapter 5

Read on A03!

“This doesn’t really seem like an us case, De-“

“There are us cases?”

She glared up at Dean, her eyes narrowed. “Yes. And this isn’t one.”

“Why not?” He propped his elbows on the table, smirking at Her as he picked up his burger. “What’s an us case, sweetheart? So I know what I should be looking for-“

She snorted. “You’re full of shit, Winchester.”

“Oh, yeah, but that’s not going to get you out of this.” Dean took a large bite, grinning at Her expectantly, and she sighed.

“It’s something that goes fast. That’s strange enough to be interesting, but not dangerous enough that, if one of us has to go early, the other is left dead in the water. And it should play off of our strengths, to make it easier.”

“Huh.” Dean swallowed his food, watching Her carefully. “What’s my strength?” 

She gave him an amused look. “What do you think your strength is?”

“I think it’s my huge, thick, throbbing…” He leaned forward, wigging his brows. “Brain.”

Her bright eyes rolled, but Dean didn’t miss the way there was no venom behind her annoyed groan, or how her lips twitched upwards ever so slightly. “You proud of that one?”

“Yeah.” He shrugged, shooting Her a wink. “What do you think it is?”

She hummed, tilting Her head at him. “You want the honest answer, or the flattering one?”

Dean frowned. “Both?”

“Cool. You’re the face.”

“I’m…” Dean trailed off, shaking his head. “I’m the face?”

“Uh huh.” She grinned at him, poking Her own food with a plastic fork. “You get us in the door, so I can do all the work.”

“You do not do all the work-“

She gave him a flat look. “Who’s higher up on the kill scoreboard?”

“You. But,” he pointed an accusing finger at Her. “Only because I’ve have to leave early for the past three hunts.”

“And I’m up by nine, dumb dumb.” She sat up a little straighter, pride written all over her gorgeous face, and it made Dean feel all soft and gooey. “And that’s exactly why I should get to veto this hunt-“

Dean clicked his tongue, not even trying to fight his smile. “We’ll get back to this hunt in a second, sweetheart, you need to explain the face thing.”

She wrinkled her nose at him. “I already did-“

“Well, was that the flattering one or the honest one? Cause if it’s the honest one, you need to start appreciating me more-“

“I appreciate you plenty.” She snapped, flushing slightly. “And that was the flattering one.”

“Alright, what’s the honest one?”

“I’m not telling you.”

Dean gave Her his best puppy-dog eyes—nothing compared to Sammy’s, but he was getting better, at least with Her—and a pout that he hoped made him look adorable and not constipated. “C’mon, I can take it-“

“No. You’ll have to earn it.”

He scowled. “How the hell am I supposed to earn it-“

“Good question.” She gave him a teasing grin, Her eyelashes fluttering slightly, and Dean’s pout turned a little more real as warmth settled in his gut. “But that does sound like a you problem, Deano.”

Dean leaned back in his seat, rolling his eyes. “You suck.”

“I know.” Her smile grew, lips full and wide and slightly parted and fuck, Dean wanted her to suck on them- “You’re still here, though.”

“I am.” Dean stomped down his pathetic, unreasonable need for Her and took another bite of his burger. “But that’s just cause I don’t know how to leave, Princess.” 

She flipped him off, returning the conversation to the hunt, and Dean wasn’t sure if the flash in Her eyes was from amusement or hurt. It shouldn’t be hurt. He hadn’t meant to hurt Her. He never wanted to hurt Her, it always made him feel ill. Hell, it had been three years since the poltergeist—three years since he’d seen real, pure hatred for him on Her pretty face—and Her expression before she stormed out of the bar was still shifting like ash inside that pit in Dean’s body, reminding him what a piece of fucking shit he was. He’d never apologized for that. He wasn’t sure how he would, because that would require a longer conversation to explain himself, where he finally demanded answers for what Dad had found on Her during the moroi hunt.

And he wasn’t fucking strong enough to have that conversation. Not now. Not when he finally had Her in the loosest possible way, and he didn’t want to screw it up. Didn’t want to open his mouth and poke and prod Her—demand more than he deserved to have—until she left him, like everyone else did. Dean would not whine about his feelings like a little girl. Not when he knew it would drive his only friend away. Not when it would ruin whatever this was with Her. 

He wasn’t really sure what this actually was, but he knew it was something. Friendship seemed to be the easiest thing to call it, but there was more than that. It was over a year of meeting up for hunts, hanging out a little while after—laying on a bed or sitting on the floor or leaning across a table—before parting with grins and promises to call and meet up again. And they always did. There were always weeks where Dad was away, Dean was left alone, and he’d kill that time with Her. With another case that they handled together, as a team, and another week of falling into this enigma of a woman he couldn’t avoid if he tried. 

Because there had been truth in the joke that he didn’t know how to leave. He’d tried. He’d gotten messages for hunts that were a little further away from his motel then was smart, and still gone to meet Her because it was Her. It was a chance to see Her and talk to her and watch her move through the world as if it had been designed for Her. The idea that Dean was the face was baffling, because She was the one who turned heads wherever they went. Backwater dive bars and small farm towns, crowded cities when they walked down the street and roadside diners where they met up, fancy gated communities where people made odd faces at Dean because they could see that he didn’t belong, but smiled at Her because she was meant to be there. She was beautiful, walked with a purpose—Her steps certain, her chin raised high—and said every word like it was a privilege to hear her voice.

And dammit, it was. In the weeks between seeing Her, Dean would be haunted by her voice. It hadn’t stopped following him into dreams, but now it surrounded him on the wind. Every other voice sounded crude and grating compared to Her’s, to the point that Dean had to tune out every woman he slept with, because their moans were like chalk screeching and scraping on his ears.

He’d started to imagine Her moans. When Dad was gone, and She wasn’t available for a hunt—too far across the country or busy with something else She didn’t need Dean for, although nobody ever really needed Dean for anything—he would wrap his hand around his cock and lose his mind to her in the dark. He thought, if She did moan for him, She’d say his name and smile at him, looking at him like he was the only person in the whole universe. And the longer he indulged those fantasies, the more they spiraled out of control. He had to fuck women on their stomachs, because it was easier to pretend that it was Her beneath him. He’d started to fucking look for chicks that had similar features to Her at bars, started to smell them like a goddamn creep, because if there was a fruity smell it turned him on all the more.

But even when there was, it wasn’t Her smell. None of them were ever exactly like Her, not enough for Dean to find real satisfaction. Their hair was the right texture, but not as shiny. Their eyes were the same color, but they weren’t bright. They seemed passionate, but they didn’t seem like the universe. She was the universe. She was bigger than the universe. She was some sort of ethereal royalty sent to test Dean’s self-control, all laughter and teasing and sharp words in a siren voice, pulling Dean into Her orbit without ever letting him collide.

And that wasn’t something friends were supposed to feel about friends. Which was the more part. Dean wanted more. He wanted Her under him, against him, around him, his skin slapping on Her’s until she moaned and Her smile became blissful and calm. He wanted to pull her into a long kiss until she sighed his name, wanted to have an excuse to see Her that didn’t involve death or blood, wanted to know everything about Her until he either held Her for as long as she’d allow or he found a reason to hate Her again. 

Because so far, he wasn’t really having much luck on that last thing. He couldn’t work out how to ask what the hell was up with Her family—her past, her lies, or the way She seemed to shut down at odd moments—without ruining this. And he really didn’t want to ruin this. Even without that more, even without the explanation, this was good. This was the sole constant in Dean’s life. She was the only person who looked at Dean and saw him, the only person who didn’t seem sick of him, the only person he sat with in silence without ever feeling the need to speak. 

Dean wanted to know every fucking thing about Her—beautiful, horrible, and twisted—but he also refused to be the one to fuck a good thing up. If She felt the same blinding, consuming pull to Dean that he felt to Her she would’ve mentioned it by now, because son of a bitch it was impossible to ignore. Dean had to spend active effort in Her presence to not touch her, to not blurt that she was the hottest woman he’d ever seen, to not pick Her up and fold her into his chest or fall to his knees and wrap his arms around Her waist, pleading with Her to just stay all the time.

He was pathetic. She was awesome. And he’d have to be insane to mention the pull, because She’d look at him like he was worthless and horrible for even thinking he could ever deserve to be the one she allowed protect her, then he’d be alone again. 

It didn’t stop him from imaging a world where he was allowed to be Her knight. Be Her dark, following Her like a shadow and pulling her apart where only he was allowed to see. Which was, again, insane. But Dean had already lost his mind to Her enough. 

Because he’d been lying. To Dad. 

Dad didn’t have a clue Dean was doing this. Worse, Dean had no plans to tell him. And Dean fucking sucked for lying to Dad when all Dad did was help and protect him, but Dad was also stronger and smarter than Dean, and knew how not to fall for Her entrancing smile and words and face. Dad knew how to hate Her, and Dean didn’t really want to see the disappointment on his face when he found out how Dean would actively look for cases to work with Her, call Her whenever he could, and take any excuse to be in Her presence. 

Dean didn’t need the extra shame, because it already flailed around that pit inside of him and ate at his bones. He didn’t need to be reminded of how easily this arrangement with Her could come crashing down, because the thought had been buried deep in his skull, but still managed to worm out whenever he was really, truly alone. Whenever he’d cum in his hand to the thought of Her, or squeeze his eyes shut to imagine that she was the one under him, and then realize was a perverted asshole he was. Whenever She’d look at him too long and he’d wonder if she was seeing that pit inside of him, seeing how hollow and disgusting he was, how he was never fully able to wash the mud off his skin to match the way She seemed to glow. If She was realizing that no matter what lies or tricks she pulled on Dean, he was so worthless that he’d always fall for her, so he wasn’t worth her time. 

Even now, in a white tile food court of a florescent mall, She looked a flower growing in a junkyard. Not out of place, but strange. Too beautiful for a place where anything could be, too delicate and natural for anywhere at all. And She wasn’t delicate, but she was something a little to the side of it. She didn’t flinch at blood, and she didn’t balk at challenge, but She didn’t belong at Dean’s side. She was worth more than that. Worth more than the way he wore out everything around him.

And he hoped She never realized that.

Because he was a selfish piece of shit.

“I just think this case is too big.” She was watching Dean with a hesitant gaze, fidgeting with Her own fingers. “We don’t have any real leads, except this,” She made a loose gesture around the mall. “Is the epicenter. No connections between the vics, and most of them aren’t even from this town, which mean no feuds. There’re no connections between the ways they’re dying, either, and no reported odd events-”

 “I’d call five random deaths an odd event-“

“But nobody’s ever died at this mall before.” She propped Her chin on her hand, a small, pretty frown on her face. “Which means it’s not a vengeful spirit, and that’s the only thing that would make sense here.”

“C’mon,” Dean said Her name, putting down his burger. “It’s a puzzle! Which mean it’ll feel so much more awesome when we solve it, right?”

“What if we don’t solve it? What if this is above our pay grade?”

“Nothing’s above our pay grade, Princess, we don’t get paid-“

She rolled Her eyes. “You know what I mean. These deaths are violent, random, and without any sort of monster or spirit MO. Hearts stay in the chests, no blood drained from the body, no EMF or temperature drops. Nothing.”

“So we’ll find something.”

“What if we don’t.”

“We will.” Dean grinned at Her, leaning a little forward. “That’s your strength, sweetheart. You’re the puzzle master.”

She snorted. “Puzzle master implies I create the puzzles, Deano. Not solve them.”

“Whatever.” He waved Her off, holding her gaze. “Still your strength.”

“If it’s my strength, why did you say we’ll find something-“

“Because that’s how teams work,” Dean drawled Her name with a smirk. “One person does all the work, and the other,” he gestured to himself, puffing out his chest slightly. “Gives the presentation. That’s my strength, right? I’m the face and the muscle?”

She shrugged. “Sure.” 

Dean raised his brows. “Really?”

“Nope. And I’m not telling you.” 

He frowned. “Would you tell me if I guessed right?”

“Probably not,” She hummed, glancing around the food court with a frown, then looking back to Dean. “Do you really think we can handle this case?”

“Yeah.” He nodded, watching Her carefully. “I think we’ve got this, Princess. We’re gonna kick ass.”

She hummed, and Dean could read the hesitation behind Her eyes. Clouding over the usual light, Her brain obviously spinning as she weighed whatever doubts she had against Dean’s faith that they could handle this. 

He hoped they weren’t doubts against him. He always fucking worried She’d get sick of dumbing herself down to his level, of slowing Her pace to match his. This case was right up Her ally—Dean knew how much She loved weird shit—but it wasn’t up Dean’s. Hell, he didn’t even have an alley, he just fought whatever he was pointed at. He knew he was only here because She allowed him to be, because She had, for some unexplainable reason, decided that Dean didn’t get in Her way like other hunters did.

He didn’t think that was true. And this was evidence of it.

But She still sighed and nodded, and Dean felt something tight around his lungs go slack.

“Fine.” She said, running a hand through her hair. Dean wished She’d let him do that. “How long have I got you for?”

Dean blinked at Her. “I, uh, what?”

“For the hunt.” She raised Her brows, giving him an odd look. “How long until your Dad is expecting you back?”

“Oh.” Dean felt his face heat slightly, and prayed She hadn’t caught how he’d short-circuited at the thought of Her having him. “Uh, Dad’s in Arizona, so at least a week and a half with the drive back.”

“Okay,” She ran Her thumb over that scar on her palm, her brow furrowed in thought. “Then I’ll give us a week to get it ourselves, but if we don’t get it by then, or the deaths get out of hand, we call in backup. Deal?”

“Sure, but-” Dean frowned. “Backup? You have backup?”

“You’re not the only one who knows other hunters, Deano.” She shrugged, shooting Dean a teasing grin that didn’t help him collect himself at all. “Let’s get moving, we’ve got some investigating to do.”

Dean muttered an agreement, shoving the rest of his burger into his mouth in one movement, and tried not to let the sore thought of who the fuck else does She know circle around his skull as he stood up. Dean wasn’t Her keeper or guard or partner. He wasn’t Her anything. He didn’t have a right to get pissed off and possessive over the very idea that She might think there were other hunters she’d want to handle this. Hunters She’d chose over Dean. Hunters She’d trust over Dean. 

He could handle this. He could prove to Her that he could handle this. He could focus, and be serious, and work this case until they solved it—together, not just Her being cool and smart and Dean trailing in Her wake—so that She’d never worry about needing backup again.

Dean reminded himself as he watched Her comb over the mall map—Her nose adorably scrunched in thought and her tongue tracing over her slightly parted lips—that She only hunted with him. She might know other hunters, but Dean was the only one She sought out for cases. The only one She asked to work with her. 

He was pretty sure he was the only one. She might be lying about that, but he didn’t think She was. She was still lying about Her past—Dean had only tried to learn more with careful, casual questions, but she always kept Her answers vague, and Dean didn’t know how to flat out ask—but he’d grown less and less certain that She was, in any way, a manipulative bitch. She’d gotten uncomfortable stealing a pencil from a diner once. That didn’t scream master thief and con woman, and Dean couldn’t understand how what Dad had showed him was the same person before him. Especially because everything She did say about her past seemed to be true. Most everything she said, ever, seemed to be true, despite Dean’s direct knowledge that should tell him it wasn’t.

But he’d developed a sense for when She was lying. Something would scratch at his head and he’d know that She did care that he was leaving a case early, She did think Dean’s joke was funny, and She didn’t actually care about cars, but She did want to hear Dean talk about them.

Which clashed with what Dad had told him all the more. Dad had repeatedly painted a picture of a spoiled brat, who didn’t care about people like them. That’s what he’d said when She left after the poltergeist. That Dean couldn’t have expected her to stay, because She’d never be able to even pretend to give a shit about people she saw as lower than Her. But then She’d watch Dean with an unwavering attention and soft amusement as he told Her about cowboys and cars and other stuff she obviously didn’t give a fuck about, but listened without ever complaining or trying to shut him up. 

She seemed like that with almost everyone. Dean conducted the interviews at Her side—moving through store after store to ask about the various deaths—and watched Her look at everyone with a similar open, gentle interest in what they told her. At the Radio Shack a tall man with long, ratty hair somehow ended up talking about how his wife loved those solve the crime shows, saying that she would be thrilled he got to act as a witness, and She let out an intoxicating, sweet laugh before telling the man that, while She wasn’t a fan of those shows herself, she’d once been thrilled to be let into a big house like the one in the Sound of Music, so she understood. She said Her dad had to threaten to leave because they were the for work, and She shouldn’t be singing on the staircase.

Dean had frowned for a brief second after, because She should’ve been raised in a big house.

“Did you do the dancing too?” He asked as they walked out of the store, leaning down to mutter in Her ear. “On the staircase?”

She nodded. “Oh yeah. I even got to go back and do a different song after he was done with the case.”

Dean blinked. “Your dad let you do that?”

“His idea.” She looked back to give Dean an easy, mind-numbing smile. “He’ll never admit it, but he enjoyed it more than I did. He said I was big screen talented.”

She wasn’t lying. He didn’t get that story at all—not only the house thing, but Her dad letting her waste time on something pointless, let alone enjoying it—but She wasn’t lying, so Dean’s returning grin was wide. 

“You think you’ll ever sing for me, Princess?”

“I don’t sing in front of people.”

“You just said you sang for your dad-“

“I’d kill someone for my dad.” She shrugged, waving Dean off with a casual hand. “He doesn’t count.”

“You wound me,” Dean mock-whined Her name, and She wrinkled her nose at him. “You wouldn’t kill someone for me?”

She hummed. “Night’s young.”

Dean’s heart almost stumbled to a halt as She just kept moving, and he had to physically shake himself to jumpstart his brain. She wouldn’t kill for him, or sing for him, but the night was young. Dean could jog after Her and walk by her side with the hope of being important enough to Her—Dean would like to be important to anybody, but being important to Her would be awesome—that she’s kill for him. That She’d sing for him.

Walking at Her side, though, was just as awfully simple as speaking to Her. Just as contradictory to everything about Her Dean was supposed to hate. He knew that already—from hunting and walking with Her for a year—but the force of that fact still shocked him. The person Dad said She was wouldn’t toss strangers genuine smiles as they passed each other in the crowd. Those smiles wouldn’t be softer for children, wide regardless of if people smiled back, and somehow bigger when aimed at Dean. She wouldn’t smile at Dean in the crowd like he was the only one she was truly happy to see. She wouldn’t walked so close to him, and look around the world as it parted for Her like it might cave in just as fast. 

The person Dean should hate wouldn’t look so entranced by the dirty, loud mall around Her. Wouldn’t watch everyone with a fasciation that didn’t seem to come from watching animals in a zoo—caged and lower, made only for Her amusement—but like they were beautiful. Like She was water in a bottle watching the river flow, and longer to be a part of it.

Hanging out with Her was making Dean smarter. He wasn’t even sure what that meant, but it sounded pretty. And it felt right. That was how She watched people laugh with each other, how She looked at the clothing in the stores, and how She stared at all the little pastries in the bakery. 

“Do you want one?”

She looked up at Dean with wide eyes, shaking Her head with a nervous laugh. “No, I’m- I don’t need one.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “It’s food, ‘course you need one. C’mon, we can get one of the small ones, they’re like, two bucks-“

“Dean, I’m fine.” Her voice was firm, Her back a little straighter, and Dean frowned. She had called him Dean. That meant she was serious.

“Whatever,” he shrugged it off, watching Her carefully as he continued. “I’ll get one, I’m fucking starving-“

“You just had a burger-“

“Two hours ago,” Dean drawled Her name, lowering down to examine the display case. “I’m gonna get that one, it looks like a tiny pie-“

“This isn’t going to work, Winchester.” She snapped, and Dean glanced up to see Her glaring down at him, arms folded over her chest.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart.“

“This.” She made a circling gesture over Dean’s hunched body. “You can’t guilt me into splitting one with you.”

Dean grinned at Her. “I’m not trying to guilt anyone-“

“Good. Because it’s not working.”

“Yeah, I don’t care, cause I’m not trying to do anything.” Dean turned back to the display, flagging down the chick behind the counter to grab four of those awesome mini pies, ignoring Her glare behind him. “You got something you wanna say, Princess?”

He could easily picture Her glare deepening. “Why’d you get four.”

“I’m a growing boy.”

She snorted. “You’re twenty-five.”

“Well, you’re not a doctor. I could grow some more.” Dean turned with his bag in hand, guiding Her out of the shop—they’d already decided it was a dead end, and Dean had pies to eat and a point to prove—with a smirk. “Never know.”

“I do know.” She mumbled. “You won’t.”

“Not if you don’t believe in yourself. That mindset, you’ll never get anywhere in life-“

“Shut up.”

Dean tossed the first mini pie into his mouth. “Bossy-“

“I’ll hit you, Winchester.”

He winked at Her, speaking through his half-chewed mouthful. “Promise?”

He dodged Her kick to his shins, only to fall right onto Her elbow in his gut, spluttering up some of his pie. 

“Shit!” She grabbed his arm to steady him, Her eyes wide. “Fuck, I didn’t mean to get you that bad-“

“Nah, ’s fine.” Dean dusted himself off, pulling himself back to full height, giving Her his best winning smile. “You warned me, that one’s a freebie.”

“I’m still sorry-“

“Don’t be.” He winked at Her. “I’m careful, sweetheart. That’s why I got four.”

She flushed, mumbling another apology, and Dean really didn’t care. He still had three pies, She was adorable when she was embarrassed, and it was kinda funny. He’d spat that up like a cartoon.

He did only get two of those pies, but that was because he won the previous argument, so all was right in the world. Dean made it through his first whole one with dramatic and vulgar sounds of pleasure, watching Her scowl at the air, then flush, then start to glance at Dean with hungry eyes.

He was unable to hide the smug glee in his voice when he raised his brows at Her.

“Hey, Princess.”

She glared at him, Her lips in a pretty pout, and Dean’s smirk grew as he dug around through the bag, pulled out one of the pies, and offered it to Her.

She looked between Dean and the pie, snatched it like She was worried it was a bomb set to go off, and marched away as she shoved it in Her mouth. 

Dean didn’t understand Her at all. 

He didn’t really care.

Most of the stores were dead end leads—everyone they interviewed not able to mention anything strange about the mall or off about their store the day before someone was literally murdered in it—so they ended up fucking around more than any two hunters on a case probably should. Dean was cracking more jokes than Dad would usually allow, but She was a receptive audience, and Her giggle was like lightning through Dean’s blood. She kept watching everything with that same fasciation, and the pie had seemed to open some sort of dam in Her as the afternoon crept on. She spent the half the time in Yankee Candle smelling things, inspected over the stuffed animals in a toy store like she was choosing a counsel, and spent so long starting at books in Barnes and Noble that Dean decided it was fine for him to take an hour in the vinyl store.

“Of course you like vinyl.”

Dean frowned at Her. “Yeah, I’m not a freakin’ heathen-“

“I know.” She said the words simply, like they were obvious, and Dean felt something hum happily in his chest, just to the right of his heart. “But it’s been an hour, De, and I know for a fact you already have that album as a cassette tape-“

“It’s about appreciating art, Princess.” Dean shrugged Her off, turning back to the shelves. “You can head out whenever you want. I’ll find you when I’m done.”

She scowled, but didn’t leave. She stayed right at Dean’s side, even asking him a few questions about the albums and not acting like She regretted it when his answers were long and detailed. She scanned over the store with a small, thoughtful furrow in Her brow as Dean spoke, but he knew She was listening because then she’d ask fucking follow up questions. She must have been looking for a clue or lead, because halfway through talking about Metallica She grabbed his arm and dragged him to a corner of the store, crouching down to run a hand over a crack in the wall, and looked up at Dean with a sigh.

“Sorry, I thought I-“ She shook her head, frowning at the crack. “Never mind.”

“You thought it was something for the case?” Dean dropped at Her side, not really caring to examine the crack. It was a plaster wall, there were going to be cracks and he didn’t really think it was anything at all.

But She had. And Dean always wanted to know why she thought something. 

“I’m not sure, I just-” She pulled her lower lip between her teeth, twisting a ring on Her finger. “I don’t know.”

Dean frowned. Lie. “Don’t know what.”

“What we’re looking for.” She muttered, her voice lined with frustration. Truth. “I don’t have a fucking clue, De, and I don’t like it. I mean, we can interview the victims’ families again, but they’re all different demographics, and I don’t- I don’t know-“

Dean said Her name cautiously, placing his hand on Her back, but She just kept talking.

“I don’t know, this, it feels bad.”

He frowned. “Yeah, it’s a bunch of gruesome murders-“

“No, I mean- I know you can’t- Only I- It’s just bad. It’s really bad and I can, I can feel- it’s like-” She sighed, slumping slightly into Dean’s touch, which made him feel like he was flying. “It’s wrong, Dean. It’s dark.”

Dean didn’t have a goddamn clue what She was talking about, or why She was watching the crack like it might spread up and collapse the building, but She looked really worried. He’d never seen that on Her before, and it felt like a blaring alarm in his chest, demanding Dean listen to Her. That he fix this.

“Look, Princess, I’m not sure what you’re talking about-“

“I know. I sound insane.”

“Yeah, you do, but-“ He offered Her a small grin, even though her attention was still fixed on the crack. “We’ve still got a few more stores to go, and we’re going to find something. No funny business on our watch, right?”

“No, but,” Her tongue peeked out between her lips as she let out a long breath. Dean wanted to pull it between his teeth. “This… I don’t really want to know what it is.” She finally looked to Dean, and there was something nervous in Her eyes that made his whole body tight. 

“We can’t just give up,” Dean said Her name carefully, rubbing his hand in a careful circle. “We deal in the nasty and bad, that’s the job-“

“I’m not saying we give up, De.” She mumbled. “We’re going to fix this, but I’m saying I really don’t like this. I can’t describe why, but I don’t, and maybe we should call in the backup now-“

Dean shook his head. “You promised me a week-“ 

“I know, I’m just saying we don’t have anything. Not even a real lead.”

He shrugged, rising up and offering Her his hand. “We’ll find one. It’s about attitude,Princess. Fake it till you make it.” 

“I don’t think you can fake evidence. I think that’s actually a felony.”  Her voice was a little lighter as Dean helped Her to her feet, and it made him feel hot, bright pride. He’d cheered Her up. Just Dean.

“Lucky we’re not real cops then, right?” He winked at Her, and she snorted.

“No, that’s actually also a felony-“ 

“You’re focusing on the negative,” Dean drawled Her name, guiding Her out of the store with a hand on her back. “Remember. Attitude.” 

She rolled Her eyes. “You’re a dork.”

“I’m hilarious and charming.” He corrected, trying not let Her small smile move too deep into his heart. “That’s my strength, sweetheart, I keep the spirits up while you get all emotional-“

She whacked his chest, giggling as Dean took a large, dramatic step back. “I am not emotional-“

“You just hit me because I hurt your feelings- Shit!”

He barely dodged the kick to his shins, taking a large step back to avoid the elbow.

“Ha,” he let out a loud, triumphant laugh. “I’ve learned all your tricks- fuck!”

Dean did not dodge the tackle. She side-slammed into him with a light force that Dean should’ve been able to absorb, but still sent him stumbling. Not because he was hurt—She never actually hurt him, her every hit controlled and delivered with a gleam in Her eyes that made Dean grin—but because She seemed to not anticipated catching him off guard, and ended up pressing Her whole body to Dean’s and setting him on fire. She fit there, soft and warm and natural, and Dean couldn’t stop his arms from flying to wrap around Her, to take her down with him.

Landing them both on the floor of the mall, looking more like teenagers than the official police investigators they were supposed to be. But if people were staring, he couldn’t see them. He could only see Her. Beautiful and consuming in his lap, his arms around Her torso and her hands braced on his chest. Smothering him with the smell of fruit and sugar, drawing him in closer as they just stared at each other. 

He was blinded. Her eyes were wide and vast and seemed to be wrapping around Dean until everything in the universe was one color, and that color was Her. He couldn’t stop himself from glancing down to Her lips. Slightly parted, the feeling of them still branded onto his cheek, just as bright as the rest of Her and luring him closer like he was only moth-

She swallowed, shifting slightly above him, and it broke him out of the spell. She could not be squirming above him in public. Not when they had a job to do and Dean wasn’t sure She’d like or want the consequences of that action.

“We should, um-“ Her words were slow, as if she had to think every single one out. “Case. Evidence.”

“Right, yeah. Case.” Dean stood carefully, helping Her to her own feet. “What, uh, where are we-“

“Macy’s.” She mumbled. She was still standing too close, where Dean could feel the heat of her body. “It’s actually the last stop.”

“Good, awesome-“

“No, not awesome.” She gave Dean a flat look. “This is our last store, and we have nothing.”

“I told you, Princess, we’ll find something.” He trailed at Her side as they began walking, staring at Her as they moved through the crowd. She’d stop him from hitting anyone, and she was so much better look at than a bunch of random strangers and shops. “It’s all about the attitude and teamwork, about playing to our strengths. My strength is, of course, being the level-headed decision maker-“

She laughed. “No.”

“Alright, but you gotta tell me-“

“I don’t have to do anything.”

He sighed. “You’re so mean to me.”

“That’s because you’re a loser, Winchester.”

“If I am, you’re losing with me.” He grinned at Her, she glanced at him with a light in Her eyes, and those words didn’t stab him deep in the soft tissue of his stomach like they should’ve. Dean was a loser, but she didn’t say it the way most people would’ve. She said it like it was endearing. Like She wouldn’t want Dean any other way.

He hoped She wanted him at all. The most evidence he had that She did was that she was here. Hunting with Dean, talking to the cashiers and walking by his side. Giggling as he made stupid jokes about the glittering heels in the shoe isle, making Her own jokes about a rack of hideous dresses, watching Dean with amusement as he glared at a bedazzled belt in the men’s isle.

“What would you even use that for?” He asked Her, turning it over in his hand. “It’s all freakin’ sparkly-“

“I think that’s the point, De.” She shrugged, standing right at Dean’s shoulder as he continued to glower at the belt. “Sparkly cowboy belt, who wouldn’t want one?”

Dean scoffed. “This is not a cowboy belt-“

“Yeah, it is.” Her arm brushed over Dean’s as she grabbed the tag, and he almost completely forgot what they were talking about as every bit of his existence flew to that touch. “Bling Western Belt, Men’s.” 

“That’s… that’s fucking dumb as hell, cowboys don’t wear glitter-“

“Fun cowboy’s wear glitter.” She nudged her shoulder with his, Her smile brighter than every stupid rhinestone on the belt. “Maybe you’re just a boring cowboy.”

Dean raised his brows at Her. “So I’m a cowboy? Is that my strength?”

She wrinkled Her nose at him. “That’s not a strength, it’s a characterization-“

“But I am a cowboy-“

“A boring one.”

He shrugged. “I’ll take it.”

“You do that.” She hummed, looking over Her shoulder with a frown—that little furrow in Her brow deep, her eyes focused—and Dean paused, letting the belt drop from his hands.

“You good, Princess?”

“Huh?” She looked back to him with an open expression, the wrinkle still there, and God, he wanted to touch it. “What’d you say?”

He scanned over Her carefully, looking for any sign of distress, anything he needed to fix. “I asked if you’re good-“

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She grabbed Dean’s arm and tugged him away from the belt, down the aisle. “Let’s keep moving.”

She didn’t seem fine, but she also wasn’t frantic or edged enough for pushing Her to be worth it. Dean had a feeling She’d just bristle and snap, or shut down completely, and he didn’t know how to the hell to fix it if She did. He didn’t want to ruin this. He couldn’t ruin this. He had Her as close as she’d allow, and he wanted to keep her there until he was forced away. Dean wanted to keep listening to Her speak about things he normally wouldn’t care about, but felt fascinating when She said them. He wanted to know Her every thought on this case, understand what she meant by it feeling bad, and maybe learn enough that, if She tested him, he’d pass and be allowed closer. Close enough that She’d explain herself without Dean ever needing to ask.

Close enough that he might be able to spend whole days with Her walking through a mall, no threat of death hanging over their heads. Just Dean making dumb jokes, Her explaining things to him, and Dean telling Her his opinions and kissing Her on the head when she hit his chest, both of them smiling and their hands tangled perfectly together-

Dean did not need to hold Her hand. He was not a toddler. His fingers might be aching to touch Her skin and his body might be straining to press against Her’s, but that was just his body. His body that didn’t seem to care that She was, still, lying to him. That Dean should be a lot more focused on the people being murdered part of this rather than lost these countless fantasies of Her. It wasn’t like he wouldn’t dream of them tonight, where they couldn’t affect anyone but Dean. Where all they did was carve into his resolve and pull him further down into Her, where he couldn’t afford to be.

Where he didn’t have the will to leave. 

It was why he kept trying to get his head in the case, but couldn’t. He just kept thinking of Her in front of him, kept getting lost in Her voice with no need to be found. 

“God, this shit is expensive.” She mumbled at Dean’s side, her eyes scanning over the price tags of various perfume bottles as she fidgeted with the EMF reader. “I mean, I use that one, and it is not worth a hundred bucks.”

Dean mumbles a passive agreement, glancing at the bottle She’d nodded to. Fancy and crystal looking, filled with golden liquid and labeled with a French word he couldn’t pronounce. He almost looked away—he didn’t really care about perfume at all—but then he realized that could be it. That could be the fruit smell.

He grabbed the bottle, turning it in his hands, and She gave him an amused look. 

“You looking for a new perfume, Deano?”

“Shut up.” He muttered. “What’s a keynote.”

“It’s like the main smell of something.” She hummed, and Dean frowned between Her and the label.

“This says the keynote is vanilla.”

“Uh huh.” She looked back to the EMF reader. “I think this area is clear, which means we still have-“

“And you’re sure you wear this?”

“Pretty sure, considering I got it for myself-“

“This.” Dean held it up for Her to see. “Vanilla. You wear the vanilla.”

“Yep.” She gave him an odd look. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,“ Dean placed the bottle back on the shelf, shooting Her his best winning grin. “I’m fantastic, Princess, just didn’t pin you for the vanilla type.”

She raised Her brows. “What did you pin me for?”

Dean couldn’t answer that, because he’d sound like an insane person. He already felt like an insane person, because every time he’d been near Her, he’d smelled fruit. He was goddamn certain of that, because it drove him out of him mind and made him feel like a giddy, dumbass teenage boy. And there was no universe where Dean would be able to look her in the eyes and say well, I think about how you smell all the time, sweetheart. And you do not smell like vanilla.

So he just winked, shoving his hand in the pockets of his jacket and moving right back to Her side. “I’ll tell you if you tell me my strength.”

She sighed. “Nice try.”

“Did it work?”

“Nope.” She was scanning the store around them, and Dean was about to ask what would work when She did a double take, grabbed his arm, and yanked him down to the floor.

Dean’s balance stuttered slightly as he went down, and he flinched as he landed flat on his ass. “Damnit,” he grunted Her name, rubbing his tailbone. “What the hell was that for-“

Her hand shot out to cover his mouth, Her voice falling to a whisper. “Quiet, I need to-“ She cut herself off, craning her neck up, then ducking back down a second later. “Fuck.”

Dean raised his brows at Her, and she glanced at him with a that little furrow between her brows.

“What?”

He gave Her a flat glare, pointing to her hand, and she flushed.

“Shit, sorry-“ She pulled Her hand away and Dean glowered her, his voice rising to a hushed shout.

“Why’d you do that-“

She covered his mouth again, giving him a stern glare. “Quiet.” She hissed. “I think we’re being followed.”

Dean blinked at Her, dragging her hand off of his face. “By who?”

“Tall, hot lady with the dark hair.” She whispered. “She’s been right behind us through the whole store, she was at the food court, and in almost all the shops-“ She paused, giving Dean an odd look. “You haven’t noticed?”

“No, uh, not really-“

“She tried to hit on you, De. Like, five times.“

Dean frowned. Nobody had hit on him today, let alone multiple times. It had just been Her and Dean the whole day, only ever speaking to other people when they were doing the interviews or getting food. He’d remember if a tall chick had been coming onto him. He’d remember if he’d spoken to a hot lady at all.

But he only remembered talking to Her.

“You said she’s has been following us all day?”

“She called you cute in the bakery, Dean. And complimented your music taste in the vinyl shop.”

Dean frowned into the air, trying to will the memory into existence, and came up blank. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She snapped, glancing over Her shoulder wearily. “I was right next to you.”

She sounded sour. Like the words tasted bitter on Her tongue. Shit, even Her pretty face was scrunched slightly, Her nails scratching at her skin and her body tensed.

Dean’s face broke out in a wide grin. “Holy shit,” he leaned a little closer to Her, dropping his voice into a loud whisper. “You’re jealous.”

She looked back to him with that gorgeous flush and wide eyes. “What the fuck are you talking about.”

“You’re all pissy because I might have not been paying attention to you-“

She rolled Her eyes. “You literally don’t remember her. And even if you did, I would not be jealous.”

Dean knew She wouldn’t be. The sour thing was probably more from Her overall worry about them being followed. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to keep taunting Her until she shoved him, not when he got to see her all adorably and mumbly and embarrassed. 

“It’s okay, I get it. You don’t have anything to worry though.” Dean’s grin was probably shit-eating, and he took the risk to lean in closer, until his body was almost covering Her’s. “I only got eyes for one lady to stick around in my life.“

She raised Her brows at him, her voice dry. “Your dads car?”

He shrugged. “Two ladies.”

“You don’t know two ladies.”

“You’re a lady, genius-“

She snorted. “I am not a lady.”

Dean waved Her off, bracing his other hand on the perfume self. “You’re the most lady lady I know, you use perfume-“

“Because I like smells, Winchester, not because I’m a lady.”

“You can dance-“

“I’ve told you, anyone with legs can dance.”

“Not me.” 

“You can rodeo, cowboy.”

Dean gaped at Her for a long second—still scanning around them for his alleged stalker—and he couldn’t really remember how to speak. She’d called him cowboy. She’d said it like it was plain and obvious and shouldn’t set off fireworks along his ribs. Like it shouldn’t suddenly be incredibly important to Dean that she call him that again very soon, ideally now-

“Our shadow’s gone.” She muttered, looking back to Dean with a small frown. “I still think we should be careful.”

Dean shook himself out of the gaze, giving Her a lazy grin in the hope She hadn’t noticed his almost drunken daze. “I’m always careful, sweetheart-“

“Says the guy who didn’t even notice he was being followed-“

“I can’t be expected to remember every chick that hits on me, Princess.” He spread his arms wide, smirking as She rolled her eyes. “I mean, look at me. C’mon.”

She gave him a dry look, opened Her mouth to spar back at him, but froze with a gape and flash of Her eyes. 

“Uh,” Dean waved his hand in Her face, saying Her name. “You good in- damnit-“

He lost his balance as She grabbed his hand out of the air, turning it palm up and running a light touch over his fingertips. Small sparks of electricity flew over his skin at the contact, at how feather like and gentle it was, like Dean was worth being touched carefully, and fuck, he wanted to hold Her hand so bad-

“What are you-“

She raised one finger, and Dean fell silent, watching Her examine his skin like it was priceless. Turning it between Her hands, leaning down to look closer, really touching Dean, lighting him up golden from inside-

“Hey, uh-“

“Dean.” She looked up at him with wide eyes. “I’ve got it.”

He blinked at Her stupidly. “Got what.”

“What we’re after.” She dragged two fingers over the pad of Dean’s thumb, then held them up for him to see. “Sulfur.”

His brain still wasn’t back to normal. Not while She was still holding his hand. “Huh?”

“There’s sulfur.” Her grin was almost manic, and Dean would be a little freaked out if it wasn’t Her, and he didn’t recognize that as Her I’m about to be right about something smile. “Which means…?”

She was prompting him, and Dean had to rub his head slightly to remember. “Uh, demons, right? They-“ His eyes widened as he finally caught up, all the pieces—violent murders, random victims, no normal leads—fell into place. “Shit. That’s not good.”

“No,” She hummed, squeezing Dean’s hand slightly. “But it’s something.”

——————

You can’t keep living like this. You can’t keep crashing into Dean over and over, expecting it not to leave a mark. It does. It always does. He keeps sinking into you in ways you don’t expect, until your back feels bare without his hand and everything is worse when he’s not there with you. You’ve spent the past year running your fingers over cassette tapes and fighting to urge to get one for him, lost money to buying food because you think Dean would like it, and wasted time staring at your phone and willing it to ring so you could hear his voice. It’s gotten worse the longer your arrangement has gone on. You still don’t know what it is, but you know it’s all only gotten worse.

It’s not a maintainable way to live. Dean has only left you in your motel room, and you already miss him. It’s been ten fucking minutes and you’re uneasy, the White twisting and coiling because Dean’s not next to you and it seems to believe that he’s a given. Everything falls into smooth harmony when he’s there, and when you separate it’s like being doused in ice water that grips your throat and drags the world to press against your skull. He’d walked you to your room with a wink and reminder that he was just down the strip, and you waved him off and told him you were a big girl who wasn’t going to hurt herself changing her shirt. Then he’d shrugged, you’d closed the door, and everything had been worse.

It all felt smaller. The room was too narrow, the ceiling too short, the mirror too close and its reflection too sharp. 

And that’s not Dean. That’s just you. That’s how it always is, how it’s always been. The White glows and the darkness eats you and everything is too small until it’s not. Until the darkness makes you not only you, and it’s all vast and infectious until you drag yourself back down and it’s all small again. It’s dangerous. You’re dangerous. The darkness has gotten stronger in this past year, and you’ve grown sicker, and it’s dangerous. You can’t control it, and the old ways don’t work as well as they did before. 

“I had another one,” you’d mumbled at few weeks ago, glancing up at Bobby from across the table. “Wendigo hunt, in Oregon.”

Bobby had grunted, running a hand over his beard as he watched you carefully. “You alright?”

“Yeah. But I,” you’d swallowed, a foul stench still trapped in your nose. “I ruined a creek.”

“Whatdy’a mean, ruined.”

“I mean the water flew out of it.” 

Bobby had blinked at you. “Out of- out the whole damn creek?”

You’d nodded, and he’d leaned forward in his chair, his voice low and cautious. 

“You’re still tryin’ to remember what sets them off, yeah?”

“I was…” You’d swallowed, because you couldn’t tell Bobby the full truth.

You’d been hunting with Dean. He hadn’t been answering your messages, and the darkness had started to expanded until you were the dirt and the leaves and the mud and the water, and the water had felt distressed, and you’d been falling apart and Dean wasn’t there and then-

He’d been fine. His stupid, dollar store pager had been snapped in his backpack while he was pissing, he hadn’t had signal to call you, and he’d just laughed and brushed you off when you’d shoved him and shouted that he couldn’t just vanish on a hunt when he was the asshole who insisted you hunt together in the first place. If he’d noticed the suddenly dry creek bed, he hadn’t said anything. If Dean has noticed any of the real outbursts—the ones you don’t catch before you lose control—he hasn’t mentioned it, or even given you an odd look.

But Bobby didn’t know you were hunting with Dean. He still doesn’t.

So you’d said you were afraid, because it wasn’t a lie. 

“The… the wendigo was near me, I could feel it, and I freaked out.” You’d sighed, twisting a ring on your finger. “And that was it. No deaths.”

“Good.” Bobby had muttered, glancing down to your hands. “Any injuries I need to know about?”

“No, I got the wendigo-“

“Injuries on you,” Bobby had said your name with a knowing look. “I know how you handle this shit, kiddo, and it ain’t my place to tell you how to deal with it, but if ya’ got anythin’ I need to patch up-“

“No.” You’d whispered, hanging your head slightly. “Nothing.”

Nothing visible. Nothing Bobby could see. He knows about the scratching and biting and picking, but he doesn’t know about the iron. He still thinks you wear the rings because they’re fashionable. He doesn’t know about how they crush the darkness further down by force, or how they leave stains along your bones and over the White. 

He doesn’t know how they seem to be fucking useless lately. How the blowups have not only been more powerful, but the darkness has risen with more ease. 

You think that’s Dean. You’re not sure why, but when you’re with Dean with darkness and the White seem to meld peacefully, right up until they don’t. Right up until you’re in another situation like Vitus last year, and Dean’s by your side, and it’s all suddenly devouring. Over and over the blowouts have been bigger when you’re hunting with Dean, over and over you’ve had more… episodes when you’re together. When there’s a monster you know wouldn’t look or lunge at you, but now Dean’s here and he’s in danger.

Danger from the monster.

Danger from you. 

Because you really can’t control it, and if you have a real blowup—not just everything being too big as you cling to a little bit of control with your teeth—Dean will pay the price. He hasn’t asked much about the episodes, only given you strange looks after and patted your head awkwardly when they linger a little longer, cracking soft jokes and refusing to leave your side. Thankfully, he just seems to think it a girl thing, because he’s an adorable dumbass who mostly hangs out with his dad.

Which is another problem. Every time you indulge yourself—every time you cave into this strange need to be wherever Dean is—you’re a step closer to a death at John Winchester’s hands. All it would take is one easy case, one slip up where he finds out what Dean does when he’s left alone, and you’d be fucked.

But you’re already fucked. Because you really don’t care. You don’t care that John might find out what’s happening and try to kill you, because you’re faster than that asshole, and you know how to disappear. You don’t care that Bobby will kick your ass when he finds out what an idjit you’re being. You only care about the way the world seems to fall into place when Dean greets you with a wide grin and shout of your name across a parking lot. You care about how he’s still here, and he hasn’t gone anywhere, and you don’t think he will. You don’t know if he’s grown blind to what you are, or forgotten, or simply isn’t bothered by it anymore, but you know he’s here.

In the same motel, just a few rooms down.

He’s tried to convince you to share a room—it’s just a room, Princess, and if I was gonna stab you, I’d have done it by now—but that’s where you draw the line. You simply cannot put yourself in that situation. Where Dean showers and you can hear the water, where you wake up and he’s sleeping across the room. You can’t allow yourself to find out whether or not he wears a shirt to sleep, or what side of the bed he prefers, or if he tosses and turns through the night.

You’ll get weird. You’ll be tending to a part of this desire for him that will consume you if you’re not careful. It’s already pathetic and strange that the White is always tugging you to his side. That you always smell grass and spice, even when Dean must be states away. It’s bad enough that you dream about him, that his touch is like a cure to the pain that lives in you, that it feels like you’re growing and for once it’s not malignant. It’s already too much how the darkness is soothed into the White when he’s there, that those fractured pieces scattered through your body always grow towards each other like a spiderweb that’s learned to mend itself. That when Dean smiles at you all those pieces start to catch light and throw it across the darkest, deepest corners of your innards.

It’s worrying that when Dean’s gone, they curl and fester until he returns. 

It’s the fucking worst that whenever he’s even near you, you want… more. Not just his hands on your bare skin or his lips wherever he wants to put them, but all of him. 

So you can’t share a room with Dean. Because if he wanted all of you, if he had even a sliver of what kept calling you back to him, he would’ve mentioned it. He would’ve had to, because the words tell me you feel this too, please, just so I know I haven’t lost my mind always live on your tongue. 

But he hasn’t said anything. 

And you don’t want to destroy this. If it breaks, you won’t know how to live with only the pieces left in your hands. 

Not when it’s been this good.

Because you’re crashing into Dean every single moment, but you’re bending to him too. You’re allowing him to be something you’ve never really had.

He’s your friend.

He looks out for you. He talks to you like you’re not only ever speaking out of turn. He’s even convinced you to start hunting with a weapon.

“What’s this?” You’d asked him, and he’d shrugged, a wide grin on his face.

“It’s a knife, Princess, it goes chop-“

You’d rolled your eyes. “I know what a knife is, I’m asking what this one is doing here.”

“It’s for you.” His voice had dropped slightly, his eyes scanning over your face slowly. “So you don’t get yourself killed when you hunt alone.”

“Dean, I’ve never gotten killed before-“

“Yeah, it’s kind of a one-time thing,” he’d drawled your name, his hands in his pockets so you couldn’t shove the knife into them. “And now I’m not gonna have to worry about you-“

“Aw,” you’d grinned at him. “You worry about me?“

“No, I-“ He’d scowled. “Just take the goddamn knife.”

“Say you worry about me.”

He’d swallowed, his eyes narrowing, and grumbled so low you’d barely heard it. “I worry about you. Pinky promise you’ll actually use that thing.”

Dean had raise his pinky, you’d beamed at him as you locked it with yours, and now that knife stayed under your pillow when you slept. And Dean worried about you. As a hunting partner. As a friend.

You think that’s what this will have to be. It doesn’t seem to be enough for any singular part of you, but it’s more than you’ve ever had before.

It’s poking fun at each other in a way that doesn’t bite and sharing amused looks when someone says something dumb. It’s telling him most everything about yourself and him acting like you’re the most fascinating person in the world. Him doing the same to you, and you hanging onto his every word like they’re the most important things you’ll ever know. It’s not as if you never tell people about yourself, but you really like telling Dean things. He only looks at you when you’re speaking, then he makes stupid jokes that pull a giggle from your lips, and his face wears a shit-eating, prideful grin that makes you want to touch his lips to check that he’s real.

If you don’t count Bobby—and you usually do—Dean might be the only person in the world that knows you and likes you.

Mostly knows you.

Knows everything but that one last, foul truth. And sometimes, you do want to tell him about you being… whatever you are. A witch, a monster, something bigger, something worse. Times like when he sits with you after one of your episodes and you want to explain. Times like when he seems to think you’re more important than you are, when he makes a passing remark about you being fancy. 

Times like at the mall, when you’d felt something sicker and darker than you in that crack on the wall. Rotting and molding inside of and around it, reaching out to you and trying to wrap around your skin. 

It had felt like you, but with nothing colorful cast around it. The whole mall had felt like that, but that crack had been worse. Focused.

You’d checked your notes when you’d gotten back to the motel. Checked what you’d gotten on the vic in the vinyl shop. 

A lumberjack who’d had skin under his nails, like he’d fought back. Bruising on his ankles like he’d been yanked down by them.

So now you’re bent over the sink, trying not to choke on bile or look in the mirror. Because unless you’re wrong—and you don’t think you are—that had been damage left by the demon’s anger and pain. Damage that had been like you. 

You pull it together. You run a shower that burns your skin, sit in the tub with your knees folded into your chest, and pull it together. Dean will be here soon, so you have to fucking pull it together.

But you take off the rings. They’re not nearly enough to stop anything, and even when you stop feeling the suffocation of your tangled sheets, pure pain is still wrapped around your skull like a halo. You know taking the rings off won’t heal or mend it, but at least it will lessen the agony. 

And that will have to be enough.

Dean knocks on your door with a wide grin and dramatic bow, and from here the night should be simple. You’ll go to a bar, Dean will get a beer, you’ll get what he calls a girly drink, and you’ll figure out the Demon’s pattern so you can kill it. You’ll lean back in your booth as he leans forward, and you’ll laugh and talk until you realize it’s almost midnight, then you’ll have to actually work on the case.

From there it will be easy. For you. You’ll lay out all the pieces—it’s a demon, Dean’s pointed out that all the killings seem to happen at night, and you’ve been caught on the fact that over half of the victims seemed to live outside the county—while Dean offers adorable and mostly useless comments. He’s not dumb, but he seems to think he is, and likes playing it up for the bit. And White always sings when you tell him he put something together and his grin becomes toothy and boyish, so you never bother telling him to shut up in a way that you mean.

And that is how the night goes. Dean’s foot keeps pressing against yours—making everything silver and your body melt closer to his—and he orders a lot of food when you finally get to work, but you’re still thinking aloud and Dean’s still cracking dumb jokes, so it’s easy.

Right until around 1am, it’s easy.

“I don’t understand why all the murders are different.” You lean your head back onto the booth, keeping your eyes on Dean’s. “It’s not just the different stores. There’s never the same kind of murder. One blunt-force, one neck snapped, one hanging, and one girl’s report said she was flayed-“

“Hey,” Dean points to his burger, raising his brows. “As much as I love your dirty talk, Princess, I’m kinda eating.”

“Yeah, sorry, I’m just…” You trailed off, frowning at the ceiling and rubbing your palm with your thumb. “Demons don’t always follow a pattern, but they usual have an MO. A favorite type of victim, a favorite way to kill them, something that can be used to figure out where they’ll strike next.”

Dean shrugs, speaking through a mouth full of fries. “You’ll find it. I’m gonna get more fries, you wanna basket?”

You shake your head, closing your eyes as Dean shuffles out of the booth and racking your brain for anything you can use. Night killings, never in the same store. Inconsistent timeframes, too, because it seems to have been two nights since the last murder. But that means there’s probably a new one coming, and if it’s nighttime right now-

“Hey, baby, what’s a pretty girl like you doing here all by herself?”

You open your eyes to see a man that’s definitely not Dean dropping across from you. He’s a litter shorter, a little more wiry, with gelled hair and a smirk that crawls on your skin instead of sparks on it. 

“Uh, I’m not by myself.” You glance over to the bar, your eyes finding Dean in a second. His back is to you as he leans over the counter, and you can easily imagine his wide grin as he watches the bartended collect his fries. “My friend’s just getting food.”

“Well,” the man settles into the booth, leaning forward with a wink. It’s not as pretty as Dean’s. “I can keep you company until she gets back.”

“Actually-“

“Name’s Frank.” He extends his hand, and when you shake it, his hands are clammy. “Pretty girl got a pretty name?”

You say your name, watching him wearily. “And I’m kind of working-“

Frank laughs. “It’s one in the morning, baby, you should take a break-“

“I got two, ‘cause you always say you don’t want any then you try to fucking eat mine-“ Dean cuts himself off with a scowl when he sees Frank, and you think he’s suddenly standing a little taller. “Hey, buddy, you’re in my seat.”

Frank shrugs. “Sorry, man, I got here first-“

“You did not.” Dean snaps, dropping the fries down on the table. “Cause that’s my seat.”

“Didn’t see your name on anything, bro. And she,” Frank gestures to you, and you blink. “Is way out of your league, so beat it.”

“Beat it?” Dean laughs, and that’s his hunter laugh. You’ve mostly heard it right before he kills something. “Listen, bro, I’m asking one more time before your ugly mug and my fist have a chat-“

You grab Dean’s wrist—you’re in no position to get in a bar fight, especially not over a seat—and give him a pointed look. “De, my root beer is empty, I’m gonna go get another.”

He frowns at you. “That’s your fourth one-“

“And?” You squeeze Dean’s wrist slightly as you rise out of your seat. “You’re not my dad, Winchester. I’m a grown woman, I’ll have fifteen if I want.”

“Damn right you’re a grown woman, baby-“

Dean shoots Frank the most venomous glare you’ve ever seen. “Shut it, haircut. And you,” he turns back to scan over your face. “I can go get your root beer, you eat the fries-“

“I’m not hungry.” You nod to your booth. “And you can have my seat. Compromise.”

Dean stares at you, an emotion you can’t read painted over his every feature, and shakes his head slightly. “No, I’ll, uh, I’ll come with you.”

“Sure.” You shrug, giving Frank a sweet, polite smile. “Nice to meet you. Sorry, we have to go-“

Frank frowns, his words clipped as he cuts you off. “So you are with pretty boy over here-“

“Yes.” Dean snaps. “We’re partners, douchebag. C’mon.”

You don’t get another word in before Dean’s pulling you to the bar, sitting you on a barstool and dropping at your side.

“Are you okay?” You ask, watching him scowl at the bartender. “You look like someone shat on your burger.”

“I’m fine.” He grunts, giving you another odd look. “Did you give him your number?”

“No, why would I have done that-“

“Good. Wouldn’t be safe.” Dean turns back to the bar, ordering your root beer as you stare at him.

“Yeah, I know.” You tilt your head at his bitter expression, and let it go for now. Dean can be strange, and you’ve learned to mostly ignore it. Besides, you have bigger things to worry about. “I had an idea by the way, while you were getting the food-“

“Before or after Slimy McHairgel sat down-“

“Before.” You shrug, giving the bartender a full-lipped smile as she passes you your root beer. “I got distracted after, but-“

“You got distracted-“

“Yeah, he was talking to me. But look, all the murders have been happening at night, it’s been a minute since the last one, and they’ve never hit the same store twice, so, if we patrol the mall tonight-“

“We might catch the demon in action.” Dean finishes your thought, turning his own beer in his hands. “Good plan, Princess. See that’s your greatest strength-“

“You’re really hung up on that, huh.”

Dean throws up his hands, his voice almost a whine. “Sue me for wanting to know what my-“

“Is this seat taken?”

You and Dean blink at each other as a silky voice cuts him off, and you turn to see a tall, hot woman with dark hair smiling at you. 

The lady from the mall. Who’d been following you all day, and Dean apparently had never seen.

You didn’t go insane. 

“No.” Your hand shoots out to grab Dean’s on instinct, and he tenses, sitting a little taller. “We’re actually talking-“

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I saw you at the booth with him,” Mall Lady points back to Frank, still wallowing in Dean’s seat. “And thought you were together, so-“

“They’re not.” Dean snaps. “We are.”

You’re going to kill him later. He can’t just say shit like that, because he means you’re at the bar together, physically, but the White grabs those words and flies away with them. You’re together. You’re two things, but now you’re one because you’re together, and that’s not true but it doesn’t stop the bellowing of your whole body to move further down into Dean. It’s annoying.

Mall Lady said something to you. You didn’t hear it.

“Sorry, can you-“

“Oh, I was asking where you’re from.” Mall Lady doesn’t even seem to be looking at Dean, her eyes focused on you with a strange glint that makes your skin crawl. 

“America.” You keep your voice flat, raising your brows at Dean in a silent confusion. He just shrugs. 

“Where in America?“

“The part with land.”

Dean snorts, and you kick him under the table.

“I see.” Mall Lady still won’t look away from you. “And have you always been… on the land part-“

“I dunno, I’ve on a boat a few times-“

Dean says your name as he stands, and you realize you’re still holding his arm. “I’m getting tired, you wanna get out of here?”

He’s squeezed himself between you and Mall Lady. You’re not sure he knows he did that. It still makes you smile.

 “Yeah,” you rise up, linking your arm through his. “Let’s go.”

Dean drops his voice as you move out to the parking lot. “That was weird.”

“Yeah, no shit.” You glance at him. “Are you actually tired, or are we ready to look at the mall.”

“You mean break in-“

“It’s not a break in. I’m picking the lock, nothing’s getting broken. So,” you raise a finger at him with your best stern glare. “Shut up.”

Dean chuckles. “Bossy.”

This time, he dodges your every hit, laughing the whole time.

It’s not a big mall, but there’s still a lot of space to cover, and Dean flat out refuses to let you split up. You suggest it three times on the drive and twice as you pick the lock, giving it one last shot as you scan over the colorful, peeling map, and he’s just pretending he doesn’t hear you. 

“Real mature, Winchester-“

“I’m not trying to be mature.” He grumbles, watching you pull out your knife out of your bag. “I’m trying to make sure you don’t get killed.”

“I am not going to get killed-“

“Yeah, you’re not. Because we’re not splitting up.”

You’d lost the argument, and now you’re wandering through the mall in the dead of night—Dean only a pace behind you—finding absolutely nothing and only listening to Dean’s slow breath. 

“You breathe really loud,” you grumble, and he scoffs.

“Yeah, well, you breathe really quiet.”

You shoot him an amused look over your shoulder. “Good one.”

“Shut up.”

You hum, turning around and scanning over the empty halls. The darkness feels hot. The air is heavy and burning in your lungs, your skin is covered in a phantom cold sweat, and everything is so quiet. Too quiet. Quiet in a way that buzzes in your ears and rattles your head.

“Something’s wrong.” You whisper, your voice sounding small in your own ears. 

“I’d say, this whole place is freakin’ freezing-“

“No, I’m worried-“ You stop, turning to face Dean with a frown. “No, it’s not.”

“Yeah, it is, look,“ Dean lets out another loud breath, and it clouds the air around him. “And my fingers are like damn ice, can we stop at a gas station for hot chocolate when we’re done-“

“No, we’re not getting hot ch-“ You cut yourself off with a sigh, another flash of heat hitting your body.

You’re losing your mind.

Dean says your name slowly, taking a tentative step forward. “Are you feeling alright-“

“Yeah.” Your voice is tight and clipped, every breath scraping at your throat, and you don’t sound fine. “I, uh, c’mon. If it hits dawn and nothing happens, we’ll go get hot chocolate.“

You turn on your heels and march away, Dean’s voice slightly out of breath as he jogs after you. 

“Wait, you said no hot chocolate-“

“Don’t question me, Winchester.”

He laughs as he lands back at that pace behind you, and you feel dizzy. “Yes, ma’am.”

You waste another hour, finding nothing. Hearing nothing. Doing nothing. You’ve checked all the spots that haven’t been hit yet multiple times, nothing. Not even a drop of blood.

“I need to pee,” you mumble, and Dean grunts from behind you.

“Let’s go to the bathroom-“ You turn to frown at him. “Let’s?”

He nods, and you give him a flat glare.

“You’re not going to the bathroom with me, Dean.”

“We’re hunting a freakin’ demon, Princess, I’m not leaving you alone-“

“You are so I can pee!”

He shakes his head. You’re going to punch him. “No, it’s not safe-“ “What if you stand outside?” You offer, because he’s a fucking toddler you have to barter with. “And I get to piss alone.”

He scowls, but gives in, and you go into the bathroom alone.

You don’t see it until you’re at the sink. And even then, you feel it first. Dark without any reprieve all around you, withering and drenching your head in something spiked and heavy.

The sink cracks, but your hands are by your side. There’s a feeling like you’re underwater, you see your reflection grow jagged in the mirror as it shatters from the edges, and when you turn, she’s there. 

Mall Lady. 

And you’ve seen dead bodies before.

But something about this one is worse.

It’s filled with that same rot that was in the crack. Her eyes are bloodied, and her arms and chest are covered in scratches, and her fingers are missing nails and her teeth have little bits of something soft and sickening caught in the gaps. Like she’d fought for her life.

Then, she’d lost. 

And now she’s strung up by her neck for you to see, and you can feel the strain of the rope to hold her up and the suffocation of the water trapped in pipes over your head and it’s too big, this is all too big-

You think you screamed, because suddenly Dean’s there and his hand is in yours, but he can’t be here right now, because this is too big and you don’t want to hurt him-

Something strong wraps around you, and it doesn’t drag you back down, but it keeps all the darkness inside you. Not soothed, not pushed, but just down. Pressing at the edge of everything but not trying to explode. 

You’re not at ease until cold, untainted air hits your lungs. Until something steady grabs your head and brushes sticky hair from your eyes, and you know that you’re you. You’re not the coldness of the building behind you, or the wear of the concrete under your feet. You’re just you, sitting on the curb of the parking lot as Dean tries to talk to you, his thumb running down the bridge of your nose.

He looks worried. He looks panicked. Eyes wide on yours, his grip nervous—like he’s worried he’ll make one wrong twitch and you’ll burst apart—and he keeps muttering your name in a tone that’s almost too low to hear.

“Hey.” You whisper, and Dean lets out a long breath, dropping his head.

“Shit,” he mutters, looking up at you under hooded eyes. “You good?”

You nod, unable to break his gaze. “Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“Why are you petting my nose?”

He stares at you, then at his thumb. “I dunno.”

“Oh.” You swallow. “Okay.”

“I’m gonna, um,” Dean’s grip on your face tightens slightly, his expression filled with something you don’t understand. “I’m gonna go get the car.”

You nod, and Dean still doesn’t move. He just watches you in the dark, his thumb still pressed to your nose, and neither of you move.

Then he leans forward and kisses the top of your head, and the world does a strange sort of stutter. Like a vinyl scratch or static on the TV, all color and noise when Dean’s lips press against your skin, leaving a glowing stain you know will linger when he’s gone.

It had been like that last time too. The same feeling, the same tattoo, the same burst of silver over your ribs, blooming and twining through your body as the fractured pieces on your body begin to grow back together.

It lasts only an infinite second, and then Dean’s gone. Walking away to get the car, with one last glance at you over his shoulder.

You don’t want him to go. You can walk. You can go get the car with him, then drive somewhere that’s not horrible to work out your next steps. You really don’t need to wait here. You really don’t want to be alone. You should stay with him, just so you can see him and know he’s real and you’re you enough to touch him-

A hand lands on your shoulder, and you flinch as someone says your name over your head. “Funny meeting you here!”

You glance back and it’s Frank. In the parking lot. At almost 4am.

“Uh, hi.” 

“Small world, right?” Frank grins at you, leering above you. “First the bar, now here. Some might call it fate!”

“Yeah, sure.” You glance around the lot, entirely empty. You’d made Dean park off to the side. You’d been a fucking idiot. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs. “Just out for a walk.”

“At 4am?”

Frank laughs. It’s bone-chilling strange, and it’s a little harsher than it had been in the bar. “I like to get a head start on my day, babe. What are you doing here?”

You push down the bile in your throat from babe. “I’m, um, waiting. For my friend.”

“What, your partner who talks like he thinks he’s some big shot?”

You frown. “No. I mean, yeah, but-“

“I don’t see him.” Frank does a dramatic sweep of the abandoned lot, then grins at you. “How could anyone stand a pretty thing like you up-“

“I’m not a thing.” You snap, your nails digging into your skin. “And he didn’t stand me up.”

Frank shrugs. “I mean, you could do better.” 

“No,” you mumble, trying to curve your body away from where Frank’s still touching you. “I don’t think I could.”

“You could. With someone better.” Frank’s hand creeps over to your neck, and you freeze, looking up to see a strange glint in his eyes. It was the same one Mall Lady had, before her eyes were only blood.

And something snaps into place in your brain.

Fuck.

“Like…” You trail off with your best innocent look, letting the pain of Frank’s grip hold the darkness down for you. “You?”

“Oh yeah, babe.” He says, and you think it’s meant to be charming. “I know a back entrance in there,” he jerks his head to the mall. “And we could have a little fun, get some privacy. What’d you say?”

There it is. You’ve got it. And this time, when you narrow your eyes and focus all the darkness with a deep scratch on your skin, you can see something revolting and glinting roll around inside Frank, leaving the same horrible imprint on him it had left on Mall Lady. 

The demon. Trying to lure you as he had lured all the other victims, like he had probably meant to lure Dean with Mall Lady. 

A date or hookup, a strange, interesting spot to explore. People from out of town who won’t know about all the previous murders. The most horrific death the demon can think of in the moment, probably for some sort of sick sport. 

You don’t really want to be a part of his score. You don’t want to know why he’d switched from Dean to you so quickly, why he was so set that he’d follow you. Why he’d still target you like this, when he must know that you’re a hunter. 

When he might know that you’re something like him. Something wrong.

“So?” The demon leans down, barely a breath away. “Wanna have some fun?”

You open your mouth—hoping you figure out how to talk yourself out of this one when you start speaking—and feel relief wash over your body as headlights blind your vision and Dean screeches to a stop right before you.

“Hey!” You almost melt at the sound of his voice. He can never know. “What the fuck are you doing here, bitch-“

“I’m talking to your bitch.” The demon sounds proud of his not-joke, and you scrunch your face. “You dropped a hot piece of ass, bro, sorry she’s moving onto bigger things. Right, babe?”

The demon squeezes your neck right as Dean looks to you with a deep glare. “Right,” you whisper, holding Dean’s gaze as he blinks at you.

He’s only blinking at you.

And you blink back. Two firm times, keeping your eyes wide otherwise.

He catches it instantly, his eyes flicking down to the demon’s hand near your throat, then back to yours. Blinking once. Check in.

And you blink twice. Not safe.

Dean’s moving in a flash. Gunshots echo around the lot, and you duck and roll as Dean charges forward. When you push yourself to your feet he’s already trading blows with the demon, but they’re not even. The demon is stronger, far stronger, and you think the only thing that’s keeping Dean matched is all his pure fury. You can see it covering the profile of his face, cast in the shadows of the streetlamps, but there’s already blood on his lip and a swelling mark on his cheek and he can’t keep this up-

You fumble for your knife, but Dean must have taken it and put it in the car. You can feel the darkness crashing back up and out, but you can’t detonate, not here, not now-

The demon raises Dean up by his neck, you hear a strangled sound that might have been a scream leave your throat, and there’s a crunch when Dean falls down. 

And there’s the rush. Big and not all yours to control, the darkness all around you and a little more, but aimed where it needs be. Over Dean’s slumped body, and right at the demon.

Your hands don’t move this time, but the demon still implodes. You’re everything around you—chilling wind and cracked sidewalks and chipped paint on the pavement—and it’s crushing the demon, folding and caving it in inside of Frank, gathering it into a tiny ball before bursting like a nebula out of his body. Frank’s eyes flash with gold and orange and red light, his mouth opens in a distorted roar, and then the darkness sucks itself back into your body, and it’s over.

You fall to Dean’s side, barely feeling the scrape of your knees of concrete. He’s groaning, eyes fluttering slightly, but you’re certain he’s survived worse. This just needs rest and water. The crunch looks to be only his hand—at an odd angle and completely slack—and there is a larger bruise near his temple, but he’ll be alright. You will make it so he’s alright. You’ll move his big-ass body as carefully as you can into the car and ensure that he’s comfortable in the passenger’s seat before you set off to the motel. You’ll keep careful attention on him as you call 911 for the real Frank, who will be traumatized, but live. You’ll keep a hand on Dean’s chest as you drive, because he keeps slumping forward and it makes your blood cold.

When you park, you’ll run to unlock your room before lugging him inside. You’ll lay him on your bed and take his hand in yours, wincing slightly as you hold his hand and feel the cracks in his bones.

This is the first time since the poltergeist that you’ve seen him knocked down like this. The first time since the poltergeist that the darkness has felt like it could fix something. Fix Dean. It’s right at the tips of your fingers, moving in an odd harmony with the White, and you could fix this. 

You let a little of it out. Just a drop, moving from your hand to Dean’s, and you might chew through your lip because what if this just hurts him, what if this makes it worse-

Dean’s fingers flex. And when you trace over his hand, there’s nothing. Not even a fracture.

It worked. You fixed him.

And it hurts. The White and darkness are starting to clash against each other, and every part of them that touches seems frayed and fragile. It hurts just as much as when the darkness gets the better of you, but this is somewhat worse, because it’s just you hurting. Just you caving in on yourself, and just you deserving it because what if you hadn’t healed Dean. What if you’d infected him, and now he was going to be in pain like this too.

You fist your hands, tuck them behind your back, and move to your couch. You can’t be close enough to Dean that you could touch him. You might make all of this worse if you touch him again. But you can’t leave him, not when he might need something. 

So, couch.

You track Dean’s every, even but slow breath as he lays on your bed, and your own exhaustion begins to catch you. It creeps over your eyes until you’re eased down into soft, dreamless sleep. You’re not sure when you fall fully under, but you blink and suddenly there’s light leaking through the slats of the motel shades, and Dean’s not passed out on the mattress.

He’s sitting up on the headboard, his jacket discarded to the side, watching you with another one of his unreadable expressions.

“Morning, Princess.” He mutters, and his voice is low and rough and still filled with sleep. 

This is exactly why you hadn’t allowed yourself to sleep in the same room as him. His hair is messy and sticking up at funny angles, and there’s still some dried blood on his chin and a bruise on his cheek, but he’s also relaxed. Splayed out on the bed, his eyes softer than you usually see them, and it’s really amazing how the universe keeps finding new ways to fuck you. New reasons to crash and bend and mold further and further into Dean, until you’re all the way down and there’s no turning back.

So all you can do is rub your face clear of your own sleep, and give him a small smile. “Are you feeling okay?”

He raises his brows. “No morning back?”

“You know what time it is,” you sit up a little straighter, studying his face for any further evidence of injury. “Tell me how you’re feeling.”

“I’m feeling like I want you to say good morning-“

You wrinkle your nose at him. “Good morning, Dean Winchester.”

He clicks his tongue. “Shit, full name, I’m in trouble-“

“You will be,” you give him a pointed look. “If you don’t answer my fucking question.”

“Bossy,” he mumbles, his eyes glimmering as he tries to coax you further down. Even if he doesn’t know it, he’s trying to make you crash fully into him.

You’re going to re-break his hand.

“Dean-“

“Jesus, alright, I’m okay.” Dean gives you his wide, winning grin that’s usually designed to make you roll your eyes and giggle, but right now just makes you scowl. “See, barely a scratch. All that’s left of that demon douchebag is a headache.” Dean pauses, his grin faltering slightly. “Shit, what happened to the demon.”

“I exorcized it,” you lie through your teeth—he can’t know the truth, he’ll either call you crazy or try to kill you—twisting your skin on your finger as you watch his reaction. “We’re good.”

Dean’s face drops into a frown. “You’re lying.”

You blink at him. “What?”

“You didn’t exorcize the demon.” He mutters, watching you through narrowed eyes. “I know you didn’t.”

“You do not know-“

“Yeah, I do.” He snaps, sitting up a little higher in the bed. “I’m goddamn certain, sweetheart, so tell me the truth.”

“Dean-“

“Truth.” He spits, and you might be drawing blood on your skin with your nails.

He’d called your bluff, and it might just be luck, but it doesn’t seem like it. He didn’t sound like he was making a gamble. He sounded like he was taking a shot a foot in front of him. But you can’ttell him the truth. The truth will take him away from you forever. The truth is building wider and wider around you, all while strangling your throat, and your tongue always hates lying to Dean but everything else in you doesn’t want to lose him-

“I didn’t-“ You try to swallow the words, but you can’t seem to keep them down. “I didn’t exorcize it, I-“

“Son of a bitch!” Dean shouts your name, running a hand over his face. “You just like the asshole get away! Just because I was injured?”

Your brow furrows as you gape at him. “You were passed out, Dean-“

“And that was a goddamn demon, who’s killed over half a dozen people in two weeks! You always prioritize the hunt-“

“Over your life?!” You rise up on your knees, glowering at Dean, the darkness starting to rumble as he glares back. “We’re partners, Dean, my job is to have your back, that’s the whole point of hunting together-“

“Not over the case.” He pushes off the bed and moving to tower over you, his hand braced on the couch. “Other people are going to die because you decided to play hero for me-“

You laugh up at him. “Like you never play hero, Dean. Dragging me out of the building like I’m little damsel for you to save, like you’re rescuing me and I’m just too fucking pathetic without a big, strong, white knight serving me.”

The words hit their mark. Hit deeper than you’d meant them to. You don’t even know where you were aiming, or why you’d fired, or when you’d found the bullet, but you’d hit Dean so far down, you can almost see him flinch.

He doesn’t say anything. His jaw ticks, and his fists clench and unclench, but he won’t just say something and you’re losing your mind because you didn’t mean it, the darkness had just been everywhere and it had all been too much but Dean had felt real. He’d still felt real and it all hurt because you’d always prioritize him over some stupid demon, and you were still lying to him, and you hadn’t played hero. You’d just matched the demon, and gone darker. You were the monster, and you’d always save Dean-

Suddenly he’s moving. Hunching down to grab his jacket and stomping to the door. 

Going away. 

You don’t want him to go away.

“Dean, wait please-“ You know sound pathetic. You don’t really care. “Just- I’m sorry-“

You’re faster than he is, and you manage to fly over the couch and move in front of the door before he can reach it.

“Wait, I’m sorry, I-“ You shouldn’t be about to cry over this, but you’re clenching your jaw until your teeth break to stop the tears. “Dean, I’m sorry, I-“ He tries to move around you, and you shift to block his path once more. “Just wait-“

“Why, you still need a hero?” He sneers, leering down at you

“No, I didn’t- I didn’t mean-“ You take a long, shaking breath, forcing yourself to hold his gaze. “I don’t think you’re trying to play hero, Dean, I just, I think you’re-“

“Your knight?” He sneers, raising his browns. “Your fucking bodyguard or toy-“

“I think you’re my partner!” You shout, because even calling him your friend feels like it’s too much right now, because it would make this need for him all little more real. Something that you really could break. “I think I’d probably have been fucked without you, and I didn’t- I didn’t mean to- You’re-“

You run a hand over your face, scratching slightly to try and drag the words together, and Dean’s frown almost seems to falter.

He mutters your name, but you push on.

“Your strength is that you’re a fighter, Dean.” You snap, and his eyes widen slightly. “But not just in a muscle way, you’re… smart. Under pressure. Any pressure. I freak out but I get to freak out because I know you’ve got me. I don’t think you’re trying to play hero. I think you’ve got my back.”

“Oh.” He blinks, and all the electrically in the room seems to dissipate as he just looks at you. “Thanks.”

“Yeah.” You whisper. “No problem.”

Neither of you move for a long moment. The darkness is settled back down, and the White is straining for Dean, but it’s always doing that so everything is back where it’s meant to be. But you’re still watching Dean to make sure he doesn’t flicker and vanish. To check that you’re not asleep, or this isn’t an odd torture from the demon or your own mind. 

Dean looks like he’s watching you the same. 

And he’s really close. You’re drowning in him. In grass and spice and gunpowder, in his eyes on yours and the warmth that radiates off his body. 

You can’t touch him. 

You really want to.

“Are we-“ You rub your arms as you hug your body, and it’s a dumb question but you have to know. “Are we good?”

“Yeah.” He gives you an odd look, but his words sound like the truth. And if they’re not, you’ll just pretend they are. “We’re good.” “Cool.” You mumble, trying not to lean forward as Dean takes a step back. “Do you, um, do you want hot chocolate?”

His brow furrows slightly. “Aren’t we gonna look for the demon?”

He won’t find the demon. The demon’s gone.

But you can waste a little more time looking for it. Eventually you’ll suggest that maybe it just skipped town, and if you see another series of mall killings, you’ll know exactly what’s going on.

And you’ll get to stay next to Dean a while long. Talk to him. Laugh with him until you forget the look of real, hateful pain on his face.

“Yeah.” You shrug, offering him a small smile. “After hot chocolate?”

Dean chuckles. “I think I can live with that.”

“Good.”

You’re watching each other, and it’s not angry, but it’s tense. Dean looks like he wants to say something. You know that you want to say a million things, and you’re not even sure where to start. Another apology, an explanation of your episode in the bathroom, the truth about the demon, a scream of can he feel this, is that why he’s staying, he shouldn’t stay, he should run and never look back because you’re stuck with you, but he can go-

“Can I ask you something?”

You nod, and Dean’s lips drawn into a small pout. 

“You, uh, you talk about your dad a lot.” He mumbles, scratching the back of his neck. “Are you guys still close?”

“Yeah, we are. He, um,” you glance down at your hand, running your thumb over your palm. “I visit him all the time-“

“Where does he live?”

“North.” You keep your words simple and vague, and Dean gives you an odd look. “But when I visit him, we always try to do something that isn’t…”

“Fucking depressing?” Dean offers, and you let out a small laugh.

“Yeah. Fucking depressing.” You let out a long breath. “Usually it’s just going grocery shopping and not buying doomsday bunker food, eating something sugary and stupid, and sitting out in his yard to, um, watch the stars and talk. I tease him about the cashier that flirted with him at the grocery store, how his best friend pulls more that he does, and he tells me that I shouldn’t talk when I-“ You cut yourself off, flushing slightly. Dean does not need to know that you’re worse at flirting than Bobby is. And you’ve seen Bobby try. It’s horrific. “I- uh- I need his house and food for the next week. Then we go inside and watch a really old movie, then go to bed.”

You glance up at Dean, and find his mouth slightly open. 

“That’s… awesome.”  

You look up at Dean’s open expression, so pretty, and real, and here. Dean’s still here. Not touching you, but close to it. Not trying to push past you anymore. He’s staying.

And you smile at him. “Yeah. It is.”

End Note: I love leaving little clues for things that won't be evident until chapters later.

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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[starstruckgrrl]

MORE TAMAKI🙏🙏🙏

who am i to deny you 🫡

ꕤ*. synopsis: tamaki doesn’t do so well at hero events, but he’s grounded with you there. not to mention you give him the perfect motivation!

↳ ♡₊˚.warnings: smut, car sex, he says “i love you”, exhibitionism, unprotected sex, sub!tamaki, pet names, established relationship, lil bit of edging, cute tamaki naps for aftercare :3

a/n: sorry if the way i capitalize some stuff has changed, i want to make it easier to read!! i really hope you like it, give me some feedback or suggestions pls!!

ever since he’s met you, tamaki has been doing a lot better at handling any event that comes his way. his friends take notice, praising him for sticking around “this long!”

he owes his success to you, who he will often scamper off to. you’re always with him at every event, keeping him grounded and confident(ish).

usually, he’ll take you everywhere with him, making you become his bodyguard against awkward conversations or slightly passive aggressive behavior. however, you know that it is good for him to do some things on his own so he won’t feel so horrible when you’re busy and can’t escort him everywhere.

so the pro-hero Suneater is here, after several minutes of you gently pushing him, at a table with Deku, Dynamight, Lemillion, Red Riot, Nejire Chan, and a few other names from high school. while he does feel much better that nejire and mirio are there with him, the potential comfort he might have had is ruined when everyone delves into questions about his personal life.

tamaki mentally curses mirio, who asks first, “Suneater! i haven’t met that girl you’ve been parading around yet? when will i get to meet her?”

“her name is ——, and you can meet her soon, i guess? she said she would follow me over soon.” tamaki replied.

“she’s very nice, Lemillion! i met her once while getting a drink at an event a week or so ago, and she was nothing but kind!” Deku shot out, happy to have met a nice person.

nejire never passes up an opportunity to talk about something happy, so she began her rambling, “she’s so preeeetty! can you ask her about what products she uses in her hair? does she have extensions? does she wear wigs? if so, where does she get such natural ones?”

the indigo-haired hero you cherished began to sink in his seat, visibly overwhelmed by the onslaught of questions that had begun after the mention of his date, but felt better when he felt your hand pat him on the shoulder.

“hi, baby. are you doing okay?” you asked, loud enough for people sitting near him to hear, but to him nonetheless.

he began to sit up in his seat, the pet name being comforting enough to help him regain some composure, “yes, i’m okay, how are you?”

you gave him a small smile as you sat in your spot next to him, confirming that you were feeling alright.

mirio was the first to speak to you, “are you ——?! i’ve heard so much about you!! well, pieces about you, tamaki is kind of private about your relationship, but pieces nonetheless!!”

“yes, that’s me! it’s lovely to meet tamaki’s best friend!” you replied, recognizing tamaki’s description of his grade-school friend.

“AWWW, Suneater, you’ve told her about me!” mirio shouted.

tamaki smiled up at him, how could he ever think that he wouldn’t tell everyone about the person who motivated him so much?

~

as the evening went on, you had been asked plenty of questions, mainly by nejire. you had no complaints, as you found everyone thoroughly entertaining and sweet.

the whole time, you were keeping physical contact, even in small ways, with tamaki. it was the best way to make sure he knew you were still there for him and thinking about him, even as you conversed with the others.

over time, your small touches turned into something else. clasping his hand turned into rubbing his thigh, slight pokes turned into tracing soft circles on his bicep. the little things meant the world to this man, so you knew he was getting your idea.

about 3 hours in, tamaki’s social battery had been completely sucked dry. he gave you a special look and squeezed your hand twice to let you know he wanted to go, a signal the both of you had come up with.

you cleaned up your area at the table, stacking your used dishes neatly for a waiter/waitress to pick up with ease, and stood up. you patted yourself down as your lover stood up, and you all exchanged goodbyes as the both of you walked out, your arm wrapped around his.

the both of you walked out to the car, and tamaki slid his hand down to your waist and pulled you closer. you were stunned, he rarely initiates things, especially in public.

“tama” you cooed in his ear.

tamaki led you to the backseat of the car, opened the door for you, and sat next to you. he kept the door slightly ajar for what he would call “ventilation” when you questioned him later.

you kissed him first, a small but sweet kiss. your partner, however, kissed you again. longer, deeper. he grabbed you and held you close to him, and he leaned against the back of the seat. he began to unzip his pants when you stopped him.

“are you sure, baby?” you asked, knowing his fear of having all eyes on him.

“yes, i love you too much, please.” he replied, asking you to please continue.

you nodded at him, and got on top of him. you gave him kisses on his neck and bit him softly as you pulled down his pants to let his cock spring out.

you flipped up the dress he bought you special for this event, and moved your underwear to the side. tamaki brought his hand down to rub small circles on your clit, getting you wet for him.

you softly pushed his hand away, then brought yourself up, then down onto his dick. he let out a small whimper and you shushed him, “shh, baby, we don’t want anyone to see, do we?”

tamaki swallowed thickly, and stuttered out, “n-no”

“maybe you’d like that, dirty boy.” you teased, and he whined in response.

you bounced up and down softly on him, the friction of the base of his cock teasing your clit.

then, suddenly, you heard voices outside, a mere 10-15 ft away.

“oh, hey, someone’s car door is open. should we close it?” said one of the voices.

tamaki’s eyes widened, but he never stopped bucking up into you, and you never stopped riding him. he whimpered quietly, and you put your thumb in his mouth to silence him.

“nah, let’s just leave it. someone might be coming back to it in just a minute.” said another voice.

the both of you heard their footsteps trail away, and you looked at each other. tamaki leaned up to kiss you, and you could tell he was getting close. he was rutting into you from below, and it made you giggle.

“don’t cum until i say, tama!” you reprimanded.

he nodded quickly, confirming his submission.

you were also getting close, and tamaki always knew that you should cum first. you slammed down onto him harder, making his tip kiss your cervix every time. his cock was rubbing against a sweet spot inside you the deeper you went, and you came with a moan of his name.

as you were going through the aftershocks of your orgasm, tamaki began to beg.

“please, can i cum? please.” he whimpered out, his legs shaking slightly.

you kissed his forehead and gave him permission, and his cock twitched as he finally let go of the orgasm he had been holding. his cum warmed your insides and gave you an extra, satisfying feeling as it began to leak down.

“i’ll drive us back home, sweetheart, you rest. i know you’re tired” you told him as you slowly got up, grabbing a blanket that rested in the back pocket of the car seat, special for any sleepy car rides.

you laid tamaki down in the backseat and covered him in the fluffy blanket. you adjusted his pants and his underwear to make him as comfortable as possible.

you got out, adjusted your dress, and closed the car door. you got into the front seat and turned the car on and the heating up so your partner would be cozy on the ride home.

~

[the-real-couchrat]

Post ending / rescue AU / recovering Curly is everything to me, so I’m making a list of other people’s posts that feature him. (The links will connect to a reblog of them in case anything ever happens to the original post)

If anyone ever see’s posts like these ones, PLEASE tag me in a reblog!! All posts are welcome, not just art!

Please note that I don’t decide what to add to this list based on shipping, opinions on the metaphors in the game, the accuracy of burn scars, the morality of Curly, or anything else that causes discourse in the fandom. I just add any posts that I come across that include Curly recovering from his injuries in any way. Prosthetics, wheelchair, wig, crutches, It just needs to have him in better shape than when he first got injured.

No NSFW

(Also this post is edited to add new ones when I find them)

Rehabilitated Curly

Party with no Jimmy

Stand around in medbay party (Idk if this counts, but he has prosthetics so I'm saying it does)

Happy abortion!

Post-ending speculation (text)

20 years later (I AM NOT WORTHY TO LOOK UPON THIS WITH MY MERE MORTAL EYES)

ANYA’S GRADUATION DAY

Post ending

Rescue/Recovery AU

My own post! (text)

Aftermath Curly

Good ending

Best way to approach captain’s disability?

A little sketch

They care

“I wouldn’t want to frighten her”

Anya doesn’t quite overdose

They’re safe

Guys rate my fanart

WWI face prosthetics

Less fucked up Curly AU

Fix-it type AU

Silly recovering time

Curly got some gifts for his b-day

Imagine Curly survived (twitter)

Curly with a service dog

I’m not a dog and you’re not a mare

Drawing the dentalcare crew (does this count?)

The quality will not be questioned

Fix-it AU

Want to make Curly some cool new mechanical hands so he can strangle Jimmy

One can dream

He’s got a wig now

Happy ending where they all survive (devianart)

It hurt my heart (twitter)

God forbid I get sick (translated?)

This might be controversial but… (text)

Let’s get you out of the house!

Cyberpunk AU

Cartoons with breakfast

Old-school surgeries (text)

Post-ending fic prompt (text)

Post-rescue AU curlyana

Post-rescue curlyana part two

Why is this goddamn white boy so hard to draw?

Captain stop infodumping the baby

Maybe never forgive

Draw Captain Curly having a prosthetic limb

Curly from Mouthwashing (good ending)

This is how I imagine Curly post OP

whats the worse fate, whatd be better for the tulpar crew

Wip

🐈

Mouthwashing AU (Reddit)

Curly if he survives (Reddit)

My own art

I’ll give him smoochies, prosthetics, and skin grafts

Art dump time✨

Hoppin on da trendin train

The crew built curly a mechanical hand

How to give Captain Curly a voice (idk if this technically counts, but it’s a disability aid so I will)

Doodle of the Tulpar crew post-rescue!

New hyperfixation just dropped

Hi Tumblr. Funny seeing you here

Another rehabilitated Curly

Who up washing they mouth rn

Don’t use the dog buttons (text)

Haunted part one and two

Prosthetics

AU were someone saves them

Mouthwashing doodles

A New Ladder-Reader x Curly (I’ll add the original art videos when I can) (also I didnt read it. if someone did read it, please let me know if it’s SFW)

I know he always have his headphones on

More rehabilitated Curly✨

You guys like this right

Anya, what’s it like working as a medic on a spaceship?

This is how we can still get the good ending

“I’m sorry Anya”

More cringe mouthwashing art be upon thee

Curly’s happy (and recovering) ending

Writing an AU of mouthwashing where the crew survives

Most people seem to be giving him prosthetics…

Doing a bit of study

2

Ladonb Kokosa (TikTok account, LOTS of great videos )

Giving the mouthwashing characters what they deserve (TikTok)

Zest for life

How I think the Tulpar crew would make YT videos

Edit: I am no longer seeking out these posts, and new ones will only be added if I’m tagged or such

[withwritersblock]

Halloween

~Halloween by Phoebe Bridgers~

Author's Note: requested! thehehe blurb :) Summary: Cole and Y/N figure out their Halloween costume for the annual Habs party Warnings: implied smut, Word Count: 769 Cole Caufield x fm!reader

“No, no, Cole we are not dressing up as that, who do you think I am?” she explained while laughing. He tilted his head back chuckling as he continued to scroll through Google photos. 

“Okay fine, what about like Peter Pan and TinkerBell? That could be fun,” Cole mumbled as he tilted his head back. She shook her head.

“Why is this so hard,” she groaned as she ran her fingers through her hair. “We did Disney last year, we can’t do it back-to-back,” she turned and met his gaze. He smirked as his cheeks pinked up. 

His gaze lowered towards her lips. “Does that really matter?” he asked. Her lips fell into a pout. Cole rolled his eyes playfully as he chuckled, “I guess it does,” he mumbled. He took in a deep breath. “What do you have in mind, my love?” he questioned as he leaned back, resting his hands onto his thighs. 

She leaned into him, peaking towards the computer. She scrolled for a few seconds, looking at all of the couple costumes on the screen. Many were too sexy and filled with innuendos. 

“What if we were Taylor Swift and Travis Kelce?” she asked hopeful.

“No! No, we’re not doing that,” Cole shut down instantly.

“Cole,” she whined.

“You expect me to put on a Cheifs jersey? Really?” Cole said while shaking his head. 

“It’s one Halloween party, baby!” she whined, she rested her hands onto his shoulder, turning him towards her. He continued to shake his head.

“I am a Packers fan and you expect me to wear a Cheifs jersey, that’s like asking me to wear a Bruins jersey,” 

“It is definitely not the same thing as that,” she mumbled. She stepped toward him, he opened his legs, allowing her to step closer to him. She slowly wrapped her arms around his neck. He continued to shake his head.

“I’m sorry, baby, my blood bleeds green and yellow, I can’t with good faith put that jersey on,” he explained as he wrapped his arms around her waist. Her lips fell into a pout, as she tilted her head to the side.

“Go Pack go, go Pack go, go Pack go-” he whispered as he raised his fist up in the air, pretending to chant. She rolled her eyes playfully as she tilted her head back giggling. 

“Stop it,” she let out laughing. 

He dragged his tongue across his bottom lip before he pressed them together. He pulled her closer to him. He leaned towards her, kissing her softly for a moment before he slowly pulled away, keeping his eyes closed.

She pecked his lips a few times before she fully leaned away from him. His hands subconsciously slid up her shirt, resting his cold hands onto the small of her back. He tapped his fingers delicately against her skin.

“Then give me other ideas,” she whined as ran her hands along the base of his neck.

“Okay, rapid fire?” he let out. She nodded encouragingly. “Okay, Barbie and Ken or Batman and Batwoman, or Mario and Princess Peach, or Stu and Tatum-”

“Wait really?” she asked excitedly. He pulled his head back slightly, a smirk toying to his lips. Slowly, he wrapped his hands onto her hips, squeezing her skin tightly for a few seconds.

“What, are you into that or something?” he asked teasingly.

“We’re not-no we’re not going to talk about that,” she let out, lowering her gaze towards the logo on his hoodie. “That could be really fun! I gotta find a wig,” she said excitedly as she slipped away from his grasp.

“Can’t you just do the-ya know-those pigtails,” he offered, he nervously ran his hand across the base of his neck. She spun around meeting his gaze suspiciously.

“What, are you into that or something?” she said mocking him. He rolled his eyes as he followed afer her. 

“Do I get the mask or do I just go with the sweater?” he asked as he ran his hands together.

“Is that even a question, baby?” she offered as a giggle fell from her lips.

“So you are into it!” he teased.

“I didn’t say that!” she called out as she jogged away from him. He reached towards her and took a hold of her waist, pulling her towards him. “I didn’t say that,” she whispered. He leaned towards her, pressing his lips against her neck.

“I guess we’ll find out after the party, huh?” he whispered.

“Oh whatever,” she mumbled as she spun around, she rested her hands onto his cheeks. He leaned towards her kissing her urgently.

[kindaasrikal]

Exploring the stupidity of the fact that Morro and Garmadon are stuck in the departed realm together, part 2:

Part 1 - Part 3

Garmadon: Alright Morro, let’s at least try and get to know each other.

Morro: what do you not get, Garmadon? I don’t WANT to know anything about you, or your pathetic life.

Garmadon: Well, if only you had a choice in the matter.

Morro: *tied to a tree after coming across a wild Garmageddon*…i demand a rematch.

Garmadon: Sure!

Morro:…really?-

Garmadon: After we get to know each other, of course!

Morro: i demand freedom.

Garmadon: Uhuh. *pulls out a stack of papers* By any chance, have you ever heard of 21 questions? It’s quite an entertaining game Lloyd introduced to me. *he says with a nostalgic smile*

Morro: yeah, that brat tried playing it with me when i took away his free will.

Garmadon:…You always have to make things difficult, don’t you?

Morro: no sh-mmph!

Garmadon: *covers Morro’s mouth, who is now wriggling around like a trapped chicken* Enough of that. Now let’s see…*he flicks through some of the papers* ah ha!

Garmadon: My first question, child, shall be finding out your most favourite colour!

Morro:

Garmadon:

Morro:

Garmadon:…I see that was a foolish question to ask, so let us move to a different one-

Morro: ifti pifksbsv

Garmadon: What?

Morro: *glares at Garmadon*

Garmadon: Ah, right. *removes his hand* what is it that you said?

Morro: it’s pink.

Garmadon: Huh.

Morro: pink. Thats my favourite colour.

Garmadon:

Garmadon: Hm

Morro: shut up.

Garmadon: I didn’t say a word.

Morro: i can see your face, you old fart.

Garmadon: Well, is it my fault green seemed more likelier than pink?

Morro: don’t ever say i like green. That colour disgusts me.

Garmadon:…Is it because-

Morro: your son’s eyes only made the disgust worse, not create it.

Garmadon: Aren’t you a sweet one, child.

Garmadon: Morro.

Morro:

Garmadon: Morro?

Morro:

Garmadon: Morro, now is not the time to ignore me.

Morro:

Garmadon: Are you really going to act so childish, simply because I had made you call me uncle once?

Morro:

Garmadon: Child.

Morro:

Garmadon: Nephew.

Morro: *a slight twitch has occurred.*

Garmadon:…..

Morro:…….

Garmadon:…..

Morro:…….

Garmadon: Morro Wu, stop ignoring me this insta-

Garmadon:

Garmadon: Now, I highly doubt throwing the top of a mountain at me will help.

Morro: you know, i always wanted to ask you or Sensei this.

Garmadon: *sitting in a meditative position* Hm?

Morro: why’d the First spinjitzu master name you Garmadon Garmadon?

Garmadon:…My meditation can wait, excuse me???

Morro: i mean, seriously, Garmadon Garmadon sounds ridiculous. No wonder you turned evil, i would too if i was given such a dumb name. Not to mention, where the heck did he even get the name Garmadon from? Like, i understand Wu, that one makes sense, but Garmadon? It sounds like the name of some weird species of animals thats only just been discovered or something.

Garmadon: Pot, meet kettle.

Morro: what

Garmadon: Nothing. Now, why exactly do you think my name is Garmadon Garmadon?

Morro: uh, your son? His last name is Garmadon?

Garmadon: Do you mean Lloyd?

Morro: what, do you have a secret son hidden away or something?? Yes, the Green Ninja!

Garmadon:….Child, why exactly do you think I call you Morro Wu, instead of Morro Garmadon?

Morro: cause your name’s ugly?

Garmadon: You really are your father’s son.

Morro: wu is nOT MY FATHER-

Morro: why are you so old.

Garmadon: What-

Morro: but not bald?

Garmadon: *baffled* Just because I am old, does not mean I would go bald, Morro.

Morro: but…

Garmadon: Hm?

Morro: Wu is bald, and he’s younger then you, why do you have hair???

Garmadon:

Morro:

Morro: Oh my GOD. YOU WEAR A WIG???

Garmadon: NO I DO NOT STOP SCREAMING-

Yeah thats all i got, rlly long ones that im not even sure are good but i find them funny and i have school work so maybe thats effecting my humour atm :(

Anyways i love the Morro and Garmadon duo and if you havent heard in my last few posts i gave them a duo name. Heres more of the Tempest duo!

[suzukiblu]

Day twenty-nine of “obligatory sugar baby Kon” behind the cut. prev: (( chrono || non-chrono ))

“The mahjong tiles are new,” Cissie observes, watching Tim just a shade too sharply. He internally hopes the others get here soon. He and Cissie arrived about the same time, and when she texted Bart to remind him they were all meeting up he showed up five seconds later, and Suzie was excited to see them but almost immediately ran off to get something. And Cassie and Kon had both said they’d be late–Cassie’s mom made her stay home for dinner, and Kon had just said something about something called “the Evil Factory” and a mission report he had to finish and then hung up without elaborating, which had totally not made Tim quietly insane or anything. 

The Evil Factory. What. What even is that? 

Tim needs to look into some things, clearly. 

“I’ve learned not to ask,” Tim says, and the look Cissie is giving him turns very pointed. 

“But you’re asking me about school?” she says. 

“Yes,” Tim says, because it’s not like she’s not perfectly aware he just did that, but also he doesn’t actually have to explain himself, so he just stops there. 

Cissie stares blankly at him. Tim keeps a neutral but approachable expression on his face. Filling an awkward silence is the first mistake any witness–or suspect–makes. 

She narrows her eyes, just barely, then opens her mouth to speak and–

“CISSIE,” Cassie wails from down the hall, and a second later she’s bolting into the room at full-speed and throwing herself at Cissie. Tim reflexively grabs for his bo and Cissie grabs for her–uh, bow–and Cassie makes an absolutely agonized noise and buries her face in Cissie’s lap. “I quit. I quit the team. I’m gonna ask Wonder Woman if I can move to Themyscira and I am never coming back.” 

. . . alright then, Tim thinks, just barely raising his eyebrows behind his mask. Maybe not a supervillain attack, then. 

“I’d really prefer it if you didn’t, actually,” Cissie says. “So like is this about your mom or–?” 

“Kon’s wearing clothes,” Cassie cuts her off despairingly, voice muffled in her folded arms and Cissie’s lap. 

“. . . I mean, I’d hope so?” Cissie says, patting the top of Cassie’s wig with a bewildered.expression as she sets her bow back down on the table. Tim–well, he might not hope that Kon was–never mind. But that seems like a pretty weird answer to that question either way. 

“You don’t understand,” Cassie groans. “I ran into him outside–he’s texting somebody or something, I don’t know, he said he was gonna be a minute–and he said ‘hi’ and he was wearing clothes and I tripped! I tripped in mid-air! I tripped in mid-air and he tried to help me up and I think I blacked out or something and then he laughed and he’s wearing clothes, Cissie!” 

Tim feels like maybe this is in some way “girl talk” and he shouldn’t necessarily be here, but also: what the hell is Cassie talking about? 

He also wonders who Kon’s texting and has the vaguely-annoyed thought that Cadmus might be bothering him or something. 

The subtle alert that means someone just texted Tim Drake’s phone goes off on his communicator and he makes a mental note to check it as soon as he can get a moment–it might be Dana or Mrs. Mac, or maybe one of the guys at school needs something, or . . . well, it could be his dad, technically, but statistically that’s not very likely, so– 

. . . why does he feel like he’s missing something right now, he thinks to himself, repressing a frown. What would he be missing? 

“Question: is this response proportional, or is this a ‘Code Superboy’ situation?” Cissie says. Cassie just groans all the more despairingly into her arms, not lifting her head at all. 

“This is a code black Superboy situation,” she says, and Cissie winces and pats her head again. Assuming their definition of “code black” aligns with Tim’s, that means “panic reaction; breakdown of mental/physical responses and capabilities”. So . . . yeah, that seems like a weird answer too. Just because Kon’s . . . what, outside and doing whatever he’s doing on his phone? While . . . wearing clothes? 

Tim really does not understand this conversation, yeah. 

Definitely a girl thing, he decides.

[gffa]

Laughing my ass right off at Bo-Katan’s never ending terrible, horrible, no good, very bad time, like in the span of about a fucking week, she has: 

Din Djarin come knocking on her door and she has to deal with his quest to find the living waters as he prods every emotional bruise she still has about all the Mandalorians abandoning her

Din gets himself snared by some weird eyeball in a jar in a robot body so the weird green baby has to come tell her to rescue him

Which she does and then falls into the Living Waters with him and possibly sees a Mythosaur making her question her sanity

Then her fucking childhood home gets blown up by Imperial remnants, just one more reminder that everything she was gifted she has lost, that she has failed her family’s legacy one more time

So sure why not, let’s go join the group she doesn’t actually believe in and called a cult just last season, but they’re reasonably nice to her and she’s good at fighting, so actually they’re pretty cool

But she’s still quietly freaking out that she may have seen a mythical legendary creature like is she LOSING HER FUCKING MIND HERE??? 

And how the fuck do you eat without taking your helmet off??

Suddenly she’s being pushed into leadership of the war party, but it’s not bad, she got to stay by the fire, and it’s nice to be useful, even if she still feels out of sorts.

And then even more suddenly she’s being told she walks both worlds, that she needs to unite Mandalore one more fucking time

LET’S GO KICK SOME PIRATE ASS!!!11!

So sure why the fuck not.  WHY THE FUCK NOT.  Let’s go to some decked out vacation planet in the middle of Bumfuck Outer Rim

Let’s take a stupid as shit detour into finding some malfunctioning droids with a guy who has unresolved droid-related trauma and literally KICKS THE DROIDS just to be a dick so they’ll react, 

Like Bo-Katan Kryze doesn’t have enough shit to deal with, every time she has to stop and deal with some absolute clown buffoonery, she’s reminded that she’s in full clown wig and makeup herself, this is her fucking life now and I was LAUGHING MY ASS OFF ABOUT IT THE ENTIRE TIME, Bo-Katan’s life is just one long string of, “Life is already so goddamned weird, this might as well happen.” I love you, babe, but I also love your long suffering face as you have to deal with being in a Star Wars show.

[sofs16]

our love in photos

part 1: paddock day , part 2: our leclerc win — next

charles_leclerc

liked by 4,282,393 others

charles_leclerc P1 babyyyyyy! Week here in Barcelona shows we should keep pushing, even on the last lap🏎️

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ynchaaa IS THAT YN SHE DIDNT WEAR A POLO WHAT

⤷ yncharles.16 WHAT. PARENTS?

⤷ charlottecharles1 thank god they broke up

⤷ charleeeeee but they just had their one year anniv? ⤷ gossipxxwag yall she was literally at the garage. what are u on😭

june 23, 2024

yn

liked by 3,272,484 others

yn barcelonaaaa gp! my favorite one for reasons the whole world knows;) baby got p1 and then i heard a broke up? huh. he’s stuck with me and chained to my bed so he can’t leave. if he’s with someone else that’s me in a wig 😘 stay jealous haters xx

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landonorris the bed part wasn’t necessary

⤷ yn i didnt mean it like that DIRTY MJND DUMBASSSSSS

⤷landonorris Oh. Nevermind

charles_leclerc I’d be crazy to not end up with you. ❤️

⤷ yn biting my lip and kicking my feet 😊

yourbsf CRAZY IN LOOVEEEEE

carlossainz55 The last photo is very questionable

june 23, 2024

charles_leclerc

liked by 5,383,594 others

tagged yn

charles_leclerc a summer well spent ☀️

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charchar1 did you win pingpong 🤭

⤷ charles_leclerc Of course! ⤷ yn i almost believed you babe

⤷ carlossainz55 expound please

june 27, 2024

yn

monte carlo, monaco

liked by charles_leclerc, fernandoalo_oficial, and 3,383,484 others yn late summaaaa diaries 🫀🩰🎧📜

ps. why do u guys think sharl didnt post a pic of himself playing LOLLLL

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ynsmodel WHAT DOES SHE NOT DO. charleslando mother feeding us the content we deserve 😌

charles_leclerc No one had to know, baby…

⤷ yn im competitive, i cant lose to my boyfriend in PINGPONG

⤷ charles_leclerc Well the photo was not needed!

⤷ yn youre cute

⤷ charles_leclerc Oh, well thank you. ❤️

⤷landonorris LOL HE FOLDED SO QUICKLY IM LAUGHIGN

⤷ yn shut up norris, only i can bully him

june 28, 2024

yn

liked by charles_leclerc, and 7,383,494 others

yn DNF today but still the proudest of charles 💌 i simply do not understand why the car suddenly lost engine right before the race but fine, god works in mysterious ways. next week we will come back stronger. we will, and should, always support charles, as well as carlos. forza ferrari ❤️ [COMMENTS HAVE BEEN DISABLED]

charles_leclerc instagram story:

“luckiest to have her😘”

yn

liked by charles_leclerc, and 5,595,695 others yn hiiii lovelies! @yn.jpg up and runnin! enjoy ❤️‍🩹

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charlessgirl so glad we made the right girl famous (thanks charles)

⤷ yn 🥹😭

yn.jpg

liked by charles_leclerc, and 272,494 others

yn.jpg who else did u think id post first? (d1🫀)

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lando.jpg Um. Me? ⤷ yn.jpg next time babes

charles_leclerc ❤️❤️❤️

yn.jpg

liked by lando.jpg, and 217,282 others

yn.jpg day 2! landitooooo my photographer bff alongside danny ❤️

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yn.jpg

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yn.jpg day 3: my 2nd fav driver 🏎️

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fernandoalo.oficial una fotógrafa muy buena y linda 💪tú y charles sois unos afortunados a very good and beautiful photographer 💪you and charles are a lucky

⤷ yn TE QUIEROOOO FONSO!! buena suerte hoy i love you fonso!! good luck today

[fernandoalo.oficial and charles_leclerc liked]

yn.jpg

liked by charles_leclerc, and 4,484,494 others

yn.jpg i lov my boyfirend it hurts so much he’s so perfeet and kind and everuthing ive ever wanted im so grateufl i msis him osuch

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charles_leclerc I love you amour but.. are you okay?

⤷ yourbsf yn got drunk on my watch sorry

charles_leclerc baby please answer the phone

⤷ yn.jpg fiflvoroyu