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goteique · 20 days

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| ALL I WANTED + GOJO SATORU .

+cw. — female!wife!reader x clan-head!husband!(sub)!gojo satoru, arrange marriage, hurt, angst, canon typical elements, smut, f!masturbation + m!masturbation & orgasm interruption.

+wc. — 2.3k

+syn.— satoru comes home from a bunch of missions only to find his wife in their shared bedroom not wanting him, or waiting for him but busy seeking pleasure that was his share to pour into you.

+notes. — special thanks to @gojoest for hyping me up with this idea. & thanks to @sugurouge for beta reading otherwise this never get posted lol | redirect to blog navigation.

The current head of the clan you belong to, your father stands facing his back to you. He is now the housemaster, not your father. “You’re going to be married,” said he, as his palms remained tightly clasped at his back while he looked out through the window. What you once called home became a distant memory in an instant. “You’re going to be married—” as his face turned towards you, “to Gojo Satoru.” you could figure out why he was looking away. “That monster!” he screams tears streaming down his face as his lips tremble in rage and disbelief; how of all people did the marriage broker who has been his friend for a long time have even agreed with such a decision? The thought of him suggesting the idea to the council does not even cross your father’s mind. How utterly naive! a low grunt followed as your father swatted away his chair knocking it down to the ground before killing every bit of hope you had despite the rumors. “This marriage. . . it is nothing but a hopeless dream. ”

Yes! You knew that already. The housemaids and staff just love to gossip about the doom of their sole source of bread and butter. The moment your father summoned you into his study room and told you the news while staring at the greenery of the garden of this mansion you knew your life was going to turn upside down and it did, just like you expected yet you were still disappointed, frustrated even when you came back to your room.

Satoru Gojo is the strongest jujutsu sorcerer in history ever known since Sukuna Ryomen was sealed. No other name has ever made it to the pages of jujutsu history. He is at the top of the jujutsu society regarding status, power, fame, and money. So, what do you do with the strongest of all? worship them out of devotion? subdue them with offerings lest it might lash out? swearing loyalty out of fear? Those were the thoughts that stemmed at the back of your mind when you first came to know about the fact that you were going to be the wife of the Gojo Satoru from a maid whose life never even crossed the threshold of your home. Her world was limited to the mossy parts of the mansion you resided in. Still, she could tell what kind of marriage you would be walking into.

Nothing shocking happened even on the night of your wedding. It was just as you anticipated. Two different futons were kept side by side. There was no sharing of words, glances, or kakebuton . Just both of your backs faced each other. At dawn, you woke up with your wedding kimono intact, a stainless white futon, and an empty room without Gojo.

The maids here knew better than to talk about it, even behind your back. They were aware of the power and status you held and that made everything a lot worse than you expected it to be. You had access to a lot of things, the family history archives, the financial sources, his previous missions— everything tied to him. Your husband, Gojo Satoru, was the clan head as well as the master of this mansion so there were no elderly people pushing responsibilities onto your shoulders like back at home. There was a sense of serenity in the air but how could you breathe it in for the rest of your life?

Satoru Gojo was the kind of man whom one could easily desire. Despite being his wife and the future mother of his children, trying to love him felt like a cyanide for you. You wanted your husband, not some Satoru Gojo oozing with knowledge and power. You wanted to look him in the eye, not just his back which you barely get a glimpse of at the crack of dawn as he occupies the sad side of the bed under a separate duvet. In earlier stages of this marriage, there was no curtain separating you and your husband’s side of the bed but after a month of utter silence and stealing glances, the first thing he installed was a curtain in the shared canopy bed. If he needed some privacy he could easily ask you to shift into another room but he bothered to talk one of those clan servants to install a fucking curtain as if the silence was not enough of a gulf in between you two.

Sometimes you thought that he was cheating on you but you always pushed it under the rug telling yourself, “You’re the wife of Satoru Gojo. No one can take that from you unless you walk out of this marriage. Not your father. Not that marriage broker —”

— Not even Gojo Satoru himself because he only married you to silence those nosy elders of his clan who pretend to be oh-so-worried for him. You were not foreign to that concept, after all, you are wrapped in the same shroud for all your life.

“You’re the wife of Gojo Satoru . . .No one . . .”

“You’re the wife of Gojo Satoru . . .”

“You’re the wife . . .”

“You’re . . .”

But the thought of getting his dick sucked by some other woman or man, or him putting his dick into someone — it filled you with too much anger to sleep in bed that night. For the first time, you miss home because there you are free to go anywhere even at night.

Satoru came home early that night, which was odd for his schedule, and was greeted with an empty bed after a long while. The sky is yet to be cracked open by sunlight. It is still too dark to be wandering around. Where could his wife have been gone to at this hour? He takes a spoonful of strawberry ice cream from the giant tub he held in his other hand before starting to look for you. But where should he look first? He does not know anything except the fact that he had put veils in different places of his house just to keep this house free of low-energy cursed spirits. Those veils sure did their job well but sometimes they would keep out non-sorcerers, people like you. His heart rejoices at the thought that he has to look for you in places only he is aware of, which means this is going to take a little less time, and he will find you much faster. Come to think of it, he has not been in the library section for a while but it is still as spotless as the first day he came here. Have you been visiting? Man! That sure worries him.

The pink layer of the tub has come down to half along with its skin being wet while the spoon is still experiencing the fierce appetite that Satoru had for anything sweet. He stands at the entrance of a long hallway before checking, thinking that this is the last place he has to look for but could it be possible that you were embarrassed enough to go back to your home?

Ahh…ahhh!

The spoon hits the wooden floor with a dull clatter as a wretched realization comes crashing down through his veins. Have you been cheating on him all this time? In his house? With some lowly servant ? Well, that sure makes it easier to end this sham of a marriage. He opens the door of a certain archive room as swiftly as possible trying to minimize the sound of his presence, making sure he does not shock you awake from your rendezvous. He is determined to catch you red-handed but when he opens the door he witnesses something that could have knocked the lights off his brain if he were not one of the greatest sorcerers of his time. The sight was not something of a fair appetite for ordinary people yet you sat by the marble slab of the giant window, with one of your arms nuked under your sapphire jinbei in between your legs as your skin glowed under that pale moonlight as if diamonds and pearls were embedded on your skin.

You were sweating, arching your body, moaning and all your husband could do was watch in awe. Your free hand travels from the bottom of your cleavage and up to the apex of your nape as you turn your head opening your eyes for a brief moment. You see the world so blurred that it spikes your approaching high, but as you open your eyes for the second time your high is gone like it never existed. Your husband, Gojo Satoru stood before you like an ivory statue of certain abandoned ruined cathedrals. The dress covers most of your body so a wave of relief washes over him despite realizing how dangerous the spot you chose . . .to . . .umh. . . pleasure yourself .

How long? How long was he watching you ? You shift your body to face him, and your hand slowly emerges from the warmth between your thighs. Satoru tries to ignore but traces of your arousal and his yearning are flourishing like fluorescence on your fingers as it rests on your thigh. You watch him gulp. Suddenly, Gojo Satoru is out of words. Teacher to his students of Jujutsu High, the strongest sorcerer, Nanami’s certified yapper is suddenly out of words. The slight slice of your boobs visible through your robe does not help either in the coherency of his thoughts. He had plans. He had plans to walk out of this marriage without being tainted as a “cheater” because the jujutsu society is so fucked up that they will not stop until they found this particular person that had made this marriage impossible to work on so that you, the wife, had to walk out it and dear God, they certainly are not fond of obstructions.

“What a nice place you chose to—” he finally looks away to keep the tub of semi-molten room-temperature strawberry ice cream on some bookshelf but before he could shift back his gaze on you again you were gone like a storm. The sound of your footsteps echoed in his ear till it stopped before he heard the click of a door. He does not understand if you are just too dumb or too brave to act the way you are acting right now. He follows you as a grunt of dismissal escapes from his chest. As he stands in front of the bathroom door he drowns yet again in utmost disbelief. He can still hear your shrill gasp of pleasure and he is not liking how his cock is responsive to it. At first, he hesitates to touch himself but the faint sound of your moans, the wet squelching sounds of your fingers moving in and out of your damp folds despite the door of the bathroom being locked buzzes in his ears like bees out in the hunt of honey.

Satoru gave up . You hear a thud as you continue to finger yourself knowing full well that your husband must have followed you all the way here after witnessing you in such a state. Indeed, you could have been accused of cheating on him without him checking the door and it would have been much worse. He sits against the bathroom door unfurling the black ribbon with a swish to take his cock out of his baggy white pants. The tip is already leaking. His cock is throbbing in his palm as he encapsulates his fingers around it, moving his fingers up and down slowly. On the other side of the door, as you could finally feel the pinnacle of your high you heard a soft groan; a pain, that seemed familiar, was palpable underneath that shrill cry of pleasure. Still when your fingers touched the part inside you that almost felt like unknotting something from inside you, at the basal of your navel Satoru’s hand moved faster to chase the similar high that had started to bubble in his body under the influence of your ripples of pleasure. You heard your husband moan as tears rolled down your cheeks when you closed your eyes feeling the knot finally unwinding.

Perhaps, both of you came simultaneously. Perhaps not, because you immediately opened the door after you had calmed from your high, only to be greeted with Satoru sitting right at the opposite wall of the bathroom door, legs folded in L-manner so that he could keep his hand over his knee. His cock is still visible through his white pants and it is still so hard. One of your eyebrows raises in silent reply . Satoru notices that. He looks at you and then looks away. You extend your hand towards his face, gaining his stern azure pair of eyes shining against whatever dim light the crack of the bathroom door could allow. There was no sign of resistance in him so as your palm touched his cheeks, you waited and gave him time to protest. yet none ever followed, instead, he surrendered to your touch, and your fingers curled under his chin as you ran your thumb over his lips. Satoru coiled against your touch imbibing as much as he could like a tide being high enough to touch the moon . . .a familiar voice shocked both of you awake.

“Lady Gojo. . .”

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epicbuddieficrecs · 2 months

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Weekly Recap | July 1st-14th 2024

Work has been kicking my ass. Can't wait for my vacation! Hope you're all doing well!!

Complete

what if he's written "mine" on my upper thigh? by heartbeatdiaz/ @loserdiaz (Fanart, PWP | <1K | Explicit): “I'm gonna ride you,” Eddie says, flicking his wrist. “Okay, baby?” When Eddie straddles Buck's lap and sinks down, his eyes closed, he doesn’t fuck himself down onto Buck like he normally would— he wants to drag it out, tease his boyfriend untill he's a whimpering mess underneath him.

Sparks Fly by Inell/ @inell (Reporter Buck AU | <1K | Teen): Eddie meets his match when reporter Buck shadows the 118

Seeing Stars by Inell (Astronauts AU | <1K | Teen): Buck and Eddie are best friends who have been pining for a while when Buck finally makes a move.

when it all melts down by bucksclipboard/ @excuseme-greentea (Post-S7, Getting Together | 2K | Teen): Buck thinks a beach day is the perfect distraction from an empty house and a lack of summer plans. Eddie thinks if Buck walks out of the ocean like a Greek god one more time, he might just lose his mind. or: there’s only one cure for a frozen tongue after too much ice cream

The Moment is Here by Inell (Post-S7, Getting Together | 2K | Teen): Eddie has been in love with Buck for longer than he cares to remember but he’s been scared to jeopardize their friendship. Lucky for him, Buck is feeling brave this morning.

i'll never give you away ('cause i've already made that mistake) by Iover_of_mine (I_almost_do)/ @lover-of-mine (Post-S7, Love Confessions | 3K | General): Buck almost kissed Eddie at the bachelor party and forgot about it. Until he remembered.

this postcard tells you where we've been by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Post-S7 | 3K | General): Eddie finds a collection of postcards Buck sent to Chris over his summer in El Paso.

pauses, then says you're my best friend (you knew what it was) by instantcaramel/ @buddiekinard (Social Media Fic, Post-S7 | 4K | General): buck drags eddie to a taylor swift concert. wackiness ensues.

Cursebreaker by Inell/ @inell (Post-S7, First Date | 4K | Teen): Buck is nervous about his apparent dating curse ruining his first date with Eddie. Lucky for him, Eddie doesn’t believe in curses.

A Love As True As Mine by Inell (Post-7x10: All Fall Down, Getting Together | 4K | Teen): After Buck gets injured during a call, he overcomes some personal issues and ideas of love with Eddie’s help.

One Look at You by Inell (Post-S7, Getting Together | 4K | Teen): Eddie and Buck are enjoying a night out when lines get blurred and feelings are finally admitted.

And There You Were by Inell (Post-S7, Getting Together, Fluff | 4K | Teen): After admitting their feelings for each other and spending the night together, Eddie wakes up to find Buck in the kitchen and decides to distract him.

I Can See Clearly Now by Inell (Post-S7, Getting Together | 5K | Teen): During a simple call, Buck finds himself locked in a lab after a possible exposure with Eddie and the rest of his team on the other side of the glass doors.

Pumpkin by JJK/ @trenchcoatsandtimetravel (Canon Divergent, Dad Buck | 5K | General): “You were just telling us about your dog, Pumpkin. Three years old. You’re taking her to the park this weekend?” And, oh. Buck wanted to laugh. Hen thought Pumpkin was a dog. He did laugh; loud and wheezing. “Right, you’re right. Pumpkin. How could I forget?” Buck wiped a tear from his eye. He didn’t know why it was so funny, maybe he had bumped his head a little, but for some reason, Hen mistaking his three-year-old daughter for a dog was just about the funniest thing he’d ever heard.

🔥 bark like you want it by colonoscopys/ @colonoscopys (Soulmates AU, Crack | 7K | General): The first time Eddie Diaz hears his soulmate’s voice, he hears him say Damn, that’s a nice ass.

🔥 the book of love by colonoscopys (Time Loop, Getting Together | 8K | General): It was a pretty regular day. He had an eight hour shift the day before, slept in a little bit, ate dry toast and drank a black coffee before dropping Chris off at physical therapy for an hour. If he had known he was gonna die, he would have sprung for the hashbrowns in the freezer.

🔥 trying hard not to act a fool by arcanaphora (Didn't Know They Were Dating, Post-S7 | 10K | Teen): Or: 5 times Eddie jokes to Buck about marrying him + 1 time where Buck doesn't think it's very funny anymore

The heat of the moment by JamesPearce911/ @diazsdimples (PWP | 10K | Explicit): Tired and frustrated after a long shift, Buck and Eddie take an impromptu trip to the sauna. Only problem is, it's a nude sauna, which Buck didn't notice when he booked them in. Thankfully the boys handle the slip up gracefully, and possible break a few public sex laws in the process.

What if this storm ends? by JJK / @trenchcoatsandtimetravel (Post-6x12: Recovery, Getting Together | 11K | Teen): After the lightning strike, Buck grapples with the fact that he's still alive, that he's hopelessly in love with Eddie, and that more than anything he wishes Eddie and Christopher could be his family. Too bad Eddie doesn't feel the same way, right? But then Buck chaperones Christopher's school trip and an injury shakes things up.

🔥 if i said you could never touch me by marviless/ @marviless (Established Buddie | 15K | Mature): “Buck. What’s wrong?” Buck closes his eyes, then blinks them open. “Nothing,” he says, because he doesn’t know how to tell the truth. He doesn’t know what the truth even is. “Everything’s, uh—everything’s fine. I just—” he chews on his lip. “I was just thinking that, uh, maybe we shouldn’t go any further tonight? You know, not with Christopher in the house.”

What is Love For $2000? by fayevian/ @fayevian (Canon Divergent, Jeopardy Contestant!Buck | 17K | Mature): One night when Eddie can't sleep, he discovers the hottest Jeopardy contestant of all time (objectively). With the "help" of his team and his fairly good working knowledge of Twitter, they devise a plan to get Evan (from Jeopardy) to slide into Eddie's DMs. It works surprisingly well.

🔥 keeping score by arcanaphora (Post-S7, Fake Relationship | 23K | Mature): After getting dumped, Buck is left with two tickets to a weeklong cruise. Eddie steps in to support a friend in need, but complications arise when his friend becomes his fake husband. All's fair in love, war, and trivia.

🔥 Steal My Sunshine by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Altered Memories | 30K | Mature): Memories hazy and unreliable, Eddie Diaz wakes up every morning in a house at the end of a cul de sac, goes to his office job at a petroleum engineering company, and comes home to his wife and son. But something is missing, and the more Eddie begins to put the pieces together, the stranger the predicament he finds himself in.

🔥Anywhere I Want, Just Not Home series by Daisies_and_Briars

Pennsylvania Under Me (Future Fic, Buckley Family | 22K | Teen): When unexpected circumstances require Buck to travel back to Hershey for the first time in over a decade, Eddie and Chris are right by his side. A Lot Like You (Future Fic, Buck&Bobby | 14K | General): The dynamics between everyone change when Buck and Eddie have another child and Bobby moves on from the 118. I Hold It Like a Grudge (Buck&Maddie, Future Fic | 11K | Teen): Buck and Maddie come into unexpected and unwanted conflict when their parents meet Buck's son for the first time, by surprise, when he is under Maddie's care.

WIP

The Smutty Ones by Tizniz/ @tizniz (PWP | 56/? | 23K | Explicit): A collection of smutty Buddie drabbles.

E & E: A Buddie Drabble Collection by Tizniz (Prompt fic | 105/? | 22K | General): A collection of drabbles for Buck and Eddie.

It's Me That He's Always Choosing by I_still_dont_understand_13/ @dangerpronebuddie (Prompt fic | 20/? | 8K | Explicit): A collection of smut prompts originally posted on tumblr.

🔥 boys, when my baby found me by nondz (pinkjook) (Post-S7, Presumed Dead Eddie | 2/3 | 17K | Explicit): “It just feels… I don’t know. I feel like I’m back to being an old version of me. Like I’m— fucking— Buck 2.0 again. I can’t be good to him if I’m Buck 2.0. I know that.” Eddie frowns. “I first met you when you were Buck 2.0. And you were good to me.” Or: three months later, things are mostly back to normal. And then there's an accident.

🔥 Held Up a Lightning Rod (Wonder Why I'm Struck) by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/ @letmetellyouaboutmyfeels (Not A Firefighter Eddie, Sugar Baby Buck | 10/22 | 46K | Explicit): When Eddie Diaz stumbles his way into money, he finds himself one of the most eligible bachelors in Los Angeles - to his dismay. He needs a way to get people off his back without confessing his messy marital situation, and Shannon's still not answering his calls, so he caves to a friend's suggestion: hire someone to pretend to be his partner. Enter Evan "Buck" Buckley: sugar baby, fire fighter, and the man about to turn Eddie's world upside down.

🔥 If You Can Make the Music by Daisies_and_Briars/ @cal-daisies-and-briars (Canon Divergent, | 3/5 | 7K | Mature): Spin-off Sequel to Evan Buckley & the Coma-Verse of Madness - Chapter 5 (Seaside): A year after a whirlwind two week love affair with bartender Buck in Galveston, Texas, Eddie Diaz finds himself coincidentally relocating to the area. But when he attempts to reconnect with Buck, he's in for an unfortunate surprise. (Part 3 of Coma-Verse)

🔥 you're almost home (i've been waiting for you to come in) by sibylsleaves/ @sibylsleaves (Post-S5, Canon Divergent - Roommates, Getting Together | 3/5 | 18K | Mature): Buck moves in. Eddie comes out. Things get a little messy.

🔥 Long Death by Daisies_and_Briars (Post-S7, Vampire AU | 5/10 | 17K | Explicit): In the summer of 2024, a never before seen form of vampirism breaks out in Los Angeles. Just as Eddie is about to get his son back. Six months later, Buck's life is permanently changed.

🔥 Any Other Way by Daisies_and_Briars (Canon Divergent, S2 | 14/19 | 71K | Mature): In a switcheroo alternate universe, Buck spends young adulthood in the military, while Eddie, who has no idea Christopher exists, spends his twenties messing around, finally enjoying freedom away from his family’s expectations. When they both end up in Los Angeles, at the 118, some things are different, and others will be the same in any universe.

🔥 Things We're All Too Young to Know by Daisies_and_Briar (Canon S1-S6, Divergent Post-S6 | 130/? | 408K | Mature): This is a love story. Even if it doesn’t always look like it. Even if it doesn’t always feel like it. A look back on Eddie and Buck's lives up to now, and what led them to each other, interpreted from the current 9-1-1 canon.

#buddie fanfic #buddie fic #buddie #buddie fic rec #epic buddie fic rec

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athanza · 5 months

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Starlett - Part 3

Cooper Howard/fem!OC (not self-insert)

Tags: Hurt/comfort (sort of?), non-allowed romantic connection, lots of tention, pre and post war drama, some fluff

Warnings: Mentions of domestic abuse (no graphic scenes or descriptions of that nature), angst, canon wasteland violence

This branches out from canon but I thought it was a cute story idea so I had to write it. Enjoy! ♡

Part 1 | Part 2 | Final part

2296

Suddenly Irene looked unsteady and she held a hand to the wound on her side.

"Fancy seein' you here." She chuckled painfully.

"I know, I haven't changed a bit."

She laughed but immediately regretted it, groaning in pain.

"You uh," she said, blood dripping down her leg. "you wouldn't happen to have a stimpak on you would ya? I'm uh...I'm not feelin' too hot."

He looked her over, the gash was deep, she'd need more than one stimpak. "Unfortunately I don't think I do."

Suddenly her legs gave out from underneath her and she collapsed.

"Whoa." He said, catching her before she hit the ground.

Irene woke up hours later, lying on her back in what looked like a small cave, her head resting on a saddle bag.

She didn't look any different than she did before the war, albeit a little dishevelled, Cooper figured that however Moldaver survived must've been how she did.

"Coop." Irene croaked.

He looked up from cleaning his revolver and saw her try to move.

"Easy there Starlett, you're pretty banged up."

She winced in pain again and lay back down. "I thought you were dead." She said, weak from the blood loss.

"I should be. So should you."

"Fate had other plans I guess."

Cooper scoffed quietly. She didn't press it, even though she wanted to know if Janey made it.

"You're gonna need some proper medical attention." He said. "Ain't much out here though."

"Eh, it's just a scratch." She joked, swallowing a mouth-full of blood.

Cooper got up and handed her a flask of water, half empty. She took a few sips and handed it back.

"I'm lookin' for Lee, you know where I can find 'er?

"I've been looking for her myself, I'm afraid I can't help you there, I've found nothing but dead ends. The bitch is hard to find even in a fucking desert."

He smiled a little at the very different tone coming out of her mouth than he remembered; she must've been in the wasteland for a little while, at least.

"I'm glad I found you cowboy. You're about the only fond memory I've got left. I needed that right about now."

"I'm not the man you remember."

"Doesn't matter. You've reminded me of something I haven't seen in years."

"And what's that?"

"Kindness."

2077

The doorbell rang and Cooper opened it to find Irene looking remarkably understated compared to her shows, but she still had that aire of grace that she always carried with her no matter where she was.

"Come on in." He smiled, stepping aside for her.

"I can't thank you enough for letting me stay, I know its a lot of ask of someone you just met."

"It's the least I can do."

He closed the door and took her suitcase for her.

Janey appeared with Roosevelt, having been playing in the backyard and Cooper gestured to her.

"Irene, this is my daughter Janey. Janey this is Irene, the friend from work I was telling you about."

"Irene Taylor!?" She said, her eyes sparkling. "I've seen you on TV! Your voice is sooo beautiful! You definitely should have won the award on last month's show."

Irene and Cooper both laughed.

"Looks like you have a fan."

"That's very kind of you." Irene smiled sweetly.

"Janey, why don't you watch some cartoons while I show Irene to her room?"

"Ok." She beamed and sat down with Roosevelt in front of the TV.

Irene followed Cooper to the back of the house where the guest room was and looked at all the family photos as they walked through. Wedding photos, Janey's baby photos, a puppy photo of Roosevelt. When they finally reached the room she felt even more uncomfortable.

"This is you." He said, placing her suitcase on the bed.

"I'm so sorry to put you in this position Mr. Howard, I do appreciate it very much. I didn't know who else to come to."

"Don't worry about it." He smiled warmly. "I'm just glad you decided to leave."

"So am I. You made me realise the cause wasn't worth the abuse, no matter how much I told myself it was. Lee won't be happy but it'll be worth it in the end."

"I'm sure it will."

She smiled softly at him. "I'll let you get back to your daughter. You'll barely know I'm here."

"Nonsense," he said. "You're joining us for dinner, plus I'm sure Janey would love to spend some time with you."

She got choked up a bit at that. Everything she had done since getting into show business had been for other people, someone doing something like this for her was something special.

"Thank you Mr. Howard."

"Cooper." He replied.

2296

Irene lay sleeping and Cooper sat wondering what to do with her.

He couldn't spare any resources, and he didn't need stimpaks, so he had none. Could he carry her to Filly and get her to a doctor? Sure, but that was in the opposite direction of where he was headed, where they were both headed.

It would be more humane to shoot her now to save her the pain, but he couldn't bring himself to do it and it angered him.

"Fuck." He said, getting to his feet and picking up his gun, walking out of the cave in search of supplies.

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mrprettywhenhecries · 7 months

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❝go for it❞ [b.l]

Baron Lamram ✘ f!Reader

⇾ w.c. 3.3k words ⇾ warning(s). f!reader (use of feminine pet names), post canon!Baron, Marmalade spoilers, kisses ⇾ a/n. Inspired by an idea @babydollbaron and I talked about. 🧡 Also, since we don't know what Baron's real name is, instead of making up some random name to call him, I've decided to just use his alias.

Your mother's always been known for sticking her nose in other people's business—most usually yours—and this time, she's determined to set you up with the woman across the hall's handsome son.

[ masterlist ]

The southern summer heat made your shirt stick to your back as you climbed out of your car, your a/c still on the fritz and not enough money to have it repaired just yet. At least your windows still rolled down and there was a cool breeze, despite the humidity.

You grabbed the small bouquet of daisies from the passenger seat before shutting the door and heading toward the ivy covered building, blessedly chill once you passed through the entrance, holding the door open for an older man passing you on his way out. He smiled in recognition and nodded in thanks.

The nurse at the front desk greeted you by name, handing you the sign in clipboard with a warm smile. “Daisies again, huh?” she asked, trading you the clipboard for a small key.

“They’re her favourite. She says they’re a friendly flower,” you chuckled softly, pulling one from the bunch to offer the receptionist.

“She’s right,” she replied, bringing the flower to her face as you headed down the hall toward your mother’s room. Before heading inside, you unlocked the small metal box by her door to switch out her empty prescription bottle for her refill, only to find a fresh bottle already sitting there.

“That’s strange,” you murmured, picking up the orange bottle to inspect it closer. It was definitely the same pills, but there was no name on the prescription. Sometimes when another patient passed away their family would donate any left over medication to those that needed it. Perhaps that’s just what this was.

Frowning slightly, you locked the box back up and glanced at the door across from your mother’s, the familiar crocheted message hanging there making you smile before you knocked at your mum’s door, pushing it open to find her sitting in her rocker by the window, watching the birds at the feeder outside, a book set aside on the table at her elbow.

“Knock knock,” you called softly and she turned to smile at you.

“Oh! Hey there Susie-Q,” she greeted, making to push out of her chair when you quickly stepped inside, not wanting her to get up, the door left open in your haste.

“Stay there, I’ll come to you!” you exclaimed, wrapping her in a hug, your heart aching for a moment before stepping back.

“I brought some fresh flowers,” you added, handing her the bouquet so you could empty the wilted ones from the vase and get some fresh water.

“Oh, they’re lovely! Daisies are such a friendly flower, don’t you think?” she asked, caressing the petals gently and you couldn’t help but laugh, knowing she was going to say that.

“They certainly are,” you replied, placing the bouquet in the vase and setting it on the dresser next to her bed.

“Oh, before I forget!” your mother exclaimed, turning her chair toward you.

“What?” you asked, a little taken aback by the excitement on her face.

“You know the lady from across the hall?”

“Uhm, yeah, Ms. Eda, right? She’s a sweet lady,” you replied, frowning a little in confusion, wondering why she was asking you about that.

“You know she has a son, right? Oh, I can’t remember his name,” she said, snapping her fingers as if that would help her remember.

“Oh no. No, no nonono,” you exclaimed, cutting her off before she could continue her thought.

“What? No, listen! He refilled my bird feeder the other day,” she said, gesturing to the window. “He’s a sweet boy,” she insisted, raising her eyebrows at you.

“Mom!” you exclaimed, huffing a wry laugh, your hand coming up to cover your face in embarrassment. “Stop trying to set me up with your hall mate’s son!” you exclaimed, feeling your face warm.

“Why not? You’re single, as far as I know, he’s single, and you know he cut his hair? He’s actually very handsome–”

“I don’t care how cute he is, I’m not gunna hit on Eda’s son just because I’m single,” you exclaimed, barely registering the sound of a door shutting in the hall.

“That’s a shame.”

The amused voice behind you nearly made you leap out of your skin and you gave a sharp yelp as you spun around, only to find the very man you’d been talking about standing in the doorway, a lopsided grin tugging at his lips.

If your face was warm before, it was practically on fire now and you wanted to crawl under a rock and never come out.

However, you couldn’t help but notice that your mother was right—he was rather handsome. His dark chestnut hair was shorter now, though not short by any means, with an artful unruliness to it that looked almost effortless. His dark brown eyes practically danced when the mid-morning light shining through the southern facing window hit them just right, turning them almost golden with the faintest hint of green around the edges.

He looked well groomed, a smart leather jacket hung open over his blue button down tucked into his dark trousers, a far cry from his appearance the last time you’d seen him a couple weeks ago, his hair hanging down to his shoulders and in desperate need of a good brush.

“Didn’t mean to startle ya, sorry ‘bout that,” he chuckled, his grin turning apologetic, while a soft flush crept across his face as his eyes met yours. His voice was warm, like melted butter, with only the barest hint of a drawl to it, but it made your heart skip a beat just the same.

Quickly trying to compose yourself, you cleared your throat, trying to work moisture back into your mouth.

“No, I… I forgot I’d left the door open,” you spluttered.

“Well, hullo there,” your mum greeted, interrupting you and waving him closer. “C’mon in, come closer so I can get a proper look at you,” she said and Eda’s son shared a grin with you before stepping into the room and letting your mom take his hands.

“Now what is your name again, darlin’?” she asked and he shifted his weight, his brows furrowing for a moment, as if thinking.

“You can call me Baron,” he answered with a nod, holding her gaze, and she seemed pleased.

“Baron,” she repeated, as if savouring the name before her eyes flicked to you. “This is my daughter—“ she introduced, telling him your name as well.

Baron grinned, his eyes finding yours. “It’s good to finally have a name to put with a face,” he murmured, ducking his head to listen as your mom whispered something in his ear. He huffed a soft laugh, a slightly bewildered smile playing at his lips as he straightened, and you frowned, wondering what exactly she’d said.

“Mama?” you questioned, suspicion leeching in, only growing when she merely smiled at you like the cat that got the cream as she eased herself back into her chair, a mischievous glint to her eye.

“What’d she say to you?” you asked, turning back to Baron who still wore a bemused grin.

“She said I’d be a fool if I didn’t ask you to get a drink with me.”

Your mouth fell open, embarrassment washing over you and you looked from Baron to your mom and back, horrified. “Oh my God,” you groaned, at a loss for words, hoping she hadn’t made him too uncomfortable, but Baron shrugged, amusement dancing in his eyes.

“I’ve been called worse before, but my mama certainly didn’t raise herself a fool,” he chuckled, his gaze lingering on your face. “So, what d’ya say? Wanna grab a coffee?” he asked, nodding toward the door, a hopeful look crossing his face and you blinked, taken aback.

“Uhm, I–”

“Well, go on then,” your mom urged and you gave a small jump, almost having forgotten she was there. “If you don’t go, I will.”

“Alright!” you relented, laughing as you held up your hands in surrender. “I’d love to.”

“Perfect! You two have fun now!” your mom exclaimed, practically shooing you out the door. “You’ll have to come back tomorrow and tell me alllll about it,” she hissed, pitching her voice low before you stepped out the door.

“Alright, alright, I’ll see you tomorrow,” you replied, blowing her a kiss. “Love you lots.”

“Tator tots!” she called back, making you smile.

Out in the hall, it hit you that you were now alone with Baron and the thought kicked up a swarm of butterflies in your stomach, embarrassment radiating off you in waves.

“So, uh, I know a good coffee shop nearby,” you offered, clearing your throat nervously, and Baron grinned, ducking his head.

“Sounds good.”

“So… how’s your mom?” you asked as you got your coffee and pulled out a chair at an empty table by the front window, trying to think of something to say and wincing, unable to come up with any other topic at the moment.

Baron didn’t seem upset though, he merely smiled pleasantly down at the strawberry frappe on the table in front of him, playing with his straw. “She’s doin’ just fine. How about yours?”

“Oh, good. Good,” you answered, taking a sip of your cappuccino. “As long as she’s got her meds she’s good,” you added, frowning as you remembered the excess pills you’d found in her medication box.

“You know, it’s the darnedest thing though. When I checked her supply earlier, there was a whole extra bottle in there and I don’t know where it came from.”

Baron hummed, his smile sharpening for a moment, turning knowing. “That’s strange,” he mused, dipping his finger in the whipped cream at the top of his drink and popping it in mouth, sucking it clean.

“Yeah,” you agreed, losing your words for a moment as you watched him, your lips parting, wishing for a taste. When his eyes flicked back up to yours, you quickly cleared your throat and shrugged. “I ain’t about to look a gift mouth in the horse though,“ you murmured, wincing when you realized you’d jumbled the words and quickly amended them, your face growing hotter. “I mean, gift horse in the mouth.”

Baron chuckled, his gaze lingering on your face and you hoped he couldn’t tell how flustered you were.

“I’m sorry for my mom springing this on you. She tends to butt into everyones’ business, whether they like it or not,” you began, flashing him a sheepish grin, but before you could finish apologizing for your mom’s behaviour, Baron cut you off.

“I’m not,” he replied simply, his gaze boring into yours. “Sorry, I mean,” he clarified with a shrug. “It finally gave me an excuse to talk to you. Plus it helped to hear you think I’m cute,” he teased, a hint of a smile playing at his lips.

For a long moment you merely gaped at him, barely believing your ears. Had he really been interested in you all this time?

“Oh,” was all you could bring yourself to utter. “Well… that’s good then,” you added lamely, unsure what else to say, though you were dying to ask how long he’d been wanting to ask you out.

��Besides, you’re lucky.”

“For what?” His words took you off guard, pulling you from your thoughts.

“That you have a mama that cares so much about you,” Baron said, once more playing with his straw. “I think it’s sweet.”

You nodded slightly, bringing your cup to your lips. “I guess I am pretty lucky,” you agreed, catching his eye for a moment, and it was his turn to flush, a hint of pink dusting his cheeks.

“So, how’d it go?”

There it was, the question you’d been expecting since you’d arrived. You were honestly a little surprised your mother hadn’t sprung it on you as soon as you’d walked through the door.

She was peering at you over the fan of cards in her hand, trying to act nonchalant as she drew another card from the pile before discarding one.

“How’d what go?” you asked, fighting back a grin at the sharp look she threw you in response.

“Don’t be coy, you know what I’m talking about,” she exclaimed, pursing her lips like she always did when you tested her patience.

Rolling your eyes in amusement, you leaned back in your seat, studying your own hand of cards. “It went well, we talked for a long while. It was really nice,” you murmured, smiling to yourself, that giddy feeling still fluttering in your chest and your mother grinned in return, pleased with herself.

“So, when are you going to see him again?” she pressed, moving one of the cards to a different spot in her hand.

“Who said I’m seeing him again?” you joked, earning you an exasperated look.

“I may be old, but I’m not blind, girl,” your mama huffed. “I’ve seen the way you two looked at each other when you thought no one was watchin’, and I’ve seen you smilin’ at your phone the same way every time it goes off. Who else would you be textin’ lookin’ like that, huh?” she pointed out and you quickly set your phone down, knowing she’d caught you.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, lifting your chin defiantly as you drew another card and winced, not drawing anything helpful.

“You don’t, do you?” your mom asked, raising an eyebrow at you, a wicked grin crossing her face as she laid her cards down on the table. “Gin!” she announced.

Knowing you’d been beat, you groaned, tossing your cards down. “Alright, fine!” you relented, dropping the act. “He’s coming over for dinner on Friday and we’re gunna watch a movie.”

“Oh, Netflix and chill, huh?” she countered smugly.

“Mother!” you yelped, your face aflame as she began to cackle, gathering up the cards.

“Up for another round?”

“Yeah, alright,” you sighed, checking your phone once more. “Just no more talk about my sex life,” you muttered.

“No promises!"

It was about ten minutes til Baron was supposed to arrive and you were rushing around, doing one last once over of your place before he got there, making sure everything was in place. When your buzzer rang, you nearly tripped over the coffee table as you ran to let him up, fidgeting as you waited by the door, pulling it open just as he ascended the stairs.

“Hey, I brought the food,” he said, lifting the plastic take out bag as evidence.

“And flowers?” you asked, grinning as you spotted the bouquet of wildflowers in his other hand.

“Saw ‘em by the side of the road and thought of you,” he murmured sheepishly as he handed them to you. “Though they’re nowhere near as pretty as you,” he added with a smirk.

“Charmer,” you replied, bringing the bouquet to your face to smell them, hiding your smile as you stepped aside to let him in. “Thanks for bringing the food, I’m starving,” you exclaimed, shutting the door behind you as he passed. “You’re much cuter than the usual delivery boy,” you teased, having grown a bit bolder since your first date.

“Well, that’s good to know,” Baron chuckled, setting the bag on your kitchen counter to pull out the takeout containers while you searched for a vase for the flowers.

“Fork or chopsticks?” he asked and you looked over to see him holding up one of each.

“Chopsticks,” you decided, filling the vase with water and setting it on the table.

Baron grinned at your choice, handing you the little paper sleeve and taking the plastic fork for himself. “Good, cause I’m hopeless with ‘em,” he chuckled.

“Soda?” you asked, opening the fridge to grab yourself a bottle, taking two at Baron’s “yes, please,” and rounding the corner to join him on the couch. Picking up the remote, you flipped through movies until you both agreed on one and pressed play, digging into your dinner.

“This was such a good idea,” you sighed, tucking your feet up under you and getting comfortable, inching closer to Baron until your knee pressed against his thigh and your elbow brushed his arm. Despite the brief contact, warmth suffused you and you carefully kept your eyes on the television, only chancing a glance at Baron out of the corner of your eye.

Unable to stand the silence any longer, you cleared your throat softly and set your nearly empty take out container aside. “Can I ask you something?”

At your question, Baron set his food down as well, a hint of a smile on his lips as he turned his attention to you. “Yeah, shoot.”

“Would you still have asked me out if it hadn’t been for my mum’s interference?” you wondered, the thought having plagued you for the past several days.

Baron looked thoughtful. “I figure I would’ve eventually,” he murmured, his dark eyes finding yours in the dim room, the light from the tv dancing across his face. “I’ve sorta had my eye on you,” he admitted, his grin twitching as his gaze flicked down to your lips and back up.

“Really?”

“Yes, really,” he replied, huffing a soft laugh. “Just waitin’ for the right time. There was something I had to finish before I could let myself get… involved. A two year relationship I had to end,” he murmured.

“Oh–” you breathed, the news hitting you like a punch to the gut. “I… had no idea.”

Baron shook his head, a far off look crossing his face for a moment before it was gone. “S’alright. It was always meant to end there,” he mused cryptically before he took a breath and his grin returned.

“What about you, Miss I-don’t-care-how-cute-he-is-I’m-not-gunna-hit-on-him-just-because-I’m-single?” he taunted and your mouth fell open.

“That was–! I didn’t–!” you spluttered, feeling your face flare hotly.

“Admit it, you had a crush on me,” Baron teased, a playful light dancing in his dark eyes.

“I think you’re imagining things,” you replied lightly, managing to keep your voice even.

“Oh, am I?” You could feel Baron shift toward you, his brows lifting in challenge, leaning in til his breath ghosted across your cheek. “You’re awful cute when you blush.”

“And you’re not as sweet and innocent as my mama seemed to think you are,” you countered, your lips tugging into a grin.

Baron shrugged, still hovering in your space. “Maybe not, but I can be sweet when I wanna be,” he drawled, his voice sending a tingle down your spine and your breath hitched in anticipation.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this,” he breathed, but before he could capture your lips, you grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him in, kissing him first, sending his eyes flying open in surprise as your lips caressed his eagerly.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that,” you countered breathlessly, your grin turning giddy and Baron shook his head in disbelief, an amused huff bursting from his lips.

“Guess we both owe your mama a thank you,” he chuckled, pulling you closer, his hands squeezing your hips, and you laughed, cupping his face with your hands, stroking his freckled cheek with your thumb.

“Guess we do,” you agreed, unable to tear your eyes from his face. “She’s never gunna let us live this down though,” you pointed out and Baron shrugged.

“Can’t say that really bothers me much,” he teased before his lips were once more on yours, his tongue hesitantly delving deeper, rolling languidly against yours.

Wrapping a deceptively strong arm around your waist, he swallowed your soft gasp as he lowered you to your back, not once breaking the kiss as he trapped you beneath him, the movie playing on forgotten while you lost yourself to his embrace.

You may owe your mother a thank you for pushing you and Baron together, but you definitely weren’t about to tell her how good a kisser he was.

⇾ taglist. @super-unpredictable98 @babydollbaron @heartbreak-sandwich @b1tchywheeler @girlwiththerubyslippers

#baron x reader #baron lamram x reader #baron lamram #baron marmalade #marmalade spoilers #marmalade #joz.fic #really hoping i captured him accurately;;

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whataperfectwasteoftime · 1 year

Text

Spilled Ink

Pairing: Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike x f!reader

Word Count: 7.5k

Summary: Uhhh Marcus Pike as the world's softest tattoo artist that's it that's the fic.

Warnings: Lots of tattoo talk, obviously, which includes needles, tattoo guns, pain, mention of bleeding, etc.; reader is explicitly coded as neurodivergent because I said so; yearning; lots of kissing; Marcus Pike being a goddamn menace and he fucking knows it

A/N: @kedsandtubesocks made a post about Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike (original post HERE) and then I wrote 7.5k words in 12 hours, as one does. All credit for the idea goes to the amazing Erika who entrusted me with this idea and THANK GOD SHE DID because I don't think I could have gotten it out of my stupid brain otherwise. Header pics credit go to Erin @perotovar, who made these with Tattoo Artist Marcus Pike in mind and I'm just WOOFWOOFBARKBARKBARKBARKHOWL. Thanks also to @littlebirdsbookshelf who suffers through HOURS of me sending screenshots every time I write anything. Love you <3

Additional Note on Canon: I am pretending that we never got to see Marcus Pike in short sleeves in the show despite it happening twice. He has full sleeves on both his arms in this fic that he covered up during his time working at the FBI. Because sleeves are hot and I said so.

Masterlist

It’s not unusual, these days, to wander down the sidewalk staring at your phone. Some people are texting. Some people are reading the news–because hey, this is D.C. Others, like you on this brisk morning, are watching the little blue dot on a tiny representation of the city streets, trying to find the address you had typed into the search bar.

A text box pops up, informing you of your arrival, and you finally look up.

No wonder it took you so long to find the place–it’s hardly what you expected at all. You always picture tacky neon signs, bars on the windows, undesirables milling about on the street, smoking cigarettes.

Okay, so you admittedly don’t actually know much about tattoos.

All you know is that you want one–a fact you confessed to a friend over lunch the other week: a conversation that led you here.

“Okay, so get one,” she had said bluntly.

“It’s not all that simple,” you had protested.

“Why?”

“It’s just… it seems like a lot. Mentally. Physically. I’m not sure I have what it takes.”

“They don’t hurt that bad,” your friend had insisted.

“I’m not just talking about that, I’m talking about… y’know, just everything. The noise. New people. Strangers touching me. It just doesn’t seem like something I’ll be able to do.”

“Oh. Ohhh. Because of the… yep. Actually I might have something for you,” she said, taking out her phone and scrolling through that app that drives you crazy–it’s overstimulation in a convenient package–full of noise, chaos, and flashing lights.

She must have seen you pull a face, because she held out her hand placatingly.

“Just finding the name of the place, hang on. It’s a shop right here in DC that went ‘viral’ for this video of a guy with autism who wanted a tattoo to commemorate his dad, but he was only comfortable lying on the floor–so the tattoo artist just… got on the floor with him! It was really cute, and anyway I guess he caters to all sorts of people, so… I dunno. Check it out.”

And here you are. Checking it out.

The words “Government-Issued Ink” are spelled out on large windows, and the punny name–apt for its location not far from the Capitol–makes you snort.

The shop is bright, warm, and inviting–tearing down your outdated preconceptions that tattoo places must always be run-down, dark, and dingy. It’s also empty this early in the morning, save for a lone figure in the back, seated at a well-worn desk, his head pitched forward over his work.

He’s so enveloped in whatever he’s sketching that he must not have heard the light ringing of the bell as you had entered. You watch him for a few moments–taking in the graceful movements of his hand and the way his fingers grasp the pen. He’s dressed in a plain blue button-down dress shirt, which also doesn’t fit your assumed archetype of ‘Tattoo Artist.’ You can’t see his face; his head is leaning forward too much and a few short locks of dark brown hair obscure your view.

Suddenly wondering if you’re being incredibly rude, staring at someone without announcing your presence, you open your mouth to introduce yourself.

“Um.”

While not exactly eloquent, it serves its purpose. The man startles and looks up in surprise.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, jumping to his feet and letting the pen clatter carelessly to the desk. “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“That’s okay,” you shake your head rapidly. “I was, um…” You blink a few times, your nerves getting the better of you as the man comes around his desk to approach the front of the store.

“Interested in a walk-in consultation?” he offers, holding out his hands in a gesture that could either be an open invitation or a shrug.

“I don’t know,” you confess quietly. “I was thinking about getting, uh, a tattoo, and I was told this shop was… good. With tattoos. And other stuff.”

“Other stuff?” he chuckles, smiling warmly.

“You know… with people who… might not be good at getting tattoos.”

“What makes you think you aren’t ‘good at getting tattoos?’”

“A hunch,” you shrug, expelling a little huff of laughter through your nose. “I was told to ask for a Marcus Pike?”

The man’s smile widens. “You’re looking at him.”

Oh. You aren’t sure what you expected, but it wasn’t this. Marcus Pike is well-dressed and clean-cut, almost startlingly so. You scan up and down, looking for any sign that this man could possibly be a tattoo artist, but the only evidence you can find is a small black target inked between his thumb and forefinger on his right hand. Don’t… tattoo artists usually have more ink? Of course, with him almost completely covered from head to toe, you obviously can’t create a full picture of Marcus’s skin, but the fact that he wouldn’t look out of place in one of the nearby government buildings still takes you by surprise.

You realize you haven’t said anything in response, but Marcus doesn’t seem to be bothered by your deer-in-headlights stare. Instead, he grins again and steps sideways, extending his arm in a silent invitation to come deeper into the shop.

“Come on in. If you’d like, go ahead and sit wherever you want, and we can talk about it. No pressure,” he promises. “I’m not here to push ink on you like a used car salesman; I’m here to collaborate with you. Figure out what you really want. And, if what you want ends up being ‘nothing,’ I totally support that, too.”

There’s something innate and intrinsic about Marcus Pike that sets you completely at-ease. You cast your eyes around, taking in the eclectic seating in the shop–all mismatched, all different colors, styles, and shapes, but all looking incredibly comfortable and inviting. You settle on a giant turquoise beanbag that seems to swallow you whole when you sink down into it, and Marcus grins and sits down in the bright yellow saucer chair beside it.

“So at the very least, you’re thinking about a tattoo,” Marcus leads. “Can you tell me about that?”

You nod, feeling encouraged by his openness. “Yeah, so… my mom, she passed away a couple of years ago, and it just seemed like I should… memorialize her in some way. Like, in a way that leaves its mark on me like she left a mark on me, and I just couldn’t stop thinking about the idea of getting some kind of permanent art that commemorates her.”

“That’s a great idea,” Marcus says softly. “Lots of people choose to do that after losing a loved one.”

“Yeah, the only problem is that I’m not good with um… noise, or people touching me, or… pain, really,” you confess. “I’m like, the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.”

Marcus chuckles softly and shakes his head. “Personally, I don’t believe that. I think anyone can get a tattoo done if they want it, provided they get it done in a way that feels safe and comfortable.”

“My friend, she uh, recommended your shop because apparently you’ve done some stuff for people with autism and it went viral on TikTok…” you ramble, “and I thought maybe that meant you’d be a good fit for… for me.”

Understanding flickers in Marcus’s expression, and he nods, a small smile spreading across his face. “I hope so,” he says with quiet earnesty.

A beat passes–just a few seconds of silence–but something small and soft and warm settles down between the two of you, and the comforting feeling sinks down into the pit of your stomach and stays there, latent and waiting.

“So, let’s talk design,” Marcus announces. “Do you have anything in mind? Any images or ideas, however vague? I can do anything from replicating designs to building something completely from scratch for you.”

“I like the idea of it being a unique piece,” you tell him.

“I prefer original designs too,” he says. “Not to sound incredibly cheesy, but there’s no one like you, you know? In–In the general sense, of course.” He chuckles sheepishly, looking down at his hands. “I like knowing each person that comes in here leaves with something unique. Something all their own—I’m rambling,” he says quickly, the tips of his ears turning slightly pink. “One thing about me is that I talk too much. Anyway–did you have any ideas you can share with me about what you’d like?”

“I don’t have a good image in my mind,” you confess anxiously. After all, how can he build a design based on the swirling, disjointed images in your brain? “I think I want it to be colorful, like she was. And… I keep getting thoughts about, I dunno, the cyclical nature of life, something corny like that.”

Marcus laughs. “Sometimes the corny stuff is what sticks with us. So, colorful and commenting on the cyclical nature of life,” he lists off on his fingers, still grinning. “Anything else?”

“I’ve looked through your galleries online,” you tell him. “You have a few that look like watercolor paintings, and I really love how they look.”

He nods thoughtfully. “I’m gonna throw out an idea—Feel free to tell me ‘no,’ because I’m just brainstorming here, but I keep thinking about a tree of life. The leaves could easily be done in watercolor and could be any combination of colors you want.” His right hand twitches–as if reaching for a phantom pen–as he speaks, and his gaze seems to be fixed on a spot on the wall, his eyes glimmering with enthusiasm as he starts to speak faster.

“You could have the leaves and the roots connecting on the sides, making a circle, maybe even having her birth date and death date embedded in the roots…” He blinks rapidly a few times, as if dispelling the image from his head. “Anyway. That’s a possibility.”

“I think that’s amazing,” you say softly, watching Marcus with something like amazement in your expression. “Actually… I really like that idea. It sounds… perfect.”

“Oh,” he intones softly, looking at you in surprise as a bright, toothy smile breaks across his face. “Oh. Well then, let’s do it, huh? One final question: where do you envision getting it?”

“I was thinking on my shoulder. Here,” you indicate, pressing your hand to the skin of your upper arm. “That way it’s visible when I want it to be, but easily hidden if for some reason it needs to be.”

“That’s perfect,” Marcus says. “Plus, the circular design will go really well there. Okay. Great. Um, some things to know about the process. We’ll exchange emails, and you can contact me at any time with any questions, concerns, ideas, changes, anything. In the meantime, I’ll get started on a design for you, and I’ll share initial sketches that you can give feedback on before I move to the final stages of the design. It’ll take a couple of weeks, maximum, depending on any changes you ask for. My only request is that you’re always honest with your feedback–don’t tell me you like something when you don’t. I promise, it won’t hurt my feelings.” He grins widely. “After that, you book an appointment on a day that works best for you. I almost always book the whole day for the appointment to factor in time for copious breaks and making sure you feel comfortable. Does that work for you?”

You nod eagerly.

“Last question,” Marcus says. “Is it okay if I get a close-up picture of your upper arm? That way I can make sure it fits the curvature of your arm, it’s the right size, stuff like that.”

“Mhmm,” you nod again, pressing your lips together and trying not to look nervous. Thank god you wore a sleeveless top under your sweater.

“Only if you’re comfortable,” he insists.

“No, no, it’s fine,” you say quickly, removing just the one arm from your outer layer and pulling it aside.

You watch as Marcus grabs a little ‘point-and-shoot’ digital camera from his desk and comes back to your side.

“This is just used for design purposes,” he promises. “I delete them after the design is done.”

“I trust you.”

His resulting expression could light an entire room. “Thank you,” he answers quietly. “Okay. Super close-up, just your arm. Cool?”

“Cool,” you confirm, and you hear the camera click several times.

“Actually,” Marcus says, still staring thoughtfully at your bare shoulder. “Would it be okay if I made a couple of little marks–washable marker, of course–to make sure the dimensions are how you want them?”

Oh. You normally don’t like it when people touch you. You knew it was going to happen eventually, obviously, because how else was he going to get the design onto your skin? But it was something you had planned on working yourself up to, not something you had to do today. On the other hand, something about Marcus’s entire bearing makes you inexplicably ache to be touched by him.

“‘No’ is an acceptable response,” he interrupts your dithering with a quiet reassurance.

And actually, that works to seal the deal for you, and your decision is made in an instant.

“Yes. You can. That’s fine.” And, to your surprise, you mean it.

Marcus seems just as surprised at your answer–his eyebrows shoot upward almost comically at your response.

“Okay,” he says softly. “That’s perfect. Hang on.” He jumps up again to retrieve a black marker–from what was clearly a children’s set of washable markers. He meets your eyes, and again you take in that sincere, earnest, patient look that endeared you to this man from the moment you entered the little shop.

“Is it okay if I touch your arm?” he asks quietly, still watching you carefully as you nod.

“Tell me if that changes,” he murmurs, dropping his gaze to your shoulder again. His touch, when you feel it, is just as warm as you’d imagined. He’s gentle, cautious, and when he speaks again, his voice remains at that same, soft volume and tone. “I’m envisioning being from about here–” he makes a little black dot, “–to here. What do you think?”

You nod. It’s the perfect size–large enough to cover your shoulder but stopping just above the point where the sleeve of a regular t-shirt would hit.

“That’s perfect.”

“Okay, so that’s–” he tsks softly, measuring the distance with his finger, “–about four inches, so that same distance across, and–” he makes two more marks on either side of your shoulder. “About like that. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” you answer, smiling with enthusiasm.

“Great! Let me just…” Marcus draws a few short lines denoting the proposed boundary of your design, and you can’t help the soft giggle that escapes you at the cool tip of the marker on your skin.

“Sorry,” he chuckles. “One more picture?”

At your nod, the camera clicks one last time.

“Like I said, that’ll wash off with soap, no problem,” he promises with a smile. “Thanks for that, makes it easier to scale.” He grabs two business cards off his desk and hands them to you. “Can you write your email on this one for me? And you can keep the other one. Like I said, anything you need, just email me. And uh, barring that, you’ll be hearing from me in a week or so with a rough sketch. Okay?”

You scribble down your email and hand the card back to Marcus before pulling your sweater back over your bare arm. You slip the other card into your purse and rise to your feet. “Thanks,” you say, nodding to him.

“Hey, no–thank you,” Marcus returns. “Thanks for entrusting me with this. I mean it.”

Surprising yourself, you extend your hand toward him, and, when he takes it, you feel enveloped with warmth again.

“Thanks,” repeat, a little bit more breathlessly this time, before turning and hurrying out of the shop before you can embarrass yourself any further.

Your shoulder still tingles from his touch hours later.

Rather than it being a week before you hear from him, you receive an email from Marcus Pike just three days later.

Subject: Initial Sketch

Hello,

Please see attached. It’s just pencil for now, but I made a note of the general blocks of color I was thinking for the leaves. You’ll see what I mean when you open the file. Sorry, I know it’s a pretty rough sketch, I was just excited to get this to you. I look forward to your feedback!

Best regards,

Marcus :)

Eagerly, you open the attachment. First of all, there’s nothing “rough” about the sketch other than the fact that it’s just penciled in. The details are already so intricate, and you find yourself smiling in amazement as you take in the design.

It’s beautiful.

Brackets, each labeled with a different color in Marcus’s neat, tidy handwriting, surround the top of the tree. Red. Orange. Yellow. Green. Blue. Violet.

At the bottom of the image is another handwritten note: *All the colors will blend together and the result should look like a rainbow.

Tears spring, unbidden, to your eyes, as you feverishly type out your response.

Subject: Re: Initial Sketch

Marcus,

I really don’t know what to say other than it’s perfect. It’s absolutely perfect. Made me tear up. Look forward to seeing it in color.

Thanks again!

Not even five minutes go by before your phone vibrates with another email.

Subject: Re: Re: Initial Sketch

I’m sorry if I made you cry! Obviously wasn’t my intention but I’m glad the design evokes emotion :) I’ll move forward with the design as-is and you should hear from me soon with a full-color image.

Marcus :)

You can’t wait. The next week and a half stretches out excruciatingly, but finally, on a Wednesday evening, you receive another email.

Subject: Final Design

Hey there!

Hope you’ve been doing well. Thought you might like to see the final design of your tattoo ;) See attached and let me know if anything needs to be changed. Be critical! Don’t hold anything back! Once we agree on a final piece, we’ll get you on the calendar.

Best regards,

Marcus :)

Your mind skims over the fact that Marcus used a winking-face emoji in your email, because you honestly aren’t equipped to process that right now, and open the attachment instead. This time, you start crying in earnest. It’s perfect. The colors are so vibrant, and they make the tree look as though it’s in a constant state of movement. Your mom’s birth and death dates are entwined seamlessly into the roots themselves, in a way that makes them not readily apparent at first glance, but seeming to just appear out of nowhere upon further inspection.

Subject: Re: Final Design

Marcus,

If I had any critical feedback, I would share it, I promise. But I have nothing. This is everything I’d imagined and more, and it means the world to me.

Thank you so much.

After a few more messages back and forth, you settle on a date one month out.

You can’t wait.

As excited as you’ve been for the past month, when you step foot back into Marcus’s little tattoo parlor, the air of finality makes your body thrum with anxiety.

You’re really doing this.

Marcus is at the back of the shop, busying himself with setting up his workspace when you enter. Today, he’s wearing a dark green henley that looks just as soft as he is, and seems to complement his features even more. As soon as he hears the chimes, his head snaps up, and he grins widely.

“Hey!” he calls out excitedly. “Just getting everything ready. Do you want something to drink before we get started? I’ve got water, juice, soda…” he trails off, waving his hand in the direction of a mini-fridge in the corner.

“I’m okay for now.”

“Sounds good, but when we take a break, you should have some juice or something else with a bit of sugar in it, okay?” You nod, and he continues. “Okay! Where do you want to sit?”

“Don’t I have to sit in the chair over there?” you ask, gesturing to the traditional chair and bench near Marcus’s work table.

“Not at all,” he protests. “The table is mobile, I bring it to wherever you feel comfortable.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly. “I’ll go ahead and sit in the chair, though.” Of all the options, it looks like the easiest–you aren’t entirely sure how Marcus would be able to comfortably tattoo you whilst sitting on a bean bag chair.

“Your choice,” he insists, spreading his hands out in an open and unguarded stance.

You settle in the chair and he sits down on a rolling stool beside you.

“Okay, so I’ve got a stencil of your design here,” Marcus says, holding up a paper with an outline of the tree for you to see. “It’ll transfer onto your skin exactly how you want it to go, and I’ll just trace it. Make sense?”

“Yep,” you nod.

“Before I do that, though, I have to make sure nothing interferes with the design, including tiny little hairs.” He holds up a pink safety razor. “Are you comfortable with me doing this for you?”

At your tentative nod of consent, Marcus leans forward and gently swipes the razor up and down your shoulder until he’s satisfied. His eyes dart between your skin and your face the entire time–making sure you’re still with him. After he’s done, he talks you through the stencil–confirming its location, gently applying it to your shoulder, and then holding up a mirror for you to approve.

“It’s great,” you whisper excitedly.

Marcus returns your smile and begins to absentmindedly roll up his sleeves in preparation to start working–-and the question about tattoos that you’d asked yourself upon first seeing the man is suddenly and unexpectedly answered.

You can’t help the soft sound of surprise that escapes from you when you catch the colorful patchwork of designs on both of his forearms, disappearing under the pushed-up henley and suggesting that they go all the way up.

Marcus catches you staring and grins, his eyes sparkling with mirth.

“I didn’t know,” you say softly. “You keep them covered up.”

“Force of habit,” Marcus shrugs. “I had a desk job for a long time.”

“Doing what?” you ask, curiously. You can’t see the man doing anything but this.

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” he jokes, winking in your direction.

Ignoring how the wink makes your heart stutter in your chest, you bark out a laugh at his answer. “What? Were you like a secret agent or something?” you tease.

“Special Agent,” he corrects, grinning.

“Get out,” you deadpan. “I can’t imagine you as a Fed.”

Marcus shrugs, giving you another one of his boyish, crooked smiles. “Would’ve been fifteen years this year had I not finally seen the writing on the wall and run for the hills a couple of years ago.”

“What made you leave?”

He laughs softly, shaking his head. “That’s a long story. How sensitive are you to noise?” he asks, abruptly changing the subject.

“Uh, I dunno. Kind of depends on the day and the situation,” you shrug.

“Fair. Well, I usually let newcomers listen to what the gun actually sounds like, so there are no surprises. If it’s too loud, I do have noise canceling headphones.”

And miss out on hearing Marcus’s soft-spoken reassurances? No matter how loud the tattoo gun is, you’d rather endure it just to be able to hear him talk.

Marcus turns the instrument on, and the room is filled with a mild buzzing sound. On your worst days, admittedly, it would probably grate upon your nerves, but you’re feeling relaxed, comfortable, and excited about your new tattoo.

“It’s not bad,” you tell him truthfully.

“Perfect,” he grins. “Are you all set to get started?”

Heart rate increasing with pleasant anticipation, you nod giddily.

“I’m obviously gonna be touching your arm a lot,” Marcus says, “so let me know if you need a break from that, the noise, the needle, anything.” Seeing your solemn nod, he continues. “I’m gonna do a little dot right here to let you see how it feels, okay?” He gently touches his index finger to your skin to indicate where.

“Okay.”

The gun turns on again, and Marcus presses it lightly against your skin for just a second before pulling back.

“...That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

“I thought it would hurt more,” you confess.

Marcus laughs. “Well, the same feeling over and over again in a small area can start to be pretty uncomfortable. I’ll check in regularly to make sure you’re still doing fine. Good?”

You smile widely. “I’m really excited.”

His smile softens, his gaze becoming warmer and more tender. “I’m glad.”

His other hand gently cradles your arm as Marcus leans in, a look of intense concentration settling over his features as he begins the design. Engrossed in his work, you take the time to study his forearms. They’re a hodgepodge of designs, clearly done at different times and by different artists, but you can see themes throughout. He likes classic styles, you can tell, and in between some of the more traditional works you can see beautiful references to an assortment of famous paintings. A Dali melting clock here. A sunflower clearly inspired by Van Gogh there. On his opposite bicep, you can just barely make out the side of one design that looks like it might be of a Greek statue. Tilting your head, you realize it’s Nike alighting on the bow of a warship, and you inhale sharply. That’s one of your favorite sculptures.

“Still okay?” Marcus asks, glancing up at you with concern in his eyes.

“Sorry.” You shake your head quickly.

“Just checking,” he says softly. “Try to be just a little more still, okay?”

“Sorry,” you repeat, laughing sheepishly.

“Don’t be, you’re doing great.”

You try to fight the way your entire body seems to grow warm at Marcus’s praise, but you can’t stop the way the feeling stampedes through you. You’re being ridiculous, you chastise yourself. He’s doing his job, and you’re getting all moony-eyed.

In order to distract yourself, you continue playing ‘Spot the Famous Artwork’ on Marcus’s sleeves–although, as distractions go, it’s not your best work. You can’t help but focus in on the way his forearm cords with muscle as he holds the tattoo gun, controlling each movement so delicately and precisely, creating a beautiful, intricate design on your shoulder.

After finding a bit of yellow patchwork that's clearly a reference to Gustav Klimt's The Kiss near his right elbow, you break your silence.

“You like art, huh?”

It seems like a stupid thing to say to a fucking tattoo artist of all people, and you immediately kick yourself internally for saying something so obvious.

Marcus glances up, and, seeing how your eyes are focused on his own ink, smiles. “Always have,” he murmurs, returning his gaze to your shoulder. “Some of those are years-old.”

“Is that how you got into being a tattoo artist?” you ask.

“Sort of,” he answers, brow pinched in concentration as he continues working. “I uh, apprenticed for a shop in college to pay the bills before going to Quantico for training.”

“You’re really talented,” you tell him. “I was surprised to find out you haven’t been doing this your whole life.”

Marcus hums his appreciation as he carefully fills in a root.

“Can I ask what made you join the FBI instead of opening your own place after college?”

He huffs a little laugh through his nose. “Parents would have killed me, going to college and then doing nothing with it.”

“Running a small business isn’t exactly doing nothing,” you point out.

“Well, public opinion on tattoos wasn’t what it is now,” Marcus says. “They were scandalized by my apprenticeship, but it paid the bills, so they couldn’t complain too loudly.”

“Was it them who wanted you to join the FBI?”

“Mm, not so much,” he murmurs. “It was more like ‘whatever you want to do, so long as you can make a lucrative career out of it.’ Being an artist wasn’t one of those things, so in lieu of becoming one myself, I decided I wanted to protect them instead.”

You scrunch up your nose. “Protect them how?”

Marcus grins up at you and waggles his eyebrows playfully. “Art crimes,” he answers. “Being an art detective was kind of in the limelight in the early ‘nineties after the famous Gardner Museum theft, and I got swept up in the craze.”

“So you spent the last fifteen-ish years recovering stolen art,” you fill in for him.

“Stolen, forged, looted, illegally traded or smuggled…” Marcus offers, not breaking his concentration again. He wasn’t wrong–the repeated drag of the needle across what felt like the same square centimeter of your skin was starting to wear on you.

“Uh-huh,” you say, forcing the discomfort out of your tone.

Noticing the tightness in your voice immediately, Marcus’s movements stop. “Feeling okay?”

You shrug.

The gun switches off.

“You gotta be honest about how you’re feeling,” he reminds you. “I might be able to create designs based off of customers’ vague descriptions, but that doesn’t make me a mind-reader.”

“It’s a little uncomfortable, but I can endure it,” you insist.

“There’s no need to endure something that’s painful,” Marcus argues with an amused smile. “Even if it involves choosing to repeatedly jamming a needle into your skin.”

You can’t help but laugh, and your heart swells when he joins you.

“C’mere,” he says. “Let me show you something.”

You let him lead you to the other side of the shop, where he stops in front of a large storage cabinet that you'd assumed held various supplies. When he opens it, however, you find that isn’t the case at all.

No, the entire cabinet is filled to the brim with a collection of stuffed animals just as eclectic and varied as the furniture. There's also a couple of shoeboxes filled with every manner of fidget toy you could ever imagine.

"You can grab one, if you want. I know it might feel kind of goofy, but I promise they help with the pain."

"Okay," you breathe. Your gaze lingers first on the IKEA shark, then on a very soft-looking cactus with an adorable grumpy expression, but when your gaze lands on the largest and arguably oddest toy in the collection, your hands can't help but move toward it.

"The big guy, huh?" Marcus laughs, taking the giant squid off of the shelf and placing it in your arms. You have to laugh at how large and ungainly it is; its massive black eyes stare vacantly back at you, but the effect is dopey, rather than menacing.

"Where do you get all of these?" you ask in amazement.

"Most of them are gifts from past clients, including that one," Marcus says, indicating the squid. "But I think he originally came from the Smithsonian. I was told his name is 'Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.'"

"Thank you," you say in a small, appreciative voice.

"'S'fine," Marcus shrugs. "Feel up to continuing?"

You nod, looking down at your partially-inked shoulder. "Guess you didn't get very far before I had to stop," you remark, somewhat self-deprecatingly.

"It's not a race," your artist says earnestly. "We've got the whole day, and we go at your pace. You're paying me, after all." Another wink in your direction.

"Yeah," you nod, confidence growing again. "Yeah, okay." You plop down in your seat, with Cthulhu in your lap, and Marcus takes his place beside you.

“Gonna turn this back on again,” he announces as the now-familiar buzz fills the room, “and I’m gonna touch your arm–” his fingers wrap warmly and gently around your skin, “–annnd here we go.”

The needle scratches insistently against your skin, but it isn’t so bad–not really, not with the hilarious giant squid on your lap and Marcus’s gentle, soothing voice in your ear. He talks while he works, sometimes asking you questions about your own life–to which he listens intently and always seems to have follow-up questions–and sometimes telling you stories of his own. You discuss art, obviously, but also music, books, movies, and baseball of all things.

You find yourself wondering if he has this type of easy rapport with everyone who comes in, but you assume he must. He might be the most disarming person you’ve ever met, and it’s hardly a stretch to believe he’s like this with everyone. Still, there’s an ugly, jealous part of you that wishes the connection between you was unique, special. That he’s only this warm with you.

Marcus was right–squeezing the stuffed toy on your lap is a perfect distraction from the discomfort of the needle, and before long, the sensation fades into the background. As the time drags on, though, the persistent drone of the tattoo gun causes an ache to creep in and settle between your eyes. You take in a deep breath through your nose, count to three, and exhale slowly through your mouth.

Marcus glances up, watching you for a split-second before cutting power to the gun and stretching his back with a satisfied sigh.

“Break time,” he announces. “Hand’s getting a bit sore.” He shoots you a knowing glance and another one of those crooked smiles. “And you should probably have a little something to drink, maybe a snack.”

“Yeah, thanks,” you say gratefully as he walks over to the little fridge.

“Apple juice?” he asks, holding up a little juice box that looks slightly comical in his large hands. When you nod enthusiastically, he hands it to you.

His fingers brush yours.

If it were anyone else, you’d recoil, but it’s him. It might just be the forced proximity, but…

You’re developing quite the crush on Marcus Pike.

Shoving the thought aside for the moment, you stab the straw into the little hole and take a long sip. Marcus settles down beside you with his own choice–a little can of vegetable juice–and holds it up in a silent ‘cheers.’

Feeling emboldened, you ask the question that’s been burning in your mind since you started.

“So what made you leave the whole ‘helping other artists’ thing behind and start a tattoo business instead?”

Marcus presses his lips together, and for a moment, you fear you’ve crossed a boundary. Just before you’re about to apologize profusely, though, he speaks.

“Have you ever just… woken up one morning, and realized that everything you were working toward, everything you thought you wanted in life… was a lie?”

“I… I don’t know,” you confess quietly, surprised at the emotion behind his words.

“Happened to me,” he laughs softly. “I had moved to DC for what I thought was my dream job, with who I thought was–” he shakes his head, as though dispelling an unpleasant thought. “I had spent my entire life checking boxes: College degree? Check. Well-paying job? Check. House? Check. Check, check check. I spent so much time trying to get ahead, like life was some kind of game to be won. If I said all the right things, did all the right things, if I did everything right… I’d have the life I wanted.”

“What was the life you wanted?” you ask, voice barely above a whisper.

“It was bullshit, is what it was. Saw one too many rom-coms as a kid, I suppose. I thought I was after the picket fence, the dog, the wife and two-point-five kids, that sort of thing. And one morning I woke up, realized that… that relentless pursuit of something I couldn’t even hold–it was all bullshit.”

“So you just… quit?”

“I quit. I wanted to create things again. I wanted to feel inspired. After a bit of uh… frantic soul-searching before I ran out of money entirely, I sold my stupid, too-big condo that I hated and bought this shop instead.”

“Did it work?”

“Well, I’m not bankrupt yet,” Marcus says dryly.

“No, I mean… did you feel inspired again?”

“I did. I do. So very much so,” he says, his voice soft and gentle. His eyes flick up to meet yours, and that comfortable warmth that had settled in between you the first time you had met him… grows. Mutates. Until the warm, tingling feeling feels a lot more like electricity.

An unspoken moment seems to pass through you, but then Marcus clears his throat roughly, setting the empty can aside and standing again, shoving his hands in his pockets.

“Wanna keep going?”

Breathlessly, you nod.

In no time at all, you’re settled back in the chair with one of Marcus’s warm, strong, large hands cradling your arm as the other gently wields the tattoo gun. As he starts to fill in and blend the colors, the pain starts to increase, and you worry one of the fuzzy tentacles back and forth in your hand as you grit your teeth.

“I know, I know,” Marcus soothes quietly. “The color’s the worst part, but you’re being so good for me.”

It helps you to watch him work, so you do. He’s blending in the colors now, and you watch with interest as it starts to take shape. It’s so mesmerizing that you hardly even notice the buzz of the gun or the light sting of the needle anymore.

“And you said you ‘weren’t good at tattoos,’” he teases gently, noticing your obvious interest.

“Did I say that?” you laugh, teasing back.

“I believe your words were, ‘I’m like the worst candidate for getting a tattoo that exists.’” he reminds you. “And look at you now, huh?”

You duck your head at his praise, unable to withstand the intensity and honesty in his gaze.

“Doing okay after all, I guess,” you say with a sheepish smile.

“You’re doing amazing,” Marcus corrects, smiling warmly. “The type of client any artist dreams of.”

You don’t know how to respond to the things this man says to you. Stunned and at a loss for words, you stare awkwardly at your hand where it still wraps around Cthulhu, Lord of the Deep.

“I’m sorry.” The words are soft, concerned. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I just meant that your enthusiasm and your curiosity is the stuff that makes me want to be an artist in the first place.”

“Are you saying I inspire you?” you try to tease, but it falls flat.

Just audibly, over the hum of the tattoo gun, you hear his whispered response.

“Yes.”

As Marcus wipes away the last of the stray ink on the purple bit of tree, the tattoo gun suddenly switches off. The silence is almost shocking, and you blink rapidly in confusion.

“Break time?” you ask.

Marcus chuckles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with amusement. “It’s all done.”

“It is?” you ask, although you can see the answer for yourself in the large mirrored wall to your right.

“How’s it feel?” he asks.

“My arm kind of aches,” you confess, “but oh my God, Marcus… it’s beautiful.”

It’s his turn to preen under your praise, the tips of his ears blushing pink as he grins back at you.

“I’m glad you like it,” he says softly. “Here, let me give you a little something for the pain.”

He squeezes a glob of light-green cooling gel and coats the angry skin with the barest of touches. “Still okay?” he asks, glancing up at you for confirmation.

After the harshness of the needle, the soft press of his fingers is more soothing than ever, and you have to resist the urge to sigh and melt into his touch.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“You’re going to want to keep this covered for a couple of hours, up to overnight,” Marcus says as he carefully applies a dressing to your shoulder–still softly, but more businesslike than before as he walks you through all of the instructions for care. “Once you take this off tomorrow, you’ll probably see some fluid leaking from it–that’s totally normal. It’s blood, plasma, and extra ink, and it should stop after a few days before it starts to scab over.

“You’ll want to keep it from drying out; I’d recommend scent-free, dye-free lotion if you don’t already have some,” he continues. “Wash it twice a day and put lotion on after. When it starts to scab, I can’t stress this enough: don’t pick the scabs.” He gives you a serious look. “Repeat that back to me.”

“Don’t pick the scabs.”

“If you do, you could cause it to scar, or even pull out the ink. One more time for me,” he prompts, and you get the feeling that this is always the sticking point in his speech.

“Don’t pick the scabs,” you repeat.

“It’ll take three to four months for the lower layers of skin to completely heal,” Marcus tells you. “During that time, keep it out of the sun, keep it hydrated, and you’re in the clear.”

“And don’t pick the scabs,” you say teasingly.

Marcus winks at you. “Exactly. Any other questions for me?”

“No, just… thank you. It’s amazing,” you tell him. “You did such an incredible job.”

“Hard not to, when I have such a beautiful canvas.”

Your eyes dart up, expecting to see a teasing glint in his eyes, but all you can see is heartfelt sincerity. You swallow thickly, and he tracks the movement, his eyes dropping down, then back up to meet your eyes. Is it… not just you? Does he feel it, too? Realization slams through you and threatens to overload all of your systems. Marcus’s lips are parted slightly, and the look in his eyes… it’s desire.

“Marcus…”

“Wait,” he says urgently. “Hang on. Come… come over here for a minute, let me–” he dashes awkwardly over to the till on the counter and gives you your total. Frowning in confusion–he wants to do this now? Interrupting that electric moment that had passed between you?–you dutifully swipe your card and numbly take the receipt.

“Now you’re no longer my client,” Marcus explains softly. “I–sorry–I was about to throw caution to the wind and kiss you, and I didn’t… I didn’t want to be unethical, I–”

“Yes,” you say simply, giving your response to his un-asked question.

It’s all he needs to stride forward, gently take your face in his warm palms, and, seeing no hesitation in your eyes even as he searches your face desperately—presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is as soft and as tender as the man himself, which hardly surprises you. Your eyes slip closed as his lips move against you with aching caution. He’s careful in all things, including this–taking your cues, giving you the lead, letting you feel everything he’s giving you.

All too quickly, he pulls back–but his eyes only sweep your face again, a growing smile on his lips as he sees nothing but want reflected back at him.

When he lowers his lips to yours again, he’s less gentle. One large hand leaves your face too hook around your waist, pulling you closer, closer–and when the proximity causes you to gasp softly, Marcus is ready. His tongue gently slips between your parted lips and you practically melt into him. When your knees buckle, his strong arms are what keep you standing upright, and still–

He can’t seem to stop kissing you.

You break before he does–pulling back to suck in a few shaky, heaving breaths, and he smiles through his own labored breathing.

“I wanted–I–” he begins, before hastily pressing another kiss to the corner of your mouth as if he can’t help but do so.

“I’ve thought of you,” he tries again. “I thought of you like this for the last month,” the confession finally spills out. “I wanted to–wanted to kiss you so badly all day, but I couldn’t. Couldn’t let myself.” He kisses you again. “But now,” he promises, whispering the words against your mouth. “Now I’m gonna get my fill.”

To punctuate his statement with one of your own, you slant your head and deepen the kiss, wrapping one hand around Marcus’s neck and pulling him closer still. He makes a soft noise in his throat, and the grip on your waist tightens. You lose yourself completely to the feel of his tongue sliding slowly against yours, until he suddenly pulls back.

“I’m doing this all wrong,” he whispers–although he’s still smiling. “I wanted to ask you out to dinner, first.”

“So ask me,” you say with a giggle.

“Come have dinner with me,” Marcus murmurs, shaking his head in quiet amusement as he steals another gentle kiss. “Right now. Tonight.”

“You might have to open all the doors,” you tease. “My arm hurts.”

Another kiss.

“I’m wounded that you think I wouldn’t open every door regardless.”

“Are you always such a gentleman?” you remark with a wry smile.

Another.

“Well,” Marcus grins wolfishly. He places on last, lingering kiss on your lips and then makes a show of offering his arm. “Not always.”

#marcus pike #marcus pike x you #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike fanfiction #the mentalist #pedro pascal

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sadcatprince · 2 months

Text

Day four got a little spicier than I intended for the stalking prompt... nothing explicit buut... Vlad catches Danny doing something on camera...

(I managed to sketch two panels before giving up and deciding to write instead)

Pentadrabble below the cut. Warnings for non-consenual voyeurism and implied masturbation.

Who would have thought politics would be THIS dull. He was starting to wish he'd actually built that space station. It was a ridiculous idea but at least he could go watch the stars for a while. He settled onto his couch and picked up the remote. It had been a few weeks since he'd checked in on Daniel. He'd backed off just a bit recently. The boy was under enough stress in his Senior year. More importantly though he needed Daniel to get his grades up and into UW and far out of Vlad's way.

Vlad could always like the right pockets and get his godson in regardless but the boy would only resent him if he did. The ungrateful brat. Vlad clicked through the feeds idly. Empty lab, empty living room, Jack and Maddie bustling around the kitchen. Jasmine was nowhere to be seen but she was already off to college. Some “ivy league” school. Vlad had been disappointed of course but Jack was devastated. Vlad's face twisted into a grin when he remembered the man’s face. The grin fell when he clicked over to Danny's room.

Vlad’s eyes widened and his face reddened but he could tear his eyes away. “Daniel it is the middle of the DAY… your parents are home!” His voice cracked as he yelled at the vigorously masturbating teenager. Technically an adult now not that it made this any less mortifying. Vlad shifted on the couch, about to click the TV off when he noticed what Daniel was staring at as muffled himself with his pillow.

Vlad swore he recognized that polaroid. Vlad zoomed in. “There's no way…”

Vlad had given Jack that photo as a “joke” 25 years ago. It had taken three attempts to get that angle right and manage to find the button with one hand because the other was busy- Vlad shut off the TV. “Jack said he BURNED that!” He snarled but the anger deflated quickly with the bevy of other emotions. Not least of which was the arousal making him shift where he was sitting again.

It was clearly him in that photo. Daniel had to know. Vlad rested his head in his hands. He prayed if he squeezed his eyes shut hard enough it would clear the image of Daniel spread out on his bed like that. Face flushed eyes just barely open so they could keep looking at him.

Vlad couldn't even begin to think about what that meant. Vlad laid back on the couch. It was probably just some weird power trip. It would be ridiculous to assume Daniel actually wanted him. It was a particularly bad idea to actually indulge that thought.

Then again something being a bad idea usually didn't stop Vlad. So he let himself think of Daniel looking down at him with that same desperate possessive gaze… His house was empty. No one would see him. No one would know…

“I'm uninstalling those cameras..” He panted as the usual post orgasm shame set in.

I have to mention i was a little bit inspired by this:

Vlad started checking the feeds more frequently.

End

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(How the hecc does she draw the canon art style so well???)

#pompous pep week 2024 #pompous pep #sadcatart #sadcatwrites #its TECHNICALLY more than 500 words but... only a little... its fiiine...

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nekochan08 · 1 month

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Hetalia Head Canons

This is just a free-for-all

-America & Canada: I love the idea that when drunk, Alfred becomes quiet and docile while Matt sheds his shyness. Matt would be calling people “bitch”and Alfred’s crying because someone stood too close to him. Al falls asleep at his own parties and Matt once emptied a water bottle over his head because he “wanted to hear the ocean”.

-China: I read that in China, Taylor Swift is one of the most popular foreign artists. Yao being a huge Swiftie got me in tears 😂. Probably goes to all of her East Asia concerts when she’s on tour. He buys as much merch as he can carry lol.

-France: I think he’s more athletic than what he seems. Sure he likes going for walks in the streets of Paris, going to cafes, and lounging about. But if he has to, mf can scale a 10 story building in under a minute. I think I read somewhere that he likes escaping Paris and I imagine him running out of there like it’s a prison break or something lol. Yes this was influenced by the masked parkour torch bearer from the Olympics.

-Poland: I saw an article about a polish man drunk driving a Soviet era tank to the liquor store to get more drinks and the friends he was with were also hammered. It got me thinking of Feliks wanting to go somewhere and… “aw idk where I left my car keys and I don’t wanna walk……guess I’ll take the tank 💅🏼✨”

-England: even though he’s a successful country, I feel like he’s one of those people that has such bad luck with normal everyday human things. Going home from a day at work; he gets on the wrong train. Getting on a plane for a meeting; he forgets his ID. Wants to treat himself to his at his favorite pub; it’s closed forever. Everything he plans or looks forward to goes wrong in some way. He’s a magnet for bad energy.

-Wales & Northern Ireland: These two strike me as a “do it for the vine/meme” duo. They have a joint tiktok account where they post random shit that leaves you thinking “how’d they get into that situation?! What’s the context for this???” The whole world finds out about any whoopsie they’ve done before Arthur does. Like this ⬇️

#I love the UK bros #them and the na bros #I just love guys being dudes 😂#hetalia #hetalia world stars #hws hetalia #hws america #hws #hws england #hws canada #hws france #hws poland #hws wales #hws northern ireland

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themusingsofacurlyhairednerd · 3 months

Text

Datura Pt 16

Summary: The final confrontation with Hybern comes to a head.

Content Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, Character Death (or two, sorry Beron), Suggestiveness ;)

Author's Note: I'm going to be totally honest, I have a terrible time writing endings, they have never been my strong suit, I like to keep things open ended so that they can just go one forever and ever. So, I intend to write a couple more chapters as part of the epilogue, I'm thinking a mating ceremony? Some fluffy goodness to make up for all the angst? Let me know what you guys want to see :) (I've posted a poll here for ideas as well )

Previous Chapter/ Master List

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

Rhys is screaming, roaring, your name.

You should be dead.

You’re certainly cold, as cold as you had been the first time the Cauldron’s powers had filled you, but this time, this time there is an end to it. This time you can claw your way to the surface and grab some air. This time you do not fight it, do not surrender to it, you grab hold of that icy power and draw it in like a breath. And when your lungs are full, you release that breath with a scream that blows the roof off the Temple.

You’re not dead at all.

Helion lays with his hands over his head at your feet, completely unharmed.

You rub at the spot on your chest where you took the brunt of the blast, the only real discomfort you still feel from the whole ordeal.

Rhys grabs you by the shoulder, shouting your name, terror shooting down the bond.

“I’m ok,” you assure. “Although, I do kinda have heartburn now.”

Helion raises himself back up as both Azriel and Cassian slam into the ground beside you.

“Mother’s Tits!” Cassian bellows.

You burp from the pressure in your chest.

“How the fuck?” Azriel says to Rhys.

Your mate is staring at you like he can’t believe any of this is real, and you’re honestly inclined to believe the same. Just a couple months ago you had fully believed you were just some farm girl, and now, here you stand, a full fledged Death Goddess.

“What was that?” Rhys demands none of them in particular, his face awash with worry.

You roll your shoulders, strangely more confident than before. You can take that, you can take whatever else it’s got. “The Cauldron and I have unfinished business.”

The words are barely out of your mouth before an arrow comes whizzing past your ear. That was why it had been so empty; why cast spells and lay boobytraps when Hybern could simply pull his men back and wait for you all to enter so he could blast you away with the Cauldron?

Both Cassian and Azriel turn to face the Temple, large wings outstretched like shields as they raise their gloved hands. Ruby and cobalt siphons gleam on their hands and a moment later, they channel a blast of energy at them, turning the first wave of Hybern’s archers to ash.

“I’m going to take a wild guess and say they’re only out to let the Cauldron recharge,” Helion warns.

You rub at your chest again. “I need to get inside.”

“No-” Rhys starts, his hand still gripping your shoulder as he reconsiders the path ahead. His brothers push forward, their fine-tuned energy blasts clearing a path. For the moment, the Cauldron is quiet. It will not stay that way.

“It has to be me,” you say, turning away from the destruction ahead of you to look at him. It’s not fair that either of your lives have turned out like this, that the time you’ve had together has been so full of hardships. If things were different, maybe you would have wandered into the Night Court on your own, bumped into him in the city somewhere and the bond would have clicked. You could have had something simple, gentle, not these dangers and battles and pain between you.

“Let us be done with this,” there’s really not time for this conversation, but if anything goes wrong, you couldn’t bear any more regret. “So we can go home, together, like we bargained.”

You flex your hand, where the ink no longer resides, before brushing your hand over his cheek. “I love you, Rhys.”

“No good-byes,” he whispers, violet eyes heavy.

“We’ll have more time,” you promise. “And I am grateful for what we’ve already had.”

“Even if I did make a mess of it?” He teases, though his voice breaks.

You stretch up on your toes and kiss him gently on the lips. “I suppose I can find it in me to forgive you.”

A shiver runs down your spine as you feel the Cauldron powering up again, its voice a siren call in your mind as it beckons you. You pull away from your mate. “Pull them back.”

“Cassian! Azriel!” He barks and the two Illyrians turn ever so slightly to look at him in confusion, their glittering energy shields parting just enough to let a body through.

You don’t wait for Rhys to give them anymore orders, you sprint through that gap as fast as your legs can carry you.

“Come. Sweet Death. Come play, Little Goddess.”

It’s Cassian that yells for you to wait. Cassian who would have taken that next hit, those beautiful wings shredded to pieces had you not been standing directly between him and the next blast. The cold consumes you, makes every breath feel like swallowing glass, but still, you keep putting one foot in front of the other.

The next wave of soldiers comes barrelling forward, and you take all that borrowed energy clustered in your chest and hurl it at them. There’s no way to track how many bodies you turn to mist, a splatter of blood across your face their only remains. The blast takes another part of the Temple off, giving you a path right to where the Cauldron still remains mounted atop the altar. Its three legs have been fused to the ancient stone, Hybern shielded behind it, his men in a semi-circle around the sides.

“Playing hero now, daughter?” He snarls.

“Come to me.”

You open your arms wide as you stalk towards him, a green mist from the Cauldron pouring out over the edges. Even as he swirls a hand through the fog, when It speaks, he offers no reaction, even under his control, the words are meant for you alone. In the end, fate has drawn the two of you together.

“Give me your best shot!” You challenge.

“Closer. Come closer. Let me hold you.”

The next blast is stronger, pushing you backwards as debris from the now crumbling Temple rains down on your head. Outside, the clash of swords and cries of fighting men ring out. So Hybern is not foolish enough to keep all his men in one place, though that is a battle for the High Lords. You turn your attention away from the noise, swallowing the icy fire that bubbles in your chest from the influx of power, and hurl it back at the altar so hard the ancient stones crack.

For the first time, Hybern falters, stepping back from the Cauldron with a hand over his face to shield himself from the blast. His men had not been so fortunate.

“You cannot withstand this forever,” Hybern warns.

“And these blasts are not without cost, I’d imagine,” you return. “How long can you hide behind your Cauldron?”

He swirls a hand over the fog, offering a soft chant that makes the Cauldron bubble and groan. The floor trembles as the Cauldron shakes and spits out another attack, this time going wide and brushing the side of your face as it blows the roof off the place.

Your face is not as sturdy as your chest and the assault makes your ears ring, your right eye blurry. Overhead, Cassian’s Illyrian legion swoops and circles, the strange gems atop their hands pulsing like a dozen flashing lights.

You shake your head to clear your vision as you turn back to your father. “Afraid to face me without your precious weapon?”

He growls, teeth flashing as he grips the lip of the Cauldron with both hands.

“Come play. Come free me.”

His hands twitch from holding the ancient metal, yet he won’t let it go. “You forget how powerless against me you were before, Daughter.”

You get a step closer, the stones shaking beneath your boots. The more blasts you take, the more stiff your body feels, there is only so much abuse you can take. “Before you released me of whatever limits my powers had, you mean?” You sneer. “I’d say we’re evenly matched now.”

“You’re out of your element!” He shouts.

The Cauldron pulses like a heartbeat, the metal screaming now and you have enough time to reach out a hand and catch it in your palm, even as your arms scream in protest. It is a concentrated effort to push that power back out of your palm, even more so to aim it back at his head.

There isn’t time for him to shield, forcing him to take a step back away from the Cauldron, finally removing his hands from the lip. You waste no time in rushing forward and getting your own hand around the ancient metal. Instantly, it freezes you in place, the icy depths of whatever magic swirls within latches on like a thousand tiny hooks, fusing itself to you. It takes of you as you take of it, the exchange even and ceaseless.

You poke at the bridge between your mind and Rhys. “NOW!”

A blast of your father’s power slams into the back of your hand as he screams, trying to tear you away, but even though your skin breaks, blood spraying, you couldn’t let go if you wanted to. This is exactly where the Cauldron wants you and it’s exactly where you will stay until it’s done.

“Yes! Finally! Play with me,” it purrs as Rhys and Helion burst into the room. Light and dark swirl around them like whirlwinds, blowing the walls away until the only thing left standing in the entirety of the Temple is the altar.

“Show me what you want,” you tell it as you try drawing it’s icy power into yourself. There is no end to it; no beginning either. It is you and you are it and the more you take into yourself, the more of you it steals. The mist it emanates slithers around your wrists and up your arms as your own darkness dips within it’s center and disappears.

“We are made to destroy,” it sings.

A scream tears out of you as it pushes more of itself into you, the wave of energy that escapes out your mouth shooting up into the sky, nearly taking out some of the Illyrians still swooping overhead.

A shadow of Rhys’s power slithers into your mind, wrapping around you in a warm embrace. “You can do this. Fight it!”

“Show me what you want,” you insist as Hybern turns his attention away from you to face the High Lords running towards him. They are both powerful swordsmen, but the movements are stiff from years of disuse, their steps faltering as he pushes them back away from you with his own sword.

“He seeks to destroy,” the Cauldron purrs as if the thought makes it happy.

“Not him,” you say through your now chattering teeth. “You. What do you want?”

Rhys roars in pain behind you as Hybern clips his shoulder and Helion rushes to his aid, large broadsword angling for your father’s throat. Hybern catches Helion at the wrist and twists, snapping the Lord’s shoulder in one swift motion.

The Cauldron hums as if thinking. “Destruction is our way…”

“No,” you snarl. “You were once the instrument of life in Prythian! Destruction is not your only way, it is not my only way. If I can do more than kill, if I am more than a monster…” A monster would not have beaten Amarantha, would not have saved your mate, would not have fallen in love. Monsters do not feel, do not love. You brush a mental hand over the bond and draw another steadying breath, even as the cold seeps into your bones; makes your whole body shake. “We do not have to be weapons.”

From the treeline surrounding the ruins of the Temple, more and more of Hybern’s soldiers make it past the aerial units filtering above, clashing with the combined powers of the High Lords. Beron keeps them temporarily at bay with a wall of fire, but you can see the flames wavering, his weathered face pale and slick with sweat. Kallias and Tarquin remain back to back, using their powers to hurl projectiles over the wall of flame, holding steady, even as the sound of the labored breathing floats your way on the wind. They are holding, but it will not last forever. You need to even the playing field.

“Please. Help me stop him,” you beg. “I will give you whatever you want.”

“I like this new game,” the Cauldron purrs.

The flow of power between you and it has not faltered, you keep pulling more and more of it in as it continues to take it back. Your knees give out beneath you, hands still fused to the lip as a cold sweat beads off your forehead.

“Please,” you rasp. “Tell me what you want!”

Beron goes down with an arrow in the chest, his limp body collapsing into the earth so hard you feel the tremble of the impact. The Cauldron chuckles beneath your palms, still delighting in the destruction.

“Helion!” Rhys roars as Hybern drives his sword across the Lord of Day’s stomach, his own blade swinging at Hybern’s neck.

You give the Cauldron a shake, “Come on! This can’t be what you want!”

Rhys takes an elbow to the nose, blood spattering as Hybern outmaneuvers him, and barely manages to throw himself out of the way of the following strike, the blade leaving a gash in his fighting leathers. From overhead, Cassian spies the fight and angles himself away from his troops to come help, but it feels as if he’s moving in slow motion. Somehow, whether it’s the Cauldron’s power or the bond, you know something is about to be very, very wrong.

You grit your teeth, claws digging into the metal of the Cauldron and pull, skin peeling away as you get a hand off the lip to blast as much power as you can in Hybern’s direction. If the Cauldron will not help you, you will do this yourself. Nothing is going to take your mate from you ever again.

Cassian banks hard to avoid the blast, his cursing just audible over Hybern’s screaming. You’d known, just by the feel of it within your chest that this kind of power would be lethal, but watching as it burns through flesh and muscle, leaving nothing but exposed, stark white bone is enough to make your stomach rise into your throat.

Hybern’s sword turns to ash in his skeletal hand, still raised above Rhys’s head in what would have been a killing blow. It’s nothing but bone all the way down to his shoulder, chunks of his armor blasted away, bits of blistered skin visible from where the blast had gone a little wide. A little to the left and you would have taken him and Rhys out.

Your father gapes at you, more nightmare now than male.

“This is more fun than a bargain,” the Cauldron purrs. Perhaps it has been corrupted beyond repair, perhaps it can only be good when wielded by the right creature. Perhaps only the Mother had managed to tame the magic within and had left it an empty shell of what could have been.

You stop trying to take anything from it, and when you do, it lets your other hand free without injury. You slump against the altar as Rhys drives his sword through Hybern’s throat. Blood gurgles from his lips, eyes vacant and staring at the Cauldron as if in one final plea for help, before he falls face down in the grass.

The chaos that ensues in the next couple minutes feels like a fever dream as the Night Court’s forces drive the rest of Hybern’s away. Tarquin rushes to Helion, hands glowing in a strange light as the Spell-Cleaver instructs him on how to use his water magic to heal the gaping wound in his stomach. There is no saving Beron, Thesan confirms from where the dead man lies.

Rhys rushes to your side, where you remain slumped against the Cauldron, eyes blurry as the world spins around you. He cups your face, gently tapping at your cheeks. “Hey, hey, stay with me! You’re ok. You did it!”

You lean your face into his touch, “Don’t suppose you know how to get rid of this thing, huh?”

The Cauldron hisses in response.

He laughs, half-delirious with relief as he kisses your nose, your cheeks, your forehead. “We won! It’s over.”

It’s over.

You touch your forehead to his, body heavy, but laughing now yourself. “We did it!”

Azriel and Cassian come running as soon as it’s clear to do so, wings tucked tight behind them. “Everybody ok?”

Rhys kisses you, his lips still bloody, but you don’t have it in you to care as you return it. It is finally over; you are more than ok.

------

You watch the sunset across a glittering horizon, the warm rays bouncing off the rolling waves lapping at your ankles. The sand is warm beneath your feet, a supernatural ward keeping the water cool instead of frozen like it should be this time of year.

Footsteps sound behind you, the only warning you get before strong arms wrap around your waist. Your mate’s breath warm against your skin as he kisses your neck. “Enjoying the view?”

Any sight with sunlight is a luxury, you savor every wisp of wind, every ray of sunshine against your still pale skin. It will be awhile before either of you get any color back.

“More so now that you’re here,” you say with a grin as he places another kiss on your cheek.

He’d wanted to go straight back to the Night Court, but the matter of the Cauldron still remained. Eventually the High Lords, and the newly crowned Eris, had decided it needed to be returned to its resting place with the nephilim Miriam and her husband Drakon, who had suffered heavy losses when Hybern had marched through and stolen it. Under Helion’s instructions, the Cauldron’s legs had once again been cleaved and separated, and in doing so, the ancient artifact had finally, blissfully, gone silent. Rhys, long standing friends with Miriam and Drakon, had offered to take this piece back before returning home. It seemed only fitting that you followed to ensure no one else attempted to wield it.

“This doesn’t feel real,” you say after a moment of silence, only the crashing of the waves between the two of you.

Rhys settles against your back, body sturdy and warm. His pulse against you should be enough to convince you that this isn’t a dream, but you’re still waiting for something else to jump out from behind the rocks dotting the landscape and surprise you. Any minute now the dream will crumble and once again, stone walls will cover every inch of your surroundings.

“We’re out,” Rhys promises.

You wait, expecting to hear heels clicking against stone or a buzzing of a collar against your throat. It’s a miracle you can stand in the water at all without feeling your throat close up.

You lace your fingers with his, holding them tight where he rests them against your stomach. “We’re out,” you whisper.

Cassian and Azriel had come along, their boots heavy against the fine sand as they approach.

“We leaving or what?” Cassian asks.

Azriel punches him hard in the shoulder. “I thought I told you to give them a minute!”

“They’ve had plenty of minutes, any longer they’re gonna start making out, and I, for one, would like to be somewhere far away before that happens.” Cassian returns.

“It’s like dealing with toddlers,” Rhys whispers in your ear.

You release his hand so you can turn in his arms, palms flat against his chest. Most of the damage inflicted during the fight is healed, though there is still some bruising around his eyes from his broken nose. It’s unfair that he’s still the most beautiful male you’ve ever seen, even with the bruising.

“You know you’ve missed their antics.”

He grins, violet eyes glittering like a thousand stars and you promise yourself you’ll do anything to keep that look on his face. There has been enough pain and grief to last the rest of your lives.

“That I have,” he admits.

“Then we should probably get the little Illyrian baby back before he gets hungry,” you retort.

“Hey!” Cassian scoffs.

Rhys hums his approval as he places a gentle kiss on your lips. “I do have some bargains to fulfill, after all.”

You glance down at your bandage covered hands as if you can see the lack of ink there, the destroyed bond still tender, even now.

He draws his hand up to give yours a squeeze, before bringing it to his lips. “Broken or not, I intend to keep it.”

“We could make some new ones I’m sure,” you muse.

“Can we please leave?” Cassian whines.

Rhys ignores him, eyes glinting in challenge. “Like what?”

“I don’t know, I seem to recall a few suggestions you had…”

His lips are on yours again, hungry and wanting and the tether between you burns hot. “I’ll make as many bargains as you’d like, Darling.”

“Home first,” you force yourself to pull away and say, because if you keep letting him kiss you like that, neither of you will be leaving the beach.

He grins, shoulders rolling back, and from behind him a set of massive, bat-like wings appear. You gape, even as your head spins with the recollection that you had once thought there was something missing between the gaps of the tattoos on his back. The leathery membrane stretches out behind him like one would stretch their arms, fluttering slightly in the evening breeze.

You reach out a hand to give them a inquisitory touch and he swings them out of reach. “Not here,” he purrs in your ear.

Before you can ask why, he sweeps you up into his arms and launches into the sky. You toss your arms around his neck and squeeze your eyes shut as your stomach lurches into your throat.

“It’s more enjoyable if your eyes are open, Darling,” he laughs, wings beating hard to catch the right draft that will take you to the Night Court.

“I like to keep my stomach where it belongs, but thanks,” you mutter, burying your face in his neck to hide from the wind.

“Don’t tell me you’re afraid of heights?” He teases.

“Heights? No. Falling? Yes,” you return.

“You know I’d never drop you,” he says in all seriousness.

You let out a huff of annoyance, because damn him, his right and you know it. After everything, there is still no safer place to be than in your mate’s arms. You open one eye, then the other, and take a shaky breath before finally turning your head to the side to see the vast expanse of open sky around you.

The sun has slowly set, the sky awash in purples and blues as the first bit of stars appear in the sky. Rhys tilts and dips around the fluffiest clouds you’ve ever seen in your life, but you can’t help yourself from removing your arm from around his shoulders to try and touch one. They’re a lot more wet than you anticipated them being.

“I never thought I’d see this again,” Rhys whispers.

You kiss his cheek, flooding the bond with as much warmth as you can. It’ll be easier, once you’ve fully accepted it, and you plan to, once things are a little more settled. It would be a lot for him to return home to, you want to give him some time to just be home before tackling a new heightened sense of emotions and all that comes with being mated, but you already have a few ideas on how you want to go about it. For now, you’ll keep this thing between you simple and not overwhelming.

“Thank you, for getting us out,” he says.

“I didn’t do that much,” you reply. “We did it together.”

“It was all you,” he returns. “I think that collar messed up your memories a little.”

“My memories are fine,” you retort with an eye roll, even though he can’t see it. “We did it together, as we planned to. As we’ll do with whatever comes next.”

He grins as he follows a draft downwards, three mountain peaks coming into view. Somehow, you can feel in your chest when you cross the border, as if you very bones know that this is where you’re meant to be. He glides lower, letting you view the snow flecked landscape beneath you, grinning as he takes in the way you devour his court with your eyes. “Welcome to the Night Court.”

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

Tag List: @mariahoedt, @lovelydove, @twsssmlmaa, @sleepylunarwolf, @judig92, @willowpains, @daughterofthemoons-stuff, @annnnaaaa88, @myheartfollower, @uniquecolorwizard, @eternallyelvish, @waytoomanyteenagefeels, @lovemesomeevesy, @localfangirl09, @isa1b2h3, @starswholistenanddreamsanswered, @slytherintaco, @iluvewmanblog, @thebeautifulmysteriesoflife, @kitsunetori, @lilah-asteria, @dianxiaxie, @msoldier, @amara-moonlight, @darling006, @92494-blog, @genniecokkie, @nyctophiliiia

#Rhys x reader #rhysand x reader #acotar rhysand #rhysand fic #rhysand x reader fluff #rhysand x reader smut #rhysand x reader angst #UTM!rhys #night court #Cassian acotar #azriel acotar #acotar fanfic #my writing #my fanfic #datura series

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pokechbi · 1 year

Note

Hi! i love your post so much🫶 i was wondering if you could make a head canon on how 141 and konig would comfort their plus size SO if they were feeling self-conscious?

only if you’re up to it!!

Keep writing..it’s so good:))

Hi Anon! TYSM for the ask <3 I love to hear that you enjoy my writing :') makes me feel all giddy hehe :)) This was such a good request, I actually would like to make it a bit longer! I've got so many ideas for this <3 LMK if you want me to add the rest of the team ;) I hope this one met your expectations :)

In Your Skin

TF141 & Konig comfort plus size (fem) reader

NSFW, MDNI !!! (yk i had to add some seggsy time, what can i say)

CW: Body image issues

Fem anatomy used

WC: 1.5K

As always, enjoy loves!

Simon Ghost Riley

Will start off gently comforting you, caressing your body and leaving kisses & hickies on every inch of you. He'll make you keep eye contact as he does this, squeezing and worshipping every single part of you. He'll also make you repeat after him, slurring out which parts of you he adores most and why.

"I love your plump little belly, wanna know why?" He'll say, sloppily kissing you up and down, landing on your underbelly, biting the sensitive flesh like it's his last meal. "Gotta have something to hold onto while I'm fuckin' 'ya, right love?"

"God, you know how I adore those thick fuckin' hips and ass of yours. How they jiggle against my cock while I pound that wet little cunt between your legs." He'll say, leaving bite marks all over your hips.

"My my, and look at those sweet, thick thighs. How can I not love 'em. How they wrap around my head as I lick your sweet pussy out. I'd die happily between those thighs."

And when he's finished making you repeat every single word, he'll fuck you so good that you forget your own name, as punishment for daring to insult what's his.

John Soap MacTavish

Soap is such a gentle lover. After all, he's just a big softie for you. When you talk bad about your weight, his heart can't help but break and send a jolt of pain through his core. He knew there wasn't much he can do besides show you just how goddamn beautiful you were.

"Oh, lass. That's not true. And if anyone has anything different to say, I'll disembowel them. How's that sound, love" His Scottish accent was enough to lift your spirits, taking you out of the funk that had been plaguing your mind about your body. He won't stop until you're smiling, even if he has to ruthlessly tickle you until you piss yourself.

He'll then carry you to the bed as if you weighed nothing, slowly undressing you and worshipping every inch of skin on your body. He'll make you keep your hands on him, slurring out things he adored about your curvy body. He could be rough when he wanted to, but when you were like this, he wanted nothing more than to handle you like a flower and nourish your spirits.

At times like this, he couldn't care less for pleasuring himself. Sure, your body made him want to empty his balls on every part of you, but he prioritized your pleasure when it came down to it. He knows you're too shy to ask, so he'll do any and everything he can think of that would make you feel good.

If you ever refuse his lovings, he'll keep pressing and do the things that make you weak in the knees until you accept. Your self consciousness never bypassed him, and he would never think to leave you alone when you were like this. He'll make you sit in front of him, naked, and force you to say everything you love about yourself and why. And God forbid you dare to refuse, he'll bend you over his knee and spank you until you do it.

"Good puppy. That wasn't so hard now, was it?"

Captain John Price

Price has a zero-tolerance policy for you saying anything remotely self-deprecative. When you start to talk about hating your body, he'll stop it right in it's tracks and put you in your place. He was usually a laid back kind of man, but you were his. And God help anyone who disrespected what belonged to him.

Price would do whatever he could to make you feel confident again, and that included submitting to you completely. He'd order you the sexiest lingerie he could find, something dark, powerful. He wanted you to feel like the goddess you were, even if it meant letting you do what you pleased to him while he sat back and enjoyed it.

He'll set aside a night off from his duties to make his way to you, letting you tie him up while you did whatever it is that made you happy. He let you dominate him, edge him, wrapping himself around your finger as you embraced your femininity.

And once you were yourself again, completely confident in your body once more, he'll put you back in your place as his woman. He'll eat your pussy for nearly an hour, overstimulating you to the point of tears. He'll bend you over and fuck you afterwards, not giving you a chance to breathe as he pounds into your very core. And once he was done fucking you, he'll make you get on your knees and fuck your face until you were amounted to nothing but a slobbering, crying, cum drunk overstimulated mess under him.

And during your aftercare, he'll reassure you that you're his, and he'll never get it up for anyone else but you. He'll caress you, make you embrace every part of yourself. He'll touch you gently, making sure you knew that you were his very own goddess.

Kyle Gaz Garrick

The first time he had ever learned about your self-image issues, his jaw hung open in shock. This man had seen some things on the battlefield, but hearing you speak such untrue things about yourself took the cake. He spent some time thinking about how to approach the situation, not knowing how to handle you at such a fragile time.

So he did the only thing he knew would never fail him. He took you by the jaw, staring into your eyes as you cried out against his face.

"Kyle! You're hurting me!" You whine, the lie rolling off your tongue. You liked it, and he knew you did. You liked when he roughed you up, sending a familiar wetness to accumulate between your thighs. He'll push you around, your back up against the wall as he slipped his hand under your clothes. He breathed heavily as he lifted you up, grabbing at your body and molding your flesh to his hand.

"You hate your body so much you'll cry, huh? Apologize, or I'll fuck you so deep and so hard, you'll have something to cry about." He demanded. You nodded your head, slurring out apologies, your voice shaky with everything ranging from fear to arousal.

Once he felt that you were regretful about your words to yourself, he'll take a more gentler approach, whispering the things he loved about you and why. He could do this for hours, so he does. He'll lull you into a deep relaxation as he runs his hands all over your body, playfully pinching you and tickling you.

He'll start from the hairs on your head, and ending at the color of your cute, painted toes, leaving gentle kisses in his wake. You found yourself becoming more confident in yourself, slowly learning to love every part of you as much as he did.

Konig

There was no getting past Konig when you felt that familiar bubbling of body image issues in your head. You hinted at it slightly, trying to fish compliments from him. He instantly knew what you were doing, since he wasn't far behind you. He'd dealt with hating himself before, specifically his damning size. So he knew exactly what you meant when you were hinting at these things.

He'd waste no time in throwing you over his shoulder, spanking your ass as he carried you to whatever flat surface he could bend you over. You could say plenty things about yourself, but nothing struck a nerve in him more than when you spoke badly about your body, or weight. He knew what it was like to hate himself, to avoid mirrors and eye contact in hopes he could turn himself invisible to the world.

"I'm not going to sit back and listen to this, liebe" He says frustrated, running his hands along your body, kneeling in front of you and kissing your skin.

He'll do anything in his power to make you feel good again. And that included staying on his knees in front of you, begging you to love yourself again. When he did this, you couldn't help but tear up at the sight. The biggest man you'd ever seen, on his knees on the brink of tears because you called yourself bad names.

You'd caress his head in your arms, promising him to love yourself, to let go of those toxic thoughts that kept you from being your best self. And after he'd determine your words truthful and genuine, he'd stay on his knees, throwing your leg over his shoulder. He'll take his frustration out on your cunt, spitting and slapping and sucking all he can, making you cum and squirt and cry so many times, you forget why you were crying in the first place.

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ellesthots · 3 months

Text

Fateful Beginnings

I. “the club within the club”

parts: next

plot: when you find yourself needing a topic for a journalism final, you seek out an interview from Gotham’s elusive vigilante: Batman. this proves even more difficult than it already sounds, and tensions rise when you discover an intimate secret—just as Bruce Wayne realizes his own.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+ MATURE! NSFW! canon-typical violence, slow burn, enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, forced proximity, eventual smut, mutual pining, POV alternating, Bruce Wayne needs a hug, mental health issues (psychosis, suicidality), substance use, blackmail (or is it?), serious health issues, grief, brief mention of sa, gaslighting, mild gore

words: 1.8k

a/n: this is my first fic i’ve posted to tumblr and ao3, very excited to see how people like it ✨ same user on ao3 :) comments and reblogs are so appreciated! 💖

"I couldn't turn in the assignment last week, I'm so sorry," You fumbled with your book and it slipped forward on the desk. Your professor wasn't too happy with you; this assignment was creating a piece of journalism (she heavily implied wanting it to be about happenings in Gotham, though it wasn’t a requirement) but you couldn't get any leads. Dr. Vry was usually the picture of impatience, though she had a soft spot for you—she described you as a ‘journalistic prodigy’. You didn't see it, and it didn't help that you couldn't even write your final piece when graduation was so near. While you’d done well in the intro courses, now that the material was more complex… you were struggling. She would say it’s all in your head, and the only thing holding you back was lack of confidence in your burgeoning journalism skills—you weren’t so sure. You had come from a sociology background but had interest in learning journalism with your last few credits, unaware how much grief this would cause you.

Dr. Vry gently shook her head, breaking you out of your ruminations. "Y/N, you're overthinking it. I'll extend it until the end of next week without point reduction. But after that it's out of my hands!" With that you thanked her, hurrying out of the class with your book tightly squeezed to your chest. Thank god, you thought. I can’t fail out of a class in my last term.

That evening you holed up in your apartment per usual. You lazily texted your one friend here in the city, but she was out clubbing. Her name was Margaret; you’d met in a sociology course last school year when you transferred, and she had been the only one kind enough to show you around the city. She was a social butterfly, however, so you and her kept in touch but it was only ever surface-level. You longed for more companionship, but knew you'd be leaving Gotham after graduation. It was too lonely here. Mar didn't usually respond but tonight, she did.

Y/N, get your ass to the club! I miss you.

You chuckled a little to yourself at the idea of getting all ready to be sweaty in a room full of strangers.

No thanks, have fun! You typed back.

Within a second she had disliked your message and sent another: You'll find more inspo here than in your studio. I'm sending a taxi, be ready in 10

You groaned and threw the phone down. Ugh. You were tired from a long day of classes, and didn't want to go get humped by random men. Men in Gotham were nasty, taking every opportunity to try and get something from a woman. You should have expected as much, but coming from your small town you were naive. You picked up your phone and looked back at the screen. More inspiration... she might be right. You looked around at your empty walls and the waning light outside, the sun rapidly falling giving way to a dark, rainy abyss.

Fine, only for an hour.

You reluctantly walked over to your closet to pick an outfit. This was gonna be a long night.

You found yourself standing out under your apartment patio, shivering in your mini dress. You chose one that was black and sequined, with some shiny black faux leather heels to match. You had hurried and only put on lashes, lipgloss, and brow gel, because you thought your driver would be on time. You whipped out your phone and went onto Scypher, a Gotham-area social media. You didn't bother going on very often, only on the rare occasion Mar dragged you out into the city. There was a handy 'Crime' tab, which had up-to-the-minute updates on crime here. It seemed pretty empty, only some car vandalisms in the past hour. Hmm. You felt a little uneasy, it was unusually calm for a Friday evening. Maybe it's a good thing. Wouldn't want to go out during a crime surge. You looked up just as bright headlights pulled up. Your driver called out your name, and you slunk into the backseat.

The drive was quick, with clubs practically on every corner. Mar hadn't told you which one, so you weren't prepared when the car pulled up to the most elite club in the city. Your face went pale, and you started making excuses to the driver. "I'm so sorry, my friend must have given you wrong directions—"

"No, it's correct." He replied, sternly. You started taking out cash to pay, but he shook his head and put his hand up to you. "Your friend already paid, Miss." Flustered, you thanked him and stepped out. The line wasn't too long, so you got behind a few people who were laughing hysterically. You noticed some green tinfoil out of their pocket. Drops. You forgot all the biggest dealers hung around here every night. What was Mar thinking bringing you here?

The line moved fast so you didn't have much time to find an excuse to leave. You held out your ID to the burly, tall bouncer who gave you a once-over and a smirk. You stifled a groan, hating being looked at like a meal. Men in Gotham. Of course. The bouncer grinned and handed back your card, holding out another hand for the club fee. Shit. You fumbled in your bag and realized you didn't know the amount. Sheepishly, you looked over from your bag and scanned the wall behind him as quickly as possible. $50. Jesus. You managed to find three twenties crumpled at the bottom of your bag, and begrudgingly handed them over. He smiled and opened the door for you. "No change."

Well, guess I'm eating ramen this week.

Your ears began ringing the second you entered the booming club. People were packed in like sardines, and before you could even muster a thought you were grabbed fast from behind.

"Y/N!!!" Mar wrapped you in a hug and you grabbed her to steady yourself. "Shit, Mar,"

"You look SO good! Fuck yeah!" She smiled and smacked your butt as she took your hand and led you towards the stairs. "I met some guys that got us a lounge!" She was giggling but you pulled back, wincing. You didn't want to be surrounded by men all night, you'd already been sufficiently creeped on by the bouncer.

"Jeez, I thought this was a girl's night," You moaned. She shook her head, grinning. "C'mon Y/N, get loose!" As she turned back to step up the stairs, a circle of green tinfoil fell from her pocket. You yanked your hand back, frustrated. She was wasted right now. "MAR." You bent down to pick up the tinfoil just as a tall man came up behind you, grinding against your ass. You turned around and shoved him back as Mar stepped up. "Hey, you don't fuck with a woman like that bitch!" She shouted.

BAM BAM BAM BAM. Popping noises that sounded like gunshots rang out from the far corner of the bar. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. You grabbed for the railing to head for the exit when people running from downstairs rammed into you. You covered your head with your arms while you ducked, hearing the gunshots get closer and closer. I shouldn't have come. I don't want to die. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't even be in Gotham. What the fuck am I doing here? I shouldn't have come. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. I'm going to fucking die.

You heard a rapid increase in gunfire and then a total ceasing. You wanted to look up, but it was too terrifying. You felt sweat on your entire body as it became electrified with adrenaline — you had known how unsafe Gotham was, you just hadn't seen yourself in the crossfire... until now. You squeezed your eyes shut, pushing yourself hard against the side of the stair to try and make your body as small and compact as possible. I could be dead with just one bullet.

Before more morbid thoughts could form, you felt your body being lifted and you were slung over someone's shoulder. Something was hard and slick against your stomach, and you quickly opened your eyes to see the world whizzing around you. The arm that held you was strong, so strong you couldn't slip out if you tried. You ducked your head as the person ran you both toward the back exit with total ease. Panic began to set in. It's so dark. Who is this? Is he gonna have his way with me?

As soon as you were brought an alley down, fully away from the chaos, you began fighting against the person. The streets were so dark you still could hardly see, but it felt like they were armored. "Let me GO!" You shouted, trying with all your might to shove them off of you, to no avail.

"Stop fighting." A low, gravelly voice said right next to your ear. You continued to try and push your way off of him to the point where you felt a bruise forming on your bottom ribs. This motherfucker isn't gonna let me go, is he?

Now he relinquished his grasp and you slid off the stranger, landing squarely in a puddle. You looked up and through the darkness saw a masked man clad in deepest black... the Batman.

"Thanks, uh," You immediately broke eye contact, feeling awkward. You felt bad for fighting so hard against him, but you didn't know any better. Before you could fully realize the gravity of what had just happened, how Vengeance himself was standing before you, he noticed something glint behind your ear.

"Wait, turn around." The voice was low and gravelly still, and you spun around instantaneously. You'd heard good things about the Batman in your year and a half here. A few of your classmates had direct experience with him, having been saved on one occasion or another. "He never stuck around, he was always gone as quickly as he came." Your peers told you.

Suddenly the back of your head lit up in flaming pain.

"You need stitches." He stepped back and through the dark of night you saw a screen light up on his arm. "Victim with head wound on Feller and Kelley." You heard a faint 'Roger' before the screen went black. You'd hit your head pretty damn hard, and fear shot through you at the same time as relief. You were technically safe, but you had to get a needle snaked through your scalp. The thought made you physically ill.

To your surprise, he was already halfway down the alleyway when you looked back; just as he turned out of view, police lights illuminated the alley behind you. Holy fuck, you'd just met the Batman.

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punkshort · 1 year

Text

Chapter warnings: angst, smut, language, violence

Chapter Seven

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, pre-outbreak and post outbreak

AU (the only thing I kept was the outbreak, Joel, and Tommy's characters. Joel's backstory is different, and the way he finds Jackson is different. I may include Ellie one day, I just haven't planned that far)

Fic Summary: You worked for Joel and Tommy a few months before the outbreak. The outbreak happens, and you and Joel get stuck traveling the country and keeping each other safe. Neither of you spoke about the feelings you had for one another pre-outbreak, and in a post-apocalyptic world, it seems like survival should be your only focus. But feelings can't be ignored forever.

Fic tags: Explicit Smut (18+ MDNI), Smut, Language, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use, Age Difference (Reader is 10 years younger than Joel), slow burn, mutual pining, angst, trauma, SA referencing later but I will put a big warning on those chapters

You were able to sneak out of the QZ fairly easily, the soldiers were preoccupied with new truckloads of survivors, and they were running around trying to create more sleeping accommodations in classrooms and hallways. Joel led you alongside the school and into the cover of a small forest before anybody could question you. You didn’t speak or slow down until you were about 2 miles away from the school, still primarily surrounded by trees, but they were thinning out, revealing shops and roads in the distance.

“Joel, stop, let’s rest for a few minutes, please,” you panted, struggling to keep up with his long gait on the uneven terrain.

Surprised to hear your voice, he turned to look over his shoulder at you. He had been in such a trance to lead you both away from the school that he wasn’t even sure what direction you were headed. He nodded in agreement. He was tired and hot, still in the same work clothes from Friday.

“Yeah, let’s go sit down, looks quiet here.” Joel motioned to a big, flat rock nearby, and the two of you sat down on it, setting your purse and supplies down and sipping on the water bottles you were grateful you had grabbed before leaving the QZ. You sat next to each other in silence, catching your breath and looking around at the nature surrounding you.

“What are we doing, Joel?” you asked him quietly. You were all too fully aware you were following this man blindly into a world full of danger. Just a week ago, you had such a different relationship with him, one that was heading in a direction that made you feel excited and hopeful. You were still reeling from the shock of his harsh words on his birthday, unable to fully process what happened that day in his office. Still, you had no idea what caused him to run out of the building after you, what he wanted to say, but you hated to admit that you were grateful. Who knows where you would be if Joel hadn’t yelled at you, making you quit and leave the building. Who knows where you would be right now if you were alone when those soldiers started shooting. In some twisted way, you owed Joel your life. He was all you had now, you had to trust him.

“Well, I suppose we try to find your family,” Joel said, leaning back to lay flat on the rock and closed his eyes as he continued. “At least, we gotta get out of this city, it’s not safe. That guy at the QZ told me this infection is all over, but maybe it ain’t as bad in other places.”

“What else did he say to you?” you asked, turning to look down at him now. His eyes were still closed, his face looked relaxed but the bags under his eyes reminded you he was up early this morning.

Joel paused for a moment. He knew what you were asking, but he wasn’t sure how to tell you. He kept his eyes shut when he finally spoke.

"He told me bad stuff was happenin’ to women there, women who were alone.”

Your suspicions were right. He stood guard over you while you slept, what else could it have been? You sighed, looking down at the half empty water bottle in your hands. Joel has been saving you over and over again for the past 5 days while you were still hung up on some stupid argument. It all felt so trivial now, when the focus was simply survival.

You reached your hand out and lightly squeezed his own, trying to thank him when words didn’t seem like enough. He opened his eyes now and looked at you staring at your coupled hands, giving your hand a light squeeze in return.

"What now?" you asked, letting his hand go. Joel sighed and sat back upright.

"Well, we gotta get some supplies. Couple of backpacks, some food, clothes, all that. I’m thinkin’ we gotta leave on foot, a car would be too loud, FEDRA will stop us. We can try to make it back to my place in the city for some stuff, but it’s far, maybe 10 minutes from the office.”

Something Joel said gave you an idea.

"I have backpacks! At my apartment, hiking backpacks, two of them. And some other things. My place is further out, it probably won’t take us too long, I live kind of far from work… lived,” you corrected yourself, frowning, “I just can’t tell where we are, maybe if we can get to those stores over there, we can see what street that is.”

Joel nodded. “Alright, good, you ready to go?”

You jumped off the rock and picked up your purse, stuffed with the items from the QZ, and both headed in the direction of the strip mall. You emerged from the thinning forest to find a playground with a baseball diamond and a soccer field. As you cautiously made your way through the open field, Joel stopped at the baseball diamond to grab you each a bat from a pile left on home plate. You took it from his outstretched hand, the thought of weapons to defend yourselves having not even crossed your mind yet. You were not adapting to this disaster as quickly as you would like. Joel had been the one to find shelter, the one who recognized when an area was unsafe, the one who formulated a plan. You scolded yourself for not being more aware of your surroundings... this was life or death. At least you had Justin’s old camping supplies still housed in your tiny apartment, that was useful. You just had to get there in one piece.

It took half the day to walk from the strip mall to your apartment building, taking extra time to be quiet and go unseen. Once you reentered the city, you could see Joel tense up as he gripped his baseball bat tightly by his side. Your building was not too far into the city limits, and you managed to make it there without being spotted.

Joel gently closed the lobby door behind you, turning around to see the room was empty, save for a few abandoned duffel bags and some trash. You led him towards the stairwell door, closing it quietly, listening for any movement above before slowly beginning your ascent.

“What floor?” Joel whispered behind you.

“Two,” you answered just as quietly, “but I am on the other end of the hall.”

“You’re on the second floor? D’you know how dangerous that is? Anyone could climb up and break in.”

You paused before opening the door marked with a big number 2, turning to look at Joel incredulously as he finished his climb up the stairs.

"There’s monsters running around eating people and you’re lecturing me about what floor my apartment is on?” you asked, eyebrows raised.

He looked at you for a moment, considering your words, and smirked.

"Yeah, well, when you put it like that," he said.

You knew it was a serious situation and people were dying. Hell, you could die at any moment. But you allowed a smile to spread across your face, only barely holding back a laugh. Joel’s smirk turned into a bigger smile at the sight of yours, hiding a small chuckle. You rolled your eyes, still grinning, and reached out to open the door before he stopped you.

"Let me go first,” he said, moving in front of you with his bat at the ready.

He pushed the door open just enough so he could see down the hall. It was empty, but there were several apartment doors that were either cracked or wide open. He listened intently for any movement that might indicate you weren’t alone. When he was satisfied, he opened the door wider, allowing you both to squeeze through and then softly closed the door. Without speaking, you pointed down the hall towards the right side, and with your fingers you held up a 2, 2, and 3, telling him which one was yours. He nodded in understanding and led the way slowly down the long hallway.

Joel stopped before every open door and peeked inside each apartment before moving down to the next one, being extra cautious of any infected. Neither of you had seen one up close yet, you had no idea what to expect, but you heard them when you were running down the street. They sounded like feral animals the way they screamed and snarled as they attacked. You shuddered at the thought, but at least you would hear them coming.

Joel paused when he heard someone walking, and then heard a repeated thudding sound. You both froze in place, listening and trying to locate the source. It sounded like it was coming from the floor above you, so you both continued until you reached the door that read 223. You dug into your purse and pulled out your keys, grateful to find that the door was still locked. Again, Joel insisted on sticking his head in first and clearing the place before you entered, gently shutting and locking the door behind you.

You looked around your small apartment, everything left exactly as it was Friday morning. You had a small loveseat and an accent chair surrounding your TV in the living room, behind the loveseat was your equally small kitchen with a table for two. Your bedroom door was off the kitchen, and the bathroom had a door right where you had walked in but was also connected to your bedroom through a second door. It was very small, but you made it work, you had just been so happy to have your own space.

Joel looked around thoughtfully. These were not the circumstances in which he had hoped to see your place for the first time. You chewed your lip as he looked around your apartment, admiring your framed photos and your knick-knacks. He looked so big and out of place amongst your modest apartment, filled with secondhand furniture and mementos from your past. You reached down to pick up the backpack you had tripped over on Friday morning, setting it up against the wall while you opened the extremely small accordion door that gave way to a tiny coat closet. You reached inside and grabbed the second backpack, setting it next to the first, and lastly picked up the two tightly rolled up sleeping bags that were never reattached to the packs.

He turned and saw the supplies against the wall, excitedly walking over to open one up and examine it more closely.

"I didn’t realize you liked camping, we can really use most of this," he said, his focus still on opening up the various pockets on the backpacks.

You paused a moment, not sure if you should tell him where the supplies came from. You figured he would eventually question why there were two packs, so decided to tell him.

"Actually, they aren’t mine, they were left here,” you cleared your throat nervously, remembering Joel’s outburst about you sleeping with people at the office. "They're Justin's. He forgot to pick them up after I broke up with him.” You turned away so you couldn’t see his reaction, nervous he would show that angry side of himself again.

His hands stilled at your words. He had no right, and he knew it, but a wave of jealousy washed over him anyway. Joel pushed his feelings aside, not wanting to upset you again after he had made a little progress with you today.

"Hated camping so much you broke his heart, then?" he joked, offering you a small smile.

Your cheeks heated up at the real reason you broke up with Justin, that day in the meadow with your thoughts consumed of Joel crossing your mind. You let out a small chuckle and said, "I guess I better get used to it now."

The two of you spent the rest of the day rummaging through your kitchen cabinets, setting aside essentials you could pack, only stopping briefly to eat some dinner. You found you had some chicken in your fridge, so you cooked it up with some rice and whatever vegetables you had that still looked good. You ate in silence, hunched over your small kitchen table.

"This is incredible, thank you again," Joel said, shoveling the last forkful in his mouth.

"You'd say that about anything right now, we haven't eaten anything decent since the bodega," you teased.

Joel shook his head in disagreement. "Nope, that ain't true. You're a good cook, and I'm grateful."

You looked down at your bowl shyly as Joel picked up his and washed it in your sink.

"Uh, I was wonderin," Joel started, clearing his throat and suddenly giving a spot on the bowl all his attention, "did he leave any clothes here I can use?"

You smacked your forehead, feeling stupid. Of course he wants different clothes, he's been in the same ones for days.

"No, he was only here that one time after camping, I'm sorry. Maybe we can look in some of those open apartments? I'm sure we can find something useful." You stood to wash your own bowl as he dried his hands.

Joel was pleased to hear your ex hadn't spent much time here, still struggling to ignore that jealous streak.

"Good idea, grab your bat, just in case, and let's go lookin' before it gets dark," he said, placing the towel delicately back on the holder before turning and heading towards your living room. You smiled inwardly at how domestic it felt in this moment, but you shook the thoughts out of your head. It's not like that between you, the focus was on surviving and finding your family.

You grabbed your bat and the two of you headed towards the door when suddenly the power went out. You both froze for a moment, taking in the eerie silence.

"Well, it held out longer than I figured it would. C'mon, we should definitely get goin' now, not much sun left." Joel said, opening up your apartment door a crack and peering out to make sure you were still alone. You followed him out the door, closed it gently behind you, and you walked a few doors down to apartment 245.

Joel indicated you stay back and he entered the room. It was a similar layout as your own, so it took him no time at all to confirm it was empty. You walked in and began to help him look through the dresser in the bedroom. Joel lucked out: the man who lived here was close enough to his size, so he grabbed a couple essential items and headed back to your place. He said he could continue to look tomorrow for more clothes, but this would do for now.

You rifled through your kitchen cabinet for as many candles as you could find, lighting them all over the apartment so you could see as the sun went down. You had just finished lighting the last one when Joel came out of your bathroom after taking a quick shower before the hot water cooled in the tank. He changed into a dark grey plain tshirt and some sweatpants.

"Feel better?" you asked, walking past him to put a candle in the bathroom.

"Much better, thanks," he said, checking the locks on your doors and windows. "I'm gonna move your couch in front of your door for the night. That way, I'll feel it move if someone tries breakin' in."

You emerged from the bathroom, your brows furrowed. "You can't sleep on that thing, are you kidding? You're too tall."

Joel looked down at the loveseat he was in the process of pushing across the carpet. You were right, his legs would hang off the end, it was only a two-seater.

"I'll be fine, don't worry," he waved you off, finishing his task.

"Just sleep in my bed with me, it's big enough, it doesn't have to be weird," you offered before you could overthink it. He kept his eyes cast down on the loveseat, weighing your offer.

"Besides, this may be one of the last times we get to sleep on a mattress for a while," you added.

"You sure?" Joel asked, one eyebrow raised. He was pleasantly surprised by how much has changed between you. He knew he ruined his chance with you, and he couldn't bring up the argument now, it's been too long, the damage was done. But if you didn't absolutely despise him for it, maybe that could be enough.

"Yeah, of course. I'm gonna shower, too. Go on and settle in." You grabbed a change of clothes and closed the bathroom door behind you.

Joel stood in the middle of your bedroom looking around. It was a small room, just a bed, one end table with an alarm clock, a hamper and a dresser. It wasn't much, but you somehow had made it feel like you. The framed pictures you had on your dresser from your college days were next to some random pieces of jewelry scattered across the top. He gently touched the intricate glass knobs on your dresser, the tip of his finger dipping into the grooves of the design.

The dresser must have been old, because the slight pressure from his finger caused the drawer to fall open a few inches. He moved to shut it when he noticed something bright red hidden under the clothes. He turned around to confirm you were still in the shower, hearing the water trickling on the tub floor. Curious, he dipped his hand inside to pull the item to the surface. It was a red lace thong, soft and delicate in his rough hands. His breath caught in his throat and his pulse raced as he felt all the blood in his body heading right to his cock. He shoved the underwear back down to the bottom of the drawer quickly when he heard the water shut off. He got into one side of the bed and bunched up the blankets to hide his growing erection.

You padded out of the bathroom, still towel drying your hair. Considering the cool fall nights, you had put on sleep pants and a long sleeve T-shirt. Your heart jumped in your chest, nothing preparing you for the visual of seeing this man in your bed. Deciding you needed to take a moment, you made an excuse about blowing the candles out and left the room. You scolded yourself as you walked around to snuff out each candle. That part of your life with him is over, you aren't here playing house, and he all but told you how he felt in his office that day.

Stop thinking about him like that.

You blew out the last candle and headed back to your bedroom.

You each laid on your respective sides of the bed, you on your side with your back to him, and him flat on his back staring at your ceiling. It was quiet outside, but you could hear the occasional growl or yell far in the distance, and once you heard a FEDRA truck rumble by your building.

“Joel?” you whispered in the dark after a while, not sure if he was asleep.

“Yeah?” he whispered back.

“What do you think these things are? Are they people anymore?” you asked, unsure how to phrase your question.

“I’m not sure, the soldiers didn’t tell us much, I ain’t sure they even know,” he replied. "But I think we gotta look at it like it’s us or them: we can’t hold back if we’re in danger, d’you understand?”

You nodded in the darkness. He meant you’ll need to do what it takes to survive, even if that meant killing them.

“Yes,” you whispered back finally, “I understand.”

“I’m not sure how many of them there are, maybe it’s not as bad as we think… maybe the military can kill ‘em all and we can go back to normal. We haven’t even seen one yet, so who knows,” Joel said, yawning at the end of his sentence. You remembered he hardly slept the night before, so you stopped talking in order to let him rest. You closed your eyes and dreamt of whiskey and spearmint.

You awoke with a start when you heard another FEDRA truck rumble slowly past your building, shining a huge spotlight into the window as it drove by. It was still dark out, unsure of the time since your alarm clock was digital. You felt surprisingly warm despite the cool fall night. You were about to reach down to pull a blanket off when you stopped. The heat wasn’t from the blanket, it was Joel.

He was pressed up against your back with his arm slung around your waist lightly, his face buried in your still slightly damp hair. You felt his breath as it exhaled on the back of your neck softly and you fought the urge to shiver at the sensation, worried it would wake him. You could tell by his breathing he was in a deep sleep, so you took a moment to just enjoy what could have been. You wondered in a different timeline, had the world not ended and he wouldn't have said those things to you in his office, if he would be in your apartment like this under other circumstances. You knew you told yourself to stop thinking like this, that it wasn’t important anymore, but you knew tomorrow would bring a new day of fear and who knows what else. Tonight, you were safe in your apartment. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to let your guard down, just a little.

You closed your eyes and leaned back ever so slightly against Joel, careful about waking him up. You sighed softly as you envisioned what it would have been like to have brought him back to your apartment, maybe after getting drinks and seeing a movie together. You would both stumble into your apartment giggling, his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you in to kiss you as you would try to retreat backwards towards your bedroom door without breaking contact. Once you had him in your room, you would have run your hands up and down his torso, trying to get him to lift his shirt over his head. Maybe he would have gently pushed you back so you would land flat on your bed, watching him remove his shirt so you could finally see the rest of those strong arms and broad chest.

You wondered what you would have worn. Probably a dress, but not a work dress. Maybe the knee length cream dress with little flowers on it you kept tucked in the back of your closet, hardly ever finding an occasion to wear it. You definitely would have tried to surprise him with the red thong you kept hidden away, wondering what his reaction would have been when he ran his hands up your smooth legs under your dress and feeling the soft lace under his fingers. Maybe he would have asked you to take your dress off and leave just the underwear on so he could see all of you in the moonlight shining through your window. Would he have pulled you down on his lap roughly, pinching your nipple and gripping the meaty part of your hip as he ground his hard cock up against your warm center, still covered with lace, teasing you? Or would he have taken his time, laid you down on the bed while he inched the thong down your legs, spreading them wide so he could see just how wet you were for him? Maybe he would have pressed your legs down on the bed while he licked the opening of your pulsing cunt, his angular nose nudging against your clit, over and over until you came screaming his name and your hands buried in his curls.

You forced your imagination to stop before you woke him up with your ragged breathing. You couldn’t relieve the pressure between your legs, anyway, since he had you caged in. All you could do was squirm a little bit, feeling the dampness that pooled in your underwear. Joel's arm shifted, probably because you were moving, so you froze while trying to calm your breathing. He sighed and gave his limbs a small stretch. The arm that was draped loosely over your waist tightened around you now, his large hand splayed against your ribs and shoved between your side and the mattress. You held your breath until you were sure he was still asleep, finally relaxing when his breathing evened back out again.

You weren't sure what tomorrow would bring, or even if you would both live. Tonight, you drifted off to sleep in his arms, making a mental note to put that guard back up tomorrow.

Joel woke up first the next morning, the pleasant floral scent of your shampoo invading his senses before he even opened his eyes. Keeping his eyes shut, he frowned, the memories of yesterday flooding back to him. It had been a long day and your bed was so warm, he resisted the urge to wake up just yet. He sighed, stretching out a little before he realized his hand was pinned between you and the bed. He opened his eyes for the first time and saw you curled up with your back against his chest, sleeping peacefully with your lips slightly parted. No, he was clutching you to his chest, he must have done it in his sleep. No wonder he slept like a rock.

He gently tried to unweave himself without waking you up, but he failed. You stirred just as his arm broke free, and he quickly put some space between you so his morning wood wasn't digging into your back anymore.

You stretched and yawned, stilling when you felt him shift beside you. Turning over on your other side to face him, you gave him a sleepy smile before stretching once again and got up to head towards the bathroom.

Once the door shut, Joel exhaled the breath he didn't realize he was holding. He gripped his hard cock over the blankets to try to make it go away enough to stand up. It wasn't until you had left the bathroom to go into the kitchen for some food that he finally stood, tucking the remainder of his erection into his waistband.

You had dug out some pop-tarts and cereal, eating it dry since the milk had likely gone bad by now. You both ate in silence leaning over the kitchen counter.

"What's the plan for today?" you asked between a handful of Cheerios.

"Well, I figure we can look around some of these open apartments for whatever else we can use. Pack up our bags and see if we can start headin' west." Joel replied, dusting his hands on the sides of his sweatpants.

You nodded, telling him you were going to get changed, leaving him in the kitchen alone. Joel wandered over to the window, peeking out through the curtains to see if there was any activity. He didn't see any movement, a good sign, but not a sure thing. Once you were changed, he swapped places with you and changed as well, then you headed out the door to loot your neighbor's apartments.

You were wandering around the apartment across the hall from you as Joel was digging through another closet to gather a few more items he could wear. The rooms were a mess, just like all of the other apartments, like everyone left in such a hurry: random drawers were left partially opened and clothes strewn around. You sauntered up to an end-table next to the couch in the living room and cracked opened a drawer with one finger, your bat lazily dangling in your other hand. You saw something shiny inside, so you opened the drawer all the way and pulled out a large and sharp hunting knife encased in a leather sheath.

You picked it up and made you way into the bedroom where Joel was now rummaging around in the adjoining bathroom, inspecting first aid supplies and pocketing what looked useful.

"I got you a present," you said, leaning against the doorframe. He turned to you, his hand briefly brushing against the keychain in his jeans pocket subconsciously as he stood up. You held out the knife, which he stepped forward and took.

"Hey, good find!" he said excitedly. "These bats'll only get us so far."

He placed the knife on the bathroom sink and began to undo his belt. Your eyes latched onto the movement, not expecting it. Feeling flustered, you swallowed nervously and you felt your cheeks get warm as you briefly replayed some of the thoughts you were having in the middle of the night, turning away before Joel noticed.

Once his belt was off, he threaded the sheath through the leather and ran the belt back through the loops of his jeans. Despite your efforts, he had noticed the blush that creeped along your cheeks. He smirked as he watched you exit the room and head towards the bedroom window.

You stood against the side of the window, resting your head against the frame and gazed outside. You thought you could hear something in the distance but you couldn't put your finger on what the sound was. You motioned for Joel to come over.

"What is that?" you asked. He shook his head, listening.

The noise was growing louder and sounded like growling and snarls. As it got closer, you could hear some screams interspersed with the growls. Joel must have seen something because he grabbed you by the shoulder and tugged you down to the ground, putting a finger against his lips. Quiet.

He peeked over the edge of the window just enough to see a huge mob of at least 50 infected ambling down the street mindlessly.

"Fuck," Joel whispered. He watched as he saw them stumble and drag their feet, hunched over with their mouths either hanging open or snapping at the air. Joel noticed most of them were covered in some amount of blood, either their own or someone else's.

As the noises got closer, you lifted your head up slightly to look down at the street, gasping and clamping both hands tightly over your mouth. You continued to stare as tears pricked the back of your eyes. You couldn't believe what you were seeing. This was so much worse than you had imagined.

The two of you could barely hear the roar of the trucks over the snarling as they approached from the opposite direction, FEDRA soldiers standing on the top and unloading endless amounts of bullets into the hoard of infected. You ducked down, but Joel kept watching. He saw how the bullets went right through them, barely flinching as they began to charge the soldiers angrily. The drivers threw the trucks into reverse before they were overrun, causing a couple soldiers on the top to lose their balance and fall into the hoard. The infected swarmed on top of the fallen soldiers, their shrieks muffled by growls and wheels squealing on the asphalt as they raced back down the street to safety, followed by the few hopeless infected that weren't tearing apart the soldiers on the ground.

He ducked back down under the window, panting heavily from the adrenaline. You were still hunched over with your mouth clamped shut under your hands, rocking on your heels with tears silently streaming down your face.

Joel leaned forward and wrapped you in his arms, pulling you against his chest. Neither of you said a word, you just sat there until the growls from the infected faded and they headed down the street. You stayed like that another ten minutes before you risked looking back out the window. Joel saw the pieces of soldiers that remained: mostly scraps of clothing, boots, a hand here or there, and the street filled with their dark red blood. He noticed a few infected that had died from the bullets. When he looked closer, he saw they all had a shot to the head. So there was a way to kill them.

Joel sighed. He sat up against the wall and rubbed his hands roughly over his face.

"A knife and a bat won't cut it, we need guns," he said to you. You sniffled and looked up at him.

"Where do we get guns?"

"My place. I got a few there. It's far though, deep in the city, near the office."

You felt your pulse return to normal now as you dried your tears on the sleeve of your T-shirt.

"Maybe the subway is clear? At least we would be off the street," you said.

"It's the only plan we got," Joel replied. He stood up to reach down and help you stand, and you quietly went back to your apartment.

Chapter Eight

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dean-winchester-is-a-warrior · 5 months

Text

The Dangers of Hope Ch. 10

Series Summary: When Y/N shows up at Camp Chitaqua with her little girl in tow, her bloodshot eyes leave no doubt that she's infected. Or is she? Everything Dean has come to know for certain over the last five hellish years, is about to be challenged.

Pairings/Characters in the series: Endverse!Dean x Reader, Emma (OFC), Castiel, Sam Winchester, Lucifer, Michael, Zachariah, Risa, Johnston (OMC), Patrick (OMC), Theresa (OFC), other survivors and soldiers.

Series Explicit 18 +/Warnings: Show level violence, some gore, angst, smut, fluff all the usual for a series of mine. ❤️ Endverse!Dean (that's a warning for his anger and callousness as well as his extreme hotness. 😁) Each chapter will have their own specific warnings.

Chapter Warnings: Angst, show level violence

Word Count: 7,447

A/N: So, I've had this idea for quite a while. Basically since I watched The Last of Us. I loved Pedro in the role of Joel, but I kept thinking how incredible Jensen would have been. Which then made me think of how amazing he was as Endverse!Dean which then led me to this idea. Lol! I've stolen the premise of Ellie's storyline from TLOU, but made her a grown up, a reader insert, and a love interest for Dean.

If you've never seen TLOU, don't worry - you don't need to have seen it to understand this story. 😊

I've taken some liberties with the Endverse in my story, changed a few things from canon, but kept lots of things too.

I sincerely hope you enjoy the story. It will be ten chapters and I will do my very best to post one chapter every weekend. ❤️

A/N 2: Sorry again that this chapter got postponed a day. But here is the conclusion of the series. (Except for the epilogue coming next Saturday - or maybe a little earlier. 😉) I've absolutely loved writing this series. Loved living in the Endverse for a while, so thank you so much to everyone who came along with me. And an extra, super-duper thank you to everyone who commented and reblogged their thoughts about the story as we went along. Kind words fuel authors. ❤️ And oh yeah, this chapter's a bit long. Sorry! 😊

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The dividers below were created by @saradika

Y/N didn’t want to look away, she wanted to keep her eyes on Dean. But the white light was absolutely blinding and she eventually had no choice but to turn away from it. The rush of white noise was almost deafening before becoming suddenly silent.

There was only darkness behind her eyelids now so Y/N opened her eyes and stood up straight, looking at Dean where he still stood, halfway between her and Zachariah. His back was to her and she took a step towards him.

“Dean?” She questioned quietly.

He turned slightly so he could see her over his shoulder. He peered at her for a moment, almost scientifically, before he gave his head a brief shake.

“No.”

Y/N would never be able to explain it, but somehow it was Dean’s face, Dean's voice, and yet it wasn’t him. Something was missing from his sparkling, jewel green eyes.

This was Michael. Dean was gone.

Without a moment’s pause, the archangel strode towards the other angels and in the span of a breath they were all gone, leaving behind only the sound of fluttering wings.

Y/N stood stock still, staring at the empty, open field where Dean had stood less than a minute before. Around her chaos began to spread. The people who’d been putting out the fire were rushing towards them now, trying to find out what was going on. Screams echoed as people saw Johnston lying dead on the ground.

Everyone was asking her questions, but she had no answers, she had no words. She just stood, as people rushed around her, feeling as though she’d wake up at any moment. She’d wake up and Dean’s arms would be around her and when he woke she’d tell him about the horrible dream and how scary it had been and he’d hold her gently and tell her it was all just a nightmare.

“...I have my arms wrapped tightly around you and we’re both safe…Close your eyes and stay there, in that moment.”

Dean’s soft words whispered their way into her mind and she shivered. This couldn’t be happening.

Without warning her knees buckled and she fell to the muddy, wet ground, her muscles simply going limp. She covered her face as more tears began to fall. She felt the weight of all her tears gathering in her chest, threatening to crush her, when suddenly she heard Risa calling her name.

When she looked up the soldier was standing over her, still holding Emma in her arms.

“Y/N, you can’t. You just can’t right now. Emma needs you, and I’ve got to… “ She waved an arm towards the people who were panicking all around them.

Y/N felt her mind rebelling, all she wanted was to sit there in the mud and let the cool night air numb her to the all-consuming ache spreading throughout her body.

But she looked up into Emma’s little, terrified face, and forced herself to really hear the horror and confusion all around her; she knew she couldn’t just fall apart.

She nodded at Risa and pushed herself to her feet. She took Emma from her and the other woman gave her a nod and moved into action, working with Cas and her fellow soldiers to start organizing the chaos, trying to get campers back to their tents. They also started debating how best to deal with the burnt out cabin and Johnston’s lifeless body

For her part, Y/N simply turned away from the cacophony and walked slowly back to the red tent. Emma was sobbing on her shoulder and Y/N gathered every ounce of her exhausted strength to try and console her little girl.

When they reached the tent Y/N set Emma down on her cot and wrapped a warm blanket around her while she went to light the stove and warm up the tent. After standing out in the cool night air for so long with no jackets, getting them warm was the first order of business.

Before long the little stove was chugging out ample heat, and she went back over to Emma and snuggled her daughter into her lap. After a while the little girl’s tears subsided into deep, shuddering breaths. Her voice was tiny and quiet when she spoke.

“Dean is gone.”

Y/N felt the whispered words pierce her heart. “Yeah, baby.”

“Will he come back?”

“Yes.” Y/N said it without thinking, her soul making the decision. But she didn’t want to lie to her child either, so she amended her comment. “I’m sure he’s going to try really hard to come back.”

Emma seemed to accept that and was quiet for a little while. Then she spoke again, her soft words tinged with fear.

“Did the bad man kill Eric?”

Y/N squeezed her tighter and nodded against the top of her head. “Yes, baby, because he’s a very bad man.”

“Will he come back to kill us?”

Y/N felt her stomach plummet with fear and heartbreak that her daughter’s mind was so clouded with terror.

Y/N shook her head. “No, baby. He won’t come back now.” She hoped she wasn’t lying.

“Because Dean saved us?”

Y/N felt as though her heart was being crushed. “Yeah, sweet pea, because Dean saved us.”

***

The next few days passed in a haze for Y/N. She was trying desperately to keep it together for Emma’s sake. Her daughter was having nightmares every night and the last thing she needed was her mother crumbling on her. But Y/N was barely sleeping, no more than a couple of hours a night. Every ounce of her being felt exhausted - worn out beyond measure.

There were no classes to teach, thank goodness; the camp was still disorganized and a bit scattered. A dozen or so campers had left, afraid of more angel retaliation. The campers left behind were trying to salvage what they could from the big cabin, and deal with the rest of the burnt out building.

Three days after Dean had gone, Cas came to their tent in the evening, carrying extra wood and asking Y/N if she needed anything.

“No, Cas, we’re good. You don’t have to worry about us.” She said with a forced smile.

“I told Dean I would take care of you.” He said with conviction. “It’s still cold at night, hence the wood. What else do you need?”

Y/N shook her head. “Nothing, Cas. Really.”

He lifted his chin towards Emma who was sleeping on her cot. “How is she?”

Y/N gave a small shrug. “She's trying to cope, like all of us.”

He nodded and then headed out. As he lifted the tent flap, Y/N called him back. When he turned his bright blue gaze on her she hesitated before asking the question that wouldn't leave her mind.

“Can we get him back? Somehow?”

Cas stared at her intensely for a moment before his eyes softened slightly; his deep voice was gentle as he spoke.

“We can hope.”

Y/N closed her eyes. “Yes. Hope.”

When she opened her eyes again, the angel was gone.

***

A week after Dean left they still hadn't figured out any way to get him back, or even how to find him. Cas had begun to hear angel radio again, but the angels were being very quiet. Just the odd remark here and there that made Cas believe that they were still in Kansas, but he couldn't be sure.

The camp had gone back to functioning - mostly. But people kept saying things like, “We’ll run it by the Boss and see what he says.” before realizing that was impossible. The soldiers were trying to run things smoothly between them, and Brandy was helping to keep things as organized as possible.

But Dean was very missed.

A full eight days after losing him, Y/N sat up at the table one night, desperately trying to think up a way to get Dean back to her. Her eyes were scratchy and red-rimmed as she let her head fall into her hands.

She may have fallen asleep right there if there hadn't been a sudden burst of white light. It lit up the tent, blinding her. As it faded slightly, she could just make out a man's shape. Her heart leapt for a moment before realizing this man was much too small to be Dean.

A deep booming voice spoke and shook the ground around them.

“Hail, thou that art highly favored, the Lord is with thee: blessed art thou among women. Fear not, Y/N: for thou hast - Ow! Son of a bitch!”

The angel cut off his proclamation and held up his hands as Y/N smacked him repeatedly with a broom. The last of his angelic light went out like a candle and he grabbed the broom away from Y/N and snapped it with incredible ease.

“What the hell, lady?” He rubbed the side of his head where she'd walloped him. “You know that worked great with Mary. SHE knew how to be ‘sore afraid’.”

Y/N went to Emma's cot where her daughter was crying silently, obviously horrified to see another angel, inside their tent this time.

“Get out!” Y/N said with as much strength as she could muster.

“You really don't want that, trust me.” The angel said, his hazel eyes twinkling, a smirk on his thin lips.

“Who are you; what do you want?”

He gave a little bow. “Name’s Gabriel, but I prefer Loki.”

The tent flap opened and suddenly Cas was there with Risa and Patrick flanking him. But Cas pulled up short when he saw the other angel.

“Gabriel?”

“Hey, bro!” Gabriel said cheerfully.

Cas looked to the two soldiers on either side of him. “I'm fine here. You should patrol the area. Look for anything amiss or out of place. But don't approach it without me.”

Both soldiers gave a curt nod and left.

Cas came fully into the tent and his face was very wary. “Gabriel, what are you doing here? Where have you been for the last thousand Millenia or so? Most of us thought you were dead.”

“Nope.” Gabriel's voice was still nonchalant and cheery. “Just in a sort of witness relocation. Got sick to death of Daddy's beefs and Lucifer and Michael's petty squabbling. So, I took a little time off. Sailed around, saw the world, got myself a brand new face.”

He framed his face with his two hands. “Cute, right?”

Cas just frowned at him and Gabriel rolled his eyes. “You have never known how to have fun Castiel.”

Cas raised an eyebrow. “Well, these humans are under my protection, so I'll save the fun until after you tell me what you're doing here.”

Gabriel lost his smirk and he crossed his arms. “Isn't it obvious? I'm here to save the day, as always.”

Cas scoffed. “Not likely. You tend to sew chaos.”

Gabriel shrugged. “What can I say, it's a talent.” He moved back to lean against the table.

“But seriously, I'm so over this apocalypse. As soon as Lucy dumped his little virus on this world, I was outta here. No fun to be had with a bunch of humans barely clinging to life. So, I traveled near and far, all over the galaxy and a little bit further. It's been sort of fun. But let me tell you, there are only so many green-skinned, six-legged chicks you can bang before you start pining for home, you know?”

He gave his head a shake. “Don't know how Captain Kirk did it.”

“Get to the point, brother.” Cas said, annoyance lacing his tone.

“I'm here to help.”

“So you said. How?” Cas asked harshly.

Gabriel shrugged again. “I have a way to shove Lucifer and Michael into the cage.”

From his pocket he pulled out an oddly shaped object. It was an X made up of four circles, four rings, by the looks of it.

He held it up. “Borrowed these from the horsemen. Well,” he shrugged, “to be fair, only Death was willing to part with his, the others didn't wanna give ‘em up easily. But, you know, archangel trumps most. I was glad Death was so cooperative though, he woulda been a tough one to beat.”

Cas stepped up to him and held out his hand. Gabriel dropped the cross into it and Cas peered at it closely.

“The horsemen’s rings. What will this do?”

Gabriel's voice was quiet. “Keys to the cage, brother.”

Cas’ eyes widened. “Lucifer’s cage?”

Gabriel nodded. “And Michael’s too.” He paused for a beat. “And mine.”

Cas frowned. “Yours? Why would you throw yourself into the cage?”

Gabriel shrugged, but Y/N could see a flicker of some deep emotion pass over his mobile features.

“Someone’s gotta pull those two down there. And I’d say after millions of years, and untold damage to the world, me and my brothers could use some time alone and family therapy.”

He allowed a smile to turn up the corner of his mouth.”From what I understand old Raffy’s taken up as a god on some distant planet. He always did like to be worshiped.” He shrugged again, his smirk firmly back in place. “So, it’s just the three of us.”

Cas shook his head. “Why are you doing all of this, Gabriel?”

The archangel took back the key to the cage and slipped it into his pocket. “Told ya, got sick of banging green chicks on Mars.”

“No. That's…there are no green women on Mars.” Cas said, looking at Y/N as though to reassure her.

Y/N stood up and walked the few steps to where Gabriel stood, looking him straight in the eye. “Can you bring Dean back?”

Gabriel contemplated her for a moment and then shook his head. “No.”

Y/N felt her stomach lurch, and she opened her mouth to shout at him, but Gabriel held up a hand, patting his pocket with the other. “With this I can open the cage, and I can pull my brothers down with me to be locked away. But if you want Dean back, you’ve gotta get him to toss Michael first. Otherwise, his body and soul come down too.”

Y/N began to panic. “What are you talking about? You are not dragging Dean down to hell, no matter what!” She shouted, her fists balled. “I will not let you.”

Gabriel’s smile looked genuine for the first time as he looked at Y/N fuming in front of him before turning to Cas. “She’s feisty! Dean knows how to pick ‘em!”

He looked back at Y/N and held both his hands up in surrender. “Look, I can’t extract Michael from Dean’s body, it doesn’t work that way; Dean has to be the one to throw him out. And there’s nothing I could say to give him that kind of strength.” He tilted his head slightly. “But you might be able to. You’re our best shot.”

He looked to Cas. “If she can get Dean to toss Michael, I’ll grab on to him. I’ll be able to hold him for a little while. Hopefully long enough to get to Lucifer and try to get Sam Winchester to eject him.”

He shook his head. “That one’s gonna be a lot harder, and I’m not gonna lie, I don’t hold out very much hope. I also don’t know what kind of shape Sam’s gonna be in even if he can get him out. He’s held Lucifer for five years now, he might be too far gone.”

Cas nodded. “If we can get Dean, he can get Sam. Or, he’ll be the best chance anyway. And if Sam manages to eject Lucifer, Dean won’t care what condition he’s in, he’ll fix him.”

Gabriel gave a nod. ��We’ll see, I suppose. But we gotta start with Dean so…” He looked at Y/N. “What do you say, beautiful?”

Y/N contemplated him for a moment before looking at Cas. “Do you trust him?”

Cas was quiet for a long time, looking Gabriel over, the debate clear in his expression.

The archangel rolled his eyes. “Thanks, bro.”

Finally Cas nodded. “Yes, I believe we can trust him.”

Y/N took a deep breath, hope and fear spreading throughout her body in equal measure. “Okay, then let’s go save the Winchesters.”

***

Their traveling party was prepared and ready to go in very little time, most of which was spent explaining to Emma why she couldn’t come.

Y/N knew how terrified her little girl must be, thinking she was losing her mother now too. Eventually though, her tears subsided and her little face became resolved to what was happening. It broke Y/N’s heart to see that resolve, to know that her daughter’s soft heart was getting tougher.

Y/N swore to herself that she was going to bring Dean home, and they would live happily ever after, spoiling Emma and letting her go soft once again.

Before they left, Y/N gave Monique a hug and thanked her again. She’d pulled her friend aside earlier and spoken quietly with her, asking her to take care of Emma if anything should happen to her. Tears had welled up in Monique’s beautiful amber eyes but she’d clasped Y/N’s hands tightly.

“I will always look after Emma as my very own.” She shook her head and dashed away her tears. “But you’ll be back in no time, I’m sure. So, I’ll see you soon.”

The soldiers, Brandy and Monique had all checked privately with Y/N about whether or not she was really okay to set off with two angels. Y/N reassured them that she trusted Cas completely and he trusted Gabriel. So she did too. Besides, she’d reasoned, if this was their only possibility to save Dean, she had to take it.

Gabriel said he knew just where Michael was staying, so she held Cas’ hand as the archangel tapped his brother’s shoulder and in a blink they were suddenly standing just outside a rundown Victorian house.

The springtime sun was just beginning to lighten the sky in the East as they popped into existence on the sidewalk outside the house.

She hadn’t even had time to wave goodbye.

The three of them walked slowly up the front stairs and through the door. As they entered the house they heard a voice call from the back.

“The polite thing to do would have been to call first, you know.”

Y/N felt her heart leap. She recognized Dean’s voice, but it sounded different. The consonants were more clipped, the words more even in tone, almost bland, bored. His voice had none of Dean’s rough, expressive way of speaking.

The dissonance continued as they walked into the sitting room and found Dean. He held himself ramrod straight, and when he turned towards them, his face held none of Dean’s stony anger, or joyful exuberance. It too was bland, cold, his normally shining, emerald eyes looked almost empty.

Looking at this version of Dean was very difficult. Somehow being in front of this non-Dean made Y/N miss him even more.

But he never spared her a glance. All his attention was on his brothers. “Castiel, it’s been a long time. And Gabriel,” he looked him up and down, “it’s been even longer. Millions of years, in fact. I almost didn’t recognize you in this vessel.”

“Yeah, got this one custom made by a good friend of mine.” He ran a hand across his chest. “I’ve grown quite fond of my earthly form, so I’m happy I don’t have to share it with a human, and I don’t ever have to turn into a bright white mist, cause there's no human inside to reject me. This beautiful face is mine all mine.”

He smiled wide, but Michael just frowned. “That’s sacrilege, brother. Our angelic form is greater than any human disguise.”

Gabriel shrugged. “But they sure come in handy don’t they. If you wanna get anything done on earth, they really are a necessity.” He raised a hand towards him. “Hence all your trouble to get this one.”

Gabriel's tone became grandiose and overwrought. “For here is your sword, your one true vessel. Destined for eons to be the one human whose bones you were the most eager to jump.”

Michael stared at him soundlessly for a moment and then spoke in the same even, emotionless tone. “Why are you here, Gabriel? And why have you brought this human?” He pointed at Y/N, but still didn’t look at her.

Gabriel paused a beat before answering. “Well, we have a bone to pick with you.”

That was the signal to spur Cas into action. A white light shot out from Gabriel’s hands, connecting him to Michael. As the two archangels fought, Michael trying desperately to break the hold Gabriel had on him, Cas ran in front of him, drawing a straight line from wall to wall in holy oil and then dropping a lit match, trapping Michael behind the line of flame.

Gabriel let his brother go, grunting with effort as the connection broke. Michael’s borrowed face was no longer emotionless, it was furious and bubbling with hate.

“How dare you!” He shouted at Gabriel. “How dare you try to interfere with my destiny. This fight has been postponed for five long years while Lucifer ran amok. It is my duty to fight him and end him!”

Gabriel was scowling at his big brother a moment before a wide grin spread across his face. “You said doody.”

Everyone paused to look at him askance, and he shrugged. “What? That’s funny! Nobody has a sense of humor these days.”

He shook his finger at Michael. “You know who would have laughed at that, the man you’re possessing. He would have thought it was hilarious. Or at least, he would have before the apocalypse struck. Been a bit down in the mouth since Lucifer possessed his brother and ended the world.”

Michael was still livid and he spoke through gritted teeth. “We tried to tell Dean that I needed my sword, that I needed my vessel to fight Lucifer, but he wouldn’t listen. He brought this on humanity.”

“Bullshit!” Gabriel called out and all traces of his humor were gone. “You could have used another vessel, you could have made due as Lucifer did before Sam. But no, you wanted THIS vessel.” He pointed at Dean. “And you were pissed you couldn’t have him, so you threw a hissy fit and left the world to burn.”

Silence reigned for a moment before Gabriel spoke again, quiet now. “And I left with you. I cashed in my chips and walked away from the table. But I kept an eye on humanity while I was galivanting around the universe. Kind of an old habit, and what I saw shocked me. The world was over, civilization destroyed, and yet - on they all trudged. These people. These humans. They kept on fighting. These flawed broken toys we all mocked and looked down on, they fought, they loved, they helped each other, they won and lost, but no matter what, they just kept going.”

Michael was motionless as Gabriel continued, pointing towards Y/N. “And just as there was a possibility of hope, just as they found a way they might be able to win, might be able to restart the world, here you come again, army in tow, ready to level the planet all over. And for what? So you can fight some ancient grudge match with our brother?” He shook his head. “What is the bloody point?”

Dean’s jaw ticked with Michael’s annoyance. “It’s my destiny. It’s what I was created to do.”

Gabriel looked sad as he glanced over at Y/N. “Well, not if she can help it.”

Y/N knew this was her time, it was on her now to help Dean find strength enough to eject the possessing angel. Michael’s cold eyes looked at her through Dean’s sparkling jade and she closed her own for a moment, imagining the warmth in Dean’s expression before she opened her eyes and smiled at him.

“Dean, can you hear me? I need you to listen, I need you to trust me. Throw him out. I’ll be safe, Emma and I will both be safe now. But I need you to come back home.”

“Dean isn’t available at the moment.” Michael said darkly. But she could see him squinting, almost as though he was in pain and Y/N chose to believe that Dean was fighting him from the inside.

She kept talking as though Michael hadn't spoken.

“I have so many plans for us. Once we’ve made the cure possible, and the world is able to begin again, I really want us to go back home, back to Chitaqua. I wanna build a cabin there. Nothing fancy, you know, just something a bit bigger than the tent, but still cozy - with a bedroom door that locks.” She finished with a wide grin.

She stepped a little closer to him, careful to avoid the flame. “And, of course, I think we’re gonna have to get Emma that dog she asked for. And we can celebrate birthdays and holidays with all of our friends and family. We’ll keep them all close, and safe.”

Michael was stepping back from her, looking away and shaking his head as though he was dizzy.

“Dean, I love you so much. All I want is to spend my life with you. Please kick him out. I know how strong you are, I know you can do it.”

“I’ll kill her!” Michael screamed out suddenly, as though his inner thoughts weren’t loud enough for Dean to hear. “You understand me? If you want her to live, want to keep her safe, stop fighting me. Now!”

Michael was breathing hard, but a joyless smile was spreading across Dean's beautiful face; the archangel was obviously pleased.

“That's better.” He whispered, still slightly out of breath.

They were losing Dean, she could see it. Michael was terrorizing him again with threats against her. So, acting purely on instinct, Y/N made one last attempt, one huge Hail Mary.

She took a deep breath and leapt over the fire, throwing her arms around Dean’s neck. She pulled his mouth down to hers and kissed him with every ounce of love and passion she could muster.

She put everything into the kiss, every moment she’d loved him, and every promise she was making him were all there, tied up with all the hope in her heart.

She felt a tingling against her lips that started to burn as she pulled away. She jumped back and fell to the ground as Dean let out a roar, and his mouth opened wide. The blinding white light that had consumed him was being forced back out of him, in an incredible light show that ended abruptly as Gabriel reached out and pulled the light into himself.

The darkness was complete for a moment before Y/N’s eyes could adjust. As the world came into focus, she could see Gabriel on the other side of the flame, breathing hard and fast. Cas walked to his side and poured some of his own white light into Gabriel, which seemed to stabilize him slightly.

But his voice was still wobbly when he spoke. “We gotta go. I don’t know how long I can hold him in here with me.”

Y/N nodded and crawled over to where Dean had fallen to the floor. She turned his face towards her just as his eyes fluttered open.

“Y/N?” He whispered and she nodded at him with tears flowing.

“Yeah, I’m here, I’m safe. We’re all safe.”

Dean shook his head. “But how…” He sat up slowly and looked towards where Cas and Gabriel stood. He squinted and shook his head in confusion. “The Trickster’s an angel?”

Cas’ eyes widened as he looked at Gabriel. “You were the Trickster the boys went up against? Twice?”

Dean’s voice was slightly annoyed. “Yeah, he killed me like a million times.”

Y/N felt her stomach lurch, but Gabriel just waved it away as nothing. “I was trying to teach you boys something; wasn’t my finest moment maybe, but you gotta admit, the tacos were funny.”

“Not to me, asshole.” Dean grumbled. Y/N was very confused and about to ask for clarification when Gabriel bent double.

“Ugh!” He groaned. “Okay, could you postpone my spanking for that very hilarious prank until after I’ve saved you all?”

Y/N nodded and helped Dean to his feet. Gabriel looked at him. “Okay, pal, this one’s on you. We’re gonna go get Lucifer so I can toss all of us into the cage. We can try to get Sam to chuck him first. We’ll need you for that. But if you can’t get him, and it seems like Lucifer might get away, I’ll grab Sam as is and jump into the cage.”

Dean stormed up to him. “You are not taking my brother to hell, you understand me?”

Gabriel just shrugged. “Then I guess you better reach him before it’s too late.”

He groaned again as he fought his brother internally, closing his eyes and putting a hand to his head. Without saying any more, they all got into position so Gabriel could zap them to Lucifer’s location.

Just before he could manage it however, there was a bellow of rage from behind them, making them all turn. From the doorway, Zachariah charged forward, angel blade bared and aimed for Dean’s jugular.

Dean shoved Y/N out of the way as the angel charged them like a bull. But when he was just a couple feet from Dean, Cas stuck his foot out, sending the furious angel spilling to the ground in a comical looking pratfall.

He fell onto the still burning holy fire and screamed in pain, rolling around, trying to escape the flames. Before he could pull himself free, however, Dean grabbed onto the silver blade the angel had dropped. He raised it high, and then plunged it deep into his throat, forever freezing the angel's sadistic face in agony.

More blinding white lights burst out of the dying angel, forcing Y/N to once again cover her head and shield her eyes. When she reopened them, she could see the angel’s blackened wings, as his empty vessel was slowly consumed in the flame.

Dean stood up and then helped Y/N to her feet. After giving her a once over to determine she was alright, he turned to Cas.

“Nice job, buddy. Very Keystone Cops.”

Cas frowned. “I don’t know an officer by that name.”

Dean just smiled and then slipped the blade into his pocket as he looked down at the dead angel.

“Good riddance.” He said under his breath before a panting Gabriel yanked him back into position and zapped them all away.

Suddenly, in another heartbeat, they were all standing in a bombed out street; the buildings around them were crumbling and burnt. It was all that was left after some of the original fighting between the army and the Croats five years before. The bombings hadn’t worked.

As they stood looking around, a man caught their eye. He was strolling out of one of the buildings less than twenty feet away; he was very tall and had long brown hair and an easy stride.

Y/N could hear Dean gasp slightly beside her and she took his hand. The man, who could only be Lucifer, slowed down as he approached them. His smile was soft and patronizing.

“Well, well. This is a surprise. What a merry little band of rebels you’ve all turned into.”

He nodded at Gabriel. “Our brothers and sisters all thought you must have been killed somewhere, but I knew better.” He studied him for a minute before smirking. “And I see he got hold of you, Mikey!” He said loudly. He chuckled. “He always was a cuck.”

He frowned slightly as he spared barely a glance for the rest of them. “But Gabe, buddy if you’re here to try and put me back in that cage?” He raised his hand and closed it into a fist and Gabriel began coughing as though he was choking. “Well, that simply isn’t going to happen.”

Cas ran forward to help, but Lucifer tossed him aside with a sweep of his hand. Dean pushed Y/N to crouch behind an upside down car. “Stay here.” He warned, before turning back towards his brother.

“Sammy?” He called tentatively. Lucifer looked over at him and dropped Gabriel to the ground as he let him go. He faced Dean and shook his head.

“You.” The devil said, his voice menacing. “You have no idea how sick I am of you. Do you know how many times I’ve had to listen to Sammy bellyaching about how he was letting you down? Do you know how ANNOYING it is to execute a perfect reign of terror just to have this boy,” he banged his chest, “weeping in my head instead of truly reveling in it with me?”

He shook his head. “It’s only been quiet in here since I threatened to find you and end you. See that’s how I got Sammy’s cooperation in the first place. I promised that if he said yes I wouldn’t snap your neck like kindling.”

He waved towards Dean dismissively. “You were sound asleep at the time, you wouldn’t remember this. But Sam finally said yes, as I always knew he would, and in return I promised that you could keep on living. So when Sam wouldn’t shut up and stop whining, a simple threat to revoke our original deal was enough to silence him.”

He smiled, and Y/N thought it was pure sin for such a sweet, dimpled smile to sit on the face of evil. Lucifer tilted his head slightly as though he was listening to something.

“But now…hey Sammy.” He said in a silky tone. “Been quiet so long, I'd actually started to miss you.”

Dean took a step closer. “Sammy, can you hear me? I’m here. I’m here and I’m so sorry, more than I can ever say. I never should’ve walked away from you. We should have fought these assholes together. I should have known that we’re stronger together than apart.”

He swallowed. “But you’ve gotta chuck him. We’ve got a plan, little brother, we can win. Believe me.”

Lucifer rolled Sam’s bright, hazel eyes just before he slammed his fist into Dean’s face, almost knocking him to the ground.

Gabriel shot light at his brother, but it was much weaker than what he’d thrown at Michael; so much of his strength was being used to keep Michael locked inside himself. Cas added his strength, but Lucifer quickly pushed them both away, severing their hold on him.

Blood gushed from Dean’s lip, his jaw already swollen and purple, as he started forward again.

“Sammy, I need you to force him out. I know how strong you are. I know you can do it. I never should have doubted it, never should have believed they could defeat us. We are Winchesters and we never-”

He broke off as Lucifer landed two more swift blows to his face, causing a sickening crack as Dean’s nose shattered and he crashed to the ground.

Y/N gasped and jumped up, running forward even though there was nothing she could possibly do. Gabriel and Cas fought him again, forcing Lucifer to stumble back slightly. But he found his footing quickly and severed the hold as he had before, this time sending both angels sailing through the air.

Lucifer stared at Dean, hatred spreading across Sam's handsome features. "I am done with you." He shouted. "You are not worth my time."

Looking as though it was a struggle, as though the body he was possessing was fighting back, Lucifer raised his arm, his fingers poised to snap. Y/N screamed, memories bursting in her mind of the swiftness with which Zachariah had ended Johnston’s life with a mere snap.

But before he could manage it, Lucifer once again stumbled backwards. This time, however, Cas and Gabriel had barely risen from the ground and were just walking back towards them.

Lucifer dropped his arm and fell suddenly to his knees. “No.” He whispered, shock suffusing the word, and then he screamed. “No!” The ground shook and rumbled, knocking all of them down.

Suddenly a burst of white light erupted from Sam’s mouth, and as he had before, Gabriel reached forward with his own light to trap his brother.

The light suffused the archangel-turned-Trickster; it was no longer being wholly contained within himself, but spilling out of him as he tried to hold on to all of their angelic forms within his one custom-made vessel.

Jerkily he reached into his pocket and threw the key at Cas. “Now, brother!”

Cas tossed it to the ground and began chanting. As the chant ended, a wide hole began to crack open in the street.

Gabriel pitched forward towards the hole, but his body seemed to be disobeying his commands - his brothers were fighting against him with all their strength. The light emanating from Gabriel seemed to be splitting, as though the other two archangels were separating from him.

With one last surge of strength, Gabriel leapt forward and dove headfirst into the hole in front of him. There were deafening sounds of furious screaming that were quickly swallowed up as the ground closed around them.

There was only silence for a long time, as they all struggled to get their bearings, to reconcile what had just happened.

Y/N was the first to move, running to Dean just as he stood up, and then collapsing in his arms. Dean held her tightly, kissing the top of her head and then cupping her cheeks to kiss her mouth, hard and fast. He pulled away and smiled.

Cas stepped forward to tap his fingers to Dean's forehead, instantly clearing the blood and bruises.

Dean nodded and smiled at him gratefully. “Thanks, Cas.”

He looked back at Y/N and his beautiful eyes and mobile, expressive face were once again his own and Y/N rejoiced.

Dean turned them both to face Sam where he still knelt on the ground. With a quick squeeze, Dean stepped away from her to reach out a hand to his little brother.

Sam hesitated only a moment before he took it and let Dean pull him to his feet. The two men stared at each other for a minute before Dean yanked Sam towards him to wrap the taller man up in a bear hug, his arms wrapping over Sam’s shoulders and clinging tightly.

Sam’s face crumpled slightly and he crushed his brother’s ribs as he hugged him back. “I’m so sorry, Dean. I didn’t know what else to do, I didn’t…” He trailed off, but Dean was shaking his head.

“No, Sam, no.” He pulled back to clap his hand against the side of Sam’s neck. “This isn’t on you.” Sam gave him a look and Dean shook his head. “Well, it’s certainly not all on you. We both fucked up, but we have a chance to fix things now.”

He turned back to Y/N and held his arm out towards her. She stepped forward to take his hand. Dean was beaming as he made the introductions.

“Sam, Y/N, Y/N, Sam.” Sam raised an eyebrow and Dean grinned. “Meet my wife.”

Sam’s eyes widened and Y/N gasped. “What?” She squeaked.

Dean shrugged. “Well okay, maybe there’s still the formalities to go through, like the wedding ceremony.”

“And a proposal!” Y/N said, laughing from sheer joy, utter exhaustion and the madness of their new reality.

Dean grinned at her. “You saying you don’t wanna?”

Y/N beamed up at him. “Definitely not saying that.”

Cas interrupted. “Before you start planning the wedding, can we go home?”

Sam looked dazed and spoke softly as though trying to decide if it was all just a dream. “Where is home?”

Dean clapped him on the back. “Camp Chitaqua. You’re gonna love it, Sammy! Trust me. It’s paradise.”

“With outhouses.” Y/N said with a snort.

Sam’s smile was soft, and it suited his kind, handsome face much more than it had ever fit the devil.

“Sounds perfect. Let’s go home.”

Cas stepped forward and in a blink they were back in the field where the spring vegetables were just sprouting - where they could hear the voices of their friends and neighbors, and smell the thick scent of pine and new earth.

There was a cry of shock as the campers saw them all suddenly standing there. Shouts conveyed the message quickly throughout the camp and everyone came running to see their return.

Y/N let out a cry of happiness as she saw Emma racing towards her, her little legs eating up the distance surprisingly fast. As she reached them, Dean scooped her up and pulled Y/N into the circle of his embrace so that the three of them hugged each other tightly.

The rest of the day was spent celebrating and rejoicing, hours of storytelling, and off-key singing around campfires, food shared and enjoyed by everyone.

Eventually, Dean, Y/N and Emma broke away to bring Sam to Dean’s old tent. They lit a lamp and Dean gave Sam the grand tour, pointing the way to the outhouses from there, and assuring him the cot was more comfortable than it looked.

Sam nodded, still looking as though he couldn’t take it all in. Seeing his confusion, Y/N kissed Dean on the cheek and picked up Emma’s hand.

“You boys have so much to catch up on. You should take some time together.”

Sam shook his head. “No, you’ve been away from each other long enough. This reunion should be yours.” He said, nodding at Y/N and Dean. Throughout the day he’d been caught up on how everything went down with Michael and Zachariah.

But Y/N shook her head. “We’ve been apart a week, you’ve been apart for years. You need this time.”

Dean looked down at her, love shining in his gaze, before tossing his brother a smile. “Don’t bother arguing, Sammy, she always wins.”

He bent down and kissed Y/N deeply, making Emma curl her lip.

“Ew.” She said succinctly, and Y/N laughed as she pulled out of the kiss.

She looked at Sam and then moved in for a hug. Sam hugged her back and she beamed up at him.

“I'm so glad to know you, Sam Winchester. Welcome home.”

With that she pulled Emma out of the tent to let the brothers get to know each other again.

Hours and hours later, the camp was finally quiet. A lamp glowed here and there as people slowly settled into their tents for the night. A happy peace settled over the camp, blanketing it in coziness and calm.

Y/N had sung Emma to sleep an hour before and was now stretched out on her own cot. She was planning on waiting for Dean to come back from visiting with his brother. But almost as soon as her head hit the pillow, her absolute exhaustion hit her and she was out immediately.

She woke with a start some time later, and then sighed deeply as she felt Dean’s arms tighten around her. Across the room she could hear Emma’s soft snores and her eyes filled with tears as the reality hit her anew that they were all truly together again, safe and sound. She turned in Dean’s arms so she could face him.

“Dean.” She whispered.

He smiled a sleepy smile and kissed her softly. “You were sleeping so soundly when I got home, I didn’t want to disturb you.” He whispered back, voice craggy with sleep.

“How is Sam?” She asked.

Dean sighed. “He’s okay. Gonna take time for him to be a hundred percent, you know. But he’s here, and he’s smiling, and he’s...Sammy.” He shrugged slightly. “So, that’s enough for now.”

Y/N nodded and wiped away a tear, finally making Dean notice them in the dark. His voice sounded slightly worried as he cupped her cheek and thumbed away the wetness. “Sweetheart, you're crying. Why?”

Y/N shook her head. “Because all my hopes and dreams have come true. We’re together, we’re safe, the camp is safe, the devil’s gone, and we actually have a real chance of remaking the world.”

Dean’s voice voice was a bit choked up too as he responded, grinning. “Yeah, but I don't plan on forgetting that promise you made me. When the world is fixed, we’re coming back here to live out our days in a big log cabin with locking doors and indoor plumbing, right?”

Y/N giggled. “I’m not sure about the indoor plumbing, but everything else is definitely in the cards, I hope.”

Dean pulled her close and tucked her head beneath his chin. “Well, we’re in the business of hope, so I think our chances are good.”

Jensen RPF and Any/All Characters: @lyarr24 @lacilou @deans-spinster-witch @globetrotter28 @suckitands33 @alwaystiredandconfused @evznackles @jackles010378 @impala67rollingthroughtown @krazykelly @candy-coated-misery0731 @envyaurora95 @spnwoman @deans-baby-momma

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Any/All Fics Regardless of Character or Fandom: @kazsrm67 @slut-for-evans-stan @sexyvixen7 @nancymcl @hobby27 @waywardcheshire

Everything Incl. Fan Edits: @k-slla @leigh70 @eevvvaa @kickingitwithkirk @foxyjwls007 @notinthislife50 @roseblue373 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @avanatural @mrsjenniferwinchester @all-alone-he-turns-to-stone @deangirl96

#dean winchster #endverse!dean #endverse!dean fan fic #endverse!dean x reader #dean x reader #endverse!fan fic series #endverse #the dangers of hope #chapter 10

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