#how are they supposed to get past that thing?

[willyoubemycherryy]

“Isn’t it past your curfew?” (Salesman x reader)

Summary: What happens when you run into your father’s dark suited friend after dark? You get in trouble of course.

Contains: [deep breath]-> snacks and drinks because this one is LONGER, drinking, clubbing, panicking, choking, mouth spitting, everything IS consensual but it’s rough so, rough sex, spanking, kissing, pussy spanking, dacriphyllia, multiple orgasms, squirting, you suffer from ptw, that’s pvssy too wet, seriously, dom/sub dynamics, he’s still gross and fucked up, possessiveness, degradation, praise, he’s still mean :(((, manhandling, thigh riding, kinda in public for the first half, car sex, hair pulling, squirting, unprotected sex, one all expenses paid trip to poundtown, and cursing. There’s so much I probably forgot something but y’all get the gist.

A/N- enjoy the official second installment of the dad’sfriend au! ;)

Kisses for all starting with~ @dorayakissu @jae-mie @lcvsanaa @love2fangirl @jusferisnothere @dilfismz @mybahama @trentknd @reka13 @511rkive @gr-red

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The second time you and your father’s new friend meet, it’s not at all in the setting you thought it’d be.

No, awfully enough you’re mid-spin- throwing your ass in a club near the shadier part of the city, out way past your dads rules in a tight dress- cute manicured toes peeking out your heels; makeup laden eyes widening as you make eye contact with the same gorgeous man who wore you out almost 3 weeks ago. Leaving you with a card and legs that remained shaky for the next 2 days.

The morning after was a trip and you won’t even touch how you couldn’t wipe the grin off your face, smiling even as you went to pee; the stinging a pleasant reminder of the whole ordeal. And, true to your word, you indeed have been nicer to your dad. Kissing him on the cheek with a light “be back later dad, I love you”, whenever he was home and you were leaving just like you did when you were six and his happy smile was just the same. You also put a limit on the smart little quips where you could but not so much that it was obvious you had gotten a full body attitude adjustment.

You’d been so good.

Little did you know, he’d heard as much. Smirking inwardly like there was some in-joke whenever your father would be cheerier than normal sometimes on his early commute- telling him how you made breakfast, kissing him on the cheek with a sweet ‘bye daddy’ before you left for your day or how you were less snippy- instead you were pleasant. So now imagine his surprise seeing his friend’s perfectly pleasant young daughter in one of his clubs that you didn’t even know was his, in a snug dress so short that whenever you moved you were threatening to flash someone. The skimpy little thing didn’t even have a back.

He knows the exact moment you see him see you because the way your heart falls to your ass is written all over your face and it makes him grin even wider.

When he moves, his stride is perfect. Long limbs weaving seamlessly through the sea of bodies as he deliberately walks past you.

You who is internally panicking.

“Mmm he get to strokin’, ooh how I love when he chokin’ me! Bitch I’m a boss! I do what I want-!” Your friends yell the lyrics drunkenly as they move their ass against you and you wince, suddenly hyper aware of who’s watching. Even though you had been drinking, you weren’t drunk but that didn’t change the fact that you weren’t supposed to be here and now there was a witness who knew the reason why your fast ass wasn’t supposed to be here and could very well snitch to said reason.

You shout some nonsense excuse to your friends to where you’re going and they nod back before going back to partying. If they were less plastered you know they’d question you and insist on coming with so you thank your lucky stars they’re not because the last thing they needed to see was you getting slut out by a man twice your age while attempting to do damage control. Spinning on your heel you walk the same path he did but less gracefully as you try not to stumble in your heels or topple over anyone. Your heart beat is almost louder than the music as you look for the dark suited man and the further you walk the more intense it feels; flashbacks of devilish hands and a nasty mouth cloud your mind and you swallow harshly, willing away that heat with a shaky inhale before it can burn you.

Just as you turn, you’re yanked into a corner- the sound of your shriek swallowed by the music.

“Well if it isn’t daddy’s good. little. girl. Shouldn’t it be past your curfew?”

Fuck. His voice is just as deep as you remember and the name makes a shiver crawl up your spine, a familiar tingle settling in your cunt. Still, you refuse to give him the satisfaction, taunting him with your smart mouth even though he can see your (now hard) nipples poking through the colorful toss of glitter you called a dress.

“Shouldn’t you be in a bingo hall n’some retirement center near the exit of my damn business?” Fuck x2. Alcohol loosens your tongue something terrible on a good night so now the same alcohol coupled with adrenaline has you completely reckless- delayed sense of self preservation only loading at 34 percent. The looming realization of your fuck up comes in the form of a smile so wide that it creases his eyes as he begins to laugh. And laugh. And laugh until you’re giggling nervously too. It’s awkward sounding compared to the low timbre of his rich sounding one. You shuffle once and that’s as far as you go before his hand snaps around your throat; cutting off your oxygen, strong hold fastening as he gives a good squeeze, forcing you harder against the wall.

His grip is tight off the bat and just like last time you can’t keep your hand from flying up and gripping his hard forearm the same way you can’t help yourself from getting wet as blood rushes through your ears. He’s looking down at you like you’re nothing more than a thing- his little thing- as he watches you with a dark smile.

“Cute. And here I thought we fixed that smart ass mouth of yours.” He sneers in your face and you nod desperately because he really did fix it, you were just tipsy. You know for a fact that you can’t withstand another one of his attitude adjustments- especially somewhere so public- standing in uncomfortable shoes. Ignoring your pleading look completely, he slides his knee between your plush thighs, wedging it right up into your clit through your soaked panties, loosening his hold for his next trick.

“Let’s try again, okay princess?” The petname falls from his lips with the same condescension as all his other words but it doesn’t sound any less heavenly and you whine- blinking at him prettily through your lashes.

“..yes sir…”, The way you submit has his eyes fluttering shut for a second and the feeling that rolls through him is dangerous.

He truly is a sick man. He could ruin you beyond repair if he wasn’t careful.

“Why are you doing out so late in a place like this? Dressed like that too.”

“It’s the end of finals for the semester, m-me and the girls just wanted to have a little fun..” you sound so timid, like a brat caught drawing on the wall and he cooes at you.

“And the outfit?” You flush as you feel just how little you’re wearing- though the last time he saw you, you were wearing nothing at all. Even your face had been bare which was a hard contrast to now with your hair messy from dancing but lovely still, smokey eyeshadow that had flecks of glitter and pouty lips pretty and glossed. Bristling, you ask,

“What’s wrong with it?” There’s an undercurrent of more tone than he likes but he feels generous enough at the picture you paint not to make you pay for it as he smiles indulgently at you, raising a brow as he shakes his head.

“I suppose nothing besides the fact I almost missed it even when looking straight at you. Good thing it’s not any tighter or it’d be invisible.” He grinds his knee up into your pussy, catching you off guard with the sudden shockwaves of pleasure you’re subjected to at the expense of his taunting. He doesn’t take his eyes off of you for a second as you undulate your hips against his thigh in those messy circles you like so much, choked moans breaking through your every gasp.

You’re so lightheaded.

Nerves ultra sensitive from the lack of air and tequila buzz as you bite your lip, bringing your hands to your chest, pulling your bra and dress down to let your breasts spill out; pulling and tweaking the hard nubs shamelessly as you do. What was it about him that made you act this way?

You feel so good, you don’t even care to find the answer. Bathing in the heat of his stare, you rock your wet cunt back and forth over the hardness of his thigh, the fabric of his pants giving the most delicious friction against your throbbing clit. His brows furrow in arousal as he watches you fuck yourself on his leg, moaning like every bit of the slut you looked like with his hand around your throat. But you would get much louder than this- that he knew from experience.

Your attention gets bought back to the man you’re minutes away from coming on when his other hand wraps itself in your hair and pulls. It’s intense. White-hot pleasure that comes with the burning sting as you cry out, hips jerking as your legs shake at how close you are. He pulls again, moving your head farther back, exposing your neck as he licks a fat, wet stripe up the sensitive, sweat slick skin all the way to your mouth and you can’t stop moving your hips as your eyes roll back- heart racing from how much you’re feeling, soaked hole clenching around nothing. His voice clears some of the fog about to take you but his words cause the shame this time.

“Does your father know you’re here?” You pinch your lips together in embarrassment, because no- he didn’t know. You told him you’d be back before the set time but here you were almost 2 hours past. He jerks his thigh against your center harshly, cutting off your wail with a tight hand and you swear you see lights.

“Answer me, coherently. I want to hear those big girl words.” Fuck.

It’d be a lie to say you wish he wasn’t so mean. It was part of his charm, the edge that made him that more interesting and irresistible. You swallow as best you can, sniffling wetly through the water that’s already gathering in your eyes and the sight and sound make him so feral that he’s ready to take you on the floor, fucking you stupid on the glittering black marble.

“N-no..my dad doesn’t know-“, the faux shock on his face shifts into contemplation and you can not have that as you rush the words out,

“And you can’t tell him! Please! He’ll flip if he finds out..” He wasn’t a snitch but you didn’t know that, begging sweetly for him not to rat you out- even holding off your orgasm just for him and he’s filled with that same sick rush as before. You were so delectable. So sweet, so wet- your teary doe eyes too- and so pliant beneath him.

He shuts you up by bringing his face close to yours, smelling the flavor of your lip gloss while enjoying the suddenly shy look on your pretty face at him studying you so closely as he whispers,

“Open your mouth.”

Huh? He’s close enough to kiss you so is that it? Your heart threatens to give out at the thought of him kissing you. Kissing is so…intimate. So is sex but there’s something about both your eyes being closed as you lean in, trusting one to guide the other. Especially since you still hardly knew each other…

Would you like to know him?

You ignore the tear between your gut instincts and your feelings and open your mouth. The pleased hum he rewards you with makes you keen but as the hand around your windpipe tightens and your heart stops as you feel plush lips drag across your cheek…. Right before a warm wad of saliva hits the your tongue, sliding down the back of your throat. Did he just-

You swallow on instinct and only then does he kiss you on the mouth. It’s short but demanding and so, so good- your eyes fluttering shut, hips returning to their motions with more urgency than before as he absolutely devours your mouth, licking into it like he’s trying to find traces of him; pulling away with a mean suck of your bottom lip and you gasp wetly.

“Good girl.”

You bite your lip and the water that was already gathering in your eyes spills over, panting as you try not to be swept away by the consuming waves of crushing bliss but you can’t stop your fucking self from grinding your clit against his leg, humping it with pathetically watery sobs.

He knows you’re close, that familiar pained expression on your flushed face but instead of putting you out of your misery; he decides to- “Ah ah. No-“, but it’s too late and he knew that full well before he even started. He was already planning on you disobeying, that way your punishment would be that much more…satisfying.

He watches with lidded eyes as your orgasm rips through you, grabbing his wrist for stability, hips twitching out of their messy rhythm and you wail; coming so hard it hurts. The torrent of euphoria submerges you for what will go down as the longest minutes of your life and when you come down, you’re distantly grateful for his hand because you wouldn’t be able to hold your head up otherwise.

The spot beneath your pulsating cunt is wet and he leans his head back with a pleased sigh. He was going to fuck you up in the best ways. Your makeup is messier now thanks to your tears as you sniffle weakly, trying to catch your breath and he has to hold himself back from sliding your dazed self onto the ground and-

“Sorry…m’sor- I couldn’t hold it..”, you slur out as he moves his thigh, making you stand on wobbly legs; still lightheaded from your high. Mentally, he goes through all the things he can put your soft body through as he fixes your dress, pulling what little there is of it- down as he decides what to do with you.

“It’s ok. You’ll make it up to me.” He smiles at the way you nod almost dumbly, holding your hand- ready to take you with him before looking you over, eyes searching for something.

“Where’s your phone?”

You groan because the answer was embarrassing but one you were sure he’d get off on. Shifting uncomfortably, you mumble out; “it’s in the waistband…” Oh? His night just keeps getting more and more interesting. Your face warms more as his voice takes on a mocking sort of condescending.

“Waistband of what?” Your embarrassment is as sweet as you are and he barely holds back his smirk.

“…my thong.”

It’s a good thing you’re not looking at him because the dark glint on his face would’ve sent you running for the hills. Moving closer, he takes his time running his hand down your side, making your breath hitch as he runs it smoothly into the side where your dress cuts to open back, feeling around near your hips where the soft skin gives to the pressure of fabric until he feels your phone- pulling it out.

He really needed to stop touching you so casually. It wasn’t good for your sanity. But, he doesn’t care as he squeezes your hand, making you focus up again.

“What’s your password?” You narrow your eyes but tell him anyway because you know if you don’t, he’ll make you. You wait anxiously as you watch him scroll for a bit before pressing something and typing some more before he locks it, sliding it into his suit pocket as he pulls you along with him.

“What-”

“Now your friends won’t come looking for you.” Your heart thumps, pumping heat through your veins at the many implications of his statement. He guides you down through the back corridor of the club and you notice the farther you get, the softer the music is until it’s quiet and your looking at a neon purple door before being pulled out of the building into the cool night air, walking towards a large, dark fancy car parked across from it.

He never breaks his stride as he walks you toward it, letting go of your hand to open the backseat door, turning to you with dark eyes and a grin softer than anything he’s going to do to you tonight.

“Get in.”

•

•

•

He doesn’t take you home.

Instead, your snatched into the open space of the back and he’s right behind you; slamming the door as he kneels behind you, grabbing you by the scruff of your neck, he manhandles you chest down to the leather seat, cheek flush against the cool surface with your ass up. There’s a deep groan that shakes you to your core as he drinks in your form with greedy eyes. You looked so appetizing that he’s tempted to keep you even after he’s done with you. Smooth ass up in the air, back arched nice and pretty for him, legs open as one balances on the seat and the other on the floor giving him a clear view of your wet pussy- their swollen lips being outlined by the scrap of wet fabric barely covering them.

The backseat of his car is plenty big enough but because of his height, he still has to maneuver a bit, taking off his suit jacket he rolls up the sleeves of his shirt before winding his hand back.

Your nerves are already on high alert, panting as you hear the rustling of his clothes then nothing. The concept of relaxing your body doesn’t even fully make it to your mind when a heavy slap has fire blooming across your ass and you choke.

The initial pain is just a prelude though as you hear a low laugh and your thong is ripped clean off you before more spanks rain down on your asscheeks. Each hit is hard, making the sensitive skin tint as it recoils from the strength behind the burning hits. You end up coughing, trying to gasp but it ends in a desperate sob as the sting begins to warm and the sting of his palm leaves shockwaves of pleasure that fester in your lower body, making your cunt pulse as he watches slick ooze from your tight hole, pupils blown.

“I know exactly what to do with you.”

You hear him but you don’t get to respond, eyes fluttering back in complete bliss as you’re suddenly stuffed with 3 of his perfectly thick fingers. All three immediately curl up like they’re trying to poke your bellybutton before thrusting in and out, brushing his thumb against your clit after every nasty squelch. Each mean swipe of his fingers sends you closer to oblivion as you feel yourself start to drift. You fog up his windows with your moans, lipgloss smeared against his seat but it’s all pointless because you’re going to cum. And when you cum, it’s gonna be your ass because you can’t catch your breath enough to ask him coherently if you were allowed to.

The fingers inside you curl completely, grinding against that sweet bundle of nerves inside you and your inner thighs spasm as you wail- hiccuping loudly, you cry in pleasure when the dam breaks and oh god you’re coming.

Your eyes snap shut as you try not to pass out from all the sensations. It’s like you’ve been dunked in lava- your orgasm blazing as it consumes you. You don’t even scream anymore, just crying and whining as you shake; cunt spasming from trying to withstand the waves. You usually never cum so hard and you worry that if this becomes a daily thing it’ll shorten your lifespan.

It’s cute. Watching you struggle not to be overwhelmed by him. You don’t even hear him unzip his pants, fat cock bobbing as it beads with precum, cooing as a certain realization finally creeps up on you. That his fingers were still fucking into your tight snatch, grinding away at your g-spot.

“Since you couldn’t stop yourself from coming…”

Oh no. Nononononono-

“I don’t want you to stop coming.” The broken sob that reaches his ears has a thick shiver of arousal run through him as wretches his hand out of your hole only to smack heavy wet spanks onto your erect clit.

Your heart stops and a few seconds later you can’t hear or see either as you cum for the third time that night, mouth dropping open in a silent scream as you squirt all over him and his luxury car, drool spilling into the space under your cheek. It’s almost miserable as your arch deepens, body trembling until consciousness returns to you in a flood of lights and you go boneless.

Even in the mess he’s made of you, he likes this look much better than the polished party princess from earlier. You looked pretty before but now your fucked out form looked good enough to eat, punched out gasps leaving your chest. Taking his fingers out, he clean your cum off them, eyes fluttering at the taste as he runs his other hand up and down your back, settling on the arch when he feels your shaky hand reach back to grip his thigh.

“G’nna fuck me now?” Oh, poor thing. He was going to fuck you stupid. Too bad you sounded so dazed when the fun was just getting started. Grabbing his cock with the hand that was covered in you, he slides it between your folds, groaning at the hot slick, moving back and forth- fat head bumping your clit.

“Yeah, baby. ‘M gonna fuck you but”, he pulls your head back by your hair, the burn brings you out of your haze a bit and you hum to let him know you’re listening,

“You better not pass out. Understand?” You bite your lip, moaning from your throat as you wiggle your hips, feeling the weight of his cock against your hole but not sliding in until you agree.

“Mhm, yes sir-” He cuts you off with a snap of his hips, thrusting into your sopping heat with chest thick groan, hissing through his teeth- tingles buzzing through him. You were still so wet and tight, pussy almost choking his length as he set to thrusting right away; fat cock battering your insides.

The stretch hurt. But it hurt so good and you find that you missed being stuffed so full, crying out with the grip on your hair tightening while he fucked you like he paid for you. Broken wails spill from your throat at the harsh way he pounds them out of you, front snapping against your ass. Watching the bounce with hungry eyes, veins on his forearms popping out from every time he pulled- eventually burying his hand deeper- holding you down as he goes harder, hips snapping nice ‘n deep against yours and you scream in bliss.

You felt so fucked up because even though you were so sensitive that it bordered on painful you can’t keep yourself from whining for more. He was just as fucked up though. Apparently being a facilitator of murder wasn’t enough, now he was fucking his friend’s daughter- that he was much older than- senseless at almost 2 in the morning but you looked damn good while he did.

Messy hair and tear streaked makeup, bite swollen lips with your pretty little dress yanked up, dark handprints bruised all over your ass while you got railed with your ass up. Yeah. If you were fucked up for this then it was fine; he was beyond fucked up too.

Slick runs down the inside of your thighs and you groan, muscles spasming as you feel your impending orgasm get closer, bleating screams rising in pitch when you feel him grind filthily at the gooey bundle of nerves inside you and you don’t have the presence of mind to be embarrassed at the way your cunt leaks like a ruptured faucet, ruining his pants again.

His rakes his fingers firmly through your scalp and the sound that comes from you is nothing short of pathetic- making his smirk positively wolffish when he leans down close; licking a wet stripe from your cheek to your ear. It’s primal and he revels in your shudder, voice rasp with heady arousal as he purrs out,

“Cum. Squirt yourself to a headache f’me, princess. You earned it.”

You’re sure that in the moments that follow, you pass away. Unlike your previous orgasms that only ripped through you, this one rips you apart and it’s devastating. Chest burning, you black out. Molten hot euphoria makes every synapse inside of you sizzle until your nerves light off as liquid shoots from your cunt that’s tightened around his fat cock like a vice; milking him in the wake of your bliss. His own eyes roll back as he fucks you through both of your highs, cursing at the mind numbing pleasure.

He turns you over without pulling out, hissing at your wrecked appearance before leaning down to catch you in a deep kiss, moving your head with the force as your lips smack against each other. You jerk when you feel him tongue along the inseam of your cheek before he pulls away with a short gasp, pulling out with a sigh. Letting you watch him as he fixes his pants but leaves his hair, leaving the strands that had fallen in his face when he was inside you.

You sigh at the relief of pressure finally off your back, leaning into his touch when he moves to grasp your chin. All he has to do is raise an eyebrow for you to get it, making his chest roll in satisfaction.

“Thank you for making me cum, sir.” Your voice is still scratchy from the work he put your vocal cords through and he huffs out a breath, smiling gracefully down at you.

“Of course, baby.” The petname brings another surge of heat to your face as you look away from him. You’re cute. How you’re shy after everything you’ve done together. He moves his hand and shuffles back, long arm reaching behind him to open the door and you slam your legs shut, which did nothing since your little dress never covered a damn thing even when it was pulled down.

Getting out, he swipes his suit jacket off the back of a seat, dropping it over your near naked form with a chuckle before closing the door as he walks through the night air to the drivers side, starting his car the second he gets in before he listens to the thoughts telling him to just take you.

“…soooo- what now?” You ask shyly because you’re still unsure about whatever dynamic you two had; even though it was very fun, there was still the age gap and the fact that he was buddies with your dad. The soreness was already starting to set in and you’re tired.

“We are going to a store- so you can clean up and get something that actually functions as clothing before I take you home.” Huh?

“You’re not gonna tell?” The confusion in your voice makes him laugh as he flicks his eyes up at you through the mirror.

“No. I got something out of it too, remember?” You hear the teasing in his voice and it makes you jittery, nodding in response as he speeds up. He honestly had no business looking that sexy while driving, pouting until his voice breaks you out of your reverie; his next words send your heart racing.

“I’ll keep your secrets if you keep being a good little thing. Deal?”

You’re silent as you mull it over. You already have secrets so what’s one more? Biting your lip, you think of just how much fun this could be. A little series (😉) of rendezvous with a forbidden man. Your dad never had know.

And since you know he’ll never tell….

“Deal.”

He smiles, dark eyes brimming with something unsettling. He couldn’t wait to turn you out.

You still had no idea who he was and for your sake, he hopes on your behalf that it stays that way.

[nereidprinc3ss]

do you believe me now? | 10

in which spencer reid and inexperienced fem!reader manage to discuss the direction of their physical relationship between makeouts. reader isn't feeling comfortable at her apartment, so they plan their first trip together.

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this fic is 18+ warnings/tags: d/s dynamics but not smutty, softdom!spencer/sub reader, mild pda?, hint at switch!spencer, they talk about sex/how r feels about her first time, making out, r has long hair, almost dry humping if you're standing several miles away, unresolved sexual tension, teasing/flirting. don't like? don't read a/n: yayyyyy hi guys!! no idea when part 11 will be out. I missed them. I love them so bad. they are my favorite ever. they are so special to me 4ever. hope u missed them and ur just as happy to see them happy as I am :")

“Do you like eyelet?” Spencer asks, reaching up to grab a set of sheets you couldn’t. He insists that you let him get everything from the top shelf because it’s been handled less. 

You shrug, distracted by the angle of his jaw and the line of his throat as he retrieves the plastic package. 

It’s Sunday. Three nights in a row spent with him—the longest sleepover streak thus far—and you don’t want to go back to sleeping alone tonight. But you know it’s time. Both of you have things to attend to tomorrow, and you’re not exactly in the habit of getting things done when you’re together. All weekend you’ve lounged in his lap on the couch or tangled yourself in his arms in bed—fully clothed, of course. Spencer had suggested the no-sex rule on Friday, and you’re glad for it. You feel no pressure to be doing more when he’s kissing you or holding you. 

Of course, the concept of having sex again crosses your mind—when you’re washing your face and catch a glimpse of the bruises on your neck in the mirror, or when the tips of Spencer’s fingers trace idly over a span of exposed skin on your lower back as you watch a movie on the couch and you’re struck with desire, or you move just right and feel a tiny lingering twinge of soreness. There was a time when if you had Spencer Reid to yourself for three nights, a Navy SEAL wouldn’t have been able to pull you off of him. Now, when you think about the fact that there will be a second time, you get that butterflies-in-the-stomach feeling—but you’re not sure if it’s good or apprehensive. 

Either way, it’d be too much right now. 

You do miss feeling that kind of closeness with him. That intimacy. It can’t be replicated, no matter how many naps you take together. Probably something to do with brain chemicals and hormones. He could explain it all, if you were brave enough to ask. 

So you know it’d be too much… but it’s not that you don’t want it. There is also, of course, the issue of the way he looks. It’s not helping your cognition. It’s not encouraging you to make good choices. 

You’re not supposed to be thinking about sex. You’re supposed to tell him if you like eyelet. 

“Yeah, I guess.”

Spencer gives you an exasperated look and sighs. He’s wearing his glasses today. His hair is freshly washed and fluffy. The navy blue sweater he’s wearing is about the only step between a button down and pajamas for him, and he looks good in casual clothing. You chew your lip. 

He doesn’t notice your ogling. “You’ve said that about everything.”

“I’m really not that passionate about the fabric of my sheets,” you defend, shoulders rising and dropping. 

“Surely you like some of them less and some of them more. Usually you jump at the chance to express an opinion.”

Okay. Uncalled for. 

He’s obviously kidding. You overreact anyway. 

“You suck,” you mumble, brushing past him in search of something suitable for your bed. 

Spencer processes this for a moment and then trails after you down the aisle. 

“I suck?”

“Here, look. Bamboo. That’s good, right?”

Your boyfriend glances at the package you’ve selected, probably holding back a whole host of facts about bamboo farming in China. 

“It’s fine. Why do I suck?”

“Because you implied I’m opinionated.”

“I didn’t imply it. It was an explicit statement.”You groan petulantly and put the sheets back on the shelf with force. Spencer picks them up and follows you deeper into the store. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” 

“You didn’t,” you huff, turning around to face him once you’re safely sequestered in a new aisle. The store’s not busy—an elderly couple roams for fake fruit and towels, humming vacantly to the Muzak, and a single mom wrangles her kids in a cart. Back here, it’s just the two of you. “Not really.”

“Then what did?” He asks gently, stepping closer. Spencer’s not overly-affectionate in public, but the tone of his voice, the way he’s looking at you like he can see your thoughts, feels intimate. 

You’re helpless when he gets like this, and he probably knows it. It’s an abuse of power and when you can think straight again you’ll have to scold him for it. 

“It doesn’t even matter. You’re just gonna drop me off after this anyway.”

He tilts his head like a curious puppy, eyes alight with a good puzzle as he quickly strings together the facts in his head. 

“Is that it?”

You frown and hesitate, eyes catching on a loose thread at the hem of his sweater. 

“… No.”

“Yeah, it is. You’re upset because I’m taking you home.”

You scramble to deny. “That’s not it.”

“I think it is,” he murmurs, a smile playing at the corners of his perfect mouth. 

You study the waxen floor tiles intently. 

“Well… I mean, would that be weird? You’re gonna miss me too, right?”

You sound unsure—insecure, even. When you look back up at him, his eyes are melted chocolate, even under the fluorescents. He glances down at your mouth briefly and then over your shoulder. 

Pleasekissmepleasekissmepleasekissme.

He doesn’t, but you can tell he really wants to, which is almost as good. 

“Of course, I’m going to miss you. But we’ll see each other soon. Probably tomorrow.”

“Unless you get called out on a case. But it’s not even really that. It’s just—how am I supposed to… I don’t know! We just spent three nights together. How am I supposed to go back to sleeping alone for a whole week?”

Maybe you’re too attached to him now, because acknowledging the thought which has been lurking all morning opens the floodgates that were holding back a sea of dread, and you feel it in every inch of your body. Five nights alone stretch out before you like an infinite, impassable forest. Friday is an eternity away, and there’s no guarantee he’ll even be here Friday night, if the team gets a case. 

Spencer somehow regards you with both curiosity and innate wisdom, like you’re a new specimen in a familiar field, for a long enough moment that your cheeks begin to warm. 

“Sorry, that was embarrassing. I’m being weird, it’s fine—”

Just as you go to walk away, he pulls you carefully back in by the wrist, even closer than before. 

“No. You’re sweet,” he murmurs, hand warm even through the knit of your sleeve. Gingerly you look back up at him. 

“But you’re not gonna miss me as much as I miss you.”

“Do not undermine my capacity for yearning. I missed you when you were brushing your teeth this morning.”

“Ooh. So clingy,” you tease, though you’re obviously delighted by the information, and he borderline pouts. 

“Don’t say that. Say you’re sorry.”

“I’m sorry,” you laugh as he pulls you to his chest, keeping you there with a hand to your back. 

“Okay. Now say you love me.”

For a moment you’re distracted by the proximity, the lowering of his voice as he brings you into his space and your faces are only inches apart. The smell of his body wash coming from both of you. 

“I love you,” you breathe, and it’s not as teasing as you’d meant for it to be as his eyes dart to your lips. 

Even though you’re bossy, is what you don’t say. 

This seems to please him, because finally, he’s tilting his head down and pressing a quick kiss to your lips. It’s still enough to make you lightheaded. 

“Apology accepted. I love you too,” he murmurs. And then he’s pulling back, trying to walk around you. “Do you wanna stop for coffee on the way back to yours?”

“Wait,” you order, suddenly listless and disoriented in the middle of the aisle. “You’re not gonna…”

Spencer frowns back at you.

“I’m not gonna what?”

“You’re not gonna… say it?”

“… I love you? I did say that.”

“No, there’s—usually when I do stuff you ask me to do, you say—”

Only when the first ray of understanding illuminates his face do you realize you actually shouldn’t have said anything at all. 

“Nevermind. Yeah, let’s just go.”

Spencer catches your arm again as you attempt to walk past him, laughing quietly as he leans down to speak in your ear. 

“I am not calling you good girl in the small decorative statues aisle.”

“What if we go back to the bedding aisle?” You ask, through the warmth of your own cheeks. 

It’s sort of a joke. 

“Remember what I said about appropriate context?”

“All those sheets, and duvet covers, and stuff. It’s basically the same.”

When he doesn’t respond, you gather the courage to tear your eyes from a little robot statue and look at him. Eyes ever-so-slightly narrowed, warmed only by a hint of humor. A barely detectable curve of the mouth. 

Oops. With all your blind-button pushing, you might’ve accidentally tapped the one responsible for all the marks on your neck—the one that makes him tick in a way which usually ends with you underneath him. 

And then, for the first time, you actually watch as he pushes it down—activates some sort of self-cooling system. Probably he understands that whether you meant to be provocative or not, this interaction isn’t headed in a salacious direction. Even if you weren’t in public, the rule is holding fast. 

His hand slides from your arm to intertwine with your fingers. 

“What are you doing next week?”

You blink at the sudden change in subject and tone. 

“Uh… I don’t know. Working, probably.”

“From home?”

“Yeah. Why?”

He chews his lip thoughtfully. 

“I… still have a few days of annual leave that I need to use. I don’t know if this is… this might be too much, and you can say no. But Rossi has a place in Shenandoah. It’s a cabin—it’s, it’s really nice, I’ve seen pictures. He used to use it for hunting, I guess now he rents it out in the summer and fall but it’s empty during the off-season and he’s always offering it to the team. It’s only like, an hour away. An hour and nine minutes actually, if you take the 66 Express outside the Beltway from Arlington. I looked it up, um… semi-recently. I’m sure he’d let us use it, if you wanted to come burn four days of leave with me. No pressure. Of any kind. I could also, just, y’know, stay home, and we could still spend time together that way. We could finish Deep Space Nine. Or watch something else. Or watch nothing. Whatever you’d like to do.”

Your heart rate has been increasing steadily since he started his impromptu speech—you’re glad he seems nervous inviting you. You’re a little nervous accepting. A trip together is definitely a new step. But getting the hell out of dodge with him for a few days sounds wonderful. 

“I’d love to go,” you say earnestly. 

Spencer’s face goes blank for a second, and then his eyebrows raise, like he wasn’t expecting you to say yes. 

“Oh. Oh! Great! Okay, I’ll—I’ll talk to Rossi about it tomorrow.”

He remains highly chipper as he hands his card over to the cashier for your new overpriced bamboo sheets. 

The promise of getting Spencer to yourself for four consecutive days and nights is the only way you’re able to fall asleep to a cold bed that night. 

It’s harder, at home now—you’re self-conscious of every and any noise. Music, cooking, talking on the phone. 

It doesn’t make sense, because you know you can’t hear your neighbors, so they shouldn’t be able to hear you, and Jerry’s a creep, who might’ve made the whole thing up just to get under your skin—but it’s all you can think about, when you’re there. 

Monday evening, Spencer comes to visit, as promised. You undo all the locks and open the door just enough for him to slip through. 

He kisses you hello as you close the door and sets his things down at the table while you relock. 

“No Jerry today?”

“Nope. I haven’t seen him since Friday.”

“Good,” Spencer says only once you turn, a distinct chill to his tone and a mostly unfamiliar frigidity to his eyes. It’s not directed at you, but it’s unnerving nonetheless, so you draw closer and wrap your arms around his waist—hoping to melt him back into your Spencer. 

He reciprocates, speaks softer now that he has you in his arms, and immediately you feel better. 

“Rossi said yes to us staying at the cabin and Emily said I can take the time off. Did you still wanna go?”

You’re pre-occupied with your face buried in his shirt, so you just nod, basking in the scent of his shower products once more. They’ve gone from simply comforting to intoxicating. 

“Is everything okay?” He asks quietly, brushing your hair over your shoulder. His fingers barely glance off your neck and you almost shiver. Want begins to pool deep and warm in your stomach as you lift your head and he looks down at you, so fondly. 

Want which you can’t afford to feel if you’re not willing to act on it. 

“I’m fine,” you breathe. Fuck. He’s too close. He’s too hot. You pull away and move to the kitchen. “Um, dinner. What do you want? We could make something. Or order something. I don’t have much, honestly.”

“I’ll be happy with anything. You sure you’re alright?”

“I don’t want to have sex!”

The words simply explode out of you, like a bat out of hell as you whip around. Just barely you manage not to clap a hand over your mouth in mortification. 

You stand, back to the fridge, watching Spencer nervously for his reaction. 

His brow knits. His lips part and close again several times. 

You’re wondering what the fastest and most convenient method of not being alive anymore would be when he finally answers. 

“… Okay. I wasn’t trying to initiate anything, did I—did I make you uncomfortable?”

“No! No, I’m sorry. I just… I wanted you to know that while I’m still, like, figuring things out—like, with my neighbor and everything—it’s just a lot, so… so I know this past weekend we agreed to not do anything and I think it would be best to… keep not doing anything. Just for now. I shouldn’t have said it like that—I didn’t actually… mean to say it. I was gonna, um, find a way to bring it up more delicately.”

You clear your throat and look down to study the patterned tile, cheeks burning. 

By way of several nervous glances up at him and back down, you watch Spencer silently come to lean against the counter across from you, arms crossed over his chest. 

“Okay. Thank you for telling me. We’re not ever going to do anything you don’t want to do. But, out of curiosity… is this just because of your neighbor? Or because you maybe don’t feel ready yet?”

He’s asking gently, because he wants to know, and you know there’s no wrong answer. It’s still nerve-racking.  

“Um… like, a combination of the two, I guess. Mostly… the neighbor. I think. But I’m telling you this because…” and here comes the worst part. “I need you… to… hold me accountable.”

“For what?” He asks plainly, but you know what he sounds like when perfectly suppressing a smile. The surface of the sun has nothing on the temperature of your face as you close your eyes and forge ahead in the name of open and honest communication—something the two of you are trying to work on.

“If I… come on to you… you have to turn me down.”

This is not getting any less embarrassing. 

“Should I anticipate you coming onto me?”

“Probably,” you sigh, looking at him through your lashes and bringing your hands to your cheeks, hoping maybe they’ll cool you down and poor circulation will work in your favor for once. “I know myself. You know me. I like… asking you for things. But for the rest of the week, if I do… you know, want something from you—you have to tell me no.”

Spencer nods slowly. “What if you genuinely change your mind?”

“I won’t. I might think I have, I might even tell you I have, but don’t believe me, okay? I don’t think straight when I’m turned on, and if we do anything, I’ll like it until fucking Jerry is pounding my door down the next day, and I just can’t deal with that.”

Spencer’s face goes completely void of expression to the point that if it weren’t for context clues you’d have no idea he’s probably imagining pistol-whipping the guy. 

“Has he knocked on your door?” 

Testosterone. 

“No. Back to my point. I’m trusting you to keep me in check so I don’t do anything I’ll… I’ll end up regretting. Not that I regret the other night!” You scramble just as Spencer’s brow begins to furrow. “I don’t. I just regret that my gross neighbor had to get involved. And I don’t want that to happen again. So… is that… is that okay? Will you do that for me?”

“Of course I will,” Spencer says gently, without hesitation as he pushes off the counter. “Can I ask a follow-up question?”

You nod and regard the space between you, unsure if you want to eliminate it or keep using it like a buffer. By not coming to you, he’s giving you the choice. 

“You said this was mostly because of your neighbor. But you didn’t sound sure. It’s fine if you aren’t feeling ready yet. I just want to make sure I know what’s going on with you.”

“I don’t really know,” you admit, after a brief pause. “I feel like… as long as I know he’s on the other side of the wall I wouldn’t even be able to wrap my head around how I actually feel. It’s also confusing because, like I was saying, I… just because I feel like I want something in the moment, doesn’t necessarily mean I’m actually ready for it, you know? I don’t even know if… I don’t even know what being ready again really means or would look like.”

“You did the other night.”

“Yeah, but that was different. Because now I’m gonna think I know what I’m getting myself into, but that’s not necessarily true.”

Another pause in which you chew your lip and look away. 

“I don’t want you to overthink it, honey. I think being ready just means you’re comfortable, and you’re with someone who’s going to keep you safe, and nobody’s pressuring you, and you’re not, you know—pressuring yourself. Wanting it is actually really important, too. But what I’m hearing right now is that even if you might want it, you’re not in a place that feels safe. And that makes sense to me. So we’re just not gonna do anything until that changes, okay?”

Eyes still cast downward, your lips twist into a sardonic little smile. 

“I feel like I’m talking to my therapist.”

He laughs with a single breath. 

“I really hope your therapist doesn’t speak to you like I do. The ethics there would be highly questionable.”

The joke refreshes your courage and you look back up at him, smile still edged with humor but mostly unspoken gratitude. 

The half-smile on Spencer’s face, however, is fading steadily as he studies you in flickering passes. Like there’s something still on his mind. You were hoping for a subtle invitation back into his arms, but the space between you remains—infused now with a tension as it becomes increasingly obvious. 

“Also… this trip we’re going on. I feel like I should say this—I don’t know if it was even on your mind, but… I don’t want you to feel pressured to have sex just because of the timing. Me inviting you on a last-minute trip to an isolated cabin—it’s not a master plan to get you to sleep with me again, I promise. I really just wanted us to be alone. Not—not that kind of alone—I mean, we’ll be alone, but it doesn’t have to be like that. I was just thinking about how nice it was for us to get those three nights together, you know, and the whole weekend too, and with my job, that’s not always going to happen, so it just seemed like a good opportunity—”

“Spencer,” you laugh, letting the tension snap like a rubber band as you go to him, slinging your arms over his shoulders, delighted to be the one doing the interrupting and not the flustered rambling, for a change. “I know you don’t have an ulterior motive. As for what kind of alone we’re going to be… we’ll figure that out, okay? Don’t worry about me. I don’t feel pressured by you. I never have. If anything, I’m the one who pressures you for sex.”

You’ve got him smiling once more, as his hands find your waist and his gaze flips from your mouth to your eyes and back again. It goes very subtly mischievous in a way you don’t quite trust, but he’s dipping his head to kiss you, and something tells you it’s going to be a good one, so when your nose bumps against his, and you can feel his breath on your lips, you’re not at all prepared for him to speak. 

“Begging is not the same as pressuring, sweet thing,” he murmurs, and then he’s kissing you so thoroughly you don’t even have time to be properly affronted. The offended gasp gets stuck in your throat, and melts into a tiny huff as it turns out the kiss is a very good one. You can’t think hard enough to be offended. Not even when he chuckles against you. 

“That’s not fair,” you mumble when he allows you a second to breathe. He hums, satisfying himself with kisses to your cheek and playing along. 

“What’s not fair?” 

“You… I was supposed to have the upper hand in that situation! You were the nervous one for once!”

Another hum, buzzing against your lips this time. 

“You have to learn how to take the upper hand, angel. I’ve had a lot of practice. It’s a big part of my job.”

Admittedly it’s hard to think when he talks like this, but you try. 

“So… you manipulate me? That’s not very romantic.”

He laughs quietly again. 

“No. I do not manipulate you.”

“You’re just a control freak,” you tease. 

“Yeah,” he agrees, immediately, still soft-spoken as he pulls back to carefully search your eyes. “Does that bother you?”

You search hands and knees for a crumb of outrage, for a hint of any of that strong feminist theory you’ve instilled into your brain over so many years. 

There’s nothing to be found. 

“No,” you admit, dejectedly, hanging your head as much as he’ll allow. “Should it?”

“Only if you don’t like it. When I take the upper hand like that, I’m really just… posing a yes or no question. So far, you lean towards saying yes. You let me win. But you don’t have to.”

“What happens if I… if I don’t let you win?”

He angles his head, coaxing you to look in his eyes once more. A hand comes up to swipe a dot of mascara from under your brow. He’s looking at you so serenely, like none of this is at all complicated. 

“Whatever you want. I wouldn’t be the one making the rules anymore.”

Oh. 

Oh. 

You laugh nervously. 

“That’s a lot of pressure. What if… I want you to keep making the rules? For forever?”

He kisses you again, insistently enough you have to tilt your head back. When he answers, it’s low, a promise, and pressed right against your waiting mouth. 

“Then I will.”

You loose a tremulous breath from your parted lips and you know he can feel it. He can feel how you’re clinging to his shirt, pressing yourself closer, how your skin has warmed and your breaths have hastened, he can probably taste how much you want him, how you’re already thinking about giving it all up for him—

And maybe that’s why he laughs dryly into your mouth before pulling away. 

Because he’s a good boyfriend. 

Spencer knits his brow and clears his throat as his hand slides down your arm, eyes narrowed like he’s wondering how things escalated so quickly. You certainly are. 

Suddenly he’s back to the nerd you met in a coffee shop all those months ago, and you like him like this, too. “So… dinner?” 

“Mhm. Yeah. We should… we should definitely eat. What do you wanna eat?”

You don’t miss the quick once over he gives you. Or the way his throat bobs once he tears his eyes away. 

“Um… how does Indian sound?”

You swear you don’t know how it happened. 

Everything was going fine—there was food on the coffee table, a show on the TV. Spencer made tea. It was wholesome. 

And then, somewhere between setting the plastic takeout bag down and actually opening it, you ended up like this. Kneeling next to him on the couch, one hand braced on his thigh, the other tangled in his hair as you kiss slow. Like this could actually be leading somewhere. 

“We should stop,” he reminds you, even as his hand traverses up your leg. You lean further into him—he has to tip his head back to meet your lips. 

“We’re kissing. It’s nothing.”

“You were—” kiss. “Just telling me—” kiss. “That you don’t want this right now.”

Deep kiss. The grip he has on your hip does not agree with his words. 

“This is just kissing. Kissing isn’t sex.”

Even as you’re saying it, you’re throwing your leg over his lap, landing in a straddle. 

“No,” he groans as if pained, throwing his head onto the back of the couch and depriving you of his mouth. “Baby. You have to get off. We can’t do this.”

“My bathroom—we could—it doesn’t share a wall with his apartment, we could go in there and turn on the shower and we could be really quiet—”

Suddenly there’s a hand over your mouth. It’s not yours. 

“Please stop before I say yes.”

You pull his hand away, fingers wrapped around his wrist. 

“You should. You should say yes. It’s a good idea, I know he wouldn’t be able to hear us over the shower—”

“It’s not about that. It’s about the fact that you asked me to turn you down not even an hour ago, no matter what you say, and I said I would.” He takes a shuddering deep breath. “And… I’m going to. I’m saying no.”

“No,” you whine, head falling to his shoulder, because you know he’ll keep his promise. He cups the back of your head—a kind, sympathetic gesture, which does nothing to alleviate the heat of your blood or the ache between your legs. You pout into his neck. “This is terrible. I might not survive.”

“I think you will.”

“Maybe if I enter a coma.”

He laughs and strokes your thigh. 

“There are worse things than sexual frustration.”

“Not right now. This is the worst thing I can imagine.”

“I’m so sorry. You poor thing.”

You pull back to face him, hands on his shoulders. 

“Oh my god. Don’t act like it’s not bothering you.”

“I’m not bothered.”

“I know that’s not true. You know how I can tell?”

The slightest adjustment of your hips draws attention to exactly what you mean. Spencer goes completely deadpan. 

“Stop,” he orders in monotone, and you laugh even you allow yourself to be tossed back onto the couch because you’ve successfully flustered him again. He puts a throw pillow over his lap and leans forward, hiding his blush beneath perfect hands with a tortured groan. “You’re terrible.”

The couch attempts to suck you in as you wriggle back from a lying position, propping yourself up on your elbows and grinning at him. 

“I did it,” you gloat. 

He angles his head toward you, revealing half a pretty face, still dusted red but now with all the markings of inquisition. 

“You did what?”

“I took the upper hand.”

Those dark eyes narrow and before you can think to retract your legs he’s wrapping his hands around your ankles, pulling them over his pillow and leaving you flat on your back once more. Again you giggle. 

“You took nothing,” he asserts, but you’re not bothered—still smiling as you accept your new position and toss your arms above your head casually. 

“Somebody’s a sore loser.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Eat your curry.”

“Sorry, I’m full. From, you know, the taste of victory.”

He exhales a dry chuckle, leaning forward to finally retrieve the containers of food. 

“I can’t believe I ever let you call me a nerd.”

The rest of the evening remains PG. Conversation flows and trickles comfortably over dinner on the couch, and afterwards, he suggests a documentary. From the outside, it might not look like much—but to you, with your head on his chest as the TV casts its flickering, ghostly light over the room, with the beating of his heart against your ear and his breath against the top of your head, it’s everything. Six months ago you didn’t know what it was to exist so comfortably around another person like this. Now, though he feels familiar and safe, you don’t take it for granted. The novelty of something so simple is not lost on you, and you feel like the luckiest girl in the world as your eyes begin to flutter. You’re lucky to have someone you feel completely safe with. 

Spencer murmurs your name like a question.  It buzzes against your ear. You hum in response. 

His thumb fans lines over your shoulder blade. “Can I ask you about something?”

“Mhm.”

“The other night… we didn’t really get a chance to—to debrief, afterwards. Which is fine, you were tired, it was late. But then the next morning I had to go, and everything with your neighbor happened, and we talked about that a little bit, but… but earlier, it sounded like maybe you… I don’t know. Maybe you weren’t feeling good about how it happened?”

“Spencer, I told you I don’t regret it,” you remind him, pushing up from his chest to look him in the eye. His hand slides down your back. 

“I know… I just wanted to give you another chance to talk about it. In case anything was on your mind.” He frets over your hair, an invisible speck on your skin. Like he’s nervous. “And I want to make sure you’re feeling okay about how it went. I know what happened the next day was an unfortunate addendum, and I’m sorry about that. As soon as you give me permission, I will have him arrested. But I don’t want that to overshadow your experience.”

“It’s… not,” you breathe, fiddling with a button on Spencer’s shirt. 

“So how did you feel about it? Barring anything external?”

“Good.”

Spencer strokes your jaw with a knuckle, gently admonishing. 

“Don’t just say that. Think about it.”

“I have,” you assure him immediately, cheeks warming as you realize just how swiftly you’d replied. 

What a lovely button. Mother-of-pearl. The shirt is a pale lilac. It looks good on him. One of your favorites, actually. 

Spencer lets you pick at it. He would probably let you pull the button off, tear every stitch on the shirt with a seam-ripper if it helped to soothe your nerves. 

“I’m not trying to embarrass you, or make you uncomfortable. We don’t have to go into explicit detail. I know it still feels weird to talk about. But it’s something we do have to talk about.”

“I know. And I would bring it up if something didn’t feel right. But it… was…” you chew your lip as you think of a way to phrase it that doesn’t sound too mushy-gushy. “Overwhelmingly… a very positive experience.”

“You sound like Yelp review,” Spencer says through a smile. You attempt to smother the continual heat of your embarrassment against his shirt. He’s seen you at your most vulnerable, more intimately than anyone ever has before. And you’re still shy about acknowledging that fact. 

“Shut up. Say something nice back.”

With a typically gentle hand, he pushes hair away from your ear. 

“I…” he begins meaningfully, taking a moment to sweep your hair over your back. “Feel incredibly grateful that you trusted me to take care of you. I know that’s big for you, and I know it can be a really scary thing. Mostly I’m happy you’re happy. And that I didn’t mess up irredeemably.”

“What would you have messed up?” You laugh, retreating from your shelter against his chest to knit your brow. 

He makes a face in the half-dark like he shouldn’t have said it. 

“Uh… that… veers into explicit detail… and possibly too much honesty.”

You laugh again and adjust to frame his sheepish smile between your hands. 

“I see. You have to keep your mystique in tact.”

“I really don’t think it’s that much of a mystery.”

“Well, I’ll spare your ego.”

“Wow, thanks. For the first time in your life.”

You go in for a chaste, smiley kiss, which stays sweet and kind even as it melts into something stickier. 

It comes to a turning point and Spencer inhales deeply, gently angling his head away and shifting to check his watch. You collapse on his chest, catching your breath. 

“I should go.”

“No. I feel like you’re going away to war.”

“I’m going to Court House. Where I live.”

“What if I never see you again?”

“It’s twenty minutes away. So you could always just drive.”

You frown. 

“I hope you get trench foot.”

“You know seventy seven thousand soldiers died from trench foot in World War Two?”

“Obviously I did not know that.”

“Well, next time you should just say you want me to die. Up.”

He pats the back of your thigh and you push off of him, only after considering trying to hold him hostage for a split second. 

You hover by the couch like a ghost, watching with increasing anxiety as he gathers together the empty containers from your meal and throws them in the kitchen garbage before collecting his things. 

There is one thing—one potentially difficult thing you haven’t mentioned to him that seems to be a direct consequence of finally sleeping together. 

You’re clingy. 

Clingier than you’ve ever been. It didn’t seem possible to want to be around him more than you already had, but now when he’s gone you feel his absence like a vacuous hole by your side. Without his warmth, you’re always a little colder. A little less comfortable. 

It’s embarrassing to admit that you’re starting to get separation anxiety, so you won’t put it into so many words—but you think, as he turns, slinging his bag over his shoulder with a knowing look, that he understands. 

At the same time, you begin to close the space, meeting gently in the middle, toe to toe. You keep your hands behind your back, afraid that otherwise you’ll try and glom onto him like a barnacle on a ship’s hull. 

“There are some things I’d like to get done this week so I don��t have to worry about them during our trip. So I might not see you for a day or two.”

Dutifully you nod, though you’re slightly crushed. 

“That’s okay. We’re grownups.”

“I don’t know,” he tuts. “I’m worried I’m gonna start writing my name with your last on all my notebooks.”

That stupid, stupid charm. 

“Mm… I’m kinda out of your league,” you grin. 

Spencer’s smile wanes slowly, but his eyes remain soft and aglow as they explore your face as reverently as his hands would. When he speaks, it’s in an honest, borderline whisper. “I’m acutely aware.”

Slowly his head dips, and your eyes flutter shut. A sweet, lingering kiss lands on your cheek. Then he’s pulling back. 

“That’s it?” You can’t help but ask, peering up at him and barely concealing a frown. 

He smiles that lovely smile, but by this point you’re attuned enough to his facial expressions to recognize the subtle heat playing just beneath the surface of those golden-oak eyes. 

“What? Did I give you the impression that I put out?”

“It’s just a kiss.”

That teasing edge becomes ever so slightly sharper as he regards you, head tilting. 

“Mhm. And the last time you said that—was it before or after you mounted me?”

You shoo him away pretty quickly after that—partly for discipline, and partly because the sooner he’s gone, the sooner you’ll go to sleep, and the sooner it will be tomorrow. 

And this trip can’t come soon enough, because you’re pretty sure you know exactly what kind of alone you’d like to be with Spencer Reid.

[cyber333angel]

when sevika has to go away for missions for silco she makes you film videos of you playing with yourself just because she misses seeing whats hers for long amounts of time :(( whether it’s a vid of you humping the pillow she usually rests her head on when she’s asleep in bed with you, or a vid of you using the dildo you know your not supposed to use without sevikas permission on your cunt with tears in your eyes, moaning and crying out her name. it just makes her throb between her legs and although she doesn’t like to admit it because she’s the scariest woman in zaun, it’s the only thing that really gets her through spending so much time away from you.

she also watches them anywhere, it could be in the nearing end of a poker game and she’s watching it as a reward or she could have her phone propped up, while fixing her mechanical arm just watching you work up your pussy like it’s one of her favorite tv shows.

and at night, when she’s on the bed in some motel away from you for only one more day, sevika watches it again. rubbing at her clit and missing you, poor baby is grunting and rutting against her hands imagining you and only having a video to suffice for the real thing. the video on full volume as she cums with a quiet cry and her hips twitching off the bed. using the other videos you sent her in the past to get off a few more times, waiting to see you in the morning.

and she’s oh so mean when she gets home to you, calling you a slut for sending those types of things to her while she’s at work, making you cry and show her exactly how you were acting when you recorded the videos for her, teasing the girl she missed the most.

[captain-huggy-bear]

Priorities

Pairing: Quinn Hughes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Illness/comfort

Summary: When Quinn gets a text from you 2 hours before his game, he shows where his priorities lie when he drops it all for you.

Series: Teacher Reader series

Notes: I am not very well atm and I had to drive home dizzy from work the other day, the idea of Quinn being there to help has been stuck in my head so have some self indulgence from me.

A kind of sequel to In Sickness and in Health but you don't need to read that to read this.

Totally happy to take requests/ideas/prompts at the moment in my ask box :)

Writing Masterlist

He's already at the rink getting ready for the game in the locker room when his phone goes off. You don't actually ring him, clearly doing that thing you always do where you're trying to not bother him on a game day, instead you send a quick text message. He expects the usual:

'Good luck on the game today, baby!'

Instead, the text he gets has him picking his phone up and calling you back in an instant, worry clouding his judgement and making his hands shake slightly.

'Hey, so guess who's being sent home because she's dizzy and can't breathe? I had my head between my legs for 20 minutes, definitely can't stand and teach. Have a good game x'.

You drop the good luck at the end like he's not supposed to be worried, like you've just casually told him about the weather and not that you we're struggling to breathe.

It doesn't really matter that Tocc is giving him the look, the one he reserves for when he's annoyed at the boys, or that half the locker room have stopped their own pre-game, pre-warm up routines to watch their captain frantically call you. He's pacing back and forth, bouncing on the balls of his feet as he waits for you to pick up the phone.

"Quinn?" You sound so incredibly breathless its like listening to an asthmatic 80 year old who's smoked for half their life. Except you don't smoke and you're not asthmatic or 80 which makes the whole situation about 10 times worse because you shouldn't be struggling to breathe. You should be doing better today.

You've been ill, he knows this, a chest infection he forced you to get meds for on the weekend. Meds which should have started working by now, a heavy dose of antibiotics and steroids which were supposed to have helped. You'd felt well enough this morning to go in and give work another go, but he regrets letting you do that now. Clearly trying to stand up in front of teenagers and talk was not something you should have been doing, not when the school day had only started half an hour ago and you were already being sent home.

"Baby, are okay?" You're sitting on the front steps of the school with all your things when you answer the phone to Quinn's worried voice. You keep telling yourself you just need a minute, just a minute and then you won't feel so dizzy, won't feel so breathless. Just a minute and the tingles in your fingers will go and your hands will stop shaking so much. Just a minute and then you can drive home and get into bed.

"Y-yeah, I'm...I'm just breathless. I'll be okay...they're...they're covering my...my lessons and..." You stop for a minute, taking big deep breathes, you sound so laboured on the phone that Quinn can't help but clench his phone tighter in his hand, "and I'm going home now." Your breaths are wheezy, just like Saturday, in fact he's certain you sound worse.

"How are you getting home?" He knows the answer before you say it and he hates it before he even hears it. You're dizzy and breathless and there is no way you should be driving home at all, but he knows you. Self-reliant to a fault, a martyr, always pushing yourself past the point of no return because you think you're fine, because you convince yourself you're fine. Because you don't want to inconvenience anyone or cause more problems. You ask to little of people around you, expecting barely anything despite all you give.

"I'm...I'm going to...to drive."

"No. You're not. I'm going to come get you." You want to protest a lot more than you do if you're being honest. But, you're so tired and it's so hard to breathe and students wandering in late to school are staring at you like you're having a break down. So your protests are relatively lacklustre by your usual standard. That actually worries him more.

"It's...there's like 2 hours before the game...you've...you've got warm ups soon." You hate the idea of him missing warm ups or god forbid the game, all because you were too stupid to realise you shouldn't have gone into work in the first place.

"So, I'll get you, take you home and come back to the rink and play. I'll walk to the school tomorrow and collect your car so you don't have to worry about it. But, you aren't driving, baby. If you even try to get in that car I will being fucking pissed. I love you, you do not get in that car." You know he's serious in that moment, not just because he's very rarely angry at you or anyone but himself, outside of the rink, but because he's got that clipped tone he only uses when he's serious. This isn't a request, it's a direct order and you have no intention of disobeying it, not when you know he's right...not when it makes you feel warm and fuzzy inside that he's so insistent about your wellbeing.

"But, what...what if you miss warm ups?" He loves how much you support him and his hockey, he always will, but he hates that your first thought is that hockey should come first. His girlfriend can barely breathe right now and he quite honestly doesn't give a flying fuck if he misses warm ups. The team had to pull themselves together at some point and you came first. Always. If they couldn't manage warm ups without him then what was the point of paying them so much money?

"Warm ups aren't my priority, baby. You are. Do not get in the car. Do not drive. Do not move. I'm leaving right now, okay? Just sit on the steps of the school and take deep breaths." He's already grabbing his keys, not even bothering to change out of his gear other than putting some proper shoes on so that he can actually drive. He knows it'll spark some speculation and rumours, Captain of the Canucks storming out of the arena 2 hours before puck drop in full gear except his skates, but he doesn't fucking care about that right now.

"...Okay...thank you, Quinny. I love you." You say it because in that moment you have never felt so loved, to have someone drop everything, something so important, to come get you...Maybe its the meds, maybe its the breathlessness, the infection, but you feel like crying a little because of how sweet he is even when he's bossing you about.

"I'll see you soon, baby. I love you too."

He doesn't waste time once he hangs up, just turns straight to Tocc and tells him, "I'll be back."

The look he gets is a mixture of disbelief, frustration and confusion and he really can't blame Tocc for it. Not when Quinn is the captain, the player that seems to make a massive difference on the ice, and he's about to run out the doors 2 hours before the game? Yeah, he knows Tocc doesn't want to hear it.

"Quinn, where you going? We have a game in 2 hours?!" He knows he's going to be cutting it fine with Vancouver traffic and getting to your school, the apartment and back to the arena, but he's not letting you drive. He could live with missing a game, losing a game, but he couldn't live with himself if he let you drive home and something happened. His job was to look after you, if he failed at that? What was the fucking point?

"Tocc, I'll be back. I promise. But, right now my girlfriend is unable to breathe and dizzy and I'm not letting her drive home, okay? Sooner I leave, sooner I come back."

Maybe it's the insistence on Quinn's face, the reality that if he was forced to stay he wouldn't play well anyway. Maybe it's that you and Tocc get along and he can see a hint of concern in the other man's eyes or maybe Tocc just trusts him that much. But, he actually agrees to let him go. Not that Quinn could really be forced to stay. They'd have to tie him to the bench.

"Okay, I'm trusting you."

"Thanks."

Quinn ignores every single person he storms past, every employee, every fan outside, every person with a camera that starts asking him where he's going as he starts his car with one destination in mind. Maybe he seems rude, maybe he seems standoffish, but he doesn't really care because right now you are sat on the steps of a school struggling to breathe and he just wants to see you and get you home and into bed.

He doesn't even care that he knows Tocc is going to be questioned about his absence or that he can already hear his phone pinging with notifications from social media, most likely people asking where he was going and speculating.

'Just saw Quinn Hughes storm out of Rogers Arena in full gear, finally got fed up of his team?'

'Um, is anyone else panicking that Hughes just left the arena like 2 hours before puck drop?'

'Captain Lexapro has officially lost it with this team, just stormed out of the arena!!'

He tries his best not to break any traffic laws getting to you, despite the fact he has a lead foot that wants to press harder on the accelerator. But, he knows you'd hate it and you'd worry more about him getting a ticket, so he just grips the steering wheel tighter until he's turning into the school car park.

He doesn't try to park in a proper space, just pulls up as close to you as possible before hopping out. Your head is between your legs, shoulders rising and falling in laboured breaths and he feels like he's been punched in the stomach at how bad you sound.

"Oh, baby..." He's kneeling on the dirty ground within seconds and you try, through broken gasps to tell him he'll get his hockey socks dirty, but he doesn't listen to you, just reaches to pull you into a hug.

"Let's get you home, okay? Tomorrow we're going back to the doctors, okay?" You're leaning your head into his shoulder so heavily that he's worried you might actually pass out. It's like the moment his arms wrap around you, you just give up on holding yourself up. In truth, that's kind of what happens. You just want to lean into him, soak up the comfort of your boyfriend lighting petting your hair and whispering into your ear.

"Don't y-you have...practice?"

"I think I can fit the doctors in around practice, baby..." He doesn't tell you, but he'd forgo practice for you. He doesn't care about anything but how you're doing and you're not okay. Quinn can see that better than anyone.

"Alright, up you get..." He stands first, hands reaching for yours to help pull you to your feet. You sway before him like you're on a 16th century galleon in a thunderstorm, forehead plonking on his chest heavily, "Atta, girl. There we go." He just strokes your hair and back while you wait for the dizziness to pass, he knows each second will make him later to the arena but he's not going to rush you when you're struggling just to stand without fainting.

"Alright, let me get your stuff and then we'll take it one step at a time, baby, okay?"

"O..okay...one step...at a time." He tries his best not to let go of you completely as he bundles your work bag onto his shoulder. Quinn is as quick as he can be with it, before pulling you under his arm and helping you inch step by step towards the car.

It's slow going, every few steps you get a little dizzy and he waits for you to nod before he pushes you forward again. You're drained, dark circles under your eyes and skin losing some of its usual colour by the time you reach the car.

Quinn had purposefully pulled up the car with the passenger side facing you and you're thankful not to have to walk around the car as you brace yourself against the door for a moment. Quinn helps ease you into the seat, reaching over to put your seatbelt on for you and adjust the headrest so you can lean back. It eases some of the weight in your chest.

"Nearly home, okay, baby?"

You just nod, exhausted as his hands cup your cheeks tenderly, spreading a soft sort of affection through your already aching chest. He's so gentle as he looks down at you, fingers rubbing circles in your cheeks, but he looks so worried and you feel so guilty because he shouldn't have to be that worried.

"You've been so brave, baby, you're so brave...soon you'll be in bed and you can watch the game and sleep, okay?" He knows you'll want to watch the game if you're sat at home, mostly because you watch every game he plays even if its on catch up, but also because he knows it'll reassure you that he made it back in time.

You nod again, blinking up at him so tired that he can't help but frown.

"Atta, girl. My brave girl." The kiss Quinn presses to your forehead is short and sweet, not lingering but filling you with warmth and lightness even as he closes the door on you and gets into the driver's side.

You miss his comforting touch and as if he knows this, his hand reaches for your thigh at any given opportunity when it isn't in use to drive. The stability of it, the comfort of just having him there is so welcome and helps you to relax back into the seat as he drives.

It's just as hard work getting you into the apartment, thankful as ever that the elevator actually works, but once you're in, Quinn feels ten times lighter.

"Right, lets get you comfy, baby...you want one of my jerseys or a hoodie?"

"Jersey...the....the black one, please."

"Okay, sit down, there ya go, good girl.." He watches you the entire time from the corner of his eye, scared you'll lean too far forward from how you're hunched over on the edge of the bed. He tries to make the entire thing quick, reaching for his black jersey, the extra big one that he bought home because you liked how it dwarfed you and even dwarfed him.

"Arms up, baby..." He helps you out of your work blouse and your bra, slipping the jersey over the top quickly to avoid the shivers you start shaking with.

The worst part is getting you to your feet to get your bottoms off. Quinn helps you rise to your feet before kneeling in front of you, dragging your hands to his shoulders for support as he helps you inch out of the remainder of your work clothes. Your fingers grip his shoulders so tight that he's certain you might leave bruises but he doesn't really care, just happy to get you comfy and help you into bed.

You're bundled under as many blankets as he can find, plus the heated blanket you got at Christmas. A big jug of water beside the bed, snacks piled high because he is not having you try to go all the way to kitchen without supervision right now.

"You want the game set to go on?"

"Y...yes, please...wanna watch you play." He turns the television on, setting it to the NHL game set to go live in less than an hour now and he knows he's going to miss warm ups at this point. Tocc's probably blowing up his phone and he knows he's cutting it fine...but you look so small bundled up in bed and he actually hates the idea of leaving you alone. He hates not having his family near all the time as a general rule, but in that moment he hates it so much more. If his mum or dad had been near he could have asked Ellen or Jim to check in on you, instead you were going to be all alone and he hated it.

"I'll score for you, yeah? You can watch me score and maybe we'll win and then I'll come and make us dinner. That sound good, baby?"

"Perfect..." Quinn smooths your hair back from your face, tucking a strand behind your ear even as he uses it as an excuse to feel your temperature. Not unreasonably warm which reassures him a little that you're at least not feverish.

He just keeps sitting there next to you, stroking your hair and caressing your cheek to the point that as much as you're loathe to get him to stop and to leave, you have to remind him he can't stay here. He has a game he's already running late to.

"You...you have to go, Quinn...I'll be okay..."

"If you're not, you'll phone 911, right?" He smooths your hair back again, in truth he really doesn't want to leave you there like that. Even as you seem to be breathing a little better now you're lying down. He considers just not going, if they lose they lose...but he knows he can't. He's captain, he promised he'd be back...and you'd be unhappy with him. He might be your boyfriend but the Canucks were your team and you'd likely make him sleep on the couch for a week.

"I promise...just go win for me?"

"Okay, sweet girl." He presses a last lingering kiss to your forehead, before getting up to leave. But, he still lingers in the doorway for a moment until you push him to go.

Once he's out of the apartment he's rushing. Barely any time and honestly when he finally gets back to the arena and gets his skates on he's surprised he's just in time to go out on the ice for the anthem...cold, not warmed up in the slightest, not ready at all to play a game, but willing to.

Tocc stops him as he's passing the bench to get to the ice, "Cutting it fine, Hughes!" despite the gruff tone, Quinn can tell that Tocc is just relieved that Quinn's back in time. As are the guys who all look at him with varying shades of relief as if they'd been freaking out the entire time. Which they probably had.

"Told you I'd be back." Quinn says it with such confidence, even though inside he knows he nearly missed the entire game. To be honest if you hadn't forced him out the apartment then he'd probably have been late at best.

"How is she?" Tocc's voice is soft, concerned and Quinn appreciates it. He appreciates that as a coach Tocc doesn't just care about how much they cost or how well they play, he cares about them and their families too...and you're included in that, ring or not.

"Not good...but safe at home."

"You need practice off tomorrow?"

"Please, I need to get her to the doctors..."

"Done. Now go help us win the game." Tocc gives him a clap on the shoulder before pushing him out onto the ice and just like that Quinn slips into captain mode.

Locked in like he always is even if his legs don't feel as loose and his stick feels a little less familiar in his hands. Knowing you're home safe helps, he can put the thought of you to the back of his mind, knowing you're safe in the apartment, comfortable and surrounded by everything you need.

You find it hard to focus on the game, but force yourself to, determined to watch Quinn play and to see the goal he intends to score for you. Maybe it's silly, there's no guarantee he'll actually score, but you can tell from the moment he's on the ice that it's one of the few things on his mind. Shot after shot after shot, a determined series of attempts that remind you how important you are to him even as you lie wheezing in bed, eating as much chocolate as Quinn put out for you.

It's part way through the first period with one goal already to Vancouver thanks to Petey that the issue of Quinn's disappearance pre-game is raised.

"Quinn Hughes was nearly late to the game today, the captain missed warm ups but that's certainly not stopping him now!" Shortie's voice rings through the room, a familiar cadence that makes you feel comforted.

"No, it's not, Shortie, do we know why Hughes was late?" Dave responds and for a moment you can't quite comprehend that you've managed to cause this much of a ruckus.

"It hasn't been confirmed and you know I'm not much of a gossip..." You have a little giggle a Shortie even as you are the topic of conversation because it's not really much in the way of gossip and it's so silly.

"But?"

"Apparently he had a family emergency, his girlfriend is very unwell and he dropped everything to go get her."

"Well, that's just.."

"Romantic? Sweet?"

"I was going to say so unlike the Quinn Hughes we used to know, the one who only thought about hockey." You think back to Quinn when you first met, how everything had been hockey, hockey, hockey. You hadn't minded, your own love of the sport meant that you could handle it. But, it's true...Quinn had been rethinking his priorities ever since you started dating, where he might have prioritised hockey once, he'd started to prioritise you. You're not entirely sure at what point you became that important in his life, but it made you feel warm and fuzzy all over.

"I think it's a good thing, that's a sign of growth, just like Hughes' shot!" Shortie cuts himself off as you watch the camera pan to Quinn, following his agile movements across the ice as he skips past the other team's players as if it's as easy as breathing, "He's in past the defence, he lines up the shot and an unassisted goal for Quinn Hughes! Vancouver goal!"

You smile wide as you watch Quinn grin, celebrating with his team in a series of hugs before he finds a camera. There's a moment where you know he's grinning at you, for you, a cheeky little wink sent through the screen as if to say 'told you I'd score for you'.

"I suspect that one was for the girlfriend, Shortie."

You watch the entire game, trying not to nod off to sleep between periods. While you can't cheer and you certainly don't have the energy to celebrate too hard, every Canuck goal makes you feel lighter and brings a smile to your face.

The end result of a 5-2 win to the Canucks makes it easy for you to drift off as the game ends and the waiting for Quinn begins.

He's running off a high when the game ends, even more so when Boeser offers to take over press duties so Quinn can get back to you quickly.

The apartment is quiet when he comes in, "Baby?" not a sound comes back in response and he's careful to move quietly through the apartment to the bedroom doorway.

You're fast asleep, breathing heavy but nowhere near as bad as earlier in the day, you're surrounded by chocolate wrappers and he's quiet as he picks them all up and puts them in a bin, replacing them with the puck he scored with on your bedside table.

He tiptoes back to the kitchen quietly pottering around to make some dinner for you while you're still asleep, nothing fancy but protein, carbs and veg. The sort of thing that's definitely boring but also definitely what your body needs right now.

"Baby, time to wake up...I've made you dinner." He's gentle when he wakes you, soft fingers down your cheek as you stir awake, blinking up at him bleary eyed. Quinn helps you sit upright, the tray of food settling neatly in your lap.

"Where's...where's yours?"

"On the table, you want me to eat in here with you, sweetheart?"

He's moving before you finish nodding, grabbing another tray and his plate before joining you on the bed. He spends most of his dinner watching you eat, making sure you're not leaving large amounts and that you're okay.

He's happy about the win, happy about the score, but he's mostly just happy to be back with you and knowing that you're eating and you're okay, if not well.

Quinn's quick to tidy up your trays and even quicker to get back to you and get into a pair of boxers and a t-shirt, sliding under the covers with you and pulling you into his arms.

Your cheek rests against his chest, the steady thump of his heart a soothing sound that helps some of the anxiety about being off work ease off. Quinn's fingers caress circles and weird shapes across your arm and shoulder as he tucks you tight against him, legs twined together. Every so often he presses a kiss to your forehead, your cheek, the top of your hair, as if reassuring himself that you're okay and he's got you.

"You scored..." You mumble into his t-shirt, a small smile working it's way to your lips as his hand moves up to run through your hair, stopping at your scalp every now and then to scratch lightly until you feel like purring even if that purr is more of a wheezy rumble.

"Mmm, for you, baby." Quinn smiles down at you, another kiss pressed to your cheek.

"T...the wink?" His smile weakens slightly at your still stumbling breathlessness and the wheeze and crackle that accompany it.

"Just for you, sweet girl."

"I'm...I'm proud of you, y'know?" You smile up at him so sweetly that he can't help but feel certain in his choices today. Yeah, nearly missing a game was rough, and maybe the press are going to be dicks about it and maybe he would have felt guilty if he'd missed the game or they'd lost...but he knows he'd skip a million games if it meant you were being looked after, were safe.

"I know...and tomorrow you're going to show me how proud you are by letting me take you to the doctors again."

"Ugh..." You groan, hiding your face into his chest like that will stop him from dragging you to the doctors. Your stubbornness normally cute but in this moment less so.

Quinn cups the back of your head until your looking up at him, green eyes meeting yours with a pleading stare that makes your resolve tremble and shudder. "Please? I'm worried about you, baby...I was really scared when I got that text from you."

"Yeah?" You hate that you worried him...it's that worry that makes you concede that maybe you need to go back to the doctors and maybe as much as you hate it, you'll do it, for Quinn.

"Yeah. I can replace hockey, I can play another game if I miss one. But, I can't replace you. Let me take you to the doctors."

There's a beat of silence as he pleads with you, eyes soft, worried, gentle, thumb stroking soothingly across the base of your neck and you can't really deny him this. Not when you know you'd feel exactly the same if the roles were reversed, not when he nearly missed a game for you today and went in completely cold turkey to win it.

"Okay...as...as long as you keep cuddling me."

"I think I can do that, baby." You curl back into his arms like the spot was carved just for you and in that moment Quinn Hughes knows that you have fully hit the top of his priority list, no ands, ifs, buts or maybes. You could ask him to quit hockey tomorrow and he'd do it. He'd do anything for you and that should be terrifying, but it's not because he knows you'd never ask too much of him. If anything you ask too little.

[tinyetoile]

I drew this for a timeline thing for my original zelda story but TBH that's coming along pretty slowly and this is funny enough to post on its own.

[sister-of-sin-claudia]

i voted for the first time this year and tiktok is where I got a lot of my information from. i have no knowledge of how to find these things myself so I turned to people who seemed to have the same moral values as me and listened to them. now that censorship has taken over, I've uninstalled it to avoid propaganda because I'm an easily influenced person and i'm aware of this. I honestly fear for Trump coming into office and I can only hope that he doesn't do permanent damage. i remember him promising people that they would never have to vote again, which is a very concerning thing to hear a president claim (implies that he will continue to lead after his presidency is technically over/ending the democracy). although truly, my main personal concern is what he will do to the environment. especially with a rise in AI usage, our climate will take a fall and the Republican party seems to care mostly about money and power, even at the expense of our planet. I'm an aspiring Zoologist and I just started college but if he takes away financial aid, I might not be able to afford anything past my community college classes when the plan was to get my bachelor's in America and then move abroad for my master's and possibly my PhD when I get much older.

This got rambly but I suppose my point is that community, communication, and education are very important. Buy books if you can, keep physical media, and support each other. Especially those of us who are more privileged, we need to do our part and prevent our situations from getting worse

I know I'm being joke-y about it but I am actually very sad and hurt rn because this ban is just the start of the US government stripping us of our rights! It was never about security risks, it's always been about the rich dickheads in the government not wanting us to be able to speak to one another and spread information about the causes we care about without censorship.

[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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[existential-crisis-of-the-mind]

Dating but not really (Tim Drake x Reader)

Prompt: Tim and you are totally dating. His brothers are just being skeptics... right? (2.3k words~)

 The cool swish of the doors opening alerts Tim of a presence, Jason’s heavy footfalls giving him away before his voice.

“Hey Tim you joining me on patrol tonight?” 

Jason’s voice echos across the Batcave, as he crosses the expanse of corridor to reach Tim sitting at the Batcomputer preoccupied with a surveillance task.

“Can’t tonight, I’ve got a date. Dick’s gonna join you instead” he replies without looking away from the screen.

Jason raises an eyebrow at that. He crosses his arms as he comes to stand beside Tim, assessing him with a skeptical look.

“A date? Well who’s the lucky girl?”

“It’s a date with (Name)” he responds, still distracted by his task.

Jason nods, seemingly impressed “Nicely done, bout time you finally asked her out. Your moony glances at her across the room was getting somewhat nauseating”

Tim nods at that, only half paying attention at his brother’s words. 

A beat passes before he whips his head towards Jason, “Wait what? This isn’t a first date”.

“No? Still didn’t muster the courage to ask her out? Well don’t worry little guy, I’m sure eventually one of your ‘hangouts’ is gonna turn into a date”

Jason knew (Name) was one of Tim’s closest friends, he also knew that Tim had a crush on her since forever, but the boy seemed to get far too nervous and tongue tied to actually act on his feelings.

Tim sputters at Jason’s words, “What-no that’s not what I meant. We���ve been dating for two months now”

Jason balks at his words “What? Really? No way”, his brow furrows at the thought.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Tim asks, seeming to take offence at Jason’s reaction to his revelation.

“Well, I guess I couldn’t tell things had changed between the two of you. I mean she comes around a lot, I didn’t really notice anything different in your interactions” he shrugs.

Before Tim can answer, a beep draws their attention. They turn to face the entrance of the Batcave as it opens, Dick walks in.

“Hey Dick, did you know that Tim and (Name) were dating”, Jason’s voice echos across the cave as the third brother approaches the duo.

A bright almost congratulatory smile appears on Dick’s face, “Really now? Nicely done Tim”

His words accompanied by a fatherly pat on Tim’s back, seeming quiet chuffed by the news.

“Yeah, They’ve been dating for the past 2 months” Jason adds, his tone still conveying a sense of disbelief which causes Tim to give him a look.

“Oh” 

Though Dick was surprised, he was much better at masking his expression than Jason, the only tell being the slight widening of his eyes which he quickly schooled into one of his bright smiles.

“That’s nice” he quickly added before there was too much of a pause. Tim only huffs in response,

“Why is that seemingly so hard to believe?”

Dick was trying to think of a delicate and diplomatic way to frame his answer, but Jason’s bluntness beat him to it,

“I don’t know, guess I’ve never see you both be all gooey and in love”, now that Jason thinks for a beat, he thinks it’s probably for the best, he shudders at the thought of being subjected to two lovebirds in his own home. A shiver passes over his body. 

“Are you trying to say I’m not a romantic boyfriend?” 

“Well that’s not-“

“Where’re you taking her for your date today?” Jason butts in before Dick can placate Tim’s simmering nerves.

“We’re going to the library.” Jason raises an eyebrow at that, which causes Tim to add with  a rather exasperated huff “It’s a study date”

“And pray tell how is that any different from what you’d do before you started dating?”

“Come on Jason, I’m sure Tim and (Name) enjoy old haunts but also have new spots they like to explore from time to time” Dick came in on Tim’s defence with an assured smile, which slowly dropped into a surprised ‘o’ when he took in Tim’s sheepish expression.

“Well, I mean we’ve not really changed much of our routine since dating” Tim muttered, feeling less confident with each word. Were they supposed to? The two of them had a comfortable routine, and (Name) seemed happy with the arrangement. But was he supposed to be the one suggesting new ideas? Was she waiting for him to say something?

“Tim” Jason tuts, with a tone of disappointment mixed with affection that an elder brother would admonish their younger with, “Maybe you should put some more effort into this, I mean you if you really like her you have to show her that. If you just continue as you did as friends how’s she ever gonna know?”

Dick nodded, though he offered a more sympathetic smile. 

Tim wasn’t all too surprised by Dick’s stance on the matter, he was known to be a hopeless romantic among the brothers, sometimes going overboard with his grand displays of affection and high production movie-esque date ideas. Now Jason on the other hand wasn’t all that overt about his affections, though he tried to come off as tough and unassuming Tim had happened to stumble across his somewhat poorly hidden stash of Jane Austen novels in his room once before. 

But if even Jason feels like there’s more Tim can do for his budding relationship, maybe he really is missing the mark. Not for any lack of care on his part, but perhaps a result of an ignore is bliss, what with this being Tim’s first serious relationship.  

He looks back at them somewhat apprehensive, “So what do you think I should do?”

The two brothers glanced at each other, twin smirks adorning their face before they turn back to him

“Don’t worry little brother we’ve got you”.

———————————————————-

You found yourself a nice shade speckled spot on a park bench, enjoying the feel of cool breeze on your skin. You decided to enjoy the pleasant weather while you waited for Tim, who texted you he’d be running late. 

Your back was against the wood, knees pulled up, as you looked up at the sky, warm sunlight  peeking through the thick leafy overgrowth of tall trees.You were almost dozing off to the delicate sound of bird song till you felt a large shadow block out the light. Squinting an eye open to examine the sudden presence, you end up having to blink a couple times to register what you were looking at.

Tim standing in front of you. Expected.

But Tim holding a giant bouquet of flowers which almost overpowered his frame? Unexpected.

“Tim?” The question in your tone was not directed at Tim himself but rather at his appearance.

He was wearing a blazer with a pressed white shirt, which was odd given he’d usually show up in shorts and a T-shirt for your library dates. You’re quite certain he’s wearing a different cologne too. And is his hair slicked back with hair gel? Your examination of his get-up only adding to his nerves. 

Tim felt stiff and hot in the blazer, ‘Smart Casual’, those were the words Dick used to describe his look.

’A sharp look says you’re putting in the effort and care about how you show up for your date’ Dick nodded sagely as he fixed Tim’s sleeve cuffs. 

Jason observed the interaction with a light frown, he stepped up when Dick moved aside and loosened Tim’s collar, tilting one of the edges so they were no longer symmetrical.

Noticing Tim’s confused glance he added “Well you don’t want to look like a Toy Solider either, you need some personality, few tweaks and you’ll be artfully scruffy’.

So here he stood, a questionable blend between smart casual and artfully scruffy, not feeling all too much like himself. 

“Hey. Uh- these are for you” He says as he shoves the bouquet of bright yellow sunflowers towards you.

A short laugh of disbelief escapes you, the gesture is sweet but fairly out of the blue.

“Thank you. They’re wonderful… is there any particular reason for this?” you ask as you accept the flowers.

Tim feels his face flush, reason? No there wasn’t any particular reason, unless of course you count his brothers giving him a rom-com interlude date makeover as one.

“Well I just- just thought they’d make you smile” the words tumble out of him, hesitant and shy.

He always wants to make you smile, he hopes you know that. But perhaps his brothers have been right, maybe he’s been too subtle about his feelings. Maybe you don’t know how your smiles cause blood to rush into his cheeks, how his heart flips when he’s the reason behind them.

“Also I was wondering if you’d like to go out for dinner later today?”

“Oh, that sounds nice. Your place or mine?”

“How about a restaurant this time?”

He’d take her somewhere nice, somewhere that takes reservations. That’s some indicator of fancy right? 

And he’d pay, cause ‘that would be the chivalrous thing to do’, Dick’s voice echos in his ears.

Unless of course she wants to split the bill, in which case he ought to ‘respect her wishes and give her space’. Right, Jason’s words also ring true. Even if they happen to be pulling him towards two different directions.

Tim’s inner turmoil paints an expression of conflict on his face. You’re finding his behaviour quite odd, almost as if he’s acting out a role. Your eyes narrow as you consider him, causing the poor boy to stiffen further.

“Tim, do you think I’m angry at you?”

He blinks “What? No- no of course not” he replies with a strained laugh, his eyes widen slightly as he reconsiders your words 

“Unless you are?” Was that supposed to be a trick question? God he’s not good at this, maybe he shouldn’t have skipped that Tarot card reading by the self declared witch on Tiktok  last night, is this karma?

A short laugh escapes you, not unkindly and not direct at Tim, but rather at the situation at hand. 

“Well the flowers, the blazer and dinner date all together come off as an apology attempt. It’s not all very… you” (Name) shrugs.

Tim’s shoulders drop, “Yeah I guess not” A dry chuckle escapes him as he runs a hand through his slicked back hair. Part of him is relieved you’ve seen through him, but worry still gnaws at him.ffff

You pat the space on the bench beside you, he offers a weak smile before sitting beside you.

A sigh escapes him, his gaze remains firm on the gravel below, “(Name), you know I care about you right?”

You blink, the question seemingly out of the blue, though the doubt swimming in his eyes conveys that this is something he’s been mulling over.

“Of course I do Tim” 

“No- like I really care about you. More than friends” he pauses, frustrated at his inability to convey what he’s really thinking “This- what we have, it’s not just some summer fling to me. I really cherish it and I’m-”

He flinches as he feels your hand over his, he hesitantly meets your eyes, feeling his pulse steady at your gentle gaze.

“Tim I get it. I feel the same way…. what’s this really about?” 

He had to bite back a laugh, of course you’d catch on to his distress even when he struggles to find the words to voice it. 

“I don’t know if I’m doing enough. If this all just feels too casual- cause it’s not to me. It’s just when I do try to express it through a grand gesture it feels too artificial and forced… you saw right through me’

“Oh Tim, that’s what this is about?” A sigh of relief escapes you at his confession, you shake your head at him with an exasperated smile “For the record, I like what we have… it never felt like a fling, why would you think that?”

“Well- the lines between friendship and romance feel so blurry, I don’t know if I’m doing it right… I mean when was the last time I got you a bouquet of flowers” he asks, agitation evident in his tone. 

“Actually this is the first time you did”, Tim winces at your words but you squeeze his hand before he can spiral into a worse case scenario

“You don’t get me bouquets of flowers. You get me pretty daisies you find on your walk which remind you of me”

You fingers flick at his uneven shirt collar “And you don’t wear white shirts with blazers, you wear band tees and mismatched socks”

This draws an embarrassed laugh out of him “Right, not exactly a trend setter am I?”

His eyes flit to your warm smile, it comforts his nerves, it always does.

“Maybe not, but it’s you. And I like that. I mean, I like what we have… don’t you?”

God yes. Of course he does, it all seems to come so naturally to him. It’s so easy. And that’s what worries him, that maybe he’s taking it all for granted. Maybe he’s not able to show you how much you really mean to him. 

He gives a stiff nod “Of course I do. I just… I don’t know if it’s enough. If this is what it’s supposed to be or if I’m missing somethin-“

“Tim” you interrupt what would turn into a worry filled ramble by placing a hand over his, “It doesn’t matter what anyone else thinks it should look like, we get to define that for ourselves. Trust me, you’re more that enough. And you make me very happy”.

You peck his cheek so as to reemphasise your point, causing a light flush to adorn his cheeks.

“Alright. I’m glad…” That’s all he can muster right now. 

His mind’s a jumbled mess, thoughts flit around like agitated butterflies, but they’re soft, warm thoughts so he doesn’t entirely mind. One day he’s going to figure out how to tell you just how much he feels for you.

All in good time, he might ask his brothers again, only if he's really desparate. But for now you seem happy to figure things out as you go, and he’s all too happy to oblige.

[calcifermovesthecastle]

Sharing a Moment

Tooth Rotting Sanji Fluff. Hurt/Comfort. Whole Cake Island spoilers if you squint.

2460 ish words

Warnings: Panic attacks, mentions of past trauma, mentions of burns, mentions of Slavery.

This is actually an excerpt from my self insert one piece google doc, but I turned it into a reader insert. Character is afab, uses she/her pronouns, and is described with breasts. I do not shy away from "controversial" topics and do not censor any of my work. this does not mean that I condone or agree with the things that I write about.

This is what I do instead of therapy lmao.

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

Sharp, uneven breaths pierce through the silence that surrounds you on the island. Your transponder snail sleeps peacefully on the ground, your hands trembling too violently to pick it up. 

Your head swims, and each new breath you take is shorter and sharper than the last. You squeeze your eyes shut tight, scrambling backwards on the forest floor. 

"I'm gonna find you, bitch!" The words aren't real, but they echo in your head nonetheless. You press your back up against the large tree you're under, clawing at the collar of your shirt around your neck. The night seems to close further in on you. 

You weren't lost. Not at first. You started out on the beach, picking through shrubs and bushes to resupply Chopper with some fresh herbs and plants. The rest of the crew's voices had faded away, dispersing in their own searches, leaving you alone in yours. The deeper you got into the woods, the darker it got, and the more anxious you felt. The more your mind began to race. 

Suddenly, you weren't a straw hat anymore. Suddenly, just like that, the shackles tightened around your neck and wrists, and your master calls after you, screaming all of the horrible things he'd do to you once you were found. 

Your transponder snail continues to snooze on the ground in front of you, a mocking reminder that you can call for help at any time, if you could just get out of your own head. 

"When I find you, I'm gonna gut you like an animal! You'll fucking wish you were dead when I'm done with you!" 

Oh, how you wish you would breathe quieter. Your head throbs and your vision swims, the lack of air and the blood pounding in your ears making you lightheaded. At this point, passing out seems like a blessing. 

"Do you want your hands set on fire again?! Or would you rather I stick them in boiling oil?" 

"No!" You manage to gasp out. You claw more at your shirt collar, ripping the fabric apart down past your breasts. A heavy, loud sob bursts past your lips, and all you can hear is your own rapid heart beat. 

Then, clear as a bell, you hear someone say your name. 

Your eyes fly open, chest heaving as you look around for the source, and stare up at Sanji, who's rounded the tree and is staring at you with eyes just as wide. Your voice gets caught in your throat, but your body almost buckles in relief. 

You cant seem to calm yourself down, though, and your throat constricts again, the ghost of that awful collar tightening around you. You pull your torn shirt even further away from you, your hands trembling so violently you have to grasp at it multiple times. 

Sanji crouches in front of you, shrugging his blazer off, not breaking eye contact once. 

"Sweetheart, would you like to go back to the ship?" 

You nod, bawling loudly. Sanji nods, never breaking his eye contact with you. He looks at you as if you'll run from him at any second.

"Okay, I'll take you home. I need you to calm down first, okay?" 

"I cant-" You choke out, taking another short, sharp breath in.

"Okay, I'll help you." 

Ever so gently, Sanji reaches out and pulls you close, resting his chin on top of your head. He takes your hands in his and squeezes, taking slow, steady breaths that you're supposed to mirror. It takes a few tries, but finally, your breathing returns to normal and your head stops swimming. Though you're still shaking, you're back to reality, and you know that you're okay. 

"Are you ready?" 

You had no idea Sanji's voice could sound so tender. Your lower lip trembles as you nod, and he gently pulls you to your feet, draping his blazer over your shoulders. 

When he pulls his hands away, you reach out to him, your voice breaking. 

"Don't go away." 

That's funny, you meant to say "Don't let go." Sanji's eyes widen briefly, but they soften just as quick, and he wraps his arm around your shoulders as soon as he's picked up your transponder snail and put it in the blazers pocket.

"I'm not going anywhere, Sweetheart," He says quietly. "I've got you." 

Slowly, he guides you through the woods back to the Sunny. You lean heavy on him, gripping the fabric of his blazer in your hands as tightly as you can to feel grounded. 

"Please don't tell the others," you whisper. Your eyes swim with more tears as shame blooms through your whole body. Sanji squeezes you firmly. 

"I wont. If they ask, I'll just say you got lost and called me to come get you." 

"Thank you," You rest your head against the side of his chest, listening to his heart beat. 

Another wave of relief floods your body when you finally land eyes on the Sunny. Sanji helps you up the first few rungs of the ladder, then starts climbing up after you. Once on board, you follow him to the kitchen, sitting at the table. 

He doesn't ask why, doesn't prod more information out of you, he just sets a warm mug of tea in front of you, ruffles your hair, and gets started on dinner. 

The warm lighting in the kitchen helps to soothe your frayed nerves, so you sip on the tea, mindfully taking slow, deep breaths. Sanji's company proves to be very grounding as well, so while he cooks, you slip your burn gloves off and stare at your hands.

Chopper has done a phenomenal job repairing some of the scarring. He's also helped you gain a ton of function back. But the flesh is still mangled badly, and the nerve damage is majorly irreparable. You can grasp and hold things, but your fine motor skills are gone. There's no getting that back. You open and close your fingers, grateful for the movement you have gained back. 

But the damage is still there. The pain of it is seared into the back of your mind forever. you frown, lost in thought. 

"Your tea is getting cold, d'you want me to heat it back up for you?" 

You jump, looking at Sanji with wide eyes. His eyes go from your face to your hands, and you can see his brow furrow behind his hair. He puffs on his cigarette and sits down next to you, reaching out and grasping them before you can pull away. 

Since they've been burned, nobody has touched your bare hands. You've always kept the gloves or bandages on, for fear that it would hurt too much otherwise, or trigger a bad reaction in you. 

But Sanji's hands don't do either. They feel cool, and the pressure is comforting. You stare wide eyed down at where your hands are, your heart stuttering in my chest. 

"You have beautiful hands," He says quietly. Your eyes fly to his face, but he doesn't look at you, he just studies your hands, turning them over in his own. 

"Don't lie," You whisper. It's barely audible, but he shakes his head. 

"I'm not lying. They really are beautiful." He says it with such conviction it makes your heart clench. 

"Look at you, you're fucking worthless, you pig bitch. You can't even serve me right with those fucked up hands of yours. Clean this fucking mess up and get the fuck out of my room so I dont have to look at how disgusting your hands look." 

"The scars on them don't mar the way they look," He continues. "They're quite striking." 

He sits and admires them for a few more minutes, and you stare at him, your eyes as wide as dinner plates, your face flushed red. 

You can feel butterflies in your stomach as he runs his thumb along one of the longer scars, humming. When he looks up at up at up at you, he smiles. 

"I guess I just never noticed." 

"Nobody," You whisper, for fear that your voice may break again. "Has ever said anything so kind about my hands." 

Sanji tilts his head, puffing on his cigarette. When he speaks again, his tone is tender. 

"Sweetheart, you should stop worrying so much. Nobody is ever going to hurt us again. Not like this." 

He squeezes your hands, ruffles your hair again, and gets up to check on dinner. 

Us?

Wait. Us?

"Sanji, what do you-" 

"Did you want me to reheat your tea?" He asks, as if he didn't hear you. You blink, glancing down at your cup. 

"Uh, sure. That would be really nice." 

Humming, he reheats your tea for you, then pulls some vegetables out. You put your gloves back on and pull his blazer tighter around your body. 

"Sanji?" 

"Hm? What is it?" 

"Could I have a cigarette?" 

He turns his head towards you, frowning. He sees how tense you are, how shaky your breath still is, and closes his eyes. 

"Just this once. These things are bad for you, you know." 

"I know," You smile slightly. He jerks his chin up once. 

"They're in the left pocket in my jacket. Just one, ya hear?" 

You heed his words, thanking him when he lights it for you. The first few puffs you take are followed by very harsh, loud coughs, but the next few burn less in your throat and lungs. It's a nice distraction. 

The rest of the crew still isn't back by the time you finish the cigarette, but you're not ready to be by yourself just yet, so you stay in the kitchen with Sanji. You finish your tea, and eat the food he puts in front of you, and when they're still not back after you've finished eating, you rest your chin in your hands and watch as Sanji continues to work in the warm yellow glow. By the time Luffy bursts in demanding dinner, you've fallen asleep at the table. 

"Hm? What's she doing here?" He asks, prodding at you gently. Sanji smacks his hand away, shooing him out of the room. 

"She got lost and called me to find her on the transponder snail. You get out and go sit in the lounge with everyone else for your dinner. She already ate." 

Luffy looks at you, frowning slightly, but concedes to letting you sleep for now. He bounds out of the room, yelling for everyone to go to the lounge so they can eat. 

You jerk awake sometime later, the shadow of a nightmare fading from your mind, leaving in its wake a sense of uneasiness and the deep seated need to not be alone. 

There is no light coming from the porthole, but the swaying of the ship tells you that we're back to sea. You stand up, steadying yourself with the table, and exit the kitchen. 

You hold Sanji's jacket tightly around you, climbing the ladder up to the crows nest. The smell of smoke tells you that that's where you'll find Sanji. 

Sure enough, he's standing with elbows resting on the ledge of the crow's nest as he stares out at open water, tapping his cigarette against the ashtray perched next to him. You walk straight over to him and wrap your arms around him from behind. 

He doesn't say anything, but turns slightly so he can wrap one of his arms around you. You press your ear against his chest, searching for his heartbeat. When you find it, you close your eyes and focus on it. 

For a while, the only noise is your breathing, his heartbeat, and the sounds the ocean makes. You're grateful for how expertly Sanji seems to handle you when you're at this low point, how he seems to know exactly what you need. How instead of fawning over you, he stays collected and steady and oh so kind and tender. You tighten your hold on him, closing your eyes. 

"I'm sorry," You murmur.

"What for?" He responds, just as quiet. You breathe out, tears welling up in your eyes. 

"Being such a fucking mess." Your voice breaks, and a quiet whimper escapes your throat for what feels like the umpteenth time tonight. "Sanji, everything came flooding back. I'm not strong enough to pretend I'm okay, and I don't know how I'm going to hide it from everyone. I don't want to be a mess. I don't want my past to control me but it does. Just when I think I've got a good handle on it, something triggers it, and I don't know what to do to stop myself from shutting down. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." 

His hand reaches up to stroke your hair as you cry, and after a while he pulls away from you, squeezing an arm in each hand and crouching to your eye level. 

"Sweetheart, you cant change what happened to you. And it's still so recent for you that of course you're going to have days where it's harder for you to feel normal. You're going to have days where it feels like it's all a dream, and you're still stuck in those shackles. I saw you, that first day. Remember?" 

You nod, weeping openly. 

"You may not think so, but you are doing so much better than you were. He cant hurt you anymore. Say it." 

"H-he can't hurt me anymore." 

"Again." 

"H-he can't hurt me anymore." 

"That's right. He can't. But it's going to take time, right? You can know that there is nothing he can do to get to you. You can know that you're free. But it's going to take time for you to believe it. That's part of healing. So don't be sorry for your bad days. We understand, more than you could ever know."

Something distant clouds Sanji's eye, but it's gone before it takes form. Weakly, you reach your arms out to him, asking for a hug. He pulls you close, careful not to hold you too tight. 

"He can't hurt me anymore," You blubber. You feel him nod. 

"That's right." 

"I'm safe." 

"That's right." 

"I'm free." 

"You're free, love." Sanji tightens his grip on you for a moment, exhaling. "Would you like to lie down in bed?"

"Mhmm" You sniff. Truthfully, you'd rather stay awake with him as long as possible, but your body is so tired that you know there's no fighting the sleep that's coming. "But please don't leave me all alone up here." 

"I'm not going anywhere," Sanji says. A sharp wind blows by, causing both of you to tense. You shrug his jacket off, holding it out to him. 

"Since I'll be under the covers," You say hoarsely, "I suppose you could have your jacket back." 

He laughs, taking it and putting it back on. "I'm honored."

You smile back, getting cozy in bed. Sanji watches you, turning back around when your head finally hits the pillow. It's not long until you're out, your soft snores falling on his ears while he watches the night sky.

[abandoned-quiche]

Chapter IV - The Killing Blow

The Narrator: You're on a path in the—

Voice of The Cheated: Okay, what the FUCK was that!?

The Narrator: —woods... excuse me?

Voice of The Cheated: He attacked us while it was still our turn! That's bullshit!

The Narrator: Okay, first of all, where the hell are you? You're supposed to be on a—

Voice of The Cheated: Yeah, yeah, on a path in the woods, we know. I think it's safe to say we're well past that now.

Voice of The Stubborn: Who CARES where we are? If we respawn in the cabin—

Voice of The Contrarian: Not sure I'd consider this a cabin anymore, really.

Voice of The Stubborn: —that just means we can get back to fighting him faster!

Voice of The Contrarian: No reaction? Really?

Voice of The Stubborn: If he attacks us during our turn, that just means we have to spend less time DELIBERATING, and more time ATTACKING! Now let's stop wasting time talking, and go FIGHT HIM!

The Narrator: Well, at least you seem to have your priorities straight, but—

Voice of The Skeptic: But *how* did he do that? We can't do anything but react - how is *he* any different?

Voice of The Opportunist: Now THAT'S a good question! Maybe he isn't different. Maybe we can attack during his turn as well!

Voice of The Stubborn: This is perfect! It means we don't have to waste all that time dodging! We can just get straight to the point.

Voice of The Hunted: No! Dodging is what keeps us alive—we *have* to keep dodging. Keep dodging until an opportunity presents itself.

Voice of The Opportunist: I like this guy. He's the only one speaking any sense around here, really.

Voice of The Paranoid: Are you all idiots? Don't any of you realize what this means? We're not safe *anywhere!* He can attack us *any time he wants!* And yet he hasn't done it until now - he's been holding back on us. Who knows what else he can do? Who knows what else he hasn't shown us?

Voice of The Broken: Exactly. It's hopeless. He's so much more powerful we could ever be. He's just been toying with us. We might as well save ourselves the suffering and just kill ourselves now.

Voice of The Smitten: It's never hopeless, as long as we have true love on our side! We must keep trying until we are reunited with our beloved, no matter how many times we have to slowly and painfully die.

Voice of The Cheated: Oh, there you are! You were quiet for so long, I thought we'd finally gotten rid of you. I think that's a new silence record, honestly.

Voice of The Cold: I was hoping he'd stay quiet forever. He never has anything new to say. It's always the same thing over, and over, and over...

Voice of The Smitten: I may be saying the same things over and over, but it is because they need to be said! Who else will express the fiery passions held deep within our heart if not myself?

Voice of The Opportunist: I think I speak for us all when I say: I don't like this guy. I think he's annoying.

The Narrator: Okay, no, hold on, how many of you are there? There's only supposed to be one of you! How many times have you been here?

Voice of The Hero: Um... I think... ten? Or... maybe eleven?

The Narrator: Eleven... oh, goodness, this is— this is... unfathomably catastrophic. Are you absolutely certain?

Voice of The Hero: Well, no, it's just an estimate.

Voice of The Cheated: I am. I've been keeping track. It's eleven.

The Narrator: This is... horrible. Every world you've been to has been damned to oblivion. You know that, right?

Voice of The Skeptic: We know that's what you've TOLD us.

Voice of The Opportunist: And we believe it wholeheartedly! You've never led us astray before. If anything, I think we could stand to listen to you *more.* That's probably why we've failed all those other times, if we're being honest.

Voice of The Hero: Uh, for clarification, our previous failures weren't for lack of trying. We did try! It's just that this is... EXTREMELY difficult.

Voice of The Broken: It's TOO difficult. Why can't any of you understand that it simply can't be done?

Voice of The Contrarian: They're lying. In fact, we've gone out of our way to disobey your instructions every step of the way! Honestly, we're just a bunch of troublemaking rapscallions, up to no good.

Voice of The Hero: Ignore him, he's just trying to get a reaction out of you. Just... trust me on this one.

The Narrator: I see... That's... horrible. But I suppose there's nothing to be done about it now. We just have to make the best of what we have. Let's just... put that out of our minds right now, and focus on anything else. Like, say, slaying the Princess. Actually, you keep talking about a "he"—who's "he?"

Voice of The Hero: The... skeleton. Over there?

The Narrator: The—...huh. I didn't even notice that was there. That's... not supposed to be there. What on earth did you do?

Voice of The Cold: Does it matter what we did? The end result is the same either way. There's a skeleton, and we have to fight him.

The Narrator: Yes, it *does* matter, actually, because if you've done something to cause there to be... a "skeleton," for whatever reason, then that means you can do something to cause there to *not* be a "skeleton."

Voice of The Hero: Wait, we can? How can we do that?

The Narrator: No, nevermind, I've already said too much.

Voice of The Contrarian: Oh, well now I *have* to know!

The Narrator: No, you don't. Believe me when I say that knowing will only make your job harder than it already is.

Voice of The Skeptic: Try to hide it from us all you like. We'll find out one way or another.

The Narrator: I'm sure you will. Now, is there still a Princess?

Voice of The Smitten: Of course there is! I'm sure of it. The Princess is right beyond that dastardly knave who's been trying to keep us apart.

Voice of The Hero: He means the skeleton.

The Narrator: Well, that's good, because that means things aren't completely ruined yet. You still have a chance to do this right. But for the love of everything, the princess is NOT "your beloved."

Voice of The Contrarian: Wait. What do you mean "completely ruined?"

The Narrator: Nothing. Pretend I didn't say that.

Voice of The Cold: It sounds interesting. I'd like to see what would happen if we ruined everything. It certainly sounds more exciting than fighting this skeleton over and over and over...

The Narrator: No. This is an INCREDIBLY dangerous train of thought. It's time to stop ruminating, and start ACTING. Just focus up, steel your nerves, and slay the Princess. Or, skeleton. Slay the skeleton, and then slay the Princess. Right. Now.

Voice of The Stubborn: FINALLY. Let's go slay ourselves a skeleton.

Voice of The Broken: Or we could do what he asks us to and leave.

Voice of The Opportunist: That's what I've been SAYING! See, this guy gets it. The skeleton's the one with the power here, after all.

Voice of The Hero: You've been saying that, yeah, but you've also been saying, like, million other different things. It's hard to tell what your opinion actually is at this point.

Voice of The Contrarian: Or, hear me out...

Voice of The Hero: Let me guess. We throw the blade out the window?

Voice of The Contrarian: NOW you're getting it!

Voice of The Stubborn: Ugh, stop wasting time already! I want to FIGHT!

* [Walk up to the skeleton.]

Voice of The Opportunist: That's a good move. Definitely the right decision.

*hmm. that expression. that's—

Voice of The Cheated: Yeah, yeah, expression of someone with a lot of internal conflict, yadda yadda yadda, we've heard it already!

Voice of The Cold: He's so dull. He hasn't said anything new in forever.

Voice of The Opportunist: Hey, have we tried attacking him during his opening monologue? That might be a good idea.

Voice of The Stubborn: YES!

The Narrator: Before the skeleton can even finish talking, you lunge toward him, blade held low. But by the time you land, he's—

Voice of The Cheated: Already somewhere else? Yeah. We know. Typical.

The Narrator: Correct.

* Hold on. What happened to me being the decider?

Voice of The Paranoid: Oh, so *now* you want to be the one making the decisions? The last six times you pushed all the responsibility of fighting onto us until something new happened.

* I thought you were the Voice of The Paranoid, not the Voice of The Petty.

Voice of The Paranoid: What—?

The Narrator: Muscle memory and reflex guide you as you evade the skeleton's attacks, but without your full attention on the fight, your performance is imperfect. A few scrapes from bones whizzing past you, a few burns from searing hot beams of light grazing your skin. Why does the skeleton have lasers?

*guess we're getting right into it, huh?

Voice of The Hunted: Stop arguing! The fight has begun! We have to keep on our toes.

Voice of The Paranoid: Now look what you've done!

Voice of The Broken: Why even bother? It won't matter in the end.

Voice of The Stubborn: He can't dodge forever. Just keep attacking.

Voice of The Hunted: No. We have to eat. Eating is important to stay healthy, and we need to be in the best condition possible if we're going to win this.

Voice of The Contrarian: Ooh, here's an idea! What if we scarf down all our food right now?

Voice of The Opportunist: You know, that's a good point—we don't know how long we'll be alive this time. We should eat as much as we can while we have the chance. Life's all about enjoying the good things while they last!

Voice of The Hunted: NO! We have to ration our food.

* We don't need to eat yet. If we ate it now we wouldn't benefit from its full potential. [Fight.]

Voice of The Hunted: This is bad too! If we're not in proper shape for his next attack we can't survive as many hits!

The Narrator: You lunge at him again, but—

Voice of The Cheated: Yeah, yeah, we know. He dodges.

*our reports—

Voice of The Stubborn: We've heard all this before! Get on with it!

Voice of The Skeptic: Am I the only one who thinks it might be important to figure out what he's talking about?

Voice of The Hunted: His words are just a distraction. Don't pay attention to them. Information doesn't matter. What matters is staying alive.

The Narrator: You tune out the skeleton's words until he begins to attack again. KARMA and adrenaline coursing through your veins, your reflexes carry you through the skeleton's onslaught. As you leap over one of the skeleton's spells, however, your leg falls below the rest of your body, dragging across the bones, its skin shredding.

Voice of The Paranoid: Shit!

Voice of The Cheated: Shit, that hurts.

Voice of The Cold: I've told you. This would be so much easier if you just stopped feeling pain.

Voice of The Hunted: No. Pain keeps us humble. Pain keeps us nimble. Pain keeps us alive.

* [Fight.]

*until suddenly—

Voice of The Stubborn: I'm TIRED of waiting! We attack him again!

The Narrator: He dodges again.

*wow. not even gonna let me finish talking, huh? your impatience has really damaged you, hasn't it?

Voice of The Stubborn: We attack.

The Narrator: He dodges again.

*i know what type of person you are. you—

The Narrator: Suddenly, he begins attacking you again mid-sentence.

Voice of The Hunted: Shit! Dodge, dodge!

Voice of The Stubborn: This is taking too long. What happened to attacking during his turn?

Voice of The Cheated: Now, I'm all for giving him a taste of his own medicine, but—

Voice of The Stubborn: We attack. Again.

The Narrator: I wouldn't recommend this course of action, but I suppose there's nothing I can do. You make no attempt to avoid his attacks, instead charging straight for him while his magic razes your lower body. Once again, he effortlessly dodges your swing. I hope you know what you're doing.

* What the hell was that?

Voice of The Stubborn: I'm doing what you all are too cowardly to do and FIGHTING! We attack again!

* Okay, no. We'll die if we do that again. We're eating. [Eat the Legendary Hero.]

Voice of The Hunted: Finally!

Voice of The Hero: Still not comfortable eating something called that.

Voice of The Smitten: I'd brave any amount of discomfort if it means getting us closer to our beloved.

Voice of The Hero: You've been surprisingly quiet lately.

Voice of The Cheated: Shhh. I like him better this way.

Voice of The Smitten: How dare you! If you find my passions so offensive, perhaps you should go somewhere else! I will not let my feelings be stifled for the sake of others. In fact, I'm going to talk more from now on.

Voice of The Hero: Now look what you've done.

The Narrator: You eat the Legendary Hero. The flavors of the sandwich's ingredients dance across your taste buds in tandem, creating something greater than any of them could ever be individually—

Voice of The Cheated: We know how it tastes.

The Narrator: Fine. As chunks slide down your throat, they dissipate into nothing. You feel your pain ease up as your body, as if by magic, heals at a remarkable pace.

* Actually, can we speed this along? We've seen this enough times already. We know how it goes. I attack, he dodges, he attacks, I dodge, and every once in a while I eat something. You can just describe the rest of the battle, right?

The Narrator: This feels reckless. Are you really going to relinquish your decision-making ability just to make things go a little faster? What if that bloodthirsty one takes control of you again?

Voice of The Paranoid: I'll hold him back.

Voice of The Hero: Ditto. He won't get another chance to do that again.

The Narrator: Well, alright then. You fall into the rhythm of the battle, the skeleton throwing jagged reflections of his own body parts at you while you gracefully dance out of the way of them all. Sometimes you find yourself falling towards the ceiling, or weaving around white hot beams of light, but none of it seems to faze you anymore. For every attack you avoid with near perfection, you dish out another swing of your own. But the skeleton evades yours flawlessly and without effort. Or so it seems, until...

*ugh... that being said...

Voice of The Cheated: Oh, we're wise to your tricks now!

Voice of The Smitten: Your devilish deceptions shan't fool us anymore! You are the only thing standing between us and the Princess, and we will not rest until you are vanquished!

Voice of The Opportunist: Honestly, I'm shocked anyone fell for this. It was obvious from the beginning he was just trying to get the upper hand.

Voice of The Hero: You were the first one to suggest we take his offer!

Voice of The Paranoid: Focus!!!

Voice of The Stubborn: WE ATTACK!

The Narrator: He dodges.

Voice of The Hero: Shit, sorry! I forgot!

* It's fine. Narrator, you can speed things up again.

The Narrator: Right. Whatever. What else am I good for. You continue to exchange near-blows as the skeleton- hold on, what was that he said about you "consuming timelines?" That's rich, coming from *him.* He's the one preventing you from saving the world in the first place! Whatever. You keep dodging until it's time for his "special attack."

Voice of The Hero: Wait, what? For real? We made it?

Voice of The Paranoid: FOCUS!

Voice of The Hero: Shit!

Voice of The Stubborn: WE ATTACK!

The Narrator: He dodges. Again.

*heh, didja really think you would be able to-

Voice of The Opportunist: NOW!

The Narrator: You attack again, this time catching him off guard. In a single strike, an enormous gash forms across his entire body.

Voice of The Cheated: Holy shit! We did it! We actually did it!

Voice of The Stubborn: YES!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Voice of The Hero: Wait, really? We've done it?

Voice of The Opportunist: We've done it! And it was all thanks to me, really. Where would you be without me?

Voice of The Cold: About time. This whole routine was getting so dull.

Voice of The Broken: What...?

Voice of The Skeptic: Finally. We can finally find some answers.

Voice of The Smitten: More importantly, we can finally see our beloved!

Voice of The Hunted: No time to celebrate. We never know when another threat might present itself. We have to stay on guard.

Voice of The Paranoid: No, we can't have defeated him. It can't have been that easy.

The Narrator: It was. It's over.

Voice of The Contrarian: As amazing as I'm sure your reaction to it would be, I'm going to refrain from killing all of us right now because I *really* don't want to go through all of that again.

Voice of The Hero: How generous.

* [Proceed.]

The Narrator: You make your way to the end of the corridor. There... isn't a staircase leading to a basement, but after the random skeleton, this is honestly the least of my concerns. You walk through the grey halls, the cold stone chilling your feet, until you find a doorway to a grand throne room. Grass and flowers peek through the frame, as if inviting you to step inside. If the Princess lives here... no, that doesn't work here, does it?

* [Enter.]

The Narrator: You stand inside a regal throne room, the walls shining gold. In the center lies a throne, seated in a bed of golden flowers. In front of it, the silhouette of...

OH! GREETINGS, BIRD MONSTER!

Voice of The Smitten: There he is! Our beloved!

The Narrator: ...a second skeleton wearing a blonde wig.

something's wrong with my copy of Slay the Princess

[defectivehero]

Bad things happen bingo enemy turned caretaker (villain if possible 😈) PLEASEEUUUHHH🙏🙏🙏

Okay, so my first instinct for this is to go with a villain caretaker, because duh. Then I thought... let's reverse it. Then I thought... nah. Let's make it a bit... interesting. Heeheehee..... Hee...... Heehee.... It may not be exactly what you expected, but I hope you enjoy!

@badthingshappenbingo Prompt: Enemy Turned Caretaker

The hero's hand blurs as they attempt to reach for the doorbell of the far too familiar building. They completely miss and groan, instead attempting to clench their fist and knock on the door itself. The effort is strangely difficult, but they manage to make it work, because within moments the door swings open.

"Oh, hello." The villain says, blinking at the injured hero on their doorstep. "Fancy seeing you here." They don't sound particularly surprised, only annoyed.

"...Hello." The hero manages to respond through the haze of pain. They blink and the villain's teeth grow long and sharp. Another blink and they're gone. The hero must be losing it. Maybe they have a concussion, on top of everything else.

"I assume you need my help." The villain states dryly, nothing but disinterest present in their voice. They cross their arms over their chest.

The hero doesn't bother sugarcoating it. "Yes." They agree. "Please." They add on, if only to appeal to the villain's somewhat masochistic tendencies. And with perfectly awful timing, the hero lurches on their feet, blindly grasping at the doorframe so they don't face-plant into the ground.

The villain lets out a long-suffering sigh, clearly annoyed. "Fine, fine." They drawl. "Can't have the city's favorite hero dying on my doorstep. It would certainly raise questions." The villain sidles up to the hero and throws the hero's arm around their shoulder, guiding them into the room and onto the nearby sofa. There's already some sort of towel over it, the hero notes dazedly as they're gently guided down to sit. Their enemy must collapse on this piece of furniture, bleeding and exhausted, rather often.

The villain works quietly and methodically. They must be practiced with this sort of thing. After all, the hero has inflicted injuries upon them before.

The hero is silent for a while, before their curiosity gets the best of them. "You know, you're supposed to ask, 'Who did this to you?'" They say with slight amusement. Indeed, the villain has been almost uncharacteristically speechless as they've patched them up.

"Ah, I suppose I should." The villain says with a smile of recognition. They finish with the bandages, a deceptively gentle gesture that leaves the hero almost struggling for breath. "But I already know."

The hero's chest lurches. Something doesn't feel right all of a sudden. The world swirls and blurs around them, and all they can see is their enemy looming over them with that knowing smile on their face. Fuck. Fuck. "You do." They say skeptically. The past hour flies before their eyes in quick glimpses: beaten to a pulp, abandoned in an alleyway, the villain's far too opportune appearance...

"Yes." The villain confirms with a hum, sitting on the opposite arm of the sofa and looking down at them. "I must say, it went rather well. Exceeded my expectations, really." They grin.

"How...?" The hero chokes out, despite already knowing the answer. They're not even bound or restrained, but they feel so incredibly powerless. The fatigue eating at their bones is enough to leave them practically immobile underneath their enemy's gaze. Their wounds still burn, their muscles still aching from the exertion.

"Oh, you know," the villain waves a hand flippantly. "I just got a few of my men—the rather brutish ones—to ambush you. Leave you for dead in an alleyway, conveniently located near my headquarters."

...And the hero fell for it—hook, line, and sinker. They could've gone anywhere else, yet they went right to their enemy. What the hell compelled them to run straight to the villain's doorstep? They've made a grave oversight, assuming the villain's treatment came for free. Their enemy never does anything out of the good of their heart.

"Too easy, really." The villain continues, a smile on their face. "You fell right into my arms, just as I planned." They rest their chin on their hand and stare at them.

The hero feels like they're going to throw up. "...And now?" The hero whispers, their heart racing. They are not safe here—that much is abundantly clear.

"Ah, yes, now." The villain hums. They tap their fingers against their chin, before letting their arms fall to rest on their knees. "Well, there are nearly infinite possibilities."

"As much as I'd hate to destroy all my hard work," the villain trails off, dragging their finger up the hero's bandaged ankle. They suddenly strengthen their grip and the hero hisses at the uncomfortable pressure. "I quite like the idea of cutting you up again."

The hero stares at them with a mix of disbelief, frustration, and horror. Their enemy only laughs.

©2025, @defectivehero | @defectivevillain, All Rights Reserved. Reblogs are greatly appreciated—just don't steal or share outside of Tumblr, please.

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[phyrestartr]

Sacrosanct | Adrian Tepes x M!Reader | (PT.1)

W/C: 3.8k C/W: mentions of emotional abuse, blood and gore, canon-typical violence, religion, religious abuse, religious themes, death, mentions of death, depression, alcohol abuse Tags: PLOT!, SFW, eventual NSFW/sexual themes, drama, repressed romantic feelings, slow-ish burn, childhood friends, starts s4 (eventually moving into nocturne), mutual pining, angst and drama, hurt/comfort, reader is kind of an ass lol

Note: soz if there are any spelling/grammar errors---I have been tweaking this so much and I'm so tired of it so I'm just posting the first part to get over it lol o(--( hope it's fun to read!!

1. A Man Amongst the Ghosts

Isolation was an unkind thing. Whispered secrets, foul howls and the like plagued the afflicted's everyday, wrenching away all hope of peace. The dolls, ones made in fits of lonely mania, kept Alucard some sort of company until those humans wandered through, filling in the emptiness that Trevor and Sypha once filled themselves; Taka and Sumi never could replace a Speaker and a Belmont, but the attempt was appreciated. 

Until their humanity showed. Their hatred of vampires, their distrust of anyone beyond themselves, their desperation—all reflected in dark, stone eyes as they loomed above him like the grim reaper, ready to take their pound of flesh from the bloodline that'd evaded Hell for so long. Yet what the two did not know, and what Death had always known, was that Alucard decided to live. 

But what's the point? That disease of a question never was to be answered. His mother would no doubt remind him of how precious and sacred life was, how he simply needed to seek out a spark of inspiration to once again find meaning, but how was one supposed to see meaning in the meaningless? Alucard didn't have an answer. Adrian didn't, either. 

Maybe I just need to wait for a surprise, he lamented. Another world-ending threat, or something. Maybe I could start one myself. I've nothing better to do, anyway. 

The dhampir sighed as he walked up the steps. Then, in the mouth of the great building, he paused; before him stood a figure, cloaked and still, facing the castle stairs. 

“Oh, God,” he breathed, rubbing his eyes, “not another one.” Surely, there was a way to cleanse the castle. Surely, there was a way to remove the spirits of his past, the ones who came and went as they pleased while Alucard watched on and suffocated. Surely, everyday life didn't need to be so—

His trance snapped at a sound. The castle made noises, but it didn’t scuff leather soles against stone, nor did it kick rubble out of its way to make room for hollow, echoing footsteps. Any noise the place made was slow and languid, like it was straining with each and every attempt to haunt its inhabitant; however, those footfalls were brisk and quick and so much like his mother's when she was in a rush. 

But that wasn't Lisa Tepes. It was an intruder—a real one. A man amongst ghosts.

A distant door closed, and Alucard exploded into movement.

Magic fuelled his steps, hurtling him forth in smears of vibrant crimson as he pursued the whisper of a heart beating. Whoever had tried their luck sounded calm, unbothered. Alucard was eager to change that.

The dhampir burst into the lab. A sharp yelp harmonized with the slamming of the door. Another shout was cut short the moment Alucard grabbed the stranger by the throat and pinned them to the wall with a resounding thud.

“Do you have a death wish?” He growled over whatever the stranger tried to say. 

A pause. Then, the threat was answered with a laugh, something sardonic and bitter. 

“A death wish?” They—he—scoffed, clawing at the gloved hand keeping him pinned. “Is that meant to intimidate me, you stupid, blood-sucking beast?” 

Alucard squeezed harder, earning a sharp whimper from the intruder. “It should scare you very much, yes.” 

“Wait,” he squawked. 

“Why should I?” Alucard snapped. “If I don't, you'll take from this place, won't you?” 

The stranger’s pawing turned into thrashing. 

Alucard continued, “If I don't, you’ll return and attempt to kill me. Worse, you could kill me the second I—”

“Adrian.” 

His grip weakened. 

The stranger gasped in lungfuls of air before hastily pulling back his hood. His face—your face—illuminated in the gentle morning light. 

Your gazes held for a long, long moment, one that might have gone on forever, one that might have only been a delusional second, but it was…familiar. Secretive and special, like when you lifted sweets from town and shared them underneath a table in the library.

“Don’t tell Miss Lisa,” you whispered, eyes glimmering with mirth despite your serious disposition. 

Adrian huffed and took a sweet roll from the basket. “I wouldn’t dream of it. She’ll be completely cross if she finds out.”

You nodded, and the pact was formed. “We must make sure we wash our hands afterwards,” you added as you ripped a roll in half and nibbled on the frayed edge. “I, too, will be cross if we get sugar on the books.” 

“Ugh, you’re so annoying.”

You turned your nose away like a pompous brat, and Adrian laughed.

His grip loosened more, and your pulse started to slow against his gloved fingertips. 

“You,” Alucard said slowly, sluggishly. “Why?”

“I’ve come to do the work your worthless self has refused to do, you brute,” you sneered.

Alucard released you and watched you collapse. You rubbed your throat, hand shaking.

“I forgot how much of an asshole you were, alchemist.”

You glared up at him through tear-coated lashes. 

“I've never forgotten how much of a spoiled brat you were, Adrian.” 

“Alucard,” the dhampir corrected. 

“What?”

The blonde turned away and wandered to where he'd seen you puttering. “They call me ‘Alucard,’ now.”

You scoffed. “The opposite of Dracula, yes, of course, how very dramatic of you.” He heard you drag yourself back up to your feet. “It's a stupid name.”

“So is ‘(Name)’.” 

“Oh, fuck off. If you're going to insult me, at least make it worthwhile.” 

You stepped up beside him, straightening out your clothes and fixing your disheveled hair. Alucard glimpsed flashes of light-coloured markings against your skin before they vanished beneath your clothes. He had no mind to wonder what they meant, but he did find them pretty.

“What are you doing here?” He sighed, suddenly so, so defeated. “This isn't your home.”

You sucked your teeth. “It was, once.”

“Not anymore.”

“Your mother said I'd always be welcome.” You picked books off the floor and set them on the cracked desk. “‘Always’ hasn't ended just because she's passed.” 

Alucard's face twisted. “Don't speak of her. You have no right.”

“She was my mentor,” you said offhandedly. You threw a few more books onto the table. “I mourn her, too.”

“Yet you weren’t there when—”

“Neither were you.” 

The cold left Alucard's veins, exposing his raw nerves to the needling truths he had shunned in favour of shutting down, disappearing into the numbness of winter. What right did you have to remind him? What right did you have to reappear and give him grief? 

Thorns punctured the backs of his eyes. Alucard held his head and staggered back. He needed wine, and badly. 

“Just—don't touch anything,” he grumbled as he turned away, ignoring whatever it was you hissed back at him. The man didn't have the energy to start a losing war with you.

—

Time passed. Alucard ignored you. He even forgot you resided under the same roof as him unless he stumbled upon you in the kitchen or engine room. You kept to yourself for the most part, and he kept to himself. It wasn't horrible. 

You were horrible, however. You were nothing short of an entitled menace to society and, more personally, to Alucard himself. Still, somehow, Lisa had liked you enough to give you a room, and Dracula had found you promising enough to let you stay in that room, much to their only child's chagrin.

“‘He has nowhere else to go,’” Alucard muttered aloud, echoing the words his mother spoke back then. “‘He's alone.’” He stared up at the cellar's ceiling before taking a long drink of wine. “‘I'm sure he'll be your friend.’”

He thought of Sumi and Taka. He thought of Trevor and Sypha. He thought of empty shadows. And when he couldn't stand the thoughts any longer, he drank, and decided the castle was too small for all those ghosts and two living men, that it wasn’t allowed to be anything but cold and painful and lonely. Bonds, people, just made life agony. 

Alucard rubbed his eyes. His shoulders trembled from a heavy inhale. 

He needs to leave.

Resolve sobered him. Alucard stormed out of the cellar like he was about to face his father again, like his life was on the line along with humanity’s fate. In a way, it was; if he didn't deal with the nightmarish imp sullying his home, he'd be no use to humanity, he'd be in no position to be sober enough to ever do anything besides mourn and cry, and that couldn't last forever. 

The lab doors came into view with the quiet shuffling of odds and ends before he threw the doors open, and stepped inside with purpose. 

“You,” Alucard commanded. “You're to get out of my castle immediately lest I—”

He slowed to a halt and took the space in; the lab was warmly lit, and it no longer reeked of blood, sweat and magic, but instead of herbs and wood; a majority of the room was cleaned, or at least straightened out, and many of the books and equipment had been returned to their rightful places; what was left of the floors, walls and furniture were free of most filth, too. It almost seemed to masquerade as a home again.

You were even on the second floor, staring out the largest window with a cup of tea in your hand—a calming sight Alucard had taken in plenty of times in the past.

“You're cleaning,” Alucard said as he approached you. 

“Astute observation, vampire.” You sipped your tea as you stared out at the vast sea of green cedar. “I'm surprised you live.” 

“Tch. Not even Dracula could kill me,” Alucard huffed. “Wine doesn't stand a chance.” 

“I'm not so sure. That horrible stench coming off of you suggests you're already a walking corpse.” 

“So you came back to play the part of maid?” Alucard asked instead of biting back. 

Your nose twitched with the threat of a snarl. “Someone has to clean up this fucking mess and it's surely not going to be you.” 

“Well, I—”

“No, shut up.” You collapsed into a nearby armchair with a sigh. “You don't get to defend yourself.”

Alucard scoffed and leaned against the wall, crossing his arms. “I was going to sort things out.” 

“Before or after you drank yourself to near-death?” 

“You're still as miserable as I remember.”

“Oh, on the contrary, I think I'm much more miserable now.” Your gaze dropped. “This house is a mess.” 

Alucard scoffed, hackles rising. “Of course, it's the house you worry about.” 

You frowned. “Someone has to.” 

“Are you ever going to learn how to be pleasant?”

“I wasn't made to be pleasant; I was made to be exceptional.”

The dhampir laughed, earning a hot glare. “You mean by those mad heretics that attempted to open the gates of Hell over and over? Is that meant to be ‘exceptional’?” 

The muscles of your jaw tensed, and Alucard thought he heard the grind of teeth. Your family, whoever they were, were a weak spot for you. He knew that well.

“Fuck you,” you uttered like a pagan curse. “You've no idea what I've endured, what my makers were like.”

“My father is Dracula,” Alucard said, “he tried to kill me, killed thousands of humans, tried to end the world—”

“Yet you still live, and the world is still in-fucking-tact, isn't it? Maybe not your world, but the one that matters most.” You glowered out the window as you stood. “As far as I see it, you're rather lucky.” 

“Lucky?” He repeated, an edge of hysteria lifting his voice. “Really, you'd call this lucky?”

“It could have been a lot fucking worse.” 

“Fuck you.” 

“You wish.” 

You turned sharply and abandoned him. Alucard listened to your brisk footfalls disappear behind a collage of distant bookcases, some broken, some intact. The rifling and shuffling of wood and paper took over not too long after he lost sight of you. You'd so easily gone back to work. 

He's always been that way, Alucard remembered. Would rather putter about instead of dealing with people. His mother had never been anti-social. His father was, however. Maybe your shared distaste and skepticism about humans was what bonded you. Maybe humans made you so jaded, too. Maybe, in another world, they'd have made Alucard the same. 

He wandered after you, following phantom footsteps until the dull clapping of book covers became clear. You were mumbling under your breath, exasperated and annoyed as always with the one-sided argument you engaged in. It was another common sight; Alucard recalled finding you bickering with the air far too often in your shared younger days. Lisa never had an explanation for her son, but she had words of comfort to explain your quirk. 

I thought you didn’t remember your parents, Alucard wanted to say, but that look on your face, the one that stirred something in his chest and ate everything in his veins, snuffed out whatever flame of confidence he thought to face you with. 

–

Alucard let you be for a long while. He didn't know how long, per se, but at least…a while. Some time. Maybe a week or two. A month? Hard to tell.

When did I kill those two? He wondered dryly as he wandered back from yet another trip to the river. Feels like centuries ago…maybe longer. Is this what Father felt in that long, miserable life of his, until he met Mother? He didn't want to dwell on it long.

Instead, he dwelled on the man standing before the skewered warnings at the castle's front door. 

He could see your foot tapping and shifting to and fro—toe, heel, toe, heel—the same way you had as a younger teen. Alucard hated it, especially when your hard leather soles clacked against the hardwood like a woodpecker knocking on a tree. 

Alucard snorted. Woodpecker. That summed you up nicely.

“What are you smiling about, vampire?” You snapped. Alucard thought venom might shoot from your eyes or flame might spew from your mouth.

“Why are you staring at…those?” He asked instead. 

Your expression weakened into something a bit more innoxious. “I'm wondering why you needed them,” you said, turning to the gruesome display. “And if I should summon them again to kill them myself for whatever they've done.” 

Alucard couldn't look away from you. “‘For what they’ve done,’” he echoed, voice weak. “What makes you think they’ve done anything at all?”

“Adrian Tepes would not skewer someone if they weren't as damnable as the fucking night beasts staked in their company,” you decided, pointed words acrid with something intense.

A weak warmth spread across Alucard’s skin. The feeling tried to go deeper, back to somewhere long forgotten, but he didn’t allow it. How could he, after so many had taken that sacred place for granted?

“Oh.” The dhampir cleared his throat and shifted his weight. “I see.”

Your eyes flicked to him and pinned him in place. Yet, a moment later, your brows lost their creased tension while your stare abandoned its edge in favour of something kinder—or perhaps less lethal—as you gave him a quick once-over before your stare ultimately landed on the bare skin peeking out from beneath his jacket. 

Your eyebrows raised a little, smoothing out your chronic resting bitch face, and your eyes lidded so slightly. Alucard fought the urge to pull his jacket closed while at the same time resisting the impulse to throw his jacket off. You still did strange things to him.

“Where is your shirt?” You asked. 

Alucard cleared his throat. “I, ah. It's…complicated.” 

One of your brows quirked as you turned to face him, arms crossed. “I highly doubt that.”

Alucard could not find it in himself to admit his melancholy stopped him from doing anything—merely speaking such a thing into the world would be too much to bear.

“Fine,” you scoffed. “Then what's that scar?” 

“My father,” he said. “He—well. We had a disagreement, you could say.” 

You winced. “Dracula must have been far gone to hurt you.”

Alucard flickered a smile. “He was.”

Your lips parted, then sealed again, but you didn't look away. Alucard saw sparks of the you he used to find comfort in with the way you beheld him; you wore that thoughtful, gentle look whenever Adrian found himself in trouble or in pain. It warmed him to know you might not have changed much in that way.

Before your old friend could admire you much more, you turned and straightened out your cuffs with a neat, crisp flourish. “Well, that’s a shame. I quite liked your father.”

“I know.” 

Alucard couldn't find anything more to say. Yet you still stayed put as though you held out hope for him to say something more. But he couldn’t. He simply couldn’t, and you were not known for having the patience of a saint.

Helpless, Alucard watched you disappear into the gaping mouth of the castle doorway. It was strange, he thought, how your silhouette seemed to meld with the shadows as soon as you stepped out of the sun. Then again, he was slightly out of his mind. 

Instead of following after you, he braved a glance at the rotting faces of Taka and Sumi. “He’s been here much longer than you two,” he murmured, eyes casting back to the ground. “And he hasn’t tried to trick me, kill me, or fuck me. Maybe this is how bonds are meant to forge.” A long, heavy sigh left him. “I don’t know.” 

Eventually, he found himself wandering the halls, his sad, half-filled pail sloshing beside him and occasionally spilling onto the hardwood. You'd yell at him for it, probably spew something about ruining the already battle-ruined floors, but the punishment didn’t seem too harrowing; at least he'd have company.

Then, he heard a noise, and followed it like a fool following a premonition. However, his quest actually had a prize at the end: you, messing about with pipes in the boiler room set beside the engine room. Your hands were speckled and smeared with grease and other shiny residue, yet your clothes were as clean as they could be with your shirt tucked properly and sleeves rolled up to reveal a stretch of skin marked with faint, blue sigils.

He stepped forward when you tried to twist a piece of pipe free with just your fingertips. Gently, he brushed your hand aside before gripping the measure of pipe and yanking it free with a single, easy motion. 

“You could have asked,” Alucard said, holding the pipe out for you. “Instead of ominously vanishing into the castle, I mean.”

Your nose scrunched as you took the piece with a dirtied rag and set it aside. “You seemed too busy wandering around, looking like a dejected donkey holding a bucket, and, last I checked, mules don't make for great conversation.”

Alucard set the bucket to the side. “Well, I'd rather champion the removal of pipes so you may keep your delicate, frail hands clean. Seems better than being a sad donkey, at the very least.” 

“Hm. You already need a dozen baths, I suppose, so this can't be too uncouth for you,” you said, leaning away from him and looking over some schematics. 

“Oh, well perhaps I should go bathe rather than help you, then.” 

“Ah-ah,” you scolded. “Your fate is sealed. Remove the next two pieces, vampire.” 

Alucard rolled his eyes but did as he was told, much to his chagrin; he'd rather have running, hot water again than constantly wandering to the river day by day, of course, but he'd have to survive a short stint of servitude under your cruel, critical rule for that to happen. It wouldn't have been worth it if he hadn’t been hoping for petty banter and a chance to ask questions. 

“Those markings,” he said, “I've been wondering about them.” 

“Hm.” 

“Care to explain?”

“Not particularly, no.”

“Will you?”

You turned away, and Alucard stifled a sigh. Wonderful first attempt at an actual conversation. Almost as tactful as Belmont. He grimaced. God, please make me into anything but Belmont.

“Alchemical sigils,” you said, striking through Alucard’s thoughts. 

The dhampir's mind whirled for a snap. “Really,” he said. “I suppose I should have recognized them.” 

You hummed in maybe annoyance or agreement before turning back to the machine. “They're lesser-known. Most present-day alchemists are forgemasters, besides. They've little need for incantations when they've their chosen tools.”

Alucard leaned down to peer over your shoulder at whatever you were scrutinizing in the boiler. “Hm. Then your markings are a tool of sorts?” He wondered.

You frowned. “A curse may be more accurate.” 

Alucard glanced at you again, then to the back of your neck when another symbol—a familiar thing, one that looked like a star of sorts—caught his attention, and sparked a machination of curiosity and alarms in his mind. “A curse.”

Your hand clapped over the mark, and you turned to him, sharp and quick like you were expecting to parry.

Alucard raised a hand to surrender. “I didn't mean to—”

“Quiet,” you snapped. The word twisted strangely, like a distortion rippling in water before calming again. “Do not expect more from me than that which I give you. Do you understand?” Alucard nodded, and you seemed to calm. “Good. Now, just shut up and do as I say, yes? No more questions.” 

No more questions. Your demand only piqued his curiosity.

After helping you with what would become a lengthy, gruelling project, Alucard found his way to the rickety Belmont vault and wandered through aisles upon aisles of books. A worried sickness curled in his stomach and chest; last time he'd been down there, he'd brought two others with him.

He shook his head. Focus. You need a book about alchemy. Old alchemy, no less. 

There were plenty of books to choose from, but Alucard was quick to realize alchemy was not the core of your mystery, but the root; it was something related to it, something that used alchemical symbols and other sigils born from similar knowledge. 

And finding a hexagram etched into the crumbling spine of an old, leather book gave him a solid start. 

“Hm. Ars Goetia,” Alucard said aloud, tongue thoughtful with every syllable.

As though something answered him, the air hummed. It buzzed with life, reverberating with something kinetic and physical, like the bone-rattling depth of a choir. Books shuddered, earth shifted, debris fluttered from the roof—then, it all receded, drifting away like a midnight yawn and leaving nothing but a dissonant, distant ring in its wake. 

“Well,” Alucard exhaled, “that was interesting.” He sat himself in a mostly-intact chair, and opened the book. “I wonder if that was meant to ward me away. I suppose time will tell.”

---

Thank you for reading! Feel free to comment your thoughts or if you'd like to be tagged for the next part :'D

[estellardreams]

Hehe writing idea go brrrr

Red didn't mean to get sent here. The universe just did it because... Something. He had no clue.

Regardless, it had to have been bad enough for him to show up here.

But... The world seemed peaceful.

No king's fortress.

No destruction.

Nothing signaling anyone's death.

Red wandered around the streets, his footing a bit unsteady.

What happened here...? Nothing seems to be wrong, so what's he supposed to fix to return home?

He spotted Pigsy's Noodles up ahead, slipping inside quietly. The shop seemed... Closed. Like no one was there yet.

Wait, how did he even get in? Usually the door was always locked before the shop opened.

Red quickly shook his head, trying not to focus on that. He headed up the stairs to MK's room, not sure if he'd be up there.

He placed his hand on the door, cracking it open.

"Xiaotian...?" he asked softly.

"Go away, Red..." MK softly pleaded, buried under the blankets.

"What? Why?" he pushed the door open, approaching MK on the bed.

Mk turned his head to look at Red, a gleaming ruby fillet over his forehead.

"Oh no! Who put this on you?!" Red exclaimed, immediately trying to find some way to take it off.

Mk quietly sat up, holding still.

Red paused, concerned. "Are you... Okay?"

"I'm... Fine. Just get this off of me, okay?"

"No! It's to keep him safe!" a voice snapped.

Mk froze, backing up a little. Red moved to protect him, only to stop himself once he came face to face with...

Himself.

Red's eyes widened in shock and horror, gripping the blankets tightly.

What...?

But... He did everything right!

He avoided becoming like the king!

He cut his hair, exposed his weaknesses, tore apart his clothes, changed his glasses, indulged in sweets and cutesy things... HOW did this happen?!

"Please... Step away from Xiaotian." the other Red spoke.

"Are you... What year is it here?" Red asked.

"207X. Why?"

Red paused. It had only been two years...

"I'm... Two years from the past." he spoke up.

"Oh, that explains it." Other Red pulled him away from MK.

"Hey! What are you doing to him?!"

"First of all, sit down. Second of all, I'm trying to keep him safe." other Red said.

"By holding him captive?!" Red snapped.

"I'm not holding him captive! I'm trying to protect him!"

"From what? People like you?"

"From him trying to kill himself!"

Red froze, his anger instantly dissipating into horror.

Other Red's eyes began to well up with tears. "I... I'm sorry. I'm so sorry... I can't... I don't..."

He quickly turned away and scooped up MK into his arms.

"Hey! Where are you going?!" Red yelped.

"Somewhere safer and not here." other Red said, bringing them both to the window.

"Bye, past me. Good luck dealing with King Red."

"No, WAIT-"

His future self leapt out of the window with MK, setting him down on the ground before leading him away somewhere.

Red bolted down the stairs, trying to follow after them.

"STOP! LET XIAOTIAN GO!"

"It's for his safety! Do you want him to hurt himself all over again cause I'm not here to keep him safe?!" Future Red exclaimed.

"What the hell happened to you?! To me...? To us? What happened to us? What made you like this?" Red pleaded.

Future Red paused, his gaze shifting downwards as he held MK's hand.

"... The pillar of heaven. He... I... I didn't wanna lose him... He did it anyway... And I failed..." he mumbled.

"But... But I won't fail again. Not anymore. I'm gonna keep Xiaotian safe from hurting himself and everyone else, no matter what it takes!"

Red gulped as his future self made off with MK once more.

He was never free to begin with, was he?

He... He's always gonna become the king. No matter what he does.

No matter what he tries to change.

No matter how much introspection, self sabotage, everything...

No matter what he tries, or does... It'll never work.

He'll fall back into his old self.

And this future... This self... Is proof of that.

Red sank to the ground on the barren streets, tears blurring his vision.

Did the universe just hate him?

He could never kill King Red.

He could never protect MK without hurting him.

He never deserved MK's love.

He could never escape being King Red in the future.

No matter what.

And...

That hurt.

The reality of his life hurt.

But... He couldn't just kill himself!

He knew what would've happened if he did, especially in that one timeline. He swore he'd always return to MK in the past ever since that timeline.

But now? He wasn't so sure...

Was it better to spare everyone the horror of any of these futures by getting rid of himself? Or let him stay and potentially ruin everything all over again no matter what he does?

... He needed to talk to his therapist about this.

But for now... He needed to talk some sense into his future self and rescue MK from his fate.

Red pushed back his tears, trying to clear his head. He breathed, standing back up on his feet.

Two bright lights came up and it was instantly darkness.

Red stirred awake, feeling the gentle rocking of the bed. He sat up, groaning a little.

"Oh, welcome back Red!" Sandy greeted.

"Oh, um... Hi, Sandy. What year is it?" Red asked.

"207X."

"... And I'm back in present day, okay." Red got up from the couch, only to immediately grip his chest in agony.

Great sage, why did that hurt?

"Red, go back to the couch. You're hurt."

"I... I see that now. Sorry."

"How did you even get hurt like this, anyway? You suddenly returned but as a crumpled heap in the noodle shop."

"Uh..." Red bit his lip, glancing at his phone.

He quickly opened it up and texted his therapist for a new session.

"I... I can't say, I'm sorry. I just... I need a moment to process all of this before I can tell you." he apologized, putting his phone back down.

"That's alright! As long as you're okay, it's fine by me! Would you like some tea?"

".. Yes, please."

Hello, I'm glad you opened the request box. I'm so interested in the Time Travel au that I thought if Time Travel Red Son was a yandere and wanted to protect MK alone, I'd love to see that drawing.

This is a unique sort of challenge, since Time Travel Red Son is so explicitly afraid of becoming like Demon King Red, who is a super duper Yandere, that it can only mean something has gone terribly wrong in this timeline and TT Red has all but snapped and become just like the king! And so, I figured he’d start where the king himself did in his downward spiral to madness: with the tightening fillet.

[creature-wizard]

I'm gonna post my controversial thoughts about Jesus 'cause they've been stewing in my head for awhile and I gotta let 'em out.

This isn't going to be me just hating on Jesus for the sake of it. However, it's also challenging to orthodox views of who Jesus is, and I can't say it's all going to be flattering.

Read ahead or don't; but if you do, don't say I didn't warn you.

So. My controversial thoughts on Jesus basically come down to: I think he was a complicated human being, living in a complicated time, responding in a way that made sense to him.

I've read the Gospels with particular attention on Jesus's character, and... in terms of his overall personality and behavior? He reminds me a lot of self-styled spiritual leaders who have a lot of wonderful high-minded ideals where some things are concerned, but are also kinda up their own asses at times. Like the way his followers will ask him some normal question or respond to something in a completely normal way, and he treats them like they're stupid because they didn't manage to clock his quite frankly incomprehensible headspace.

Of course, the narratives are on Jesus's side, so we're supposed to believe that if these guys had just read the Scriptures a little better or had been in a holier headspace, they'd have immediately figured it out. But lots of life experience has taught me that this isn't how anything works. I've also met people who act like this, and I have learned that they are often best avoided, and never to be taken seriously as spiritual teachers.

Also, some of the stuff the Gospels have him doing and saying suggest to me that he may have been prone to mood swings. Like he says a lot of great things about love and compassion! But then he also says a lot of stuff that's just... kinda mean, if not vindictive. Which, that's a characteristic shared by a lot of spiritual leader types that I have come to learn are not the kind of people you want to get too close to.

When I look past the miracles (a number of which are very easily demonstrated to have been embellishments of somewhat less glamorous historical fact), the overall picture I see is someone who had the same kind of charisma as a lot of the people I research. These people also want you to believe that their odd, erratic, and even mean behavior is a manifestation of their divine or enlightened nature.

Do I think this means Jesus was incapable of having good opinions, or that he never said anything worth our attention? No, absolutely not! Again, I think he was a guy, living in a time, doing his best. Sometimes he was a dick, sometimes he threw out bangers. I think love and compassion are supremely important, but I also don't think he has a monopoly on it. (I also think Christianity thinking it knows love better than anyone else and believing it can provide the best access to it is kind of an ego issue.)

And of course, I don't expect to talk anyone out of being Christian with this, nor is that even my aim. These are just my personal opinions based on my observations, that's all.

[hugmekenobi]

I Do

A Bad Batch Post S3 Oneshot

Gif by @barissoffee

Hunter x femaleJedi!reader

Summary: Your wedding day finally arrives

Playlist for inspo:

Warnings: Limited (Y/N), swearing, reader nickname of 'Spark' and 'sweetheart' is used, wedding traditions mentioned and applied, my interpretation of the Force, my limited wedding ceremony knowledge, references to past torture and death, vague references to alcohol/hangovers, limited wedding dress description, LOTS of fluff and feelings, I make up a mission plan, kissing, for the sake of the plot they can leave Pabu safely, SMUT (dirty talk and innuendo, marking, reader wears lingerie, light body worship with mentions of scars, use of a toy, teasing, brief edging, light marriage kink if that's a thing?, switch reader and Hunter, unprotected P in V but let's be safe irl please!) mildly bittersweet ending

<Previous Oneshot (not totally necessary to read but helpful for build up)

Masterlist for S1, S2 and S3

Word Count: 13.4K

Rating: 18+

Author's note: Well, the state of the world is concerning and pretty depressing rn but in a bizarre way, it acted as that final motivator to finally finish because I wanted to focus on something that brings me joy. So, with that, I hope everyone is doing okay and that this was worth the wait!

“How did it go?” Hunter asked as he entered your living room just as you finished your call with Jax.

“Aren’t you supposed to be with your brothers right now?” You asked instead.

“I convinced them to come get me later. How did it go?” He asked again, unwilling to let you change the subject so easily. 

You heaved a sigh and shrugged as you slouched against the couch and fidgeted with your ring. “Fine? I think? I don’t know, I feel like I’m just making this up as I go. I guided him through the ways meditation can help him if he starts to lose focus, or things feel out of control, but I have no idea if that’ll be helpful.”

“It sounds like good advice.” Hunter replied whilst he put his stuff down. 

You grunted, “I don’t know that it’s fair for me to preach the benefits of meditation when all I’ve done with it has come up with a whole lot of nothing.”

“Still nothing from your master since Christophsis?” Hunter asked sympathetically as he sat down beside you. 

You nodded dejectedly. “There’s just nothing there. I know that it was a long time ago and we had Tantiss to deal with, so I wasn’t as on top of it as I used to be, but I thought Christophsis opened some sort of door.” You breathed heavily and leaned against his shoulder. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.” 

“You’re awfully down for someone getting married in two days.” 

You snapped your head up and stared at the ghost ahead of you but also tugged on Hunter’s sleeve. “You’re seeing this too, right?” You double checked as you saw the face of your master staring at you with a smile on his face.

Hunter found himself going back into autopilot and his days as a soldier because he immediately stood to attention as he clocked the pale blue figure.

“At ease, Sergeant. No need for such formalities and with the war being over and me being dead, it’s not like I could write you up.” Your master said to the clone at your side. 

“I- um- right.” Hunter stammered because now he had no idea how he was supposed to act or behave when speaking to someone from the dead. Never mind the fact that this was your old Jedi Master. He relaxed his posture, but only slightly because he still had no clue what to make of this entire situation. 

“Hello, Spark.”

“That’s all you have to say?” You questioned the ghostly blue figure with a frown. 

“I believe that to still be the appropriate greeting.” 

“I don’t understand this. You can really show up that easily?”

“When the need arises, yes.”

You let out a laugh that was void of positive emotion. 

“I’m sensing some rising anger, Spark.”

“No shit!” You shouted in irritation. 

“Spark…” Your master said with a tired sigh. 

“I’ve been meditating for months, and you’ve been a no show all this time! I was taken prisoner and tortured and you weren’t any help!”  

“An awful feat to endure but you haven’t needed me. You relied on your training and sense of self; you didn’t need me there to bring you back.”

“I almost didn’t! I nearly gave up on Tantiss!”

“Dwelling on the almost helps no one, you did not and that’s the outcome that matters. If you had needed me, I would’ve provided my assistance but there’s never been an opportunity or requirement for that in the recent times.”

He sounded so unapologetically himself and like the master you’d studied under that you couldn’t help but let the initial anger you’d been feeling over this leave your body. “Hey, there was a perfect opportunity for you to show up a month ago! Technically, I died! A few times I might add!” You pointed out. 

“You sound a little too delighted by that.” Hunter grumbled.

“You were nowhere to be found!” You continued to be disgruntled. 

“Please, I know you’re far too stubborn to die at the hands of a bounty hunter.” Your master said dismissively.  

You gave up with a sigh, “So, why are you here now?” You asked instead since you realised you were going to get nowhere disputing the past with him. 

Your master nodded to Hunter. “I wanted to formally meet the man who pulled you away from your Jedi teachings.” He said sternly. 

Hunter’s eyes widened in distress. “I didn’t- it wasn’t- sir, I didn’t mean to-” He stuttered in a panic. 

“Surely you understand how encouraging such serious attachment from someone in her position is dangerous?”

Hunter couldn’t calm his ever-increasing alarm. A Force ghost appearing suddenly felt so small compared to what he was having to argue with said ghost about. “Sir, I’d never risk- I don’t- when we happened I-” He was scrambling to find anything that would reassure the man, but he was failing miserably. 

You shook your head in disapproval at your master who now had a rather pleased smile on his face, “Would you stop torturing him? Talking to Force ghosts is already hard enough for someone not used to it.” You gently pulled on Hunter’s hand, “My love, sit down.”

Hunter dazedly sat down beside you.

“And remember to breathe.” You prompted him quietly as you patted his knee before you glared at your master, “Are you done?”

Your master chuckled, “I couldn’t help myself, but yes, I am. Although I did want to meet you, Sergeant. I wanted to know more about you if you’re amenable to that?” 

“Y-yes, sir.” Hunter collected himself as he straightened his shoulders and awaited the questions. 

“You led a small squad during the war did you not? You and your brothers were made to be different from the other clones and battalions that existed during that time?” 

“That’s correct, sir.” 

“But you made a habit of deviating from standard protocols and orders? You never considered that to be a reckless course of action to take?”

Hunter sensed you getting ready to defend him, but he placed his hand on yours to signal that he was fine. “Yes, sir, but with respect, that’s why we were as successful as we were. Our unique skill sets made it that going against the usual procedures was better for us and the war effort.”

Your master nodded appreciatively over the honesty in the clone’s voice. “And you understand the added responsibility you’re taking on with having a Jedi in your life and as your partner? You are aware of the risks that will remain in place for you and your squad even with this home you’ve created?”

“I understand it, sir, but it never felt like extra responsibility to me. I look after my people the best I can, I always have, and she was a part of our squad and family long before my feelings developed into what they are now. Making the choice to stand by her despite the dangers it comes with was simple.”

“I see. And what about-”

“Okay, what is this?” You interrupted, “You’re dead, and I stopped being your student years ago. You don’t get to approve or disapprove-”

“Ah, that’s where you’re wrong, Spark. The mere fact that you’ve been seeking that connection with the techniques I passed on shows that our relationship has not ended. And yes, I may have become one with the Force but that doesn’t mean I stopped being your teacher- dead or not, there’s always a lesson to be learnt. Something you should keep in mind since you’re on your way to becoming a teacher yourself.” 

You suddenly felt rather bashful as you heard the hint of pride in his voice, “I’m not really doing anything.”

“You’re doing far more than you realise and I’m not solely referring to those children you rescued. That young girl you’re raising is going to do great things.” Your master complimented you both.

“We know.” Hunter agreed. 

The soft change in Hunter’s voice and the fondness in which he said that and made your heart soar with affection. 

Your master smiled warmly as he saw the unfiltered emotion written across your face as you looked at the man by your side and he knew there was nothing dangerous or wrong about the feelings you had for him. He addressed Hunter once more, “I just have one last question…” 

Hunter braced himself. 

“Do you love her?”

Now that was something he could answer very easily. “Yes, I do.”

“Good.” Your master said with a nod of approval before he turned to face you again. “I wish you both a happy future and Spark, remember, you don’t need to see me to feel me with you.” Your master reminded you before he faded away.

“Spark?” Hunter asked with a curious look in your direction. 

“Do you want the embarrassing or the more emotional answer?” You replied lightly. 

But before Hunter could reply, Wrecker came barging through the door.

“Time’s up! Get moving!”

You caught the look of dread on Hunter’s face. “You’re going to have fun.” You said through a laugh as you both got to your feet. 

“Remind me why I can’t just stay here? Your plans for tonight sound relaxing.” Hunter pleaded jokingly. 

“Because we don’t want you here, Bandana.” Phee responded with mock seriousness, “This night is for us girls only. You’ve got your own thing.”

“Right, how could I forget.” He replied with a roll of his eyes. “I’ll be back tomorrow evening.” Hunter promised you, hoping he slipped it subtly enough into the goodbyes that it would go unnoticed. 

You’re not that lucky. You said with a grin as you noticed Omega’s look of horror.

“Nu uh! Wedding tradition number three states that it’s bad luck to see the bride the day of the wedding so you can’t stay the night tomorrow!” Omega insisted as she yanked on Hunter’s arm to take her place next to you instead whilst Phee and Lyra pushed past the rest of the men to join you in the living room. 

Tech tapped on his datapad. “Yes, the schedule for the next two nights and two days sees to it that proceedings begin with Phee, Omega and Lyra staying here whilst we go to Shep’s to pick him up before leaving on Phee’s ship to-”

“Celebrate tonight! Recover tomorrow! Celebrate again!” Wrecker bellowed merrily. “It’s really not that complicated, Tech.” 

“Yet you still got confused the first time we were planning this.” Crosshair pointed out wryly as he chewed on a toothpick. 

“Not my fault! Shep brought out a plate of dessert when Tech was figuring out the days, I was distracted!” Wrecker said defensively but with a smile on his face. 

“I still don’t understand why you planned it this close to the actual ceremony.” Echo pointed out. 

“With those two wanting to hurry things along, our timeline got rather rushed.” Tech replied. 

“Sorry for not wanting to give the next bounty hunter another chance to ruin things.” You joked.

“Or an Imperial invasion.” Omega added.

“Or the chance for (Y/N) to get herself killed.” Crosshair piled on but his tone was laced with familial teasing as he looked at you.

“Hey!” You protested indignantly. “The more recent ones have not been my fault.”

“Crosshair…” Hunter scolded as he moved his way around Omega and instinctively wrapped his arm around your waist. 

“Thought I was helping.” He said with a nonchalant shrug. 

“Your definition of ‘help’ should be re-examined.” Tech interjected as he adjusted his goggles.  

“Well, point made anyway.” Echo acknowledged with a slight grimace.

“Great, now that that’s settled, let’s go!” Wrecker demanded again as he reached for Hunter. 

Hunter gave you one last desperate look. “You’re really forcing me to do this?” He feigned needing to be rescued as his brother pulled him into the group. 

“I’m not doing anything, you’re the one that let Tech give Omega the list of readings about all the different wedding traditions that exist in the galaxy.” You pointed out with a smirk as you warmly rested your hands on the young girl’s shoulders whilst she stood in front of you. 

“Yes! This is tradition number seven!” Omega said excitedly as she pulled up the various files that she’d pulled on the subject and recited, “Bachelor parties and bachelorette parties are iconic pre-wedding celebrations that mark the end of singledom for soon-to-be-weds.” She waved the datapad in Hunter’s direction. “You can’t argue with that.”

“No, I suppose I can’t.” Hunter replied through a sigh, but he wasn’t referring to the information as he smiled at the young girl.

“It’s not like spending time apart will kill you.” Lyra added absentmindedly as she got to work on unpacking the supplies for your night here. 

The room went silent as you all turned to stare at her. 

“Okay, that was a bad choice of words,” Lyra acknowledged sheepishly, “But you know what I mean!”

You chuckled before you noticed the impatient way Wrecker was bouncing on his heels. “Okay, time to go.” You ushered them out but caught Hunter’s wrist just as he was leaving. You went to kiss him but before he could help close the gap, Crosshair pulled on his arm. “If I’m going to throw up tonight, it’s going to be during the party, not before.” He said in faux disgust.

“Alright, alright, I’m coming.” Hunter conceded as he shoved Crosshair away in a brotherly fashion. “See you in two days?” He asked you by way of farewell.

“See you in two days.” You confirmed with a mildly nervous but excited smile. You waved them off before you shut the door and accepted the drink from Lyra as your lovely night of rest and relaxation got underway.

--

The sound of your comm chirping woke you up from your peaceful slumber.

“Morning.”

“Good morning.” You teased as you heard the pained rasp in his voice. 

“No, it’s not.” Hunter grumbled.

“You sound like a ball of energy.” You quipped and the only reply you got was a disgruntled huff and it made you smile to yourself. “Sooo, how was your night?”

“I haven’t celebrated like that since our days as a fresh squad during the war. I don’t know how we did it.” Hunter responded with a weary sigh. 

“And here I thought you were trying to be sensible.” You taunted. 

“Somewhere between Tech insisting that he could make Crosshair a hand and trying to steal Echo’s to prove it whilst Wrecker kept trying to get the bartender to give us free drinks by challenging him to an arm wrestle and Shep lamenting over what’ll happen when Lyana gets married, I gave up.” Hunter through a groan.

You laughed, “Kinda wish I’d been there to see that. But how are your senses holding up? Your headache isn’t too painful, is it?” You asked with more genuine concern.

“I’m fine, this is nothing too overwhelming, I’ll be okay in a few hours.” Hunter reassured you. 

“Promise?”

“I promise. I knew what I was doing last night.” 

“Okay, good. And you had fun?” You double checked.

“Yes, I did.” Hunter admitted. 

“Omega will be delighted by that. I think she enjoyed this part of the wedding planning quite a bit.”

“Your night was good too then?”

“It was a nice time! We just chatted and ate good food- it was all very calm and fun. We all turned in at a reasonable hour. Oh, and Omega finally got permission from Lyra to see my dress, so she was very excited by that.”

“Sure, Omega’s allowed to see it.” Hunter grumbled with light-hearted seriousness. “Remind me why we let this tradition slide through?”

“Because the argument about an ex-Jedi marrying a genetically enhanced clone being about as untraditional as we could get was hard to dispute so we’re making up for it where we can and keeping the reveal until the day of falls into that category according to Omega.”

“Right,” Hunter griped, “I should’ve fought harder.”

“You have one more 24 hour wait.” You reminded him with a loving but exasperated sigh. 

“It’s not been as easy as it sounds. You’ve been overly secretive and non-informative about it for weeks now. Having the answer to my curiosity tucked away in our closet and being banned by every single person from seeing it has been a challenge; you do realise that?”

“Yes, because I live to torture you.” You said, playing into his dramatics.

“I can feel your eyes rolling.”

“Look, in all fairness, Lyra only finally decided she was finished with it a week ago. And of all the wedding traditions we’re doing, this is one I kinda like keeping. Besides, you’re getting your first dance tradition which is the one part of this whole thing I’m dreading.” You said lightly. 

“Hmm, that’s true. And I hear marriage is all about compromise.” Hunter said playfully.

“Exactly. This is just good practice.” You replied jokingly.

Hunter chuckled softly over the comm, “Well, I can hear the pained groans of the others so they’re waking up now, so I better go. I love you.”

“I love you too. Safe flight back.” You signed off and breathed deeply as you realised that after today, the day you’d been waiting for was almost here. 

--

Time passed by in a blur and before you knew it, you were waking up with the nervous butterflies in your stomach that signalled what was happening at sunset today. 

You had barely opened your eyes when your door burst open, and a bundle of blonde hair and excitement joined by a ball of fur were jumping on your bed and clambering in next to you.

“It’s wedding day! It’s finally time!”

“Are you sure?” You double checked teasingly as you pretended to pull your covers back and over your head.

“Yes!” Omega tugged on them and insistently shoved your shoulder. “You need to get up!” She whistled to Batcher and pointed to you. 

“I’m up, I’m up.” You said through a laugh as you avoided Batcher’s enthusiastic kisses and got vertical. “But you can relax, Omega, we have ages.” 

“Not according to my schedule.” Omega propped herself on her knees as she revealed her datapad and showed it to you. 

You scanned the list as you absentmindedly stroked Batcher’s side. “Okay that all looks good but what is that?” You indicated to the words with your name and ‘panic’ written side by side.

“My research said it is highly likely that a ‘freak out’ will occur once the time of the ceremony arrives, no matter how sure your feelings are. I’m just leaving it in as an option.” She said casually. 

“I’m not going to freak out,” You insisted, “I’m perfectly fine.”

“For now…”

“Omega!” You gasped in faux offence. 

“And, now you know there’s time if or when you need to.” She replied with coy indifference. 

“Seems like you’ve got this all figured out.” You observed with a smile.

“Tech and I coordinated so he’s keeping Hunter on track,” She told you proudly, “And don’t worry, his panic time is longer than yours.” 

“Great.” You replied dryly. 

She clapped her hands together, “Now, you can have fifteen minutes to yourself while I go get breakfast started.”

“Alright, you’re in charge, Omega.” You said fondly as she tossed her arms around you and squeezed you tight before hopping off the bed to signal it was time for the preparations to get underway. 

--

“You’re getting married today!” Lyra squealed in delight as soon as you opened the door.

“So, everyone keeps telling me.” You kidded as you stepped aside to let her and Phee in. 

“Right on time.” Omega stated with a satisfied nod as she came out of her room. 

“Between you and brown eyes, it would be impossible not to be.” Phee commented with a smile. 

“You all look great!” You said warmly as you took them all in and your heart swelled as you saw Omega in particular. She was growing up every day before your very eyes and it was both terrifying but beautiful. 

“Hush, we are not the focus here. Come on, let’s get you ready!” Lyra started shoving you towards your bedroom.

--

“Oh, this turned out better than I imagined!” Lyra said with a misty-eyed smile, “Phee, Omega, get in here!” She called out as she dabbed away the tears and re-opened your bedroom door. 

“You look amazing!” Omega cried joyously. 

“Okay, so can I look yet?” You asked nervously in response to Omega’s words and elated gasp and Phee’s wide smile. 

“Go ahead!” Lyra said excitedly. 

You took a deep breath and turned around to face the mirror in your room and you scarcely recognised the person staring back at you. You’d never been allowed to see this dress aside from getting a gauge of how it looked on you and even when it was done, you’d only seen how it had looked hanging up. 

This was the first time you’d been able to see it properly and it took your breath away. 

The silhouette complimented your body perfectly, the fabric was light enough for the Pabu climate but what really got to you was- as you angled yourself to see all side of it- the way the rays of late afternoon sunlight hit it and the tiny crystals scattered around the bodice and skirt glimmered a subtle red that matched a shade you were all too familiar with. “Lyra… it’s- I can’t believe- I don’t know what to say… it’s beautiful.” You said breathlessly. “Thank you, thank you so much!”

“I know.” She said, equally emotionally over seeing you in this. “Worth every hour of each day, the late nights and prick of a needle.” 

You laughed, “I’m glad.”

“Hunter won’t know what hit him when he sees you in this.” Lyra added as she couldn’t help herself and started adjusting bits and pieces of your ensemble. 

“Your dress is something new, the necklace from Lyra is your something borrowed. We’re missing your something old and something blue but that’s okay.” Omega said as she checked off the list.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that, kid.” Phee said smugly as she went to her stuff and brought out a small, wrapped box and handed it to you.

“What is this?” You said in confusion as you took the package from her but the familiar thrumming in your veins that you sensed as you held it got your heart practically started beating out your chest. With shaky hands, you opened it and inhaled sharply, “Phee… how did you- where did you find this?”

“Liberator of ancient wonders, remember? The people I got it from had already scrapped the hilt so couldn’t get all of it but figured this was the important thing.” Phee said kindly. 

“What is it?” Lyra asked curiously as she took it from you and tied it around your wrist.

“Something from my Jedi days.” You breathed as your blue kyber crystal hung delicately from the leather band. The comfort and familiarity it brought calmed your ever-increasing nerves as you realised it was almost time to go. “Thank you, Phee.”

Phee dipped her head in acknowledgment. “Tech helped me track it down.”

You were overwhelmed by the kindness that had been shown to you and the occasion of it all, but for once, it wasn’t a bad feeling. It only cemented how certain your feelings were and how sure you were that you wanted to do this, but you were only human, and the butterflies refused to die down. 

“Still fine?” Omega asked quietly. 

“Still fine.” You confirmed with a smile as you exhaled deeply to settle your nerves.

“Knew you would be.” Omega said as she wrapped her arms around your waist. 

“Okay, come on. I have to do a few touch ups.” Lyra said. 

“Lyra…” You groaned in an exaggerated fashion. 

“Don’t question me.” She said firmly as she guided you back to your room.

--

“It’s time to go.” Omega announced.

“Okay, okay I’m done!” Lyra said with a satisfied nod as she finished off. 

You took a deep breath as you got to your feet, but you smiled when you saw a familiar person standing ahead of you.

You playfully wolf whistled as you saw the lean figure standing in your living room donned in an all-black suit and tie. As always, Lyra knew what she was doing. “Looking sharp, Crosshair.”

Crosshair’s eyes widened slightly as he saw you step out before he gathered himself and hummed, “Not bad.”

“Not bad?” Lyra repeated with exasperated disdain. “That’s all you have to say?”

“I’m not the one marrying her.” Crosshair said with a shrug. 

“I’ll take it.” You said with a fond shake of your head. 

“Where are my credits?” Omega enquired gleefully as she bounded over to the clone. 

“Credits?” You repeated. 

“There may have been a wager on whether or not you would need the time to panic about today.” Omega revealed awkwardly. 

“You bet on us?” You said through a huff of laughter. 

“Omega was the only one that thought neither of you would if that helps.” Crosshair grumbled as he handed her the amount that she was due.

The fact Hunter hadn’t panicked either went a long way to steadying your nerves. “I guess?” You rolled your eyes and let it go because you honestly should’ve expected something like that from them before you realised you didn’t actually know why Crosshair had shown up, “Why are you here, though? Shouldn’t you be with Hunter right now?”

“The kid said you needed someone to walk you down.” Crosshair said airily.  

You narrowed your eyes at him before you asked Omega in confusion, “Thought Hunter was going to have all his brothers with him so we decided that I could walk myself?”

“You did, I didn’t. With Wrecker as best man, Echo as the officiant and Tech as the ring holder and creator, we had a role for Crosshair that wasn’t just groomsman.”

“So, I’ve been forced into this.” Crosshair pretended to be put out. 

But Omega wasn’t going to let him off that easily. “You volunteered!” She reminded him. “And you offered long before Hunter had even decided who was doing what.”

Crosshair sighed and glared at the young girl, “Thought we agreed to keep that between us.”

“Whoops.” Omega replied with a mischievous grin. 

“Aww Crosshair…” You teased lovingly as you made your way over to him. 

“I’ll take it back. I swear, I’ll walk out of here and you can forget about it.” Crosshair warned but he met your embrace. 

Thank you. You said as you hugged him. 

“Well, you’re family, it’s just how it goes.” Crosshair replied quietly before he released you. “Now, let’s get out of here so you can put my brother’s and I out of our misery.” 

“Thought you said he hadn’t freaked out today?” You asked distractedly, missing the pluralisation as you fiddled with your skirt. 

“He hasn’t. We just had to watch him pine over you for months on end. Today will finally bring an end to it.” Crosshair stated as he offered you his arm. 

You clued in then, “Oh, so this is as much for you as it is for us?” You kidded as you looped your arm through his. 

“Definitely.” Crosshair answered with a smirk before the group of you left to finally get things underway. 

With your entourage and family by your side as you made your way down to the beach, you finally started to feel calm and ready for this next stage in your life. 

--

Hunter, on the other hand, couldn't have calmed down if he tried. Sure, he’d disappointed his brothers in that he’d kept it together the entire day but that didn’t mean the nerves weren’t there. 

He stood restlessly at the end of the aisle, the emotions of the occasion combining into a perfect storm of nerves and excitement as he waited for you. 

Finally, the crowds had quieted down, and the overall feeling of bated breath from everyone around him told him that he wouldn't have to wait for much longer.

--

“Just don’t let me trip, Crosshair.” You requested through an unsteady exhale as the time arrived for you to make your way down the wooden platform that had been made to keep you from stepping on the uneven sand.

“Wouldn’t that be funny though?” 

You shot him a look. 

“Not a chance.” Crosshair reassured you sincerely.

With his nod of encouragement, you started to walk. 

--

As he caught the change in expression on his brothers’ faces, Hunter finally turned around to see you and his breath caught in his throat. Every anticipatory worry and nerve swiftly disappeared, and it made him feel rather light-headed which, mixed with how enthralled by the sight of you he was, made for an inconvenient combination. If it weren’t for Wrecker’s subtle act of support to prop him back up, he was certain that he would’ve staggered backwards. 

And as he realised what you making your way to him finally meant, he felt tears threaten to blur his vision and while he didn’t mind the display of emotion, he’d be damned if they were going to take away a single second of the breathtaking image of you walking towards him. He hastily wiped his eyes and collected himself. 

It was then he caught the way the sun hit the scattered jewels on your dress, and he saw the colour that reflected off of them. He darted his gaze over to Lyra who only offered him a smug smile and friendly wink before looking back at you.

--

Sure, the sunset was gorgeous and added a stunning golden backdrop as the beams of light reflected off the turquoise ocean water but as far as you were concerned, the background view was secondary to the one you cared about and that was the man standing ahead of you who was wearing the same black suit as the rest of his brothers but wearing it in a way that made your skin warm and your heart skip a beat. 

Everyone else faded away, your only focus was on the man in front of you and you’d never felt more ready for this next stage.

--

It felt like forever before you finally reached the end of the platform and into the waiting arms of the man you’d been waiting for your whole life. 

Crosshair smiled at the two of you before he handed you off and took his place next to his brothers. 

You passed your bouquet to Omega who hadn’t stopped smiling since she’d seen you this morning. 

Hi. You said with a loving grin. Was it worth the secrecy?

Hunter could only nod dumbly before he searched for words to actually articulate himself. “You- you- look-” Hunter swallowed down the lump in his throat and tried again, “You look beautiful.” He murmured quietly as he stroked his thumb across the backs of your hands. 

So do you. You comfortingly squeezed his in return as you felt the slight tremble in his grip. 

Hunter released a steadying breath as he let your touch ground him. 

“You two ready?” Echo asked quietly.

You both nodded and waited as Echo got the ceremony underway. 

--

“And now it’s time for the vows. Hunter, are you okay to start?” Echo double checked. 

Hunter nodded and, despite the butterflies in his stomach, this was the one part of today that he’d always been ready for. He exhaled steadily and started, “I was made for war. That’s all I knew, and I thought that was going to be my purpose for the rest of my life. I didn’t know any better and I didn’t think there was anything more I should look for. Then you came along, and everything changed. I suddenly realised that life didn’t have to be about living from one battle to the next, there was room for much more than that and you were the one I’d been waiting to have that with. And as much as I tried to deny myself those feelings in the beginning, I quickly realised that there’d never been a more pointless exercise than that. I’ve been yours for a long time, and I wouldn’t have it any other way. You can ask any one of our brothers and they’ll tell you the same thing. The fact that I argued against them for so long was probably far more stressful or frustrating than any battle.” 

You glanced at Echo who dipped his head affirmatively before you looked past Hunter’s shoulder to see the grinning and nodding faces from the rest of his brothers. You brought your sights back to Hunter with a bright smile. 

Hunter returned your grin before he carried on, “We’ve been through and survived a lot, perhaps too much, but we always found a way through it. And, although I wished they never had to happen in the first place, they reminded me of how much time we lost refusing to allow ourselves the reality of what this was, and I never want to do that again. We can’t get back the wasted months, but from this point on, I promise not to waste another moment with you. No matter what, you will have me by your side, whatever you need, whatever forever means for us, you’ll have it. I love you. I always have and I always will.”

You’d kept it together up until now but after that, after seeing the emotions behind his eyes and hearing the love and sincerity in his voice, your own body started to shake with emotion. You didn’t know how you were going to find the composure to speak. 

Hunter picked up on that and he took a closer step towards you. He cupped your cheek and nodded reassuringly as he waited patiently for you to go. “It’s just us here,” He whispered, “Take your time.”

You breathed deeply as you settled yourself. And with Hunter’s encouraging gaze and touch as your anchor, you were ready. “Before I left the Jedi Order, I thought I knew what family was but even when I was there, surrounded by people like me, I always knew there was something missing, but I was always taught to not seek something more out, to not pursue or let those feelings take a hold of me. And even though I argued against it, I still lived my life that way. So, when I decided to leave, I thought being on my own was the answer, that if I would be saving myself a lot of hurt and I wouldn’t have the disappointment of failing to find what I was searching for. Then I met you-” You paused for a second, “And Hunter, you shifted my world. Gravity was no longer my centre; it was all you. There was a time where feeling that way terrified me. I thought it was wrong, that it was a way to a darker path, so I kept trying to distance myself from it, but it was impossible because, no matter how hard I searched for it, there was never any darkness when it came to how I felt about you. You’ve always been my light, even when I didn’t realise it, you brought me back to life and showed me a different way to exist. I knew you were the person I’d been waiting for. You talk about how obvious your feelings were to the people around you, trust me when I say that you weren’t alone. Your brothers didn’t let me off the hook when it came to you either and I don’t even mind admitting now that they were so obviously right.” You added light-heartedly which got a hum of laughter from both Hunter and everyone else. You carried on more seriously into your last part, “I love you, Hunter, I love your kindness, your compassion, your strength. With every fibre of my being, I love you. I can’t wait for the future we’re going to have together. I’m yours too, I always have been. Whatever this next part in our life sees, I promise that I won’t ever stop loving you. You have my heart, my support, and that won’t ever change.” You promised through a choked breath as your feelings threatened to overwhelm you. 

Hunter felt his heart tighten in his chest as your words hit him and now, he was finding himself looking forward to the next part getting wrapped up because every irritating second, he spent not married or closer to you was getting harder to patiently ignore.  

Echo found himself getting affected by the occasion and emotions of the two of you so he quickly cleared his throat and got onto the next part, “Hunter, do you take (Y/N) to be your wife for as long as you both shall live?”

“I do.” Hunter said and he’d never felt more certain in his words as he accepted one of the rings from Tech tenderly placed it on your finger.

Wrecker and Lyra both wiped tears away from their eyes. 

“And (Y/N), do you take Hunter to be your husband for as long as you both shall live?” Echo asked. 

“I do.” You said as well, and you’d never felt more at peace than you did after saying that phrase. You took the gold ring from Tech to place on Hunter’s finger and it was then you noticed a small 99 and your lightsaber hilt had been engraved on the band. You looked to Tech who simply offered a nod and a warm smile. 

Hunter impatiently looked at Echo as you let his hand go. 

“Go ahead.” Echo said with an affectionate eye roll. 

The two of you didn’t hesitate. Hunter cradled your jaw and kissed you within an instant and you needed no prompting to press yourself against him. You flung your arms around his neck as the two of you shared in a short but passionate embrace while the whoops and cheers of the crowd sounded around you and somewhere in between Echo officially announced the two of you. 

When you pulled apart, you were instantly embraced by your family and the seven of you shared in the moment before you and Hunter led the way back down the aisle and to Upper Pabu. 

--

The walk up to the colonnade was one that felt remarkably serene and calming since the citizens of Pabu had laid petals from the Maya tree on the ground in preparation for your ascent. 

“Any regrets?” Hunter whispered into your hair as he kept you tight to his side as the two of you walked. 

Not a single one. You said emphatically as the two of you reached the top and shared in one more kiss before the band started playing and the celebrations could officially begin. 

--

The after party was well under way and you and Hunter were doing your part to speak to and thank as many people as you could. 

“Congratulations you two!”

“Thank you, Shep.” You replied warmly as you hugged him tightly, “For everything you’ve done for us, it means a lot!” You pulled back so he could move on to Hunter. 

“Couldn’t have had this without you.” Hunter agreed as he went to shake the jolly man’s hand but was instead pulled into a bone crushing embrace. 

“Just wait, soon it’ll be Lyana’s turn.” You teased as he released Hunter, “I heard that future thought came up quite a bit a couple days ago.”

“Maybe but don’t forget your situation too… what about when it’s Omega’s?” Shep retorted fondly. 

Oh. Right. You and Hunter shared a terrified look. That was a quick way to turn the tables on your playful banter and it left you both scrambling for anything to say in response. 

“Uh huh. Think about that one.” Shep kidded smugly as he rested a strong, supportive hand on both your shoulders before he walked away.

You and Hunter both searched the dancing crowds and found Omega dancing happily with Wrecker, Lyana, Mox, Deke and Stak, and you knew Shep’s words were going to stick with you for some time. “

“We still have years and years, right?” You asked Hunter fretfully. 

“Yeah… and longer if I have anything to do with it.”

He said the words seriously, but you knew him well enough to understand that neither of you would get in the way of her future happiness, however you could still view that time with a certain degree of apprehension. You glanced at him with a warm smile. I love you for that. 

Hunter returned your smile before thankfully; a new voice broke you both out of your thoughts. 

“I’m sorry but we gotta head out. Congratulations to you both.” Rex said sincerely as he and Gregor approached you. 

You let Hunter bid Rex farewell first and you said goodbye to Gregor. 

“Well, beautiful, you’re leaving me broken-hearted.” Gregor said unhappily but there was a kind smile on his face.

“I’m sure you’ll recover just fine, Gregor.” You said with a fond smile as you hugged him before you hugged Rex, “Thank you both so much for making it out here!”

“I only wish we could stay longer.” Rex said apologetically.

“We understand.” Hunter reassured him with you nodding in agreement. 

“And you’re definitely okay with Echo joining you two later?” You double checked.

It was Rex’s turn to nod. “He’ll meet us at the rendezvous tomorrow. We’ll be fine.”

Gregor tossed Hunter a mischievous grin before he said conspiratorially to you, “Sure I can’t convince you to come along, beautiful? We can get this thing annulled in-”

“Would you stop that?” Hunter griped as he tucked you into his side even though he knew the likelihood of you actually leaving in any way was non-existent but even the thought illogically grated on his nerves. “I have never once found this in any way amusing.”

“Yeah, but you react every time. Can’t help myself.” Gregor said with a laugh. 

You leaned your head on Hunter’s shoulder and placed your left hand on his chest, your rings proudly on display. “Sorry Gregor, I’m very happy with my decision.”

Gregor shrugged. “Can’t blame a guy for trying.”

“Pretty sure what you’re doing actually qualifies as harassment.” Hunter grumbled under his breath, but he was smiling at his brother. 

You chuckled softly as you shook your head affectionately at your husband. You’re always my choice.

“We’ll get out of your hair.” Rex said as he saw the way Hunter’s face softened as he glanced down at you. He tugged on Gregor’s arm, “Good luck you two.”

“Same to you, Rex.” You said genuinely.

“Stay safe out there.” Hunter added before they walked away. 

--

So far, everything about this celebration had been easy and fun and you’d been enjoying sitting at your table and talking to your family but that was all ruined as the time you dreaded finally arrived. 

“What did we decide about Plan 42?” You muttered hastily to Omega who only shook her head at you and left it to Tech to answer. 

“Since this is not in fact a hostage situation, the parameters of the plan do not apply here.” Tech stated matter-of-factly. 

“Go on, I’m sure you won’t be that bad!” Wrecker encouraged enthusiastically. 

“You’ve survived much worse.” Echo pointed out. 

“And I need the entertainment of watching this anyway.” Crosshair added. 

“I hate all of you right now.” You groaned.

“You’ve managed before.” Hunter said with an affectionate roll of his eyes as he took a hold of your hand. 

“We barely moved, and something tells me that’s less of an option here.” You countered as you reluctantly let him tug you to your feet. 

“You, my gorgeous and amazing wife, are incredibly capable and have lived through several attempts on your life. You will get through this.” Hunter said with great seriousness in his voice though his eyes twinkled with humour. 

The use of that particular word sent a pleasurable shiver down your spine. “See, I can’t argue when you say things like that.” You mumbled as you walked beside him. 

“Why do you think I say them?” He quipped lightly in return as he squeezed your hand. 

Ah so there was always an ulterior motive. Here I was thinking it was just cause you love me. You replied with a playful frown but with every step towards the centre of the colonnade, your heartbeat grew more and more frantic. 

“Well, there’s that too.” Hunter responded good-naturedly but when you reached the centre, he noticed you already staring at the ground and twisting the rings on your finger in an anxious panic. He delicately placed his fingers under your chin and tilted your head up “Hey, remember what I said earlier today. It’s just you and I here, no one else. I’ve got you, okay?”

The sweet melody of the music started to play, and you saw the trust and love in his warm, brown eyes and they grounded you. You took a deep breath and nodded as you grabbed a hold on his hand and rested the other hand on his shoulder and started to move. 

--

The fact that Hunter knew what he was doing, and you knew you could count on him to not make you look like a fool made it much easier for you to relax into this and you were doing much better than the last time you were in this position, and you could feel yourself enjoying it now. 

Hunter spun you around, much to the delight of the crowd, and as he brought you back in, dipped you backwards. “Told you, you’re doing just fine.” He uttered tenderly as he pulled you upright and placed a quick kiss to your lips. 

“Well, I have a pretty good partner.” You said softly as you let yourself follow his lead and dance smoothly around the space. 

Hunter grinned at you before he twirled you away from him but instead of pulling you back against him, this time he let your hand go and backed away. 

“What-” But before you could finish your sentence, a pair of hands caught you. You glanced up to see the beaming face of Wrecker looking down at you. Wrecker, what are you-

“You didn’t think Hunter was the only one that wanted this tradition to stay in, did you?”

“I don’t understand?” You queried as the two of you took a turn about the floor. 

But Wrecker ignored your question and enacted phase two of what this part of the tradition was really for. He kept you slowly spinning around the floor before he started his piece, “I’ve been there for both the good and the bad of what the two of you had to experience. And, especially after Ord Mantell, it was hard, it was really hard to watch him go through that. But you need to know that it wasn’t just him… I missed you too. I’m really glad you decided to take Hunter up on his offer on Devaron. No matter what this marriage with Hunter has in store for you, you ain’t getting rid of us any time soon.” Wrecker finished off; his voice gruff with emotion before he whirled you around and released his grip. 

Wrecker, I- But you barely had any time to process what was going on before you Echo was the one now holding you. 

“Instead of a speech, we all decided to do this instead.” Echo explained as he had his turn with you. 

Oh. Was all you could manage to say. You didn’t trust yourself to speak out loud for the moment. 

“I hadn’t been around this squad for a long time before we met you, but I like to think I knew them all pretty well and seeing how Hunter was around you and vice versa, I just knew you two had something. It was tough to watch you both refuse it for so long and when you finally acknowledged it, I truly didn’t think it would get much better for you two, but it did and I’m so happy for you. But you need to also know that it wasn’t just him, you got something out of all of us. You filled a gap I don’t think he or any of us really realised we needed filled until you stepped aboard that ship.” Echo removed himself and jutted his chin in the direction behind you. 

You turned into the waiting arms of the next one who turned out to be Tech. All of you are really doing this?

“It was unanimously agreed.” Tech responded with a small grin before he said his piece, “Your feelings for Hunter and his for you were obvious from the start, that’s not what I’m here to convey tonight but I do have something to say that I feel is crucial for you to understand. Now, unfortunately I don’t have the exact data to hand, but I have observed this for quite some time,” Tech raised his arm, so you had to duck and spin under it before he brought his hand back to your waist, “You have a pattern of using the word ‘your’ when referring to us as Hunter’s brothers. I don’t think we have said it enough but, despite the official nature of today that cements this fact, you were a part of our family long before this day. We’re your brothers too.” Tech said with affectionate sincerity before he let you go into the waiting hand of the next one in line.

You kept one hand intertwined with his whilst the other rested on his forearm. “So, even you agreed to this huh?” You asked Crosshair with an amused smile but much to your surprise, this time he didn’t play into the joke, he just regarded you with genuine- almost tender- seriousness. 

Crosshair exhaled a short breath before he started, “We weren’t really accepted by the regs and although we owned that, it wasn’t always easy, especially in the beginning. But then you came along, and you took us for what we were. I kept expecting you to realise the extent of the craziness that you’d signed up for and leave but you never did. You just fit. Hunter’s idea to ask you to join us was probably one of his best ones. And it wasn’t only that, you and Hunter worked on a level I’d never seen before. But you’re not just his perfect match you know, you were meant to be a Bad Batcher.” Crosshair said quietly with a smile before he let you go and walked away. 

The final person was considerably shorter than the rest of them so instead of dancing, you crouched down to be eye-level with the young girl. 

“When I was on Kamino, I didn’t hear much of anything about the war or the rest of the galaxy, but I always knew about this squad. And when I heard about you, I knew I had to finally find a way to meet you all again. I may have been new to the group, but I watched you. I watched you with Hunter and it was clear how much you loved each other. But it was also clear how much love you and the rest of the squad have for one another. I wasn’t just joining a squad; I was joining a family filled with people I admire. You have a bit of all of them in you and if I grow up to be anything like the person you are, I know I’ll be living my life right.” Omega said meaningfully, her voice choking up slightly as she finished. 

You hugged her tightly. “Thank you, Omega.” You whispered, your voice clogged with emotion. 

Omega let you go and smiled at you before she retreated backwards into the group of them, and she felt Tech’s hands on her shoulders. 

You straightened up and stared at the group of six people that formed your beautiful, wonderful family and you didn’t know what you’d done to deserve them or this happy ending. “Okay, this isn’t fair,” You said through a weepy-eyed smile, “I was doing a really good job of keeping it together until now.” You dabbed away the happy tears that had fallen down your cheeks. 

Hunter stepped towards you and kissed your brow before he pressed his forehead against yours. “Marrying you has been the best decision I’ve ever made and it’s an adventure I have been ready to take with you for a while, no matter how bumpy it could get, and I never want you to think otherwise. But I know you, and I know the doubt and anxiety can creep in regardless. If through the years, you ever need reassurance on how much I love you or how important you are to this family, there are plenty of people who would be willing to remind you.”

A sob mixed with a noise of elation sounded from your lips and you tugged on his tie to bring him closer as you kissed him deeply, tangling your fingers in his hair. 

Hunter reacted instantly. He placed his hands on your hips and pressed you tight against him but even as the party raged on around you, at this moment, it was just the two of you now and everything had never felt so right. 

--

The celebrations had finally drawn to a close and you were making your way home, happy laughs and chatter filling the silent night of Pabu as you walked back with your family. 

You and Hunter reached your home first and paused outside your door to say your goodbyes to everyone first. 

As the group of you split off, you remembered the final thing you had to say today. 

“Lyra?” You called after her.

Lyra turned around expectantly.

“Thank you. For everything you’ve done for me. I never thought meeting you on Ord Mantell would lead to having a friend like you but I’m very grateful it did. Thank you for being a part of my life.”

Lyra smiled and hugged you tightly. “I’m very glad to be in it. Oh, and don’t forget, I know that you’re finally using the gifts I got you, so I want the details when you're back.” She whispered to you, a mischievous tone in her voice.  

You’d forgotten you’d told her about that idea, and you had to be sure to conceal your reaction and merely nodded and returned her necklace before she winked and walked away from you.

--

“Hey, can you do something for me?” You asked as the group faded into the distance. 

Hunter glanced at you with a questioning look on his face.

The future isn’t always certain, I know that, but please don’t fall out of love with me. 

Hunter huffed out an affectionate laugh and tugged you to his chest as he uttered into your hair, “There’s no chance of that. I will fall in love with you over and over again.”

“Promise?”

“I promise. I don’t care how, where or when.”

“No matter how long it’s been?” You questioned teasingly as you slowly kissed up the column of his throat.

“Mmhmm.” He murmured as he got lost in the sensation of your lips on his skin before he took a small step back and cupped your cheek as he looked into your eyes. 

The slight coolness and weight of the gold band against the skin of your cheek made your breath hitch and the small act was enough to ignite the simmering tension that had been building between you since the ceremony. 

“You’re mine.” You both said in unison before you met each other in a passionate embrace and Hunter all but kicked the door to your home down before backing you inside.

--

Muscle memory guided the way to your bedroom and despite the eager and frantic noises that sounded from you both as you kissed each other, when it came to turning you around and undoing the buttons on the back of your dress, Hunter was careful- almost delicate- in his touch. As your skin was revealed to him, he managed to plant a few adoring kisses to the fading scars on your back before you turned around and placed a hand on his chest to halt him from going any further. 

“Wait a moment.” You requested breathlessly but you saw the flash of confusion in his eyes. “I won’t be long. There’s just something I need to do first.” You assured him. 

Shoulders heaving, Hunter dipped his head in acknowledgement of your wish and dazedly retreated out of the room.

--

You shut the door and took a breath for courage as you took your dress off and hung it up in your closet before you studied your reflection as you were left standing in the final white lingerie set that Lyra had gifted you. If Hunter’s reactions to the red and black ones were any indication, you knew this would go down just as well- it was the second part of your plan that had you wondering about how long his patience would last and you couldn’t wait to put it to the test. 

Feeling good, you donned your robe and, leaving it untied, you reached into your nightstand and removed the small black velvet bag that, along with other items that could be used at a different time, had the particular one you were searching for. 

Feeling ready, you reopened the door.

--

Hunter only got as far as taking off his shoes and undoing his tie before the door reopened and he stopped everything he was doing and just stared at you. 

It wasn’t just the striking image of you in the white lingerie that had him rooted to the spot, he’d also clocked the object you were holding in your hand. His breath hitched. “Sweetheart…” His tone was cautionary because already his self-control was evaporating and his own plan was forming in his head but he had a feeling he wasn’t going to be involved as much as he wanted to be.

You gestured to the small bag you now left open on top of your bedside table. “I’ll admit, I was a bit unsure when I first saw this as one of the things in there but after finding what worked for me, I understand why Lyra included it.” You responded, your voice low and enticing as you kept his attention entirely fixed on you. 

“When- when have you used this?” Hunter said, his voice hoarse as the images were enough to make his head spin. He couldn’t help himself either and he closed the gap between you before he immediately removed the robe and traced his mouth along your neck and across your collarbone. His hands caressed the fabric that graced your body. 

Your eyes flickered shut and a content sigh emitted from your lips. “Some nights you were home late and I just couldn’t wait.” 

In response to your words, Hunter ground out a groan against your throat and his hands tightened their grip on your hips but from the way you took a hold of his wrists, he was beginning to understand that was as far as he was going to get with you for the moment. 

“Remember what I said about not falling out of love with me?” You asked as you found your composure once more. 

Hunter nodded slowly as he waited for you to elaborate and then you said the words that made him feel immediately faint and all he could register was the primal desire that was coursing through his veins as he got clarity on your intentions. 

“I want you to wait. And I want you to watch. Can you be good and do that for me?” You crooned against his lips before you kissed him seductively and you watched the change in his eyes as your words registered with him. 

A noise that was mixed with agreement and anguish left his lips as he could do nothing to prevent you from removing yourself and taking your place on the bed. 

Feeling emboldened by his reaction, you offered him a coy smirk and laid down. You turned it on and a sharp gasp that swiftly morphed into a groan left your mouth as you ran the toy down your clothed chest, and further still, teasing yourself in the areas that heightened the arousal coursing through your veins. 

“Talk to me. Tell me what you’re thinking about.” Hunter begged. He needed to know what you were thinking about if he had any hope of standing by and waiting for your permission to touch you. 

Now that was something you had no trouble divulging. “I always imagine you. I imagine your touch, your lips on my skin.”

In a bizarre way, that was the last thing he wanted to hear. He’d hoped for some generic fantasy, something different that could aid him in distancing himself from the moment so he could just enjoy the view but he was now unable to do that. Those words were not helpful in quelling his ever rising need for you. “Sweetheart, please…” Hunter croaked as he could barely find the strength within him to stay standing. Hearing and seeing you like this was sending every part of him into overdrive. 

But you just about managed to shake your head as you kept going, “I imagine your fingers, your tongue, how right it feels when you’re inside of me.” Your words left you through breathless, pleasure induced whispers and your hips bucked as you finally pulled your underwear to the side and applied pressure with the toy where you were also craving his touch. Hunter’s quiet but eager words of encouragement only spurned you on. You kept changing the pace and vibrations so you could prolong the experience. You didn’t mind toying with him or teasing yourself, you knew it would only lead to the reaction from him that you were hoping for. 

Hunter’s mouth felt like it was filled with cotton but he just about managed to gain control of his faculties to reply, “What was that you said about living to torture me?” He rasped, the raw, unfiltered desperation in his voice seeping through as he watched you in utter awe. He sank to his knees at the end of the bed, fingers clawing at the sheets as he forced himself to follow your instructions. His gaze alternated between what was happening between your legs and the expression on your face as you took control over your own pleasure. It was a sight that set his blood on fire but what he was watching was like no test he’d ever faced before, and he would give anything to do this with you, no matter how small a contribution it would be. 

You couldn't find the words to reply for the moment. You were careening towards that cliff-edge that would bring your unbridled relief and you couldn’t bring yourself to delay it any further. 

Hunter immediately recognised the change in your breath and the crinkle in your brow and he couldn’t wait any longer. His patience snapped and he grabbed a hold of your wrist to stop you from going any further. He crawled up your body and kissed you fiercely, muffling your sounds of protest. He pinned your arms above your head, all the while never breaking away from your lips and the slow grind of his hips served as a temporary relief for him as well as an easy and pleasurable distraction for you as he worked the toy out of your grasp. 

Hey- You started to argue as you realised what he’d done.  

“My turn.” Hunter growled against your throat as he sucked a mark on your pulse point, relishing in your quiet moan and the way your body arched under his in response to the action. He found the strength to remove himself from you and alter your places, so he was against the headboard of the bed and your back was against his chest. He angled your head to face straight ahead. “I’m not the only one who should be watching,” He murmured into your ear, “I want you to see how stunning you are and why I can’t control myself around you. You, my perfect wife, are a sight to behold.” With that, he raked his teeth across the skin of your neck and reapplied the toy to where he was longing to be but for now, he would resist. He wanted to have his way with you like this first.

You watched yourself in the bureau mirror and your breath quivered at the sight. Not only was there something particularly and devastatingly arousing about the fact that Hunter was still fully dressed in his immaculate suit while you were wearing next to nothing. But what also added to the excitement was that you had never seen yourself like this and you finally grasped what he was talking about. You couldn’t take your eyes away from your reflection. Your pupils were blown wide, your lips were parted in a perfect ‘o’ shape and your body slotted against his like you were made to be with him. 

Hunter rested his chin on the crook of your neck and watched as your spine bent to his every design, watching your face carefully as he worked the toy between your legs. The noises leaving you fuelling his need to make this an unforgettable experience. “These sounds you make, they’re better than any noise I’ve heard before…. that furrow in your brow, the way your lips part when you can’t stay quiet… the tension in your body I feel before you find relief… all of it is something I can’t believe I get to witness or that I get to create.” Hunter said the words in a frenzied state of passion and he needed to make sure you also understood. “Do you see why I’m so glad to call you mine? Do you see how beautiful you are?”

“Yes.” You agreed with a broken groan as your hips chased the sensations he was giving you. 

He removed the toy, ignoring your faint mewl of annoyance. “Who are you?” Hunter growled as he nipped on your earlobe. 

“I’m your wife.” You gasped, practically delirious with the effect he was having on you.

Hunter hummed his approval and put the toy back, grinning against your jaw as he kissed a sensual path along it before he asked next, “And who am I?”

“You’re my husband.” You panted as you saw the way his ring reflected in the evening light. 

Yes he was. And that was never going to change. “Come for your husband.”

You fell apart with a loud cry and panted breathlessly as you sagged against his chest, but he wasn’t done with you yet. “Hunter-” You choked on your words as he kept going. You went to snap your legs shut but the way he’d entangled his legs with yours made the act impossible. You were completely at his mercy, and you couldn’t think of anything better. As you kept your eyes fixed on your two reflections, you saw the hunger in them and you couldn’t believe you’d spent so long denying yourself these feelings you had for him but you couldn’t linger on those thoughts as you felt yourself stumbling towards another release. Another shout emitted from your lips as that build up of wonderful pressure crashed through you.

As he worked you through the second one, another idea entered Hunter’s head and he kissed the sensitive spot behind your ear. “I wonder how many times I can make you finish with this.” He purred with seductive intent but he allowed you a moment to recover as he traced his lips over any skin he could reach.  

A whimper left you at the very thought but that wasn’t what you wanted yet. You wanted to feel him, you craved the feeling of him inside you. You wanted your husband. You used your freedom to turn and straddle him. “For the next two weeks, you can do whatever you want. But I need you. Now.” You insisted breathlessly against his lips as you practically tore his jacket off and frantically got to work on unbuttoning his shirt. 

It hit him then. Two weeks. He had two weeks of pure relaxation with you. One week here, and one away on the neighbouring island planet that he’d been to a couple days ago upon Shep’s safety recommendation and he’d seen for himself how little the people there cared for or even paid attention to the Empire. 

There’d be no interruptions.

No jobs needing done. 

Just him and you. 

Alone. 

And the thought excited him much more than he’d anticipated. With a low, eager groan, he let go of the toy, wrapped his arms around you and captured your lips in a searing kiss and helped aid you in your attempts to undress him before he did the same for you. 

You raised your hips before carefully bringing them back down to welcome him as your bodies became one, the sensation making both your breath’s catch in your throat. 

Hunter kept you secure for a second as your hips became flush with his. He needed a moment to compose himself and he also wanted to give you time to adjust. He tenderly tucked the dishevelled strands of hair back from your face and looked into your eyes and he saw a love that he knew was reflected in the way he looked at you too- and it wasn’t an expression that was just for tonight but it was one that you shared for as long as you’d known one another. He couldn’t believe how there’d been a time where he thought feeling this happy, feeling this much love wasn't a possibility for either of you. “Tell me when.” He requested, his voice strained. 

Move. Please. You gave your consent instantly as you kissed him once more and finally, he loosened his grip and the act gave you both what you were longing for. 

The two of you moved in perfect synchronisation, swallowing each other’s groans with loving, passionate kisses. 

There was nothing but pure, unfiltered love between the two of you as you got lost in the pleasure induced haze you were gifting one another. 

“Sweetheart, I- I can’t- I’m-” Hunter stammered desperately as he moved his hips in tandem with yours. He’d already been close to the edge when he was both watching and participating in your little game and he didn’t know how much longer he could hold out with how perfect you felt now but he needed you to finish one more time. He needed to feel you come apart again. 

You recognised the change in his pace and you knew he was nearing that same point you were. “With me.” You encouraged as you twisted your fingers in his hair to ground you as you were tumbling towards that moment of ecstasy. 

Hunter felt you tighten around him which only brought on his own release. He buried his face in your chest as he finished with a deep moan.

You collapsed against his chest and for a moment, the only sounds that filled the air were your uneven pants and the island critters that came alive at this time of night. Wow, that- I- I don’t know what else to say other than that.

Hunter huffed out a laugh. “When we go away, bring that bag with you.” He requested into the quiet through heavy breaths as he stroked your back.

You chuckled softly as you rested your head against him and worked on catching your own breath. “So, Sergeant, now that you’ve made an honest woman out of me, what’s the plan for the next 14 days?”

“Keeping you in bed is a key part of my agenda.” He said with complete seriousness. 

A rush of arousal swept through your body at that thought. “We’ll need to eat at some point.” You pointed out with playful logic, a smile in your voice as you listened to his heartbeat. 

“Oh, I will… We know the counters here are strong enough anyway…” Hunter mused as his hands now slid up and down your sides. 

You raised yourself to catch the gleam in his eye and you shook your head fondly. “You know that’s not what I meant.”

Hunter hummed out a soft laugh and made a path of kisses from the tip of your nose, to the hollow of your throat before he switched your positions, so he was now on top of you. “The second part of my plan is making sure I make you as happy as you make me.”

Your fingers stroked through the small pieces of his fringe before you threaded your fingers in his dark locks. “You’ve already done that and more. I’ve never been happier.” You said with deep sincerity, and you kissed him gently, the promise of your new life together implicitly understood in the tender way you met the passionate, loving strokes of his mouth. 

Finally, you felt utterly complete and at peace.

--

Ten years later

The moonlight was her only guide as she walked the familiar path to the cave.

She quietly made her way into the cavern and to her new ship that was finally ready to fly. 

She didn’t feel great about leaving in the dead of night without saying a proper goodbye but her mind was made up and she couldn’t face any more debates. 

She was going and that was that. She knew you’d all accept her choice in time. 

–

As she entered and crouched down to turn the lamps on, she heard a faint bark and as she followed the source of the sound, she realised she wasn’t alone after all.

Of course, she should’ve known the couple that consisted of a Jedi and a clone with enhanced senses would make it impossible to do anything sneakily. 

She fondly shook her head and made her way over to where you two were sitting by the area of the cave that looked out through and opening to where the moonlight and ocean met.  

–

“Thought you could just sneak off?” Hunter said with an amused lilt to his voice before he sighed as he realised there was no changing what was about to happen. “Time hasn’t dulled all my senses.”

“And older Jedi or now, you forget that we know you pretty well by now.” You pointed out with a kind smile from Hunter’s left. 

Omega sat down on Hunter’s other side. “This shouldn’t be a surprise. The Rebellion needs pilots now more than ever.” 

Hunter simply released a resigned sigh. 

“I’ve made my choice, Hunter. I want to do more.” 

“And we want to keep you safe.” 

A light huff of laughter left her lips. Some things time never changed and Hunter’s protective nature was one of those things. “You have but I’m not a kid anymore. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“Oh, come on, Omega. You know we can’t do that.” You reminded her with a slight smile. You were prepared for this but the reality of it was always going to be hard to handle. 

Hunter nodded his agreement with your statement before he said to her, “You’re our kid, Omega. You always will be.”

She glanced at you “Hunter, you’ve all fought enough. This is my fight. I’m ready.” She needed him to understand that or she’d be leaving with a heavy heart. Omega looked to you for confirmation that he was finally ready to let her go as you were the only one during the beginning of all the back and forth that had immediately shown a willingness to hear her out. 

He’s not here to stop you but let him have a bit longer with you, okay? You requested gently and you saw her give you a subtle dip of her head that she’d heard you.

“Yeah I know you are, but I’m not.” Hunter admitted with a deep sigh. He registered your hand squeezing his knee in comfort. 

My love, it’s time. You said delicately.

Hunter released a shaky exhale before you all got to your feet.

Omega gave Hunter a warm embrace before she pulled back but left her hands on his shoulders. “Keep an eye on the others while I’m gone. Batcher too.” Omega instructed with a sad but also content smile. Leaving was never going to be easy but at least now she had the blessing of those that mattered most to her.

You took your turn and squeezed her tight. Take this.

Omega’s eyes widened as she parted from you and saw what you were holding. “No, I can’t. It’s-”

“I want you to have it, Omega.” You insisted as you tied the bracelet with your blue kyber crystal attached to it. I love you, kid and I know you won’t exactly have time for a weekly comm chat but this way, I’ll always know where you are.

Omega gave you a happy but slightly teary-eyed smile as she nodded her acceptance of the gift. 

The three of you shared in a final group hug before you separated for the last time.

“Off you go.” Hunter encouraged with a sad but accepting grin.

Omega darted up the steps of her ship.

“Omega…” 

She half turned to face Hunter again.

“If you ever need us, we’ll be there.” He promised as he wrapped his arm around you and squeezed your shoulder. 

“Just say where and when.” You affirmed passionately. 

Omega nodded and powered up the shift and she’d never felt more ready for this next adventure. With a final wave of farewell from the cockpit, she got the ship in the air.

In response to Batcher’s quiet whine as the ship took off, Hunter reassured the hound, “It’s alright, girl. She’ll be fine.” 

“They won’t know what hit them.” You said proudly as you watched the ship fade into the distance. 

“The Empire or the Rebellion?” Hunter quipped.

“Both.” You replied with a smile. “Come on. We’ve got our family to get back too.” You intertwined your hands and the two of you and your faithful hound companion left the cavern. 

–

“So, now that one of our own is off on the next adventure, are you still liking the boring, domestic life?” Hunter asked light-heartedly as the two of you made your way back to your home.

You paused and looped your arms around his neck with a doting smile. “I love my boring, domestic life and you forget, this life has my handsome husband in it and I would be crazy if I wanted anything different.” You replied sincerely. 

Hunter offered you a small, playful smirk. “Still handsome huh? Don’t you mean old?”

You arched a sceptical brow. Surely he wasn’t serious? Your eyes hungrily scanned the healthy body of a man that didn’t have to live battle to battle or ration to ration and the grown out hair that had beautiful streaks of light grey mixed in with the dark brown locks. And the beard? You didn’t have enough words or time to even express how well that worked for him. He never failed to get your heart racing, no matter how much time passed. “Have you seen yourself, Hunter? It’s actually unfair how good you look.”

Hunter returned your smile and placed his hands on your waist and pulled you closer to him. He nuzzled the side of your face as he murmured, “You get my heart racing too.”

You chuckled softly- you knew he would’ve sensed the increase in your heartbeat. You kissed him tenderly in response before the two of you walked on. 

You ruminated in your thoughts as your home drew nearer. Omega wasn’t a kid anymore, this decision was hers to make and she had all the support behind her. Would you all worry? Of course you would, that was a given no matter what she was signing up for but she had proven time and time again that she could take care of herself. Your paths may be different now but family was the only thing you could always count on and no matter where any of you ended up, that was a certainty that was never going to fade with time. 

Tagging: @noeasyisnoisy, @andreaaxy, @moonychicky, @notgonnaedit, @arctrooper69, @dizzy-9906, @nightmonkeysstuff, @allthingsimagines, @thegreymarveljedi, @jellybeanstacey0519, @callsign-denmark, @superbookishhufflepuff, @qvnthesia, @justsomerandompersonintheworld, @ooostarwarsfandom501st, @dreamsight73, @yourreababboon, @livin-life-to-the-coolest

[crystallinecardinal]

“The strings are wrapped around you,” or, a discussion about Truthless Recluse, Pure Vanilla, and an idea of an awakening

One of the things I’ve been hung up on ever since finishing A Game of Truth and Deceit’s story is the fact that the things Truthless Recluse says does not feel exactly in character for Pure Vanilla. I’m sure this is the point. You’re supposed to get that feeling out of hearing him, Gingerbrave even directly points it out.

So, other than the corruption, why the so sudden change? Why is he suddenly turning against everyone? And most importantly, how is he supposed to get out of it?

Or, a CRK analysis/theory of sorts regarding Beast-Yeast episode 7, as well as how episode 8 might go, split into sections below the cut.

1 - An Introduction

I will start off by saying that before this update came out, I was one of the people adamant that Pure Vanilla was not going to end up corrupted. Not because I didn’t want anything bad to happen to him, but because I couldn’t see a reason why.

For as much as Shadow Milk could break him, dig into his biggest fears and insecurities and make them appear real, there wasn’t a reason to me for him to suddenly turn against everyone on his own— not when those around him had consistently helped him, bringing him out of what might have been the worst dips of his bad mental state. Not unless Shadow Milk was able to really manipulate him into it.

Then again, I knew what Shadow Milk could do. I knew he could control the will of other cookies (seen with the faerie cookies), and disguise himself in another form (see: every time he impersonates the Light of Truth). I also knew Pure Vanilla would be vulnerable to him, both with the bad mental state, and by the fact that the first time they encountered each other, he was already struggling. The right strings being pulled could just make him snap.

And then, I saw Truthless Recluse. And I lost my mind.

So, the point of all this. I had been TERRIFIED before this update how Pure Vanilla would fall. I thought he’d have his sense of self broken, all his emotions toyed with, sure, but I wasn’t ready for a FULL CORRUPTION. Then I got to thinking: it’s been a pattern this happens, right? In the Ancient vs Beast chapters, they encounter each other, fight in some way, and the Ancient somehow loses their connection to their respective Light. They only awaken after, picking themself back up from the brink of defeat. And we already know Awakened Pure Vanilla exists, so that leaves the question: how do you help him? How does he come back from where he is now? How does he awaken if he’s already been “defeated?”

That’s what I’m here to discuss.

2 - The Spider-Man meme problem

So! Fortune Teller. That guy.

Almost everyone I saw took one look at him in the trailers and KNEW he was Pure Vanilla. Had to be. The voice was the same, appearance the same, motifs the same, the character design was a pretty big giveaway. If it walks like a duck, talks like a duck, yknow. It’s probably a duck.

And that presumption was right! Fortune Teller is Truthless Recluse, and by extension, Pure Vanilla.

How can that happen, though? If Pure Vanilla talks directly to Fortune Teller, how can they be the same? Luckily, the game decides to answer this question on its own!

So, if this is a space the future of the past (the present) and the future of the present (just the future) can both exist… that means Fortune Teller, and by extension, Truthless Recluse, are likely from the future. Not only because we’ve seen PV walking around in the present, but because we KNOW how TR talks about PV like he’s dead, as well as because of a fun little quote from Shadow Milk!

“In the end, you will become me.”

This is what I’m going to be building the rest of this off of. Stick with me here.

3 - What’s that, puppet boy??

Lies. Manipulation. Deceit.

These are the things Shadow Milk lives for. But any good snake, any good spider weaving a web, knows that the best lies have a hint of truth to them. This is what I intend to dissect.

It feels... a bit strange to think that Pure Vanilla could become someone like Shadow Milk. And yet, the signs are already there. He isn't honest with himself, tells white lies in the hopes that it may make someone feel better rather than the cruel truth, and his mental state is already in a horrid place. Of course, none of these are particularly bad things, they're human, and I can't blame him for any of it. But they're also all undeniably things that could lead him to snapping. What's the point doubt is all that's left? What's the point that he delves into the comfort of the lie of fantasy? What's the point that reality is too much agony to bear? Is that not how the Fount of Knowledge became the Master of Deceit, finding that cookies enjoyed the sweet lie more than the cruel truth?

“In the end, you will become me.”

And so, he just might.

So, consider. If present and future can both at once in Shadow Milk's domain, if Fortune Teller is not merely an illusion, then who's to say Truthless Recluse isn't who Pure Vanilla is destined to become?

The best lies have a shred of truth. This is our (hypothetical) truth. If nothing changes, if Pure Vanilla falls to Shadow Milk's games, lets himself be broken, plays the role he's had laid out for him ever since he was young (once again, if we choose to take that as truth and not an illusion), then his fate is sealed.

"Despair follows in your footsteps... A river lies on your path. Cross it, and you will face unfathomable dread. Turn back... Turn back before it is too late. Turn back before the cold flames of doubt swallow you whole."

That river is fast approaching, if it hasn’t already.

4 - Finding truth, breaking strings

Let's circle back to one of my first points.

"Then I got to thinking: it’s been a pattern this happens, right? In the Ancient vs Beast chapters, they encounter each other, fight in some way, and the Ancient somehow loses their connection to their respective Light. They only awaken after, picking themself back up from the brink of defeat. And we already know Awakened Pure Vanilla exists, so that leaves the question: how do you help him? How does he come back from where he is now? How does he awaken if he’s already been ‘defeated?’"

Is episode seven not still following the same formula, yet iterating on it in its own unique way? Pure Vanilla comes directly into contact with Shadow Milk, and tries to defend himself the most he can. However, he's a lot more vulnerable than the others this time around— after all, lies and truth cannot exist without the other. They're not entirely opposites. After having his sense of self shattered, Pure Vanilla falls from the Spire. Somewhere, he loses his connection to his Light of Truth. Enter: Truthless Recluse.

We know Pure Vanilla will eventually be awakened (see: dev commentary), so how does he leave the state he's in? How do you come back from falling so far?

This is where our "Truthless Recluse is a future version of Pure Vanilla" idea comes in handy! To put it simply: he hasn't become him yet. Not in reality. The present Pure Vanilla has fallen somewhere deep, deep down, into the darkest abyss... And has yet to come back. It sets a perfect scene to trick those closest to Pure Vanilla to believe the lie wrapped in truth of his ‘death,’ doesn't it?

It also solves our characterization problem from the very beginning of this post. I never said he immediately becomes Truthless Recluse. Given that in this interpretation, TR is what PV will eventually become, it provides a reason for Truthless Recluse to say the things he does, and act the way he does. Maybe Pure Vanilla wouldn’t have said or done those things, but to Truthless Recluse, that part of himself has long been dead.

So. Where does Pure Vanilla find his truth?

It could be a lot of things. However, one of the main things I've seen reiterated is just how much Shadow Milk toys with the mind. Right now, Pure Vanilla likely believes his entire life is a lie. Not once has he had free will. Since birth, he has been a marionette on strings, a plaything for a being beyond everything he ever knew. Every action, every decision, it was just part of an Oscar-worthy performance. Everything he may have once defined as himself is null.

And even worse: there's no one to drag him out of it this time. White Lily is gone, off on her own mission. Gingerbrave and his friends have Truthless Recluse to deal with. The Light of Truth is silent. Everyone, everything he may have depended on isn't there. It's just him, the Other-Realm, and eyes that have been watching for his entire lifetime.

To get out, he has to break the strings. Just as he once awoke from his prison when he needed to confront his past, he can do it again. But this time, it isn't going to be while he hides under another identity, it isn’t going to be while telling himself a lie. Outsmart the snake, remember, remember, remember. Hold onto the love, the care, the things that are true. No amount of deceit can change how he once felt. They say the heart is true. Maybe that's the key out.

To put it more simply: no matter what it ends up being that causes it, he needs to realize himself that he is in charge of his own destiny. The truth of the question "who am I" is "whoever you want to be." It isn't an question that can be answered by someone else. You only become fully truthless, only fully wall yourself away from everyone if you choose to do so. It isn't fate.

And so, in the end, I think Pure Vanilla will awaken. By proxy, if my entire idea here were to be true, Truthless Recluse would cease to exist. Paradoxes are funny that way. There's no way for that ending to exist if it's no longer the future that lies ahead.

5 - A conclusion

I have absolutely no clue what's coming in episode eight. I'll say that upfront. I have no clue, and it terrifies me. I love Pure Vanilla, I want him to make it out of this, but I know he won't make it out unscathed. The tragedy could stay, it could just be for this episode, it's unclear. We just have to wait until episode eight goes live.

Regardless, I want him to struggle. I don't think it makes sense for him to get out of this easily. Not when he considers himself pathetic, not when he can't trust the voice of the Light of Truth, not when he's been questioning himself. Let that doubt sink into him. Let him rebuild himself, piece by shattered piece. It makes for an emotional story, and makes me like Pure Vanilla even more as a character. Maybe that's just the Omori fan in me, but I love delves into characters' minds like that.

It may not be anything like what I've discussed here, but I'm very excited to see what Devsisters does. This is all I'm going to be thinking about until then.