#i will make that tag take off if it's the last thing i do

[satzumosupremacy]

Ignite The Spark II

Male reader x Kazuha

Tags: Smut 4.5k Words

Part 1

What truly matters is that your home carries deeper meaning. You wouldn’t settle for anything less when the empty chair across from the dining table belongs to Kazuha, or when you go to sleep and wake up together every day.

A smile crosses your face as you step into the apartment. Your gaze is drawn to the hoya kerrii plant, with its iconic heart-shaped leaves perfectly placed by the window. It wasn’t something you initially wanted in the home, but you didn’t see the point in having a small, silly argument over a plant. She thinks it’s a romantic addition to the space, and, over time, you’ve somehow grown fond of it.

“Zuha,” you say, walking through the short hallway into the bedroom and smelling her shampoo in the air.

“Hey, you’re home!” she smiles.

“What do you think of the dresser? It was the one you wanted.”

“It’s amazing,” she says and comfortably takes off her towel that’s wrapped around her body to set it on the rack. Kazuha smirks mischievously, and you seem to have an idea about she’s thinking. Super obvious enough.

“I sent my friend home after they helped out with this dresser.”

“You didn’t tell them how we broke the old one right?” she says, her voice carrying a teasing smirk as she brushes her fingertips across the dresser.

“No, Babe, why would I?” you softly say.

What really happened to the old one? Well, you bent her over, got a little bit too rough, and one of the legs unexpectedly snapped at the bolts. The truth is, the dresser was old, and the materials had seen better days—it wasn’t going to last much longer anyway. Consider it the perfect excuse to upgrade to a much sturdier one. 

“Maybe the first thing we can do is test the quality of this dresser. How about that?”

“Zuha,” you say, chuckling, because you couldn’t say no, because she’s already naked. What can you really do about it as she leans on the dresser with her hands behind her back, just waiting for you?

“Naughty boy," she says, beckoning you to come closer, and so easily, you do. Kazuha places her hands on your chest while you grab the sides of her hips, gently massaging her as you stare right into her eyes. “Thanks for building it, babe.”

“I swear, if this one somehow breaks, you’re buying the next one and building it yourself,” you chuckle, sarcastically teasing her.

“That’s not fair,” she utters. You love how she looks insanely hot with her hair damped. And just that fresh smell of her out the shower makes you impulsively want to fuck her. You gulp, and she looks directly into your eyes, “what are you waiting for, Babe?”

“You’re making me nervous. Okay?”

“Oh, shut up,” she chuckles, leaning in for a quick kiss on your lips. You lift Kazuha up and set her down on the cold surface of the dresser as she chuckles again. “You know this will be put to good use, right?”

“Mhm, I know. But dressers aren’t made for what we intend to do.”

“So what? Who’s stopping us?” Kazuha mischievously chuckles, and she looks so hot that it’s starting to be a problem. A good one.

“What’s with you today?” You didn’t mean to be rude, but those eyes of hers are so seductive that it’s becoming a problem. Again.

By all means, she’s both a problem and a solution. You're always torn between wanting some fun and taking things seriously, caught in the pull of her charm and the chaos she stirs.

“Were you waiting for this moment too?”

Honestly, and quite literally, you did. You knew Kazuha was on her way home after you dropped off your friend, so instead of admitting it, you decide to tease her for fun. “Maybe. Maybe not.'"

“I hate you,” she murmurs, her lips curling into a mischievous smile.

“I love you,” you say, leaning in to give her a quick peck on the lips.

Kazuha pulls back just as quickly after getting a kiss, “fuck me like you mean it then,” she starts to roll up your shirt.

You chuckle, “oh, is this how it’s going to go?”

“C’mon, fuck me, Babe. What’s stopping you? I need your attention fully on me today.” If she say so, and if she’s pulling onto your shirt to come off, you might as well fuck her right on the dresser. Kazuha throws your shirt across the room as it lands on the lamp near the bed and pulls you in to meet her lips, kissing and breathing heavily. “Baby, do you even realize that you’re hard? I know you never get enough.” Maybe Kazuha got you right there. It’s not your fault when she’s naked in front of you with her legs spread open, skin so pure and soft to the touch.

“Take off my—” you say, and you didn’t have to tell her, she’s already pulling your pants down as it drop to the floor. You had no idea when she unzipped your pants.

“Too slow,” she seductively chuckles. You can feel her hand grabbing your cock. It’s always the best feeling when her soft-small hands are all over your it, like she owns it. Your breath becomes heavy and sees her spitting onto her hand to lubricate your cock.

“Push it in,” she whispers with the tip of your cock inches away from entry.

“We’re moving way too fast,” you utter, which, honestly, you’re just worried for her. Having sex was her was planned, but you didn’t think she would rush it.

“Just put it in, Babe,” she spreads her legs wider, demanding for you to get all up inside her.

“Fine, if you say so,” and you gently drove your cock inside, slow enough to get her to moan, deepest you can go in her slick pussy. And little did you know, the shower head did come in handy as a toy for her while you were gone. You hear her shallow gasps and moans. It’s nothing new, but it’s satisfying to hear her gorgeous voice whenever you’re inside her. It’s brings you joy, especially when her legs tense up as she tries to sit still on the new dresser.

You feel her arms getting tighter on the sides of your stomach, and the way Kazuha’s nails digs into your back as you kept thrusting back and forth into her pussy. There’s no need for words, you know she’s loving it, and you’re loving it, arguably more than her.

“Harder,” Kazuha moans out, trying to catch her breaths. She rests her chin on your left shoulder, and just to seduce you more, she whispers in the most erotic voice ever, “fuck me harder, Babe.”

She’s making you go insane. Your mind isn’t where it was. This woman, actually, your girlfriend knows how to push your buttons after all the naked times together. And you will fuck her as much as you mean to love her.

“Fuck,” you groan, and you’re slowly finding the sweet spot to set the pace. She’ll be taking every inch, and every drop of cum that she didn’t get today.

“Babe,” she grunts, “oh gosh—.”

“Take it,” you growl, so aroused by the way how she’s moaning right in your ear.

The dresser rocks back and forth. There’s nothing in it. It was just built hours ago, and somehow, fucking her is the first thing you do on the dresser. And while she’s moans so beautifully, her arms cling to you desperately, one wrapping around you after the other, as she struggles to get a firm grip. Kazuha can’t even get a word out her mouth. You’re so deep inside, penetrating through her slick walls.

“Zuha,” you groan and gasp, hugging her in your warm embrace, slowing down to catch your breath while hearing hers.

“Keep going, I want it,” Kazuha murmurs softly into your ear, her breath sending a tingling sensation across your skin, like the brush of a gentle breeze. “Love me. Have me. Cum in me, like you always do.”

Her words make you smile, the curve of your lips pressing gently against her neck. She can feel the warmth of your cheekbones against her skin, and though you can’t bring yourself to respond with words, the smile speaks for itself. It’s an answer more honest than anything you could say.

You breathe on her neck, and slowly, again, driving your cock in and out Kazuha for a feeling of ecstasy as she arches back and her head leans against the wall from how deep you’re inside her. She grips right onto your broad shoulders, squeezing them in rhyme with your thrust. Her gaze is filled with love and passion, pulling you deeper into the endless depths of her ocean eyes. It’s as if time has ceased to exist, leaving just the two of you in this perfect moment while the rest of the world fades away. The room feels smaller, and the silence between both of you fill with unspoken emotions. Despite the weight of it all, you feel an irresistible pull, a need to keep going, no matter how difficult it is to not cum.

You’re so into the moment as Kazuha moans her feelings out with no one to judge, and so was the look she gave you—intense, tender, and entirely unforgettable. It was something special, something that's only meant for you, carrying a depth of emotion that words could never capture. Kazuha can feel your cock throbbing, and again, you’re not stopping. It’s not an option.

“Baby,” she whimpers and gripping into your shoulders harder as she lets out a chorus of endless moans. You feel her squirming around, legs tightly wrapped around your back, cumming.

“Kazuha,” you groan, feeling the tightness of her walls not letting you go. And you kiss the underside of her jaws as she catches her breath to offer you some help with her legs on your back. It’s not looking good for you at the very least, you’re bound to cum any second by how deep she’s pulling you in harder with all her might. “Zuha,” you grunted, like it’s a last chance of her top stop and continue for longer.

She’s not stopping as you take a deep breath, knowing that you couldn’t go any further.

And so, you cum as Kazuha leans back up to hug you in her warm-loving embrace. Nothing feels better than being in her arms. That warm, fuzzy feeling of her heartbeat syncing with yours creates a comfort, as if the world melts away while your cock throbs to fill her womb.

“Kazuha,” you say again, softly whispering, yet gasping with a heavy breath. And if only you can see how she’s smiling behind your back. “We could have went longer.”

“I really wanted it,” she chuckles and hugs you in tighter. "I'm sorry."

“By the way,” you say, catching your breath, “the quality of this dresser is amazing. For now.”

“The reviews were right, at least not for what we just did. It did rock back and forth a little bit though.”

“Babe, that’s because there’s nothing inside,” you chuckle, being witty enough that she chuckles from such an obvious reasoning. There’s no response from Kazuha, other than her chuckle as the two of you hold each other while your souls are intertwined. Outside, the birds chirp, and the distant honking of cars drifts up from the street below. It’s in her arms, in the quiet of this embrace, that you begin to notice the little things that had gone unnoticed just minutes ago.

“I have to go blow-dry my hair,” she says softly, releasing you from her embrace. Her arms linger for just a moment before she pulls away.

“Need some assistance?” you say with a playful grin.

“Wait for me, I need to put on my panties,” Kazuha smiles and gently hops off the dresser. You nod and pick up your pants to put it back on. Kazuha opens the closet and grabs the first panties she sees. Neither could you stop yourself from checking her out, even if she catches you and laughs.

“Are you just putting on your panties only?” you question, sitting right front of her as she puts on her panties, one leg at a time, and up to her waist.

“Yeah, figured we can do it on the bed right after? I’m just letting you get a quick rest,” she chuckles and grabs your hand to take you to the bathroom.

“Naughty girl,” you utter, laughing along with her as you flick the bathroom light on. Kazuha grabs her hair dryer, plugs the cord in, and then hands it over to you with a sparkle in her eyes. As you shuffle through her hair with the dryer in your hand, the warmth of the air mixing with the soft rhythm of your movements, you catch her gaze in the mirror. She’s smiling, and something about her eyes lights up makes you ask, “what are you thinking about?”

“Isn’t it funny how we ended up here to dry my hair after our quick little fun?” she shyly chuckles. “Don’t you think we haven’t been doing it much lately too? I mean, we didn’t do it for five days now until today.”

You wave the hairdryer around, carefully distributing the heat, your thoughts momentarily drifting as you search for the right words. “We’ve been very busy, Zuha. Let’s understand that,” you say, the hum of the dryer filling the space between your words.

“I know,” she pouts playfully, her eyes lingering on you as she watches you dry her hair in the mirror, a mischievous smile tugging at her lips. In that moment, there was nothing but the quiet intimacy you both share. “I love it when we spend time together. Just like right now,” she adds, her voice softening, the warmth between you both making the moment feel even more special.

“I love you, Kazuha,” you say, softly, yet clear enough for her to hear besides the noise of the hairdryer in the bathroom.

“I love you too,” she says, smiling and chuckling. You continue to dry her hair, your hand gently shuffling through her scalp, the steady hum of the hairdryer filling the quiet space. Despite your focus, Kazuha doesn’t take her eyes off of you, her gaze soft yet intense, as if she's studying every flicker of your expression. There's a playful tension in the air, a shared sense of comfort and curiosity, as she silently watches you, letting the moment linger.

It’s like she owes you the world, though you know she doesn’t. You took her in during her struggling times, offering her a safe place when she needed it most. What started as friendship slowly blossomed into something more, a love that was found in the quiet moments between the chaos. You both navigated the shift and now, it feels like fate—two souls who once spent a night for some comfort, now bound by something deeper, something undeniable. You struck gold in multiple places when it comes to her.

With mischievous intentions, you couldn’t help but smirk as you’re almost done drying her hair. “I dare you to turn around,” you say, turning off the hairdryer, deciding to let the rest of her hair to air dry. She only has panties on, you just have to do something about her.

Kazuha turns around to face you, just staring right into your eyes and you feel her hands sliding down to your crotch as a tease. “Should we?”

Without answering, you gently lift her onto the vanity, your hands steady as you guide her with care. As she settles, you lean in and give her a soft kiss. Kazuha digs into your pants with chuckle, not letting you have any more rest.

“Round two,” she utters with a heavy breath. "How do you want me?"

“Bent over,” and that’s all you say, firmly, a want, and a need.

Kazuha just laughs. She expected this from you. “Okay, Babe.”

“Think we should start here?”

“Doesn’t matter,” she whispers.

“Bend over.”

Quick and easy, it can be the best when it comes to moments like this. A start of a kiss that’s simple, yet full of meaning. Just the feeling of being together, everything else can wait.

You give her space as she hops down from the vanity to quickly bend over. As you get a glimpse of her gorgeous back, you’re already so impatient to be grabbing her by the hips and hearing her moans echo throughout the bathroom. For all the right reasons, you deserve your time with her, however you want her. And so, you drop your pants down and get closer to pull her panties to the side, grabbing your cock, then lightly slapping it on her ass before you put it in.

“Just put it in already, Sweetie,” she lightly chuckles, impatiently. And after listening to her little cute plea, you insert the tip of your cock slowly in, pushing your length in as she grips onto the marble counter.

Her moans echo, just like you wanted to, so crystal clear in the bathroom as she arches back with her eyes closed. You give her a kiss on the neck. Then clearly, another smile that she can’t hide. You love seeing her smile, it’s such a weakness when you would fuck this woman to sleep on some nights she would want it so bad.

And so, you pull her up gently in front of you, hugging her from behind with your cock still inside, not a single thrust. “We should go to the bed after,” you murmur, getting a whiff of her hair.

“I’d love that,” she whispers, heavily breathing as you push your hips against hers. You close your eyes, slowly thrusting into her again. And with your hands, you explore her chest, groping her tits, giving her nipples some flicks as she chuckles and moan at the same time. Kazuha holds onto your hand, wherever you decide to touch her body, she’ll be holding it as your hands go lower down to her clit.

“Oh my gosh, Babe,” she chuckles, swirming around in your embrace. There’s a deep breath she took, and slowly, neither can she hold herself up with the sensation you give her. "It's sensitive."

“Put your leg up,” you say, almost like a demand as she bends over again when you let her off of you and even your cock slips out when she props her left leg up onto the vanity. Your cock is drenched in cum as you insert it back in. Forget about the mess if there was any, Kazuha is fully getting your attention.

You grab onto the side of her hips, continuing to drive your cock in and out as she moans over and over. The bright lights of the bathroom shines over her body that you still can’t get enough of. Your cum leaks out down to her right leg, slowly trickling down her thighs while you shove your cock in and out, in the most passionate ways that she loves.

Moments go by, not knowing how long it really is. You pull out with your cock drenched in the creamy consistency of your own cum that was inside her. You’re so addicted to her in every way, from her body, to her heart. This nerd, sometime a sore loser at times, yet such a naughty girl is everything you want. A beautiful face, stunning body, and to the way she’s so flexible in bed makes you lose your mind.

“Get on the bed, Zuha,” you gasp, pulling out.

She quickly catches her breath, and before you can fully come back to reality, Kazuha gets down on her knees to suck on your cock without even giving you a heads up. This woman is surely yours, and neither is she going to miss out from getting a taste. She’s smiling so happily, yet so exhausted by how much love you show her, and it’s only right that she gives you the same attention.

It’s quite romantic.

“Kazuha,” you gasp again, grabbing her nape and looking down to see both your gazes meet each other.

She pulls off and licks her lips, taking in the delight that's rightfully hers. You brush her hair to see that gorgeous face of hers. Kazuha gets up and holds your hands to drag you to the bedroom. Quickly, she crawls on the bed, stopping right in the middle with her ass out for an invitation.

“Come here, Babe,” she says, laughing and having a good time with you.

You crawl on the bed from behind her as she awaits for you to insert your cock back in, and slowly, she feels your tip brushing on her clit, enough for her to softly whimper with a smile. Kazuha groans once you insert your cock inside, grunting harder the deeper you push against her ass.

“You feel so fucking good,” you groan, letting out a gasp right after, cock throbbing deep inside of her. Slowly after driving your cock in, you catch your breath, not knowing whether one more thrust could be the end. You wouldn’t want that, but to Kazuha, she won’t even complain.

“Can’t go on, Babe?” she softly says, turning back to get a look at you with a chuckle. “Should I do the honors?”

No, she shouldn’t. You know damn well that she’s going to make you cum when you see the smirk from the corner of her mouth.

“No, Zuha. I got it.”

“Should I lay down on my stomach?”

And with a mischievous smirk, you give her a gentle thrust to make her gasp while still on all fours. “I’ll tell you when you can lay down, Babe,” you softly say.

You continue to thrust as Kazuha clenches her teeth and her head hangs down, bobbing. “Yes, Baby, right there.”

You’re admiring her ass bouncing from the way you start holding onto the side of her hips. There’s no better feeling to hear her moaning and seeing her tightly gripping onto the blanket up front from the sides. You give her ass a slap, then another—a harder one, then one where Kazuha would scream out a louder moan while you continue to shove your cock deep in her pussy. And while you’re have the time of your own life, she arches even more, to the point where it’s driving you crazy, giving you the testimony of your own limits for such a view.

Let her moan all she want, and that’s what you also want. This woman is all yours. You’re going to fill her womb for the second time within a period of the day. The slickness of your own cum coating your cock in her is already motivating to keep going. You just want more of a mess to see her panties stained in cum by the next morning. And Kazuha should know who she belongs to.

“You’re such a good fucking girl,” you groan, almost growling by clenching your own teeth and giving her ass some touch of love after a spanking.

Both of you are so distracted that the bed creaks, and it’s actually unsurprising at this point where neither of you couldn’t honestly care less about it. And as she feels you pushing against her ass, you slowly trace your hands onto her back to grab her hair, looping it around your wrist. Kazuha’s facing forward, moaning and panting as you give her the treatment she’s been fiending for. The handful of the hair you grab stiffens the more you pulled her back. She’s almost looking up to the ceiling with her back arched, smiling, loving the kink.

“Babe, Ugh,” she grunts, mouth wide open to get all the air she can to take your cock.

You release her hair and gently push down onto her back, the cue for her to lay on her stomach as she slowly and smoothly props herself down with your cock still in her.

“Oh, Babe,” she softly moans, brushing her hair back and comfortably lean on her arm that’s on the pillow. “Such a romantic.”

And so, to what she doesn’t expect, you lean down, kissing her on the left shoulders, then to the right, equally giving Kazuha’s body some attention. ���I know you love this position.”

“I fucking do,” she says with passion, and a smile on her face that you saw a glimpse of as you lean back up to put both your hands on her ass to spread. Kazuha’s breaths get heavy with every inch of your cock. She looks so comfortable with her eyes closed, taking deep breaths, moaning whenever your cock penetrates deeper into the creamy walls of her pussy.

You’re not giving the roughest pounding that will send her to sleep right after. This woman’s loving every second and minute of your cock. And by the amount of time passed by, you’ve lost track all because of her.

“Kazuha,” you groan, deciding to get closer as you lean down to her ears with the intentions of making her heart flutter, “Baby.”

Again, she smiles without hesitation, enjoy the romance, so comfortably lying down and feeling your cock throbbing more and more between her tight walls. You’re reaching your limit at this point, and you’ve done enough that she’s enjoying the moment being shared.

So, without much thought, and because of your desire to fill her womb every chance you get, you cum, pressing your hips against her ass, mashing your cock so deep that she lets out a quick whimper. Kazuha feels your cock throbbing, pulsating, so much of your warm, sticky cum being dumped in her that makes her so happy. You crash down and press against her body while the two of you catch your breaths. And there’s not a single moment that both your smiles fade away.

Slowly, and even gently, you pull out after giving her a kiss on her cheek and lay right beside her. Kazuha gets up on her knees and with a chuckle, she crawls to your cock. She licks the tip, then down the sides to taste the remaining cum that’s left for her. “Should I wake you up like this tomorrow morning?”

With a smile, you’ll never say no this. “Best way to wake me up.”

“That’s for sure,” she smirks, wiping the cum off her lips with her tongue. “By the way, I have to get on a call for a project in an hour.”

“I’ll be out the bedroom for you to focus when the time comes.”

Kazuha gets up and goes to the bathroom to turn on the faucet. “You don’t have to, Babe. But what should we do tomorrow? It’s the weekend.”

“I don’t know? Maybe laundry and shopping? We do need groceries.”

She turns off the faucet and picks up your pants that was left in the bathroom to give it back to you. “It’s my turn to pay, remember?”

“And I can see the unnecessary stuff that you’ll buy, Zuha.” you say, reaching for your pants from her hands.

“I promise that I won’t buy too much,” then she murmurs quickly, “it would be nice if you buy me a promise ring.”

“A what?” you say, which you didn’t catch the part she murmured.

Kazuha laughs, “never mind.”

[phoenixyfriend]

Star Wars Time Travel Rec List

About time I put together a General Rec List for Star Wars Time Travel, yeah?

Organized by the time-traveling character(s). I'm adding a star for my favorites that imo you have to read. I'm not going to claim that those are necessarily the best, because I feel like that's not objective and also kinda mean to the ones that are good since they might just not be to my personal taste, but they are my favorites.

Obi-Wan

Anakin Skywalker

Ahsoka

Clones

Other Prequels-Era Characters

Two or more people

Luke or Leia

Other

Tagged authors where I could. If they aren't tagged, I either couldn't find their tumblr, they have their settings such that no one can tag them, or they blocked me for one reason or another.

Obi-Wan

It Was Another Time and I Another Man by Pell_Binterhol - under "Groups"

Ashes To Ashes, Dust To Dust by @livsy ~35k+, complete Obi-Wan is a time traveler, mental from the OT. What makes it unique is that the fic is from Anakin's POV. It's a very heartwarming piece.

⭐Take it from the top and try again by @mauverawrites ~170k, series - two fics complete, more on the way Possibly the best way to describe this series is as the platonic ideal of an Obi-Wan time travel fic. Weird Force stuff? Check. Obi-Wan having spent years on Tatooine? Check. Qui-Gon surviving? Check. Obi-Wan doing some shady illegal stuff to get money and infiltrate crime rings so he can save the galaxy? Check. Anakin being adorable as an initiate, and Shmi being saved from Tatooine? Check. Surprise Feemor? Check. It's all the bits you (or at least I) hope for when opening a new Obi-Wan Time Travel fic, and it never feels stale or repetitive or cliche. It's just a Very Good Fic.

The Exchange by @misslearn - under "Groups"

An Abundance of Obi-Wans by The_Last_Kenobi (orphan_account) ~45k, abandoned Unfortunately we'll never know how this ends, but it's a lot of fun while it lasts. Baby Obi is being haunted by three ghosts of his future self.

A Padawan at War (Again) by @itstimeforstarwars - under "Groups"

Free Jedi to Good Home by @itstimeforstarwars- under "Groups"

These Paths by HiddenEye - under "Groups"

⭐the massive machinery of hope by @killbothtwins 150k, complete Do you want comedy? Yes, you do. This one is great. Go read it. It's one of my favorites for a reason, and the reason is that Obi-Wan is a sarcastic little shit with a billion quips.

Living Memory by elsa3beth 353k, on hiatus, possibly abandoned? Obi-Wan Time Travel, leans a bit more heavily into the distrust and despair surrounding Anakin (due to Vader things from the future) than most.

⭐The Desert Storm/Rise and Fall by @blue-sunshine-mauve-morning ~1.6m (1592k), ongoing This is one of the longest, most consistent, best-regarded time-travel fics in the fandom for a reason.

⭐Reprise by Elfpen ~560k, ongoing Another Obi-Wan time-travel fic, this one using that favored cover story of "Ben is Obi-Wan's biological uncle," and I love it so much for how it explores both characters and political events.

Realign the Stars by @fortunerainwrites, @TerinAngel - under "Groups"

Current of Fate by @feybarn ~195k, on hiatus? It's been so long since I read this one that I can't quite remember what it was that I liked about it so much, and it's too long to do a reread right now... but I do remember loving it, especially when it switches to an outsider POV for the second fic.

Anakin Skywalker

The Exchange by @misslearn - under "Groups"

A Padawan at War (Again) by @itstimeforstarwars - under "Groups"

Free Jedi to Good Home by @itstimeforstarwars - under "Groups"

War Drums by @intermundia ~91k, ongoing Vader travels back to TPM. Runs off with Obi-Wan into the stars to Achieve Some Goals to take down Sidious. Gets quick-aged to 19 by some Dathomiri magic. Projected to be Obikin.

These Paths by HiddenEye - under "Groups"

Old Promises by @threebea ~65k, ongoing Time Traveler Anakin panic-kidnaps Initiate Kenobi. Absolute disaster of a man.

An (Un)fortunate Haunting by @kooriicolada, @scarletjedi 3.5k, oneshot Anakin thinks the Vader ghost haunting him is a hallucination. This one is technically more than just Anakin, but it's... mostly Anakin.

⭐Force of Many Sights by DAsObiQuiet ~480k, on hiatus? Vader to TPM, possessing his younger self. This fic has a heavy, and much-appreciated focus on therapy as it functions for someone of Vader's... particular situation. This is also technically a "Groups" series, since it's also got Siri Tachi as a time-traveler, but her POV is much smaller, and it takes... I want to say about 100k words for her to really start playing a more active role in the plot.

Realign the Stars by @fortunerainwrites, @TerinAngel - under "Groups"

Ahsoka

I don't know why all the good Ahsoka time travel fics are her as part of a team, but they do in fact fuck, so.

Free Jedi to Good Home by @itstimeforstarwars - under "Groups"

These Paths by HiddenEye - under "Groups"

Realign the Stars by @fortunerainwrites, @TerinAngel - under "Groups"

Living in Borrowed Time by @scribbling-albatross - under "groups"

Clones

love is with your brother by Petrichor (Mythmaker) ~8k, complete TCW Rex bodyswaps with his baby self. POV is Ahsoka during the clone wars.

Free Jedi to Good Home by @itstimeforstarwars - under "Groups"

These Paths by HiddenEye - Rex and Cody - under "Groups"

Realign the Stars by @fortunerainwrites, @TerinAngel - Rex and Cody - under "Groups"

Living in Borrowed Time by @scribbling-albatross - Rex - Under "Groups"

⭐Dominoes by meridianpony ~380k, ongoing All five Dominoes go back to the beginning, from the points of their deaths! (Disclaimer: Echo's treated as having died at the Citadel. I think the fic started before his survival was revealed.) Technically this is a group, but all five are clones, so...

Other Prequels-Era Characters

there is no death by @ashkav ~140k, ongoing There is something really cool about Cal Kestis time travel fics, especially when he's got a decent amount of knowledge of The General Situations (e.g. Anakin will become Vader) but is missing so many details, like Why and How.

⭐An Echo in the Force (a whisper in a cave by @stardust2flame ~8k, complete Feemor is trapped in a time loop. This was actually written as a gift to me, so it has a special place in my heart.

⭐Mace Windu Fixes the Timeline... And Breaks it in Whole New Ways by AbsentmindedAuthor98 ~52k, ongoing Absolutely choice series based on an AU by @suzukiblu. Mace Windu does some time-traveling. He takes on Anakin as his padawan on an impulse, but he ends up doing his damnedest to be a Good Master for the kid. Depa helps.

Twilight on Owl Creek Bridge by @yellowocaballero - Fox - under "Groups"

Make a Brand New End by @batshieroglyphics ~120k, I think on hiatus Another Feemor fic! This one's not time-loop, just time travel. Lots of juicy Qui-Gon drama.

⭐Not a Good Man by @feybarn ~28k, ongoing Imperial era Boba Fett goes back to AotC. He decides to fix things, partly by trying to get his dad to fall in love with Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Groups

It Was Another Time and I Another Man by Pell_Binterhol ~200k, incomplete This is a very fun fic that involves multiple time-travelers from multiple points in time. Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon from the Legends novels are pulled forward into TCW, and Old Ben and Luke are pulled back from the OT, and some spoilers as well.

⭐The Exchange by @misslearn ~120k, complete A swapping-style time travel. RotS Anakin&Obi-Wan end up in TPM, and TPM Anakin&Obi-Wan end up in RotS. Shenanigans ensue. (Also trauma.)

⭐Can We Start Over? by @triscribe ~22k, ongoing Most of the Jedi have time-traveled from the points of their deaths to about a year pre-AotC. Some handle it better than others. The POV is Aayla, which I find very cool.

A Padawan at War (Again) by @itstimeforstarwars ~183k, ongoing It's technically more of a de-aging than a time-travel, but hey! Still a good read! TPM Anakin and Obi-Wan take the place of their TCW selves, who no longer exist.

⭐Free Jedi to Good Home by @itstimeforstarwars ~complicated as the second fic has been hidden, ongoing This is one of my favorite series, but as you can see by the above, it's in a bit of a timeout right now. Bookmark it for later? Also, there's an entire side series called Inspired By One Hundred Hours To Rearrange The Stars.

These Paths by HiddenEye ~90k, complete Our five TCW mains (Obi-Wan, Cody, Anakin, Ahsoka, Rex) are booted forward to the Original Trilogy. The latter three are deaged to their TPM ages (9, 4, baby respectively). Also it's CodyWan.

Twilight on Owl Creek Bridge by @yellowocaballero ~33k, complete Leia and Fox time travel! This one is very dark. That said, it has a comedic counterpart that I love, which is only available on tumblr: ⭐Fox & Leia's Holiday Special

⭐Realign the Stars by @fortunerainwrites, @TerinAngel ~68k, abandoned Obi-Wan, Anakin, Ahsoka, Rex, and Cody, from TCW to TPM. Despite the unfinished state, I cannot deny the oddly intense level of influence this fic has had on my own approach to star wars time travel fics.

⭐Living in Borrowed Time by @scribbling-albatross 118k, ongoing Rex and Ahsoka are time-travelers! They are so, so very fucked up. Sure do wish they had access to therapists that could actually be cleared for knowing their Extensive Lists Of Traumas. This one definitely had a huge impact on how I characterize Rex and Ahsoka since I entered the fandom.

Luke and Leia

Twilight on Owl Creek Bridge by @yellowocaballero - Leia - under "Groups"

There is another Skywalker by WabiSabi ~85k, on hiatus? Time-Traveler Leia! Mentally in the sequels, physically in her thirties, and chronologically in the clone wars. Also Luke's sharing space in her noggin.

Shifting Sands by @chancecraz ~180k, ongoing "Ongoing? But it hasn't updated since 2021!" The last time it updated, the chapter was 65k, after over two years of radio silence. Trust me when I say that the lack of recent updates means nothing for this author. Anyway, Sequels Leia to about a year pre-TPM, hangs out with baby Anakin and Shmi and then neatly inserts herself in the plot.

⭐Of Queens, Knights, and Pawns by @chancecraz ~860k, ongoing Same author as above, same disclaimer for the gap since last update. Sequels Leia does a mental time-travel into her ANH self, specifically the 'being tortured on the Death Star' moment. It's so fucking good.

Old Man Luke by @scarletjedi ~110k, ongoing Sequels Luke to TCW! He is very cryptic, channeling the Jedi who taught him! Fun!

⭐Sith Lord Swell by AMournfulHowlInTheNight ~53k, ongoing Luke and his students (including Ben Solo) travel back in time to a bit before AotC. They decide the best way to proceed is to pretend they are Sith Lords. This is primarily a comedy fic. Luke really enjoys fucking with people.

⭐Don't Look Back by @this-acuteneurosis ~700k, ongoing Post-OT Leia (after the deaths of most of her friends) physically time travels to a year or two before AotC. She is taken in by the Lars family, and then she and Shmi start to head for Coruscant, run into Padme, and join the Nabooan government in Padme's employ. Do you want a fic that feels like 70% politics and logistics and trade routes? Because that's what this is and it's great.

Other

The Way of Conquest by pagination ~76k, ongoing There is something very funny about the time-traveler not even realizing they are about thirty years into the wrong time. Din has no idea when he is. Grogu does, but he's not telling.

[joemama-2]

velvet lies

pairing: gojo x fem reader synopsis: crippling debt and possible evictions have ruined you. working two jobs with no downtime, and a five-year-old son, you really don't know the meaning of taking a break. after continuous questions about his father, you have decided to finally let your son meet his dad. only thing is, he has no idea said son exists. and to top it off, you have not a single clue about what kinds of things will transpire from this sudden revelation. wc: 7.4k (shorter chap woop) tags/warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, fluff, romance, alcohol, classism, mom! reader, lying, abuse, MAJOR angst, slow burn, exes to lovers, (mentions of) cheating, scandals, death, blood, drugs, drama, family drama, miscommunication, blackmail, unhealthy coping mechanisms , depression, manipulation series masterlist < previous chapter < next chapter

Year: Early 2018

He hasn’t been answering your phone calls. Or your texts. A growing sense of anxiety and worry forms in your gut. You've trained yourself to push down the more insidious thoughts that threaten your already deteriorating relationship. It’s been a long day for you. From work, to your annoying mother, and now to your M.I.A boyfriend. You wanted to relax at home with a movie and soothing music, maybe even food. However, it’s been hard to eat for the past few weeks. 

The last place you wanted to be was at some house party with snobby people who probably never have realized the true meaning of a dollar. The music is loud and the blue lights do nothing but further annoy you, reminding you of just how much you hate parties. Pushing through the throngs of people, either too drunk to high to give your rudeness a huff. 

It’s not hard to spot him, but the sight makes you dig your nails into your palms. Feeling bile rise in your throat when a girl—one you’ve never seen before—is getting too close and personal with your man. And worst of all? He’s not even pushing her away. He’s obviously drunk. Still, you assumed he would have that much decency to push back flirting advances from random girls. He always did.  

But things have been changing recently, slowly but surely. Ever since that happened. 

Your feet work quickly, forcing yourself to stay determined and not break down and cry right now. You’ve been doing too much of that. “Satoru.” You call out, voice loud and firm enough that he swivels his head to meet your eyes on just the first try. The girl does so also, head tilting in a scrutinizing way that you hate. “Are you drunk?”

The tint on his cheeks is proof enough. But so is his lazy grin. “What do you think?”

The girl giggles, leaning into your boyfriend’s arm. Watching her do so sends a wave of fury down your spine. You would have stepped in if it weren’t for Satoru finally being a decent man and pulling away from her. “Sorry, you gotta go.”

“Excuse me?” The girl huffs, scowling in disgust. “For what? I thought we were having a good time.”

So, they were together the whole night, huh? They probably would have stayed together if you didn’t make an appearance. What if they would have taken things further? What if Satoru imitated something? You can already feel the familiar tingle at the back of your throat, turning around and heading back for the door. He follows, grabbing your arm in an attempt to stop you. “Y/N—“

“Don’t.” You grit, yanking your arm away and pushing your way back out to the front of the large house, ignoring some of a drunken couple’s protests as you ruin their make-out session. When you make your way onto the sidewalk, you feel a more insistent tug at your wrist that causes you to face him fully. Meeting his glazed-over eyes with your own teary pair, biting down on your quivering lip. “Why didn’t you answer your phone? Why are you ignoring me?”

He sighs, running a hand down his face when he lets go of you. “I’m not ignoring you, Y/N. I’m sorry, I should have told you I’d be out. But it was last minute.”

A scoff falls from your lips. “Last minute, huh? Is that what you call it? Hanging around some random girl and acting like you don’t have a worried girlfriend waiting for you?”

“Y/N—“

“Did you cheat on me?” You ask, voice cracking. Your tears now flow freely down your face, eyes red. The expression you adorn does nothing but break his heart. He hates seeing you cry, he always has. And the small, sober part of him is cursing at himself for being such a jackass tonight. But the dominant, drunk side wants no part of an argument tonight. 

“No, I didn’t. I’d never.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say, Y/N.”

“I want you to be a good boyfriend for once!” You croak out, pushing him back by his shoulders. “Y-you know what I’m going through, you know how hard it’s been. And what do you do? You go out and party, you don’t tell me, and I find some random girl all up on you. And then you smiled like it was funny. D-do you know how much you’re hurting me even more, Satoru?” The trembling of your voice pokes at his heartstrings. 

Satoru stares at you, his expression faltering. For a moment, you think you see guilt flicker across his face, but it’s quickly replaced by something colder—defensiveness. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, alright? I was just...blowing off steam.”

“Blowing off steam?” you repeat, your voice rising as fresh anger bubbles in your chest. “You call this blowing off steam? Ignoring me? Letting some girl throw herself all over you? You’re unbelievable.”

He rakes a hand through his hair, frustration clear in his movements. “What do you want me to do, Y/N? Stay at home and sulk all the time? I can’t—” He stops himself, biting his lip, but you know what he was going to say. 

“You can’t what, Satoru?” Your voice cracks again, but this time it’s laced with more rage than sorrow. “You can’t deal with me? With everything I’m going through? You promised you’d be there for me. You said we’d get through this together.”

“I am here for you!” he snaps, but the slight slur in his voice takes the edge off his words. “But you’re acting like I can’t breathe without you questioning every little thing I do. I’ve been going through shit too, Y/N.”

You suck in a shaky breath. “That’s not fair,” you whisper, your fists clenching at your sides. “You know it’s not. If I didn’t care—if I didn’t love you—I wouldn’t be here, trying to fix this.”

He exhales heavily, his shoulders slumping. “I didn’t cheat on you, Y/N. I swear I didn’t. But I—” He hesitates, his gaze dropping to the ground. “I don’t know how to handle all of this, okay? It’s a lot.”

Your breath hitches, his words cut deeper than he probably intended. “You think this isn’t a lot for me too?” you ask, your voice trembling. “I’ve been trying so hard, Satoru. To hold on. To be strong. For both of us. But you’re slipping away, and I don’t know how to bring you back. I know how to handle things just as much as you do.”

He looks up then, his blue eyes clearer now, filled with something that looks almost like regret. For a brief second, you think he might apologize—might say the words you so desperately need to hear. But instead, he shakes his head and says, “Maybe we just need some space.”

The world tilts beneath you. His words echo in your mind, louder than the music still blaring from the house behind you. “Space?” you repeat, barely able to say the word. “You want to take a break?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, his voice quiet, almost defeated. “I just...I think we’re both hurting each other more than we’re helping.”

You laugh bitterly, wiping at the tears streaming down your face. “No, Satoru. You’re hurting me. You’re the one who stopped trying. You’re the one who’s giving up.” He flinches at your words, but he doesn’t argue. And somehow, that hurts even more. You shake your head, stepping back from him. “If space is what you want, then fine. But don’t expect me to be here waiting when you figure yourself out.”

You turn and walk away, your heart shattering with every step. This isn’t how you imagined the night would go. It isn’t how you imagined your relationship would go. But as you leave him standing there on the sidewalk, you can’t help but wonder if this was inevitable all along.

The same song begins to play. Because soon,  his arms are wrapping around you before you even know it, shoving his face into the side of your neck. “No, no, I-I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m drunk, okay? Please don’t leave, please. L-let’s just go home, my parents aren’t there. Please, Y/N. I’m sorry.”

And like a broken record, you give in. Because the broken part of you still craves him. His touch, his comforting hugs, his words. His everything. You feel like a puzzle with pieces too big or small to fit, some pieces lost. But with Satoru, he makes them fit. He finds those pieces of you; the ones you can’t find yourself. In a way, you know things are failing and falling apart. 

But you’re laying back in his bed, feeling the constant vibration of your phone. Texts from your mother and you have no doubt she’s blowing up your phone about the way you snuck out and demanding to know where you are. It’s interesting, you’re twenty-one but she treats you like a kid. All because you still live with her. 

Your heart feels heavy, your stomach twisting with nausea and you’re not even the drunk one. His hands hold your teary cheeks, meeting your gaze with watery ones of his own. Combined tears wet his pillow until there’s no more to give out. He’s been crying with you, but sometimes it feels fake. 

“Did you cheat on me?” You ask again, whispering in a shaky tone. 

His lips purse and he shakes his head. “…no, I didn’t. I told you, I’d never.”

You search his face, looking for cracks in the foundation of his words. His sorrowful eyes, flushed cheeks, and trembling hands—all of it feels sincere, but it doesn’t feel like enough. Not so much anymore. “You’re sure?” you whisper, your voice barely audible over the pounding of your heart. 

“I’m sure,” he says, his voice soft but firm. “I swear to you, Y/N. I’d never do that to you. Never.” His thumb brushes away a stray tear on your cheek, and for a moment, the warmth of his touch almost convinces you.

Almost.

You close your eyes, exhaling shakily as his hands cradle your face. You want to believe him. You need to believe him. But the doubt lingers like a shadow, clawing at the edges of your mind. “Then why do I feel like I’m losing you?” you ask, your voice breaking.

Satoru flinches, his hands momentarily faltering before steadying again. “You’re not losing me,” he says quickly, almost desperately. “I know I’ve been...different lately, but it’s not because I don’t care. I just—” He pauses, his gaze dropping as if searching for the right words. “I don’t know how to handle this, Y/N. I don’t know how to be what you need right now. There’s so much and I…” his voice trails off, fearing he’s saying too much and it’ll only make you feel worse. Make himself feel worse. 

Your chest tightens, his confession cutting deeper than you expected. “I don’t need you to have all the answers, Satoru. I just need you to try. To be honest with me. To stop shutting me out. You…you’re the only one—you’re all I have right now.”

“I’m trying,” he insists, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. “I swear I’m trying. But it feels like...like no matter what I do, it’s not enough. And I hate it. I hate that I’m hurting you.”

The rawness in his voice pulls at something in you, making it harder to keep the walls around your heart intact. You open your eyes, meeting his gaze. For a moment, the vulnerability in his expression mirrors your own. “I don’t want to lose you, Satoru,” you say softly. “But I can’t keep doing this. I can’t keep feeling like I’m the only one fighting for us.”

“You’re not,” he whispers, his hands tightening slightly on your face as if afraid you’ll slip away. “You’re not, Y/N. I know I’ve messed up, but I’ll do better. I promise. Just...don’t give up on me. Please.”

The plea in his voice, the tears in his eyes—they’re enough to make the broken pieces of your heart shift, trying to fit back together even if they don’t quite align. Against your better judgment, you nod, letting out a shaky breath. “Okay,” you whisper. “But this is your last chance, Satoru. I mean it.”

“I know,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper. “I won’t mess this up. I promise.” But Satoru isn’t the best at promises. He’s only good at making them for others, not keeping them for himself. 

As he pulls you into his arms, holding you as if you might vanish, you can’t help but wonder how many more promises you’ll let him break before there’s nothing left of you to give. But for now, you let yourself sink into his embrace, hoping—maybe foolishly—that this time will be different. Because he’s all you have. All you know. He knows you inside and out—the way your voice wavers when you’re holding back tears, the way your hands fidget when you’re nervous, the way you laugh like it’s the only thing keeping you from breaking. And you know him just as deeply. Every freckle on his skin, every scar that tells a story, every mole you’ve discovered in moments of intimacy. You’ve memorized him like a favorite book, reading him over and over until the lines blur but still feel familiar.

You two are like each other’s canvases—painted with touches, kisses, and shared memories, even the messy ones. Every fight, every tear-streaked night, every whispered “I’m sorry” adds another layer to the masterpiece that is you and him. But lately, it feels like the colors are running, bleeding into one another until the picture is unrecognizable. And you don’t know if you can fix it, or if you even should. Never did you think that things would change so much, and all because of one failed situation. 

What a weak body you have, what a weak person you are. 

He holds you tighter, his fingers threading through your hair as if grounding himself in your presence. “You’re everything to me, Y/N,” he murmurs, his voice so quiet you almost don’t catch it. “I know I’ve been a mess, but I swear I’ll fix this. I’ll fix us.”

But his promises feel like paint on a waterlogged canvas—fading, smudged, and far too fragile. Still, you nod, letting the comfort of his warmth lull you into silence. Because no matter how fractured you feel, no matter how much the doubt weighs on your chest, he’s all you have. You can’t handle the thought of facing everything alone now, can’t handle the thought of not having someone to hug you when you burst down in tears. 

You hate the way things are now, but you’ve sunk too deep into him. And him the same. Over time, you feel like he will retract his hold from you before you do so yourself. You can almost feel it coming, one way or another. It’s why you’re holding him tighter, pressing your body deeper into his. Because you know you wouldn’t be able to do it yourself. Awaiting the inevitable hurts so bad. Knowing that no matter what, your end is visible. You can see the finish line just a few yards away. It’s like a race, and you’re letting Satoru win. Envisioning him running his long legs to the checkered line with a smile on his face like he’s happy—relieved. You don’t want to hold him, that’s the last thing you want to do. However, you’re being as selfish as you can be right now. Before every privilege is stripped from you in a cold manner that will leave you shivering for warmth. But his presence is something. And for now, that’s enough to keep you here and sane. 

Little did you know, you'd win that race before he did. You just needed that little push. He's the hare, and you're the tortoise.

You stay in his arms, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek a constant reminder of the closeness you’ve always shared. It feels almost like an illusion, the peace between you both. But underneath, there’s a tension that hasn’t quite loosened, a thread pulled tight between the two of you, holding you close but threatening to snap at the slightest tug. His grip tightens, his fingers threading into your hair, pulling you closer as if trying to fuse your two worlds together. The quiet hum of the room feels almost suffocating now. Your phone continues to buzz with your mother’s increasingly frantic texts, but you can’t bring yourself to care about that right now. Not with Satoru’s breath warm on your neck and his hands gently caressing your skin. Not when it’s easier to let him hold you in this fragile moment of peace. 

You close your eyes, your fingers curling around the fabric of his shirt. The quietness stays for a long moment, But when he speaks, it’s almost a whisper, like he’s afraid of the truth that might spill out.

“I’ll try. I’ll be here for you, Y/N. I swear it.”

You wonder if you can truly believe him this time. If you can let yourself hope that things might really change. But the doubt is a familiar companion, lingering in the shadows, waiting to remind you of the cracks in his promises. Still, for tonight, you let it go. You let yourself sink into him, giving into the small piece of comfort he offers, hoping that maybe, just maybe, this time will be different.

You wake up in a cold sweat, dried tears staining your cheeks. Your stomach feels sensitive, nails already digging into your palms so hard that the skin is growing red and prickly. Every emotion you felt from that dream—nightmare—whatever it was feels ten times more real. You don’t know why you’re having these weird dreams about something from years ago. 

But it still hurts all the same, nonetheless. 

You still feel hollow, drowned, and ready to pour your heart out into your pillow. But it’s morning and time to get up for bed. Christmas Eve is in three days and you’re just counting down until when you won’t have to go into work.  Going through your routine, getting Koji ready for the day, opening the door for Sana. Leaving your place of solitude, it feels like you barely even lived through this morning. 

The chill of the morning air hits your skin as you step outside, tugging your coat tighter around you. The weight of your dream lingers, like a fog that refuses to lift. You keep telling yourself it was just a dream, just a memory from a time you’ve tried so hard to bury. But it clings to you like a ghost, whispering doubts into your ear, even as you force yourself to move through the motions. you can’t help but glance up at the sky, the gray clouds reflecting the heaviness in your chest. Christmas Eve is in three days, and you can’t wait to take a break from not just work—from everything.

If only escaping your past was as easy as flipping the calendar to a new year.

Satoru texts you around the 2-hour mark that he’ll be going over to your place soon to see Koji and bring the gifts he got. You let Sana know of the change, she replies back with a simple ‘okay!’

You sigh, willing yourself to forget about the drama your life entails, and focus on your work. 

However, another thought is creeping in through the door, and this time—it’s not such a bad one. You feel a fluttering sensation in your gut, holding back a peal of stifled laughter as the memory of last night makes its presence known. After the whole shirt incident, Suguru stayed. He kept his word about not making anything weird, and you two ended with a simple chat and a movie. It felt nice.

Of course, there were hints of lingering peeks, that strange tension tossed up in the air that neither of you fully addressed. But it’s fine, it didn’t mean anything at the end of the day. Although, when it was time for him to leave, you did have a second of hesitation about whether you should hug him or simply say goodbye. He decided for you when he carefully opened his arms up, you followed suit. 

Inhaling his scent felt heavenly. Manly, but also feminine at the same time. An earthly scent that felt like hints of incense. The memory of his embrace lingers like the faintest trace of his cologne, warm and comforting. It wasn’t just the way he held you—it was the way he made you feel. Secure. Understood. Like you weren’t just surviving, but living, even if just for that moment.  

You haven't hugged a man in so long. You forgot how good they hug. 

You shake your head, a small smile pulling at your lips despite yourself. It wasn’t anything. It shouldn’t be anything. Suguru’s always been like that—gentle, kind, and just a little too perceptive for his own good. He knew exactly when to stay and exactly what you needed without you even having to say it. Still, you can’t ignore the way your heartbeat picked up when his arms wrapped around you, the way your cheek brushed against his shoulder, and how your fingers had almost lingered a little too long against his back. It felt natural, but also entirely new. 

Suguru’s presence was so easy, so effortless. It felt like slipping into an old favorite sweater, soft and familiar but with a spark of something you couldn’t quite place. You’d been so wrapped up in keeping everything together, in pushing through every day for Koji’s sake, that you’d almost forgotten what it felt like to be seen.  

You wonder if Satoru holds the same longing you do. 

You shake the thought away as quickly as it comes. Don’t think about him. There’s no point in overthinking any of this.  

“Hello, you must be Koji’s father.” Sana greets Satoru who stands in the doorway. With him, two armfuls of gifts. Even more on the floor next to his feet. 

Simply nodding and looking over her shoulder to see Koji eating his lunch. “And you’re the babysitter.” Without much else, he carefully pushes past her, bringing in the gifts. “Mind getting the rest? Thanks.”

She nods, grabbing what was left on the floor before bringing it in, closing and locking the door. When she turns back around, Koji is in his father’s embrace. She smiles at the scene. “Ms. Y/N told me you’d be coming. He’s been good so far, he’s just eating his lunch now.”

“That’s good to hear,” Satoru replies, pulling away from his son. Doing a quick scan of the place before his eyes land back on the young woman. “How long have you been watching my son again?”

“A couple of years.”

He hums, walking closer to her. “And you’re how old?”

Sana blinks, surprised by the question. "I'm twenty," she says cautiously, her polite smile wavering slightly under his scrutiny.  

Satoru raises an eyebrow, his gaze sharp but unreadable. "Twenty, huh? Pretty young to be taking care of kids."  

“I’ve been babysitting since I was sixteen,” she replies, straightening her posture. “I’m studying early childhood education, so it’s not just a job to me. I care about Koji.”  

His expression softens a fraction, and he glances back at his son, who’s happily munching away at his sandwich. “He does seem to like you,” Satoru admits, his tone less probing now.  

“He’s a great kid,” Sana says warmly. “Very smart, just like his mother.”  

That earns her a faint smile. “Yeah, just like his mother.” He crosses his arms, leaning casually against the counter. “So, Y/N told you I’d be stopping by today?”  

“Yes, she mentioned it when I got here this morning.” 

Satoru nods, tapping his fingers against his forearm thoughtfully. “Good. Thanks for helping out today. I know it’s probably not easy juggling school and babysitting.”  

“It’s manageable,” Sana replies, sensing a subtle change in his demeanor. “Koji makes it worth it.”  

Satoru’s gaze lingers on her for a moment longer before he straightens up. “I’ll take over from here. You can go ahead and clock out early if you want.”  

“Oh, are you sure?”  

“Yeah,” he says, waving her off. “Enjoy the rest of your day. I’ve got this.”  

Sana hesitates briefly, glancing at Koji, who’s still blissfully unaware of the conversation. “Alright then. Have a good evening, Mr. Gojo.”  

As she gathers her things and heads for the door, she feels his eyes on her. It’s not hostile, but it’s assessing. Like he’s trying to gauge something about her. She doesn’t dwell on it, though—whatever it is, it’s not her place to question. “Oh!” She turns around as if she just remembered something. “Ms. Y/N leaves a list. It’s taped to the—”

“I don’t need a list to take care of my son.” He cuts her off smoothly, his one eyebrow raising. “Thanks again, have a good day.”

She falters, once again caught a little off guard. This is her first time meeting him, and while she’s of course seen the articles and comments about the drama surrounding the small family, she has no bias. In fact, she sympathizes greatly with you for going through all this alone. As she’s leaving the apartment, she can’t help the small opinion of Satoru that he’s already given her. 

He’s so intimidating!

After she leaves, Satoru focuses back on his son—this shitty apartment. He hasn’t explicitly voiced his opinions out to you—of course you already know what they are. And as you said before, it’s all you could afford, and Koji’s happy. However, he can’t stop himself from grimacing at the so-called ‘decorations’. This place needs some serious revamping. 

“Hey, buddy?”

Koji looks over, wiping his mouth. “Yes, Papa?”

“When you’re done eating, want to help me with something?” And Koji doesn’t need to be told anymore. He loves helping—especially his mother and father. So he nods excitedly, practically scarfing down the rest of his sandwich. Bubbling with giddiness only a child could have. 

Satoru chuckles at his son’s behavior, heart warming. This is the first time he’s doing something festive with Koji. The bitter part of him tells him that he could’ve had more chances to do so if it weren’t for your cowardness. But he shoves that away, focusing on the jolly joy the holidays can bring. 

Today was more tiring than usual, with the cafe gaining more attention, there’s been rush after rush after rush. You can handle it, but that doesn’t mean it won’t wear you down by the time you clock out. And your day isn’t even done yet. Slugging your way to your front door, lazily opening it with your key. Tossing your coat on the nearby rack, your bag with it. 

“I’m ba—”

You sniffle. One. Twice. 

A pinecone-y scent fills your nostrils. Which is strange because you know you have no candles that house that aroma. Confusion, but wariness takes over your senses. Following the sound of laughter down the hall until you’re standing in the living room. 

The sight you see is more than startling. 

Your eyes dart around in a frenzy, landing on one new thing after the next. The small, simple Christmas tree you’d put up last week? Replaced by a towering, impeccably decorated monstrosity with shimmering lights and a star that looks like it came straight out of a luxury catalog. It barely even fits in the room. Luckily, the small picture ornament of you and Koji is still there. But it looks so out of place.

The garlands you’d strung across the walls? Gone, swapped for lush, sparkling ones adorned with oversized ornaments. Even your modest stockings have been replaced with personalized velvet ones embroidered with gold thread, hanging perfectly above a faux fireplace setup that definitely wasn’t there this morning.

It’s like a winter wonderland exploded in your living room, and you’re not sure whether to laugh or scream.

Koji is sitting on the couch, giggling as Satoru playfully pretends to tangle himself in a string of fairy lights. Your son’s laughter is contagious, but you can’t shake the growing irritation bubbling inside you. When Koji notices you, his eyes brighten even more. Gaping and rushing over to your leg, hugging it. “Mama! Mama! Look what Papa and I did! It’s so pretty and there are so many presents!”

There is. There’s a lot of presents. Practically stacking on top of one another under your refurbished tree. Hidden somewhere in the splurge are the gifts Suguru got for you and Koji. 

Gulping, you feel your throat tighten. You feel nothing but overwhelmed. But in the face of your son, you can’t exactly show that. You force a smile as you ruffle Koji’s hair, trying to push down the irritation clawing its way to the surface. “Wow, it’s… definitely something,” you say, your voice strained but managing to sound somewhat amused for Koji’s sake.

Satoru, now untangled from the lights, looks up from the couch with that boyish grin of his. “Do you love it or do you love it?” he asks, gesturing to the extravagant decor like he’s unveiling a masterpiece. 

You blink at him, incredulous—but still attempting to keep yourself calm.  “What… what happened to the decorations we already had?”

“Oh, those?” He waves a dismissive hand. “Let’s just say they weren’t really up to par. I mean, come on, Y/N. That tree you had? It was like something out of a Charlie Brown Christmas special. I couldn’t let Koji’s holiday spirit suffer like that.”

Your jaw tightens, the forced smile threatening to slip. “So, you just… decided to replace everything? Without asking me?”

He stands, brushing off invisible dust from his jeans as if the weight of his decision is nothing. “You were busy, and I figured you’d appreciate coming home to something nice for once. Besides, look at Koji—he’s thrilled!”

Koji tugs at your sleeve, his wide-eyed excitement piercing through your annoyance. “It’s so cool, Mama! Look at all the shiny ornaments! And Papa let me pick out the star!” Your son runs over to show off a few of the many, many presents he has. Showing extra excitement for the heavier and larger ones. “Papa says it’s magical. I want to have a magical Christmas every time, Mama.”

The words, innocent but heavy, almost make you physically kneel down. You feel your chest tighten, your throat closing up even more. The lump that forms is difficult to swallow down. The implication of Satoru’s and your son's words feels a bit degrading. And you don’t blame it on Koji, he means nothing malicious. But for some reason, being faced with the physical line of difference between you and Satoru, watching your son’s face light up in a way that you’ve never seen before…

It reminds you that your enough has never been enough. Each Christmas, it’s dull. Your Christmases aren’t magical.  Your life isn’t. 

You feel the weight of it all crashing down like the oversized star on the new tree is pressing on your chest. Satoru's extravagance, Koji's innocent excitement, and your own feelings of inadequacy swirl together into a storm you’re barely holding back.  

Your forced smile falters, but you quickly kneel to Koji's level, brushing his hair away from his glowing face. “It’s beautiful, sweetheart,” you say softly, voice trembling but steady enough to reassure him. “I’m glad you had fun with Papa.”  

Koji beams, and for a moment, his joy is a balm to your frayed nerves. “It’s pretty, isn’t it, Mama?”  

You bite the inside of your cheek. “So pretty.” Standing slowly, your hand lingers on Koji’s shoulder. “Really pretty,” you repeat quietly, not committing to anything. You can feel Satoru watching you, his casual demeanor only adding to your irritation. The worst part of it all is that it seems like he genuinely has no idea what he did wrong. 

In hindsight, maybe he didn’t. It wasn’t his intention to make you feel like a shitty mother, but Satoru is good at pointing out the differences in his own ways. 

When Koji bounds back to the pile of gifts, you finally let yourself meet Satoru’s gaze. “You really didn’t think to talk to me about this?”  

His grin fades just a fraction, replaced by a look of confusion. “What’s there to talk about? I wanted to do something special for Koji. And let’s be honest, Y/N—this is special.”  

“It’s not about the decorations, Satoru,” you snap, your voice low but sharp. “It’s about you making decisions without considering how I might feel about it. Again.”  

He tilts his head, the glower returning, though it feels sharper now. “You’re overthinking this. It’s just Christmas decorations, Y/N. Look at Koji—he’s happy. Isn’t that what matters?”  

You clench your fists, the tightness in your chest threatening to spill over into something you can’t control. “You don’t get it, do you? This isn’t just about the decorations. It’s about you coming in here and acting like everything I do is subpar. Like I’m not enough.”  

The words hang heavy in the air, and for a moment, Satoru’s expression falters. But he recovers quickly, shoving his hands into his pockets and leaning against the arm of the couch. “Y/N, no one’s saying that. You’re reading too much into this. I just wanted to make things nice for Koji, that’s all.”  

Your laugh is bitter, and it catches even you off guard. “Right. Because your version of nice is always the right one. I’m just the placeholder until you decide to step in and fix everything, aren’t I?”  

Satoru’s eyes narrow slightly, the playful spark he had with Kojidimming. “That’s not fair.”  

“Isn’t it?” you counter, your voice breaking despite your effort to stay calm. “You swoop in with all your money and your grand gestures, and I’m supposed to just smile and be grateful. But do you even realize how hard I’ve worked to give Koji a Christmas he’ll enjoy? How much I’ve sacrificed just to keep things normal?”  

His silence stings more than any retort could.  

Koji’s laughter in the background feels distant now, muffled by the sound of your own heartbeat pounding in your ears. He’s too distracted with the tree, his presents, everything. You inhale deeply, trying to steady yourself, before forcing a calmness you don’t feel.  You won’t fight in front of him. 

“I’m going to get changed,” you mutter, not waiting for a response.  

As you leave the room, Satoru calls after you, his voice softer but no less exasperated. “Y/N, come on. Don’t make this into a bigger deal than it is.”  

But to you, it already feels like a chasm. One that grows wider with every passing second.

You shut your door, leaning against it with your forehead. Breaths coming in short, hands trembling slightly. Biting your quivering lip, you maneuver your body to change into your uniform. All the while, tears are getting on your hands and clothes. Accidentally, you let out a small, broken whimper. 

 Quickly, you place a palm to your mouth, stifling and quieting your soft cries. Once you’re done changing, you fall back onto the bed. Curled up with knees drawn to your chest, as the burden of your own self-consciousness rains down on you. The room feels suffocatingly small, your emotions clawing at your throat, demanding to be let out.

The tears come harder now, soaking into the fabric of your uniform as you press your hands to your face, muffling the quiet sobs. You hate this—how easily Satoru gets under your skin, how he makes you feel insignificant without even trying. You thought you were past this. Past him. But somehow, he always finds a way to remind you of all the ways you’ve fallen short. Or at least, all the ways he makes you feel like you have.

There’s a soft knock on the door.

“Y/N?” His voice is muffled through the wood, quieter than usual as if he’s trying not to disturb you. “Are you okay?”

You don’t answer, biting down on your lip to keep from making another sound.

“Look,” he continues, his tone hesitant. “I know I upset you. I didn’t mean to. Can we just… talk?”

For a moment, you consider staying silent, letting him stew in his own discomfort. But the tension is too thick, and you know Koji is just down the hall. With a shaky breath, you push yourself to your feet, wiping at your face in a futile attempt to erase the evidence of your tears. Wiping your face and straightening your clothes, you open the door. “I have work.” You mutter, expertly enforcing a placid emotion. “Will you watch him?”

Without waiting for a response, you walk past him. But he grabs at your wrist, instinctively you pull away. “Stop, just stop, okay? Let’s not fight. We’re adults, we can talk this out. I don’t mean to make you feel less than, I just wanted to make Koji happy.”

“And do you think he’s not happy with me?” You snap back, looking up at him. Feeling your vision already beginning to blur. “Do you? Do you think he’ll be happy with you? I-Is that it?”

Satoru’s eyes widen slightly at your outburst, and for a moment, he doesn’t respond. The air between you feels like it could snap under the weight of everything left unsaid. His hand hovers near his side, as if he wants to reach out again but knows better now. “No,” he says softly, his voice steady but lined with regret. “That’s not what I meant. Koji is happy with you. He loves you more than anything.”

“Then why do you keep acting like what I do isn’t enough?” you whisper, your voice trembling as you maintain eye contact with him. “I’ve been doing this alone, Satoru. Every scraped knee, every fever, every night when he cries because he’s scared of the dark—I’m there. Not you. Me. So don’t you dare come in here, throw your money around, and act like you can just fix everything with some… Christmas wonderland.”

“But you didn’t let me come in sooner, Y/N.” He replies, exasperation in his voice. 

“I know that, and I’m sorry. I know I fucked up…”

“Then stop getting mad at little things.”

Your fists ball up, your expression growing firmer by the second. But so is the need to cry again. He’s right, everything he says is right. It’s your own fault that you’ve been forced to handle everything alone. But, don’t your feelings matter just a little bit in this situation? Is he allowed to just come in and fix up everything you have? What he thinks is a mess, it’s something that holds significance to you. What he thinks is a little thing, it’s a big one in your eyes. 

So while this scenario is blowing up into something bigger, your decorations are something you have control of. You only have control over so many things in your life. 

He exhales slowly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m not trying to take anything away from you, Y/N. I swear. I just… I wanted to give him something special. Something I never had growing up.”

It makes you feel even more guilty. You can’t find it in you to say anything else, turning back around and walking to the living room. “Goodbye, Koji. Mama will see you later.” Giving him a brief hug and kiss, you hurriedly grab your coat and purse, exiting your apartment just as fast as you came. 

Unbeknownst to you, Koji is left staring at the closed door. His head tilting in curiosity, while a frown pulling at the corner of his lips. He looks up at his father when he enters the living room again, the two owning matching guises. “Why’d Mama leave so fast? I wanted to show her the drawing we did.” The white paper in his hands pictures three figures. Each one smiling, the smaller boy in the middle holding hands with his two parents on either side of him. He even drew blue snowflakes. 

There’s a red heart around them with the words My family! at the top. 

Satoru stands there, staring at the door you just closed, feeling the weight of Koji’s innocent question settle on his shoulders. He sighs, running a hand through his hair as he glances down at his son, whose big, curious eyes are filled with disappointment.

“She’s just tired, buddy,” Satoru replies, crouching down to Koji’s level. His tone is softer now, more measured, as he tries to mask the turmoil bubbling under his calm façade. “She’s been working really hard, you know? Grown-up stuff.”

Koji’s frown deepens, his little brows furrowing. “But we worked hard too! We did the tree and the presents and everything!” His tiny hands gesture to the decorated room, his frustration clear. “Mama’s s’posed to be happy.”

Satoru feels his chest tighten at the words. He places a hand on Koji’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “She is happy, Koji. She just… needs some time, that’s all. Grown-ups can be funny like that.”

Koji looks down, fiddling with his fingers before glancing back up. “Is it my fault?”

Satoru’s heart aches at the question, and he immediately shakes his head, pulling Koji into a firm hug. “No, not even a little bit. You didn’t do anything wrong, Koji. Don’t ever think that, okay?”

Koji nods slowly against his father’s shoulder but remains quiet. Satoru pulls back, cupping his son’s face in his hands. “Mama loves you so much, Koji. More than anything in the world. Don’t ever forget that.”

“Okay…” Koji mumbles, still not entirely convinced. He inhaled deeply, then spoke again. “Do…does Mama love you too?”

The question catches him off guard, putting an even bigger weight on Satoru’s shoulders. He should’ve expected it, Koji is a curious kid who still doesn’t completely grasp the complexities of his parents’ relationship. Satoru smiles faintly, kissing Koji’s cheek. “Mama has a lot of love.”

The answer satisfies Koji. For now. 

Satoru ruffles his son’s hair. “How about we finish that drawing? We’ll save it for her when she gets back.”

Koji perks up slightly, nodding. “Okay! But you gotta color inside the lines this time, Papa.”

Satoru chuckles, relieved to see even a small smile return to Koji’s face. “Deal. But only if you promise not to make fun of me if I mess up. I’m sensitive.”

Koji giggles, taking his father’s hand to lead him back to the small table. As they sit down to continue their drawing, Satoru steals a glance at the door again, his smile faltering for just a second.

He’s trying—he really is. But he wonders if it’ll ever be enough. It’s like no matter what he does, you don’t like it; and vice versa. He’s being as understanding and nice as someone in his situation can be. At times, he feels he’s being even too nice to you. He knew things wouldn’t be easy, but he wants to spend time with his son. Make up for all the lost time, and even the littlest moments. It’s almost a little bit unfair of you to throw the fact that he has money and you don’t in his face like that. He didn’t ask to be born rich. Just like you didn’t ask to be born…like that. You’re the adults in this situation, there’s a kid involved. So truly, he wishes he could just have a single conversation with you that doesn’t feel anger-surged or bitter. Of course, it’s hard because of what has happened before, but there’s a time and a place, is there not? 

Whatever. He’s more than happy to color with Koji and do whatever the little boy asks while you have your own moment. Satoru knows best of everyone else you like having space. And while many years have passed and his feelings for you have grown less than savory, he stills wants to respect your wishes after an argument with him.

He can’t help but think the obvious, though. Is it even worth attempting to mend whatever little shards of semblance there is left with you?

Probably not. Because after all, he’s here only for Koji. 

Right?

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[jakesimfromstatefarm]

no doubt ── s. jy (sneak peek!)

↳ summary ── struggling to balance a world tour, endless responsibilities, and...well, the sting of getting dumped by his girlfriend, jake finds peace & comfort confiding in you—one of his closest friends. what begins as lighthearted late-night phone calls while he's away on tour deepens into something more, quickly pulling you both into uncharted emotional territory. as your connection with jake intensifies, so does your inner turmoil—torn between the comfort of your easy relationship with him and the terrifying possibility of falling for someone you're not even sure you can have in the first place. but jake? jake has absolutely no doubt of what he wants—and spoiler alert? it's you.

↳ pairing ── jake x f!reader, [ft. childhoodbestfriend!jungwon, bestfriends!enha]

↳ genre ── idol!jake, friends to lovers!au || fluff, angst, crack

↳ addie's ✉ .ᐟ ── hai everyone, the freaking turmoil & HOLD this fic has on me,,,has me writing til 8AM in the freaking morning because CLEARLY ─ i have unspoken issues . anyways here's a teaser of my recent hyperfixation that i'm sharing with the world. at the rate i'm writing this every night (& morning), it should be out soon (hopefully) :3 also this snippet i decided to include is my attempt at angst...i hope yall enjoy !

also send me an ask/comment if you'd like to be tagged !!! <3

snippet under the cut!!

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

“Y/N.” 

His voice is quiet, almost drowned out by the muffled hum of music and laughter seeping from the party you should've escaped from a long time ago. You stop in your tracks, swallowing hard before turning around.  

Jake stands a few feet away, his usual easy confidence replaced by something raw, almost broken. He looks disheveled, his hands clenching at his sides as though they're the only thing anchoring him.  

“Can we talk?” he asks, his voice low but unsteady. 

You stomach twists, but you steel yourself, "What do you want, Jake?"  

You shift your weight and instinctively cross your arms, a defensive barrier between you and the boy you spent too long letting into your heart. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, the vulnerability in them makes your resolve falter. 

He takes a hesitant step towards you before exhaling shakily, running a hand through his hair.  

“I—I messed up tonight. I didn’t mean to...," he trails off, his words fumbling, his eyes searching yours in desperation.  

"...to completely ignore me all night? Make me feel like nothing?" You finish for him, your quiet voice breaking despite your attempt to stay composed.  

"No. God, no. You're not nothing," he says quickly, his voice faltering on the last word. "Y/N, you matter so much to me."  

“Well it definitely didn't feel that way,” your voice is barely audible, but you finally look up at him, the hurt bubbling to the surface. “After everything you said—promised, everything we talked about…” 

"I know, I just—" he hesitates, his voice barely above a whisper. He takes a tentative step closer, his movements slow and careful, like he's afraid you'll shatter if he gets too close. "I was nervous." 

"It’s been so long, and I didn’t know what to say, how to act. I wanted to get it right—to make it perfect—but instead, I just—" he stops, dragging another frustrated hand through his hair. His eyebrows knit together in that familiar way that once made your heart flutter, but now only adds to the ache in your chest. 

You let out a hollow laugh, the sound foreign even to your own ears, “Well, congratulations, Jake. You managed to mess it up anyway.” 

“Please,” he looks devastated, his hands trembling at his sides. “Y/N, please don’t think I don’t care about you. I do. More than you know. I just—I don't know how to do this. I panicked and I didn't mean to hurt you, I swear."  

You look at him, your eyes stinging with unshed tears as you take a shaky breath, “Then why was...why was she all over you tonight? Why didn’t you stop her?” 

He falters, his shoulders slumping under the weight of your question, “It wasn’t what it looked like. I didn’t—I couldn’t—” 

“You couldn’t,” you echo, the words spilling out in a rush now, each one cutting deeper. “I should've known. Let me guess, she wants to get back together, right?"  

Jake's silence is deafening, and it immediately answers your question. He opens this mouth, but nothing comes out. The way he looks at you—eyes wide and filled with regret, lips trembling as if searching for the right words—confirms everything you’re afraid of. 

You squeeze your eyes shut, a shaky breath escaping your lips—the sound caught somewhere between a sigh of realization and a choked sob. No matter how hard you try, the wall holding back your emotions cracks under the weight of it all. The doubts you've tried so hard to bury suddenly resurface, crashing over you suddenly, each one carrying the sting of every insecurity, every fear you’ve ever had about this moment, about him. Your chest feels tight, your heart splintering under the realization that everything you were afraid of might be true. 

"Jake, I can't do this," you whisper, shaking your head. "I can't be the person you lean on while you try to figure out what you want."  

"No, no—Y/N, I do know what I want," he pleads, his voice cracking as he tries to step closer. "And it’s you. Always been you, Y/N. Everything I said before—I meant it."  

His words hang heavy in the air, the faint echo of the party music filtering through the cracks in the door and into the quiet hallway. You look away, refusing to let him see your tears finally spilling over.  

"You promised," you let out softly. "You promised you wouldn't hurt me. You said you'd prove that I could trust you, that I didn't have to be scared. You knew I was worried, Jake. And you hurt me anyways."  

"And I swear I meant every word I said. I still do," Jake says, his voice desperate. He steps even closer, his hand reaching out and brushing yours, but you pull back before he can close the distance. "You have to believe me. Please, Y/N. You're the only one I care about."  

You shake your head again, the tears now freely slipping down your cheeks despite your best efforts, "I don't know if I can believe that anymore, Jake. I wanted to, I really, really did. But tonight..."  

Jake’s face falls, the weight of your pain crashing into him all at once. His lips tremble as he struggles to hold himself together, his eyes glassy with unshed tears. This was the first time seeing you in so long, and this sight of you—broken because of him—cuts deeper than he thought possible. His voice is barely above a whisper, raw and pleading, “Y/N, I’m so sorry. I—God, please. Please give me a chance.” 

You look at him—at the boy who's become your safe space —and all you feel is the ache in your heart.  

"I can't do this right now, Jake," you finally let out a deep breath and take a step back. "I think I just need space."  

The words hang in the air like a death sentence. His breath hitches as if your words physically hit him in face, "Y/N..." 

Your phone suddenly buzzes, a text from Jungwon letting you know he's outside. You glance down at it, then back at Jake. For a moment, you hesitate, your heart screaming at you to stay, to give him the chance he's begging for. But your head knows better. 

"I have to go," you murmur softly, turning away before the tears threaten to spill all over again. You force yourself to keep walking, fighting the overwhelming urge to look back—to let him pull you into his arms, where you wished so desperately you belonged.  

Frozen, Jake watches helplessly as you walk away, his chest tightening with every step you take. Everything feels like it's caving in, regret clawing at him the more he sees you walk further away. He opens his mouth to say something—anything—but the words fail him, silenced by the weight of his own mistakes.  

The hallway falls into a haunting silence, broken only by the faint echo of your retreating steps, a cruel reminder of what he's just let slip away.  

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。..・。.・゜✭・.・

not my usual style of light-hearted crack...but sum of the other parts are still very rom-commy bc im sucker for dat shtuff :3

let me know if you'd like to be tagged !

<3, addie

[rcmclachlan]

okay, so if you’re not writing the aquarium scene in the 118/217 scheming fix-it (god i love this) can you at least share what mishap and or shenanigan gets them banned from the aquarium?? (since you mentioned it in the tags i assume you picked one!)

The aquarium is Christopher's idea, because getting Buck and Tommy back together is the one thing he and Eddie can talk about without it devolving into shouting or week-long silences that make Eddie want to put his fist through his living room wall.

So if plotting to interfere in the open bear trap that is his idiot friends' breakup gets him an hour of uninterrupted screen time with Chris three times a week? He'll meddle in a way that would make even his abuela say, "cariño, that's a little much." He'll change his legal middle name to el metiche.

"Buck used to take me to see the otters when I was younger; they're his favorite. But the exhibit has been closed for a year because they've been redoing it," Chris says, then texts him a link to the aquarium website. "The big reopening is next week. If someone asked Buck to take Jee-Yun, he wouldn't be suspicious."

"Chris, you're a genius," Eddie says, a little awed. His entire body aches to reach through the laptop screen and across state lines to pull his kid into a hug, but all he can do is sit on his hands and hope his face shows all the love he feels.

A small, but genuine grin unfurls on Chris's face. "That's not news, dad."

Eddie decides to take the aquarium idea to what Chimney keeps calling the weekly 118-217 Shadow Summit to see if the rest of the group thinks it holds water—no pun intended—and is extremely offended when Dana gives him a slow blink and says, "That's actually not bad. Who came up with it?"

"Is it that hard to believe it was my idea?"

"Very."

Dana presses the rim of her wine glass to the sly, crimson curve of her mouth. With her victory rolls, winged eyeliner, and tattoos, she looks like the winner of a car show pinup contest. She also looks like an evil queen out of an old school Disney movie. At least five people in their general vicinity look like they'd thank her if she force-fed them a poisoned apple or turned into a giant dragon.

Eddie reaches into the bowl of popcorn by his elbow and throws a handful of it at her. She just takes a sip of her wine and serenely lets the kernels bounce off her.

"Knock it off before I put you both in a time out." Lucy drains the dregs of her beer and says to Chimney, "Having Buckley take your kid is the perfect excuse—she's, what, two? Three?"

"Five," Chim says with the heartache of a man whose baby is almost old enough to rent a car. "As long as we don't tell my wife that Jee's playing the part of the cutest MacGuffin ever in this little plot, we should be good. But how do we get Tommy there?"

"Short of planting a bomb in the penguin tank, I can't think of a reason Mr. Nature Boy himself would ever voluntarily go." Hen roots around in the popcorn bowl for the kernels with the most butter. "Actually, he might be thrilled if we did that. I don't think he likes birds very much."

Dana lifts a brow. "I smell a story."

"Does it smell like KFC?" Chim pops a pretzel in his mouth and chews loudly, grinning. "Once we've adjourned the cabal for the evening, remind me to tell you about Maurice."

Eddie doesn't know Nico very well—he can't get a read on the guy to save his life—but the smug smirk he's sporting looks entirely out of place. Nico takes the last mozzarella stick off the platter they'd ordered to share and puts it between his teeth like a cigar. He looks like the world's lamest oil baron.

Eddie looks at Dana in askance. Wordlessly, she plucks a piece of popcorn out of her hair and throws it at him. It nails him right between the eyes.

"Let me handle Kinard," Nico says. "I'll get him there, no problem."

To his credit, Nico does get Tommy to the aquarium the day of the sea otter exhibit grand reopening. And thanks to Chimney planting Chris's idea in Buck's head at the start of their next shift, Buck does take Jee-Yun.

Unfortunately, their paths never cross, because while the penguin habitat doesn't explode, the sea jelly gallery does, completely flooding the first floor. When the aquarium is forced to evacuate everyone, Buck and Jee-Yun end up at the Chili's down the street, while Tommy ends up riding in an ambulance with an old woman who gets stung by a box jellyfish.

"I don't understand how this happened!" Lucy shouts, keeping her fingers on the ankle pulse of a man in the middle of an allergic reaction to a lilliputian jelly sting as Hen and Chim pump him full of epinephrine and then start administering compressions.

Eddie would help, but he's carrying three kids—two in his arms, one on his back—through shin-deep water to safety while attempting to dodge all the bluebottles floating on the surface. Dana glides past him to get the next group of kids waiting to be rescued, not a hair out of place. She looks like a fucking mermaid. He's gonna trip her the next time they pass each other.

Annoyed, Lucy casts around and then asks, "Has anyone seen Nico?"

Just in time for the man himself to sedately walk through the pandemonium, two bewildered penguins tucked under his arms like purses. He smiles brightly. "Hey, did Kinard pass through here, by any chance? Phase two of my plan is ready to go."

Eddie stares at him. "What was phase one?"

He never does find out what exactly phase one entailed, but it's enough to get them permanently banned from the aquarium for life.

"If you ask me, the punishment so does not fit the crime," Nico says, digging an elbow into Eddie's side as he jostles for room in the back of Athena's squad car.

Eddie says nothing. He's too busy mentally composing the short-answer portion of his application for the El Paso Fire Department, although, in the end, it doesn't matter. He completely forgets everything he plans on writing when Athena slides in, glances in the rearview mirror, and shouts, "Those better not be penguins in my back seat, Edmundo Diaz!"

He and Chris spend two hours talking about it during their next call, so Eddie calls it a win.

[buttsmasher]

Jennifer's Boyfriend

Warnings/Tags: Break-in, Gay Face Farting, Fart Torture, Unwilling Victim, Fart to tongue, Throwing Up, Ball Busting, (maybe just torture at this point?)

You’re startled awake from the sound of your bedroom slamming shut. The lights turn on and you’re momentarily blinded from being awakened in this way. “What the fuck?” You manage to get out as your hands cover your eyes from the light.

“Heard you’ve been flirting with my girl.” As your eyes adjust to the light you see Peter, your co-worker’s boyfriend standing at the bedroom door. He’s shirtless and wearing tight Calvin Klein briefs. It takes a few moments for your eyes to leave his bulge and back to his face. 

“I seriously have no-” You begin. “Dude, get the fuck out of my apartment.” You say when you realize what’s happening.

“Nah bud, you have to make it up to me. No one gets to flirt with my girl for free.” 

“I don’t even know what you’re talking about? Jennifer is so not my type.” 

“Not what my girl said.” You throw your hands up in frustration.

“I don’t know what to say, but your girl lied.” You stand up ready to push Peter out of your apartment. 

“So you’re saying my girl’s a liar?” You can’t help but facepalm. This dude can’t be serious.

“Please, just get out of my apartment before I call the police.” Peter seems to consider this for a moment.

“Nah, I need to show you what happens to guys who try messing with my girl.” He charges you and tackles you to your bed. You both struggle and wrestle until your face ends up next to his ass. You can smell his musk and notice that his briefs are a bit sweaty. 

“Get off me!” You yell but he grabs the back of your head and pulls you close to his ass. His swamp ass disgusts you and face feels wet from the sweat.

“Don’t pass out, it’ll only make it worse for you.” You have no idea what he means until it happens:

PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFBBBFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFT

A loud, ten second fart gets blown across your face. “What the fuck?!” You yell out as the smell hits your nose and burns your nostrils. The sewage smell is overwhelming and you start trying to pull away harder. You slip out of his grip but he quickly grapples you and gets you on your back. He uses the opportunity to sit his full weight on your face.

PFFFFFFFFFFBBRBRBBRBBBRRRRRRR

“Chili tonight,” He says like he’s answering a question. “Always gets my stomach going.” You just gag and flail underneath him.

PFFFFFFFFFFFFF PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTT

Tears are streaming down your face as you try to get leverage against him. You’re punching his sides until he grabs both of your arms and holds them down to the your sides

PFFFFFFFFFBBRFFFFFFFFFFTTTTT

“Settle down, you’re just making it worse for yourself.” You don’t heed his words, you continue to try and twist away but he has you pinned good. 

“Please, I didn’t do anything!” You beg hoping he’ll have any kind of mercy.

“Liar. No one fucks with my girl.” PFFFFFFFFFFBBRBRFFFFFFFFTTTT “Especially not a bitch like you.” He grinds his ass hard against your face. Your nose gets pressed firmly against his hole. PFFFFFFFFFFFBRBBRFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTT “Eat that bitch!” 

PBRBRBBRBRRR PFFFFFFFFFFFFF

A wet fart followed by an airy fart gets forced into your nose. The smell is indistinguishable and utterly rank. You’re feeling weak when, Peter slightly lifts off your face. You’re surprised that there isn’t a brown spot after that last fart, but you don’t get to think about it much longer as he slams his ass on your face over and over again.

“You’re not going to be able to go to work for the next few days because you’ll be trying to wash my farts off your face.” 

PFFFFFBBRBRFFFFFFFFFFTTT PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF

He grinds his unwashed ass on your face for emphasis. 

PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTT

“But here’s the thing. You’ll always smell this, even when it’s not there anymore.” 

PFFFFFFFBBR PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTT

“This will be in your head for the rest of your life.” He gyrates his hips to make a point. “Whenever you see my girl, you’re going to immediately think of this.” 

PFFFFFFFFFFFFFT BBRRRRR PFFFTTT

“Get off me!” You yell again. “Someone help!” 

“No one can hear you.” 

PFFFFFFFFFBBRFFFFFFF PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTT

Between the loud farts and your yells being muffled by his ass, you know he’s probably right. 

“I can’t even hear you and I’m right here.” He lifts up again and removes his underwear covering his ass. “Now the real show begins.”

PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFBBRBRBFFFFFFFFFFFFFF PFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTT

Your face is blasted with toxic fumes. The smell is somehow much worse now that his ass is unfiltered. You’re out of breath between your yelling and the lack of fresh air. You’re sweating bullets and your leg won’t stop shaking. 

PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFBBRRFFFFFFF

Peter groans loudly as the last fart rips out of his ass and directly up your nose. “Get your tongue out and get a taste of my ass.” You refuse but Peter roughly grabs your balls. “Taste my ass, or your balls get it.” Tears are streaming down your face as you begin to run your tongue against his nasty pucker.

PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTT

He releases the bomb directly on your tongue. You can feel the bile starting to come up and Peter stands up. You barely make it to the trash can next to your nightstand. Everything is spinning around you and you briefly see yourself in your standing mirror. You look disheveled and utterly broken. Before you can take too much longer of a look Peter grabs you and forces you to your knees.

“I don’t remember telling you to stop.” He roughly pulls your face against his ass again. “Eat.” You start crying but follow his orders. You tentatively flick your tongue against his pucker hoping you don’t have to swallow another gas bomb. “You can do better than that.” He uses the heel of his foot and kicks your balls, making you yelp. “I said, eat.” He says with venom.

You use the flat of your tongue and swipe up his crack and over his hole. It’s the most disgusting thing that you’ve done in your life and the taste is even worse. Peter gives a satisfied sigh when you run your tongue over his hole again. “That’s it. That’s nice.” He teases. “You have a nice tongue. Made for licking my ass.” 

PFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFTTTTTTTTT

“Fuuuuck” Peter moans as he forces you to swallow another disgusting fart down your throat. 

“I can’t, I can’t.” You cry as you pull away again. 

“You can, and you will.” He doesn’t let you get far away as he forces you against his ass. “Open your mouth.” You keep shaking your head no and he gives you another kick to your balls. You cry out but do as he says. “There you go, now get those lips around my hole.” 

Nothing prepares you for the quiet hissing sound that comes out of his ass. It lasts for 15 seconds and you can feel your cheeks inflate as he floods your mouth with more and more of his toxic gas. You try to leave it in your mouth and pull away to release it but he doesn’t let you go. You start shaking from the lack of oxygen and eventually you swallow.

That’s when everything starts getting dizzy. You feel yourself starting to fall over and Peter’s hand lets you go. You thump against the ground, barely conscious. You watch as Peter grabs his briefs and kneels down next to you. He covers your head with his briefs before grabbing a pair of your sweatpants and putting them on.

“Next time I won’t be so nice.” He gives you a final look before leaving out your window. You try to get up but feel too weak. You use what little power you have to at least remove the briefs off your face. It doesn’t get rid of the terrible smell though. He was right, you’re going to take the week off just to get the scent off your face.

When you return to work next week, you do your best to avoid Jennifer at all costs. When you do accidentally run into her in the lunchroom, your nose is assaulted by the phantom smell of Peter’s gas. You do the reasonable thing and run and hide in the bathroom. 

~~~FIN

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 1 - In My Brain and In My Blood

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: This story is non-canon compliant rewrite, but primarily plot wise. Think of it as we're cooking with all the same ingredients (i.e lore, characters, setting, and backstory) but with one change (you) that gets us to a drastically different ending.

What the means is that there will be a lot of similar plot points to the real Supernatural, but the further we go through the story the more it will diverge. I've also take some creative labor with the reader, adding lore that's defiantly not a part of canon, but crucial to this story.

If you have any questions about this, feel free to ask! If not, I hope you enjoy the story!

Chapter title is from The End by Halsey

Word Count: 16.3k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: See the Masterlist for a Summary. Contains usual tags.

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

Chapter 2

Read on A03!

You know a few things about the dark.

It’s alive inside you. It has been your whole life. It makes your words too harsh and your brain too sharp and your love too big. It’s makes you too fragile, but still too sharp, and raises everything to a dangerous height you don’t know how to come down from. It makes everyone move away because they can see it. You can see it, always.

It covers every corner of your body, and grows roots in something white in your chest. Something no one but you can see. You’d asked your dad once—does he feel it too, feel the strange glow and pull of everything beautiful around you—and he’d looked at you like you were insane.

You might be.

But it’s hard not to be, in this line of work. 

Hunting. Monsters and ghosts and nightmares, all around you and calling to you in your sleep. It’s where most of the darkness lives, in the way that few monsters lay hands on you, no matter how much of their blood you shed. Ghosts will treat you like any other, but the monsters look at you like they recognize you. 

Like you’re one of them.

And that’s something you’ve never told your dad. You never will. He already hates that you do this, and not a month goes by where he doesn’t glare at you from across the table, beer bottle in hand, and ask you to stop.

“Kiddo,” he’d grunted the last time, narrowing his eyes at you over dinner. “That was the last one.”

“You say that every time-“

“And you ain’t listenin’ to me every time!” He’d snapped. “You don’t have to do this shit, not with your-“ He’d made a face, giving you a pointed look. “Ya’ know. Thing.”

“Witch.” You’d sighed. “You’re allowed to say it. I’m a witch.”

“You ain’t a witch-“

“I’m not a normal witch.” You’d corrected with a frown, picking at the wood of the table. “But I’m still not human.”

“You’re human,” he’d muttered your name, and when you’d looked up, he’d been staring at you with an exhausted expression and you’d felt something eat at your tongue. “But you’re right. You ain’t normal, kiddo, and it’s gonna get you fuckin’ killed-“

“It hasn’t yet-“

“It will. It always does.” He’d stood, giving you one last, tired look. “And I’m not tryin’ to lose you too.”

You’d given him a close-lipped smile. “You won’t lose me. I’m being careful.”

He’d rolled his eyes—you were being careful, and he knew it, but it still pissed him off—and nodded. And that had been it.

It’s like that every time. He tells you to quit, because you don’t need to do this, and you tell him you have to. You’re good at it. You’re more resourceful than half the hunters he knows, smarter than all of them, and better by a mile. He’d trained you. He hadn’t wanted to, but he’d realized it was either him teaching you or you learning through trial and error, and he’d decided you being a pain in his freakin’ ass was better than you being dead.

Because—in the end—all he really cares about is that you’re safe. It’s why you know to be careful, why you know what hunts to call for backup on, and why you know that—if you need to—you can crawl back home with your guts in your hand and he won’t yell at you until you’re better. Keeping you safe is his job, more than hunting, more than research, more than cars. He’d chosen to do it when he’d found you—eight years old and starving on the side of a highway—and it had stayed that way ever since. It didn’t matter what you were, what seemed to be inside of you, or how you were certainly more trouble that you were worth. He always made sure you were safe.

Safe from your real family, for what you know and refuse to be. Safe from the worst of the monsters and ghosts, who don’t seem to care for that horrible kinship you don’t know how to stop. Safe from hunters, and how they’ll hate you for what you know how to do.

Safe from John Winchester, and how he’ll put a bullet in your brain without question for what you don’t know how to change.

It’s the top rule. Stay away from the Winchesters. When John comes around for a hunt, hide in your room. When he drops his boys off before vanishing for weeks at a time, sneak out and call your uncle. He’ll pick you up, keep you safe, and drop you back home when the brothers leave. They can’t see you, because they’re loyal to their father and will tell him about the witch-girl who made the wind howl louder than it should’ve. John can’t know about you, because he’s a complicated man with a good heart, but he’ll hurt you worse than any ghost or monster could. 

But you have to say—at least from this distance—he doesn’t look that dangerous.

You know it’s him. You recognize his car in the parking lot from seeing it in your dad’s yard, and recognize his voice from the living room of your house. It’s clearer now—no longer muffled through a door you’d keep an ear pressed to—and you’re certain it’s him. 

And he’s just a man. A broad-shouldered, tired man with a face that doesn’t seem like it’s ever smiledand dark hair that’s streaked with slight silver. He even sounds exhausted, his voice laced with a thin irritation he either doesn’t know how to hide, or doesn’t care to.

“Dean,” he grunts, and you can’t see who he’s talking to, the bookshelves of the library only revealing John’s cold, set face. “Go back to the morgue and look at the bodies again. See if you can get a blood type on the vics.”

“A blood type?” A second voice, this one so clearly younger, a little defiant and bright, asks. “Dad, why do we care about their blood type-“

“Because this bitch is spilling it left and right, and we need to work out what skin she’s got in that game.” John’s words are short, impatient. “And you’re not here to ask me questions, Sam, you’re here to get through these damn books. Dean, go to the morgue.”

“Yes, sir.” That’s a third voice. It’s pretty. Deeper than the second—Sam’s—but not as tired as John’s. Mostly just cautious. “Can I, uh, can I take Sammy-“

“No.” John snaps. “I need him here for the readin’. Take the car and go.”

There’s a soft sound of metal ringing through the air, a scrape of wood on the floor, and you almost don’t move fast enough. You almost don’t duck behind the shelf in time for the third voice—the pretty one, Dean—to pass you, humming something you’d recognize if you weren’t lost in your panic.

Dean doesn’t see you.

But you see him.

And it’s not just his voice that’s pretty. 

You don’t know a lot about the Winchester brothers. Only what your dad has told you. Dean’s three years older than you, Sam’s a year younger. Dean likes music, Sam likes books. They’re both good boys—better than your dad seems to think John deserves, although he’ll never say that out loud—but Sam can be defiant and Dean can be trouble.

You hope Dean’s trouble. He has to be, when he looks like that. 

Because in only a split second of his side profile, you’re sure Dean Winchester is the prettiest man you’ve ever seen. Will ever see. It’s almost ethereal, and a little unfair. All of his features are clean and strong, like someone carved him from marble, but there’s a scar you could see on his jaw and a cut on his lower lip that made him seem human. Made his seem tangible. 

Touchable.

You’d like to touch him. You’ve seen him once, but everything in your body seems to think the world will collapse if you don’t touch him now. If you don’t at least talk to him. Hear his deep, charming voice directed at you. See at his face up close, see it’s clear resemble to John that feels pointless, because Dean looks like he smiles. He looks like he’s meant to smile, and you’d really like to find out if he’d smile at you. 

And that white thing—the one you feel all the time—seems to really like him. Even the darkness is trying to reach out to him, move into him, and you’re not really sure what the fuck is happening. He’d just walked past you, and your body is suddenly trapped by something overwhelming and dizzying in your lungs, your every nerve prickling the longer your brain circles him. The longer it spirals around his beautiful face, and full lips, and the way his voice sounded like something even bigger than the darkness in your body-

“Hey, Dad?” That same voice cuts through your thoughts, a little raised as Dean calls between the shelves. “Are you feeling anything from the beer earlier?”

“No.” John’s voice is clipped as he responds, and you can hear the frown in his voice. “You feelin’ alright, son?”

“Yeah, uh-“ There’s a heavy pause, and you can hear Dean shuffling slightly just out of your sight. “I dunno. Must’ve stood up too fast.”

“Dad, if he feels light headed he might not be safe to drive-“

“I’m alright, Sammy.” Dean’s words are fast. Not frantic, but rapid. “Nothing’s gonna happen to the car, Dad, I promise.”

John grunts. “Better not. Get moving, Dean, we don’t got all night.”

“Yes, sir.” 

You hear Dean shuffle away, sounds of flipping paper and scratching pencils re-filling the air, and you’re trapped in your spot. You shouldn’t follow Dean. Following Dean will almost certainly end in meeting John, and that’s the one thing you’re never supposed to do. Your dad doesn’t fight you when you leave for months at a time, or cross paths with other hunters, or run dangerous scams to keep yourself afloat. He’s okay with more than he probably should be, and he never tells you that you can’t do something. 

But you can’t talk to John Winchester. 

He can’t know who you are. What you are.

So you can’t follow Dean. Your brain is deeply aware that following Dean would be a truly horrible idea, and your body seems to be on board. There’s iron around your lungs when John mutters something to Sam, and a sore shot of electrically whenever one of them stands up to move books around. You’re really good at running. You know exactly when to call it and go. You can sense danger so easily—it’s the same chill of needles ice running up your spine, every single time—and John is dangerous. And you really shouldn’t follow Dean.

But the White thing keeps bucking around inside you. You can almost see it rush and roar in the air, feel it thrash deep down—past your heart chamber and embedded a little to the right—to try and follow Dean Winchester. And it feeds the darkness. It starts to twinge and pulse, seeping and infecting your muscles and blood, locking around your skull and making everything far too big. You can feel it all. The books on the shelves that all read Dean, and the squeak of the floors that say his name, and the lights start to flicker as the air turns humid and cool.

“Dad-“

“I’m seein’ it, Sammy, grab the gun-“

You raise the back of your hand to your mouth and bite. Hard. Grounding yourself before the flood can burst out of your body, before John Winchester could find out who you are in the worst way possible.

And when you run—out the back and to your stolen Lexus—you don’t even realize where you’re going until you’re halfway there.

To the morgue.

After Dean.

It’s a terrible idea. You have ten, long minutes of driving to figure out every way in which this is a terrible idea. You don’t know him. This will distract you from the case. John Winchester will try to kill you. Your dad will kill you. And there’s a high chance it will all be for nothing, because everything in you that’s calling to Dean belongs to that white thing. And that’s a part of you, and no one else. There’s a chance that this—whatever the fuck this is—is something driven by what you are, what’s wrong with you, so Dean won’t feel it at all.

You know all of that. And you still make it the whole drive without turning around. You park and rifle through your glove compartment for a fake ID, pull on your stiff, too-itchy well officer, would a fraud wear this? Jacket, and still don’t turn the engine back on and book it out of town. You even manage to justify it. You’re working this case too. You were here first. You’d noticed the blood thing from the start—it’s why you took the case—but you just hadn’t gotten to the morgue yet. You’d already been planning on it, and Dean just happens to be here at the same time. 

No matter what, you’ll get through it. You always get through it. And this might be a horrible idea, but that knowledge won’t stop you from stepping out of the car and making your way to the morgue. Know something has never really stopped you, and no amount of twisting bile in your gut—telling you to run, because you don’t love life, but you’d really rather not be murdered today—is going to prevent you from doing this. Nothing is stronger than the White in your chest, and it wants to talk to Dean Winchester. 

So that’s exactly what you’re going to do.

It is, as always, worryingly easy to get into the morgue. Half of the work is flashing the badge and saying the right words—Agent Smith, from the insurance company, I need to take a look at the autopsies for the claims—but most of it is the confidence. You carry yourself like a haughty, too-good-for-this-morgue insurance agent. Your chin is raised when you stop at the desk, and your words to the receptionist are impatient and clipped, and God, it makes you feel like the scum of the earth how she’s nervous and apologetic, but you get in the door. You always get in the door, because this is the simple part. The smiles with teeth, and the lies you spit through them are so fucking simple.

The hard part is always different. Sometimes it’s the ghosts that follow you after a failure, the ones that can’t be killed with salt and fire. Sometimes it’s long nights that you don’t have time tp sleep, and the tug and rot of that darkness in your chest tries to push to the surface. Sometimes it’s a puzzle you barely manage to solve, and it costs a little bit more of your flesh and soul each time.

But today, it’s Dean Winchester. Or, as the receptionist calls him, Officer Costello.

“Officer?” You raise your brows. “So the cops are looking into a serial killer.”

“I, um-“ The receptionist flushes, her eyes widening slightly. “I don’t know, he just said he was from a town over, and our Chief asked him to take a look, I’m not-“

“I’ll just ask him while I’m in there.” You shrug, the receptionist’s mouth opens in likely protest, and you call over your shoulder as you walk away. “I need to know for the report!”

You push through the doors—nobody chasing after you a sign of success—turn into the mortuary’s office, and freeze at the sight before you. 

Dean’s hunched over the mortuary’s desk, frowning at the largest stack of papers you’ve ever seen, and shit, he’s even prettier up close. Spiky hair and slightly tanned, freckled skin, rough looking hands sorting through the files and full lips in a frown and what the fuck is happening to you-

His head shoots up, eyes widening—green eyes, deep and vibrant and you need to get a goddamn grip—and you stare at each other for a long, confusing second before he finally speaks.

“Ma’am, if you could wait for the doctor outside please, this is, uh, official police business-“

You scoff, even as your whole body hums from the deep, smooth sound of his voice. “Is that really the excuse you’re going to use?”

Dean tenses, dropping the papers on the desk and rising to his full height, glaring down at you. He’s really tall, and broad, and probably warm-

“Excuse me? If you don’t exit this office right now, I’ll have reason to put you under arrest-“

“What reason?”

He blinks at you. “Interfering in police business-“

“Fake police business?”

“I’m not, this isn’t-“ Dean shakes his head, eyes narrowing on yours. “Who the hell are you?”

“I’m a fake insurance agent.” You lift your badge up from him to see, giving a sweet, fake smile. “And you’re a hunter.”

“Lady, I don’t know what the hell you’re talkin’ about-“

“I think you do.” You step forward, dropping into a seat across the desk. “To start, you’re definitely not a cop. Cops don’t drive muscle cars and raid morgue documents.”

He frowns, still watching you wearily. “How’d you know that’s my car?”

You’d slipped a little. You shouldn’t know that’s the Winchester’s car. But you’re quick on your feet, and by the time you say the lie it might as well be the truth. “Only three cars in the lot. Mine, the black one, and a minivan. And you don’t really seem like a minivan guy.”

Dean grunts, his body still braced and words tense. “I could be allowed to drive whatever car I want on duty-“

You give him an amused expression, tucking your knees into your chest as you lean back in your seat.  “You’re like, twenty. There’s no way they’d let you drive your own car. Or,” you raise your brows. “Ask you investigate a bunch of weird murders by yourself.”

Dean frowns, but drops in the swivel chair behind the desk. “I’m twenty-one,” he mutters, and you snort. 

“Congratulations-“

“And you,” his eyes shoot to yours, voice dropping into a low drawl that felt like it could be dangerous, but mostly made you feel a little fuzzy. “Haven’t answered my question. Who are you?”

You say your full name—the real one, that you’d been given at birth and he’d never connect to your dad—and drop your feet back to the floor, extending your hand across the desk. “I’m a hunter too.”

Dean chuckles, but meets your hand with a grin. “Yeah, I figured that part out myself, Princess. Dean Winchester.”

You shake his hand, and your smile must make you look like an idiot. It’s far too wide just from him telling you his name and touching your skin—he is warm, and his hands are calloused and big and still so soft—but there’s something like lightning sparking and shooting over your skin, and the White inside you is shining like a star. Pulsing and glowing and molding with the darkness. Making nothing really seem that bad at all. 

Dean’s smiling back. And you’d been right. His face is meant to smile. It’s meant to have this broad, cocky grin that’s full of teasing joy and a bright-eyed delight in something you can’t quite place. You really can’t tell if he can feel it. There’s a glint in his eyes that’s full of promises, but you can’t figure out if he can feel this. This raging tug in your body that keeps your hand in his longer than it needs to be, that makes his skin feel like a furnace and your heart feel right in your body.

He might. He really might feel it. His hand stays in yours as well, his grip a little tighter than it needs to be, and when you manage to pull away, he clears his throat—a small, adorable blush covering his pretty face—and stares at you like you’ve fallen from the sky, and you’re still covered in stardust.

“So, uh,” Dean glances down at the papers, then back to you. “You here for the autopsy reports?”

You nod, crossing your legs under your body. “Yep. You gonna share?”

“That depends.” Dean shrugs, shooting you another, very mind-numbing smirk. “You gonna help us out?”

“Us?” You tilt your head at him, twisting a ring on your finger. “You’ve got a partner?”

“Partners.” Dean corrects you with a grin. “My dad and brother. We always hunt together, it’s safer and Sammy’s still a kid, so-“ He cuts himself off, his face falling into a small frown. “Do you, are you hunting alone?”

“Mostly, yeah.” You shrug. “But I can help you out-“

“You, you shouldn’t be hunting alone.” Dean cuts you off with a shake of his head, his voice almost disbelieving. “It’s not safe. Gonna get you killed.”

“Uh huh.” You narrow your eyes, your voice becoming dry and bored. “Do you want my help, Dean Winchester?”

“Sure, but-“

“Then drop it, give me the papers, and let me help.”

He frowns. “You’re kinda bossy.”

“Yeah, well, you’re kinda-“

“It’s not bad.” He pushes some of the files across the desk, shooting you a wink. “Just making sure you know.”

“Oh.” You stare at him. He’s so pretty, and his smile does weird things to your gut and ribs and the White inside of you. “Uh-“

“I’ll take these.” Dean taps the files still in front of him, watching you with a strange expression. “You got those?”

“Sure.” You mumble, pulling the papers into your lap. “Um, thanks.”

“Don’t worry about it.” He shrugs. “More hands, we’ll be done faster. You, uh, you know what you’re lookin’ for-“

“Blood.” You flip open the first file, playing with the corner of a page as you speak. “Every vic’s been covered in it. It’s uh,” you grimace slightly, an image of a corpse painted red flashing in your head. “It’s been really gross.”

Dean hums in agreement, giving you a curious look. “You’ve seen all the bodies?”

“Most of them,” you look down to the file, flipping through it until you find the blood report “I’ve been here for like, five days.”

“Huh.” He frowns, looking down to his own paper. “We’ve been here four. Only seen two of them.”

“Well, maybe I’m just better at my job.”

He laughs, and when you glance back up, he’s grinning. “Sure, Princess.”

You kick him under the desk, and he makes a fake sound of pain.

“What was that for?!“

“Making fun of me,” you stick your tongue out at him, not looking up from your papers. “Not very nice, Winchester.”

“You made fun of me-“

“And if you wanna kick me, I won’t stop you-“

“I’m not gonna kick a lady-“

“Well then.” You shrug, unable to fight the smile on your face. “That’s not my fault, is it?”

He huffs, his voice dropping to a low mutter you can still defiantly hear. ���Bossy.”

“That’s not being bossy, it’s-“ You cut yourself off, leaning down to re-read the file in front of you. “Shit.”

“It is shit,” Dean complains, and you can hear the pout in his voice as you grab the next file in your stack, rushing through the report to find what you’re looking for. “You’re lucky I-“

“No, that’s not-” you look up at him, your brain moving too fast to fully linger on why you might be lucky. “Give me your file.”

Dean frowns, but slides the paper over the desk. “What-“

You raise your hand, scanning over the file and grinning as you find what you’re looking for. “I’ve got it.” 

“Got what-“

“That blood wasn’t only the vics. It was their’s, plus,” you turn the page for Dean to read, pointing to the words. “All the previous vics. Mixed together. That’s why there’s been more and more every time.”

“Oh.” Dean leans forward, scanning over the page. “Kinda like a really gross blood cocktail?”

“Exactly.” You grin at him. “I know what we’re looking for.”

He looks back up at you, raising his brows. “You gonna tell me, or-“

“It’s a moroi.” You drop the files, leaning back and pushing your feet back up on the desk. “It explains the messiness perfectly.”

“No,” Dean shakes his head. “My dad says it’s just a normal ghost with a weird thing for blood-“

“Your dad is wrong. It’s a moroi.”

Dean’s eyes narrow. “My dad’s never wrong. And he’s more experienced than both of us combined, he’d know if it was a moray-“

“Mo-roi-“

“And look,” Dean leans across the desk, pointing to the files. “All of them had the same blood type. That’s what Dad said to look for.”

“They have the same blood type because it’s a moroi.” You hold his gaze, because every single part of you might want this man in a way you can’t possibly begin to understand, but you’re also fucking right. “They’re Romanian vampire babies.’

“Vampire babies-“

“Evil infant spirits that didn’t get baptized. They’re really rare, but this-“ You tap the files with a smug grin. “Is their exact MO. Specific blood type that they’ve probably got a taste for, mixing it with their previous victims, incredibly sloppy.”

“Because they’re babies.” Dean mutters, frowning into the air. “And babies, uh, don’t know how to clean.”

You nod. “Because babies don’t know how to clean.”

“And you’re sure?” Dean looks down to the files, his tone cautious. “I mean, you said they’re kinda rare-“

“They are.” You shrug. “And that’s why I’m sure.”

Rare things are your specialty. Things that even the most experienced hunters don’t understand, that were hard to track and harder to kill. Things that were stranger than strange, darker than dark, worse than evil. Things that wouldn’t hurt you, and you’ve taught yourself every way kill. It’s why you’d taken this case in the first place.  It’s why you’re fucking right.

“You, uh,” Dean’s words are slow, like he’s picking them carefully. “You know how to kill these things?”

“Yep.”

“You wanna come with me? To explain it to Dad and Sammy?”

“I, um-“ You start to pick at the skin around your nails, your skin suddenly itching and a weight forming in your lungs. “I mean, I can just tell you how, and you can deal with it, and I can go-“

“Go?” Dean frowns, his brow drawn. “Where are you going?”

“Out of town.” You keep your voice strong and even, because no matter how much the White inside you seems to be trying to move into Dean—no matter how much you’d really like to stay in this office and talk to him for a million years—you have to go. You cannot meet John Winchester. “If your Dad’s as good as you say-“

“He is-“

“Then you’ll be able to handle this. You don’t need me.”

“Well,” Dean leans over the desk, his voice dropping to a charming drawl. “If I ask you nicely, will you consider staying? Giving us a hand?”

You hold his gaze, unable to find enough willpower to shut him down immediately. “How nicely?” 

“Please,” Dean says your name, giving you a taunting, boyish grin, and the White inside you ignites. You’ve heard your name said a million ways, but never like that. Never in Dean’s voice, never like it’s some sort of curse and prayer all at once, never like it’s bigger than just a name. “Please stay in town and help me out. Please explain this moroi shit to my dad, and help us kill the son of a bitch. I’ll buy you a beer, and be in your debt for a million freakin’ years. Please.”

He’s already got you. If the way he said your name didn’t make you fold, the shit-eating smirk on his face and gleam in his eyes that tells you exactly how he plans to repay that debt made you cave. 

“I don’t drink.” You mumble, your face heated and eyes a little wide. “But I’ll take two million years and a promise that you’ll listen to me.”

Dean chuckles. “Awesome.” He grins, his eyes never leaving yours as he stands. “Let’s get outta here, I’ll drive you to our motel.”

That’s where you manage to draw a line. You’ll bow to Dean’s charming words and handsome face, you’ll follow him out of the office and into the parking lot, and you’ll agree to come meet John and Sam Winchester—no matter how stupid and deadly an idea it will certainly prove to be—but you’ll drive yourself. You didn’t steal that Lexus not to drive it, and when things inevitably go sideways, you’ll need a car to escape in. 

“You sure?” Dean walks you to the Lexus, standing right at your side and watching you in a way the White seems to feel. “I mean, it’s not a problem-“

“I’m sure.” You grab your keys out of your pocket, stopping in front of the car. “All my shit is in here, and I can just follow you. It’ll be fine.”

“Well, how am I gonna know you won’t just drive off?” Dean doesn’t budge, barely sparing your car a glance. “Leave me to deal with the vampire babies alone?”

You give him a flat. “I won’t just drive off, Winchester-“

“You might.” He shrugs. “I don’t know you that well, you could be playing me-“

“I’m not- Fine.” You roll your eyes, shoving your badge into his hands. “You can hold onto that, and I’ll have to follow you to get it back. Happy?”

“Very.” Dean winks at you, flipping your badge open to read. “Agent Smith- Who’s Smith?”

“Nobody. Smith is the most common last name in United States.” You shrug, and Dean looks at you like you’re insane. “What?”

“Nothin’, I just-“ He shakes his head, huffing a low laugh. “It’s practical. Smart.”

You narrow your eyes. “But?”

“No but,” He says your name with a bright, cocky grin, and tucks your badge into his pocket. “Can I not call you smart?”

“Not when you don’t really mean it-“

“I mean it. You’re smart.” His grin grows, and it feels like it’s burning its way right into your heart. Kicking it up to a higher speed, warming it until your whole body feels lost in a misting haze. It’s so fucking weird. “Are all your badges Smith?”

“No.” You mutter, crossing your arms to try and stop your heart beating right out of your chest. “Smith is just insurance. Johnson does wildlife, Brown is a cop, and Miller’s FBI.”

“Huh,” Dean looks at you like he’s never seen anything more amusing in his life. It’s not really helpful. “Sammy’s gonna like you.”

“Sammy?”

“My brother.” Dean shrugs. “He’s smart too. Not half as pretty, but smart.”

You flush, leaning back to ground yourself against the cool metal of the car. “You don’t know me, Winchester. I might be a dumbass.”

Dean chuckles, shaking his head. “I don’t think so, sweetheart. Dumb people don’t know about vampire babies.”

“I’d argue vampire babies are the exact thing a dumb person would know about-“

“And I’d argue dumb people don’t say I’d argue.”

You scowl. “Touché.”

Dean laughs again. He needs to stop doing that. “Dumb people don’t say touché-“

“Shut up.” You kick him again, and this time his grin just becomes teasing and smug and a little fucking dizzying.

“That’s not nice, Princess-“

“I said shut up.” You mutter, turning to open your car door. “Go get in your car so we can actually do our jobs.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” Dean’s still grinning at you, his eyes widening as they finally flick to the Lexus. “Holy shit, you drive this?”

“Yeah.” You shrug, dropping into your seat and pointing across the lot to his car. “Go.”

Dean raises his hands in surrender. “Bossy.”

You glare at him. “Winchester-“

He gives you one last wink you feel deep in your core, closes your door, and walks away without another word. But—right after he climbs into the driver seat—he pulls out your badge, holds it up to the window, and mouths Follow me, or this is mine.

You roll your eyes, flip him off, and watch him laugh as he pulls out of the lot. And you could leave. Badges are easy to make, you’re not emotional attached to Agent Smith, and this is your last chance to keep yourself away from John Winchester. To listen to your every instinct, to your dad’s stern voice in your head, and run. It would be so fucking easy to run. To turn around and never look back, never allow yourself to indulge Dean Winchester further than one conversation.

But you don’t want to run. You want to follow this odd pull to him, follow him to the motel, follow him wherever else he seems to be going. Which is fucking insane, because you don’t know him, he doesn’t know you, and he’s almost certainly better off without you. Most people are. Hell, you’d be better off without you, if you could figure out how to do that.

And you know all that. But you still don’t want to run.

So you follow Dean out of the parking lot, through the winding backstreets of the town, and to a backwater motel. You park your car right next to his, close your eyes to take a long, steadying breath, and try to rationalize to yourself how this could possibly end up not blowing up in your face. You’ll keep a hold on yourself. John won’t know who you are, or what you are, or who you know, or what you know, or-

“Shit!” You jump as something raps on your window, and hear a loud laugh from outside your car.

You’ll get through this. You always do.

“You yelped.” Dean tells you as you climb out of the car, a wide, teasing grin on his face. “Real tough of you, Princess-“

“Suck my dick, Winchester.” You glare at him, and his grin only grows wider. “And stop calling me princess.”

“Nah,” Dean places his hand on your back, steering you towards the motel. “Suits you too well.”

“I don’t know what that means-“

“You don’t have to.” He smirks at you, and it does something impossible good to your brain. Makes it calm. A little fuzzy, a little smooth, but so fucking calm. “C’mon, I texted Dad that I found you, he and Sammy’ll be in our room.”

Dean Winchester is dangerous. You should be scratching and clawing and fighting like a feral animal to go, to get back in your car and as far away from here—from John Winchester—as possible. But he says I found you with a proud grin and puff of his chest like he’s bragging, and all that your stupid body knows how to do is lean slightly into his chest and follow him wherever he takes you. Somewhere dark, or somewhere horrible, or somewhere gray or somewhere safe.

Or just a shabby, paint-peeling motel room, where John Winchester and a shaggy haired kid are sitting around a table, looking at you—standing awkwardly in the doorway, watching them wearily, your back straight but arms crossed in defense—like you’re the strangest thing they’ve ever seen.

“This is, um,” Dean glances at you as he says your full name, and you realize he’s more tense than he’d been before. Standing a little taller, his eyes a little more guarded, his expression impossibly neutral. “She’s the hunter I mentioned.” Dean says your name again, pointing to the table as he continues. “That’s my dad, John, and my brother, Sammy.”

“Hi.” The kid—he’s taller than you, and barely younger, but there’s something about him that still says kid—offers you a small smile. “Do you, uh, do you hunt alone?”

“Yeah,” you give Sam a smile back, trying to force your tone to be casual, your body to relax, and your eyes not to wander to where John is tall in his seat, just watching you. “He tell you that?”

You jerk your head at Dean, who frowns. “So what if I did-“

“So, you’re being a real dramatic bitch about that. You’re not my dad, Winchester, let’s calm down.” You give him a small grin, and feel something odd and bright inflate in your chest when his mouth tugs up for the first time since you’ve walked into the room.

Dean looks like he’s going to say something back, but John clears his throat, and something curls and rots in your stomach at how quickly Dean goes rigid, how fast his mouth snaps shut. 

“You got a father, girl?”

You look at John, and he looks even more tired up close, in the dim light of the motel. More threatening as well, watching you like you’re prey, or a parasite, or a disease. Like you’re going to go feral and destroy everything in the room. It would sting less if he wasn’t right. If his attention wasn’t making your skin crawl and the White in you start to twist and pound to escape your body, the darkness rushing out as everything becomes big again. If you weren’t digging your nails into your palm to stop yourself from proving him right, and if you weren’t raising your chin in a weak attempt to be a little taller than you are. 

“I do.” You hold his gaze, and wonder if he can see the darkness. If he already knows what you are, and is trying to work out how to kill you. “We’re really close, actually.”

“He know you hunt?”

“He does.” You shrug. “He’s fine with it.”

That’s a lie. Your dad hates that you hunt. You’re certain the only reason he doesn’t lock you in his panic room to keep you away from the monsters and ghosts is because he knows you’d escape, and he’d never see you again. But John doesn’t know that, and you’re a fantastic liar, so if he doesn’t believe you it’s not because you don’t sell the words, it’s because he just doesn’t trust you. Because whatever you say, he’s going to keep looking at you like he can see right into your horrible center.

John’s face twitches, and as he leans slightly forward, you’re not sure Dean’s breathing at your side. “Your old man a hunter too?”

You nod, realize this is getting a little away from you, and start to run your thumb over your palm as John narrows his eyes.

“What’s his name?”

You use your real father’s name—your biological father, who you’ll never see again if you can help it—and it stings on your tongue. You hate that you have to say it. You hate that you have to repeat it, adding your real last name, but it works. John grunts, and looks away.

“Dean.”

“Yes, sir?”

“How old is she?”

“I, uh-“ Dean looks at you with wide eyes. “How old are you?”

You raise your brows. “How old do you think I am?”

“Twenty…” Dean scratches his head slightly, looking a little afraid. It would be adorable if this wasn’t such an oddly volatile situation. “Twenty-teen?”

“Twenty-teen?”

“I dunno, I mean you gotta be old than Sammy, and you sound like you’re old, but-“

“I sound like I’m old?”

“Just cause of the words you use! You look like you can’t be old than me, but I don’t know-“

“Jesus Christ, dude.” You take pity on Dean—who looks like he’s about to have a panic attack—and pat his shoulder as you speak. “I’m eighteen. And,” you look back to John, cooling your voice and narrowing your eyes. “I can speak for myself.”

John doesn’t waver. You can’t really imagine a world where he would. “I don’t doubt that, girl. But I ain’t lookin’ for help on this case, and you’re barely votin’ age-“

“I’m aware of my age.” You interrupt, crossing your arms over your chest. “But I’ve also been hunting, alone, since I was fifteen, and this,” you gesture through the air, holding John’s cold gaze. “Is my type of case. So you need my help.”

John scoffs. “It’s a ghost, sweetheart, me and my boys will be fine without you-“

“She says it’s not a ghost.” Dean mumbles, paling as John’s gaze shoots to him. “It’s, uh, a moroi?”

You hum in agreement, offering Dean a small grin that John doesn’t seem to miss.  

Sam raises his hand at the table, his expression open and curious. “What’s a moroi?”

“Romanian vampire baby.” Dean says, shooting Sam the first real, full grin you’ve seen on his face since you entered the motel room. “They never got a chance to learn who Mr. Clean is, which is why there’s been so much freakin’ blood everywhere. Right?”

Dean looks at you with a hopeful, bright expression, and it makes the White glow and sing as you nod.

“It’s a ghost.” John grunts, and when you look back to the table, he’s glaring at you. “We got freezin’ temperatures, EMF, and no break ins-“

“Because they’re death monsters. And they can shape-shift, into a guy, or a bug, or a cat.” You shrug. “Wouldn’t be that hard to get into a house.”

John scowls. “And you’d bet all our lives on this-“

“Yes.” You say, the words simple. You’re good at your fucking job, and there’s no doubt in your mind. “It is a moroi. I’ve hunted them before.”

“You have?” Sam’s eyes widen, his tone filled with something that might be admiration. “That’s so-“

John cuts Sam off with a raised hand, his attention never wavering from you. “Well,” he drawls your name, and it’s mocking and cruel and awful. The opposite of how Dean says it, in a way you hope to never hear again. “If you’re such an expert, how the hell do we kill the asshole.”

“Easy.” You shrug, as if there’s not something wired and painful in your muscles that’s trying to force you to run, run, run, far away from John Winchester and his cold voice. “You stab it in the heart with a nail.”

“With a nail.” John repeats, his voice flat, and you scowl. 

“Well, that, or,” you stand a little taller, making your voice cool and bored. “We throw a Romanian funeral for it, and find a living relative to walk around its grave three times with a candle.”

Dean makes a choked sound from off to the side, and when you look, he’s staring at you like you’d fallen from space again. John doesn’t look half as awestruck. He mostly looks pissed.

“This ain’t the time for jokes-“

“That’s not a joke.” You snap. “There are multiple ways to kill something, and that’s one of the ways you can deal with a moroi. It’s that, the nail, or burning resin on a Tuesday, then a Saturday.”

John laughs, no amusement or joy in the sound. “You might think your smart, kid, but how about I see a plan. Stabbin’ something in the heart ain’t gonna be easy, and hell, girl, you said they shape shift. How the fuck are you thinkin’ we find them-“

“There will be blood in its nails and eyes.” You hold your ground, but your palm grows red as you break skin. “And there is a pattern to the tarbets, we’ve just all been looking in the wrong place.”

“A pattern?” Sam’s eyes are still wide, his voice a little eager. “But none of the vics have been the same age, gender, ethnicity, occupation-“

“Have they all been parents? Lived near graveyards?”

All three Winchesters gape at you for a second, and Dean looks at John with wide eyes.

“Shit, Dad, she’s right.” He mutters, running a hand over his face. “The one we looked at yesterday, the house had one of those baby gates-“

“And we’ve driven past a graveyard every time.” Sam adds, looking between you and John with a nervous expression. “So, uh, it could be-“

“I know what it could be, Sam.” John grunts, his glare fully focused on Dean. “You willing to bet on her, son?” 

Dean looks at you, and he shouldn’t be—you’re a stranger, you’re a liar, you’re a monster that’s attracted to him like a magnet—but he nods. He stares at you like he doesn’t really understand what’s going on either, like he’s looking for a reason to not trust you and side with his father, but can’t find one. And—right before he looks back to his father—you see a flash in his eyes that makes you think he feels it. That whatever the fuck is happening to you, it’s happening to Dean too, and he’s just as helpless as you are to fight it.

“I am, sir.” He says, hands flexing at his side. “Sammy and I can do door duty, figure out who’s next on this things hit list-“

Sam frowns. “I don’t wanna do door duty-“

“Blame Dean,” John shrugs, giving Dean a curt nod. “Take my car and be back in two hours-“

You raise your hand, and John cuts himself off with a glower.

“What.”

“They don’t need to do door duty,” you say, your fingers running over your palm. “The moroi will only target parents of infants, so you can look for baby seats in cars. And it’ll all be near same cemetery. Five miles radius.” You catch Dean raising his brows at you, and shrug. “They don’t like to stray far from home.”

“And by home,” Sam jumps in, words slow as he connects the dots. “You’re talking about their grave.”

“Or their coffin.” You offer him a close-lipped smile. “But yeah. It’s already dusk, our best bet would be splitting up and patrolling a few streets until we see the thing. It’ll probably be in its regular form, at least until it spots a house.”

Dean frowns at you. “What’s that gonna look like?”

You wrinkle your nose. “Hairy. Bloody and hairy. It’ll be gross, you’ll see it.”

“And how,” John grunts. “Are you thinkin’ we split up.”

“We’ve got two cars.” You shrug. “Three if you have a second one-“

“We don’t.” John snaps. “And I took a fuckin’ taxi back here, ain’t no way I’m not driving my car, or lettin’ a little girl go off to hunt this on her own-“

“How honorable,” you mutter under your breath—careful to make sure Dean doesn’t hear you—and raise your voice back to a bored, flat tone.  “Then you’ll take your car, and I’ll take one of them,” you nod between Sam and Dean. “So we’re off in pairs.”

“Dad, I could go with her.” Dean takes a small step forward, his tone slightly nervous. “I mean, it would be safer for you to take Sammy. And you know I’d be careful.“

John grunts, jaw ticking, and you can see he’s considering it. That, somehow, you’ve convinced him to go with this, and he hasn’t put a bullet in your brain. There’s a frantic, wired part of you along your skin that’s certain he’s just waiting for an excuse, but for now you’ll take it. You’ll take Dean volunteering to go with you, John not killing you, and everyone winning when you’re right, because you will be. You’re not good for much, but you’re good for this. 

“I want you to drive.” John tells Dean, and you’ll allow it. If it keeps Dean near you—as you so confusingly and desperately crave—you’ll let him drive your stupid, fancy car. Fuck, you’ll let him run it into a ditch if he wants, as long as you’re there with him, and what the fuck is happening to you- 

Dean says your name, and you blink at him as he continues. “I, uh, if you’re good with it-“

“Sure, I don’t give a fuck.” You toss Dean your keys, and he frowns. “I mean, try not to total it, or do donuts-“

Dean gasps, his face full of mock offense that pulls a smile onto your face. “Do I look like a hooligan to you-“

You raise your brows. “Did you just say hooligan?”

“Yeah,” he grins at you, and nothing else seems that real. “It’s a fun word, don’t bash it-“

“I am not bashing it-“

“Kinda sounds like you’re bashin’ it-“

“Well, it kinda sounds like you’re going to try and do donuts in my car-“

“Princess, I would never-“

“Winchester, I don’t believe you-“

John coughs, loudly, and you and Dean fall silent. That keeps happening. You talk to Dean, and everything fades until you’re just smiling like an idiot and watching him like he’s the sun, and you’re just existing in his orbit. And he does the same thing. Dean’s face is red, and he’s staring at the floor as John glowers at him, but you keep catching his eyes darting to you, a small furrow on his brow that you wish you could ask him about. You wish you could ask him a million things. About his life, about his likes and dislikes, why his whole family hunts and what he thinks of your dad—the one he’d know, the one that’s going to murder you when he finds out what you’re doing right now—and if he can feel this too. He must. It’s like a drug, and it’s flashing and loud in the White, and making the darkness blur into something you think would be better. Into something you wouldn’t hate, molding with something that feels foreign but right, strange but just as powerful and certain as gravity. Something secret, that you think you should be fighting but can’t bring yourself to raise a weapon against. 

Something bigger than you. Bigger than him. Bigger than the White inside your chest and the darkness that’s pushed down, down, down as you force yourself to stay in place, and not either grab Dean’s face and scream—shout at him in a begging question of do you feel this, or am I going fucking insane—or run. Flee as John Winchester gives you one last look like he’s imaging your blood on the floor, and you climb into the passenger’s seat of the Lexus.

But you manage to keep it together, and you’ll have to settle for this. For talking to Dean as you patrol up and down a darkened suburban street with white-picket fences, your knees up on the dash and your fingers growing bloody as you pick at them to keep the darkness down. 

“So, uh,” Dean taps his hands on the wheel, staring out at the road. “Hunting.“

You blink at him, raising your brows. “What?”

“I just, mean how’d you end up doing it? You’re young-“

“You’re literally only three years old than me-“

“But I got Dad and Sammy.” He scowls. “You’re alone.”

“Yeah, we’ve establish that.” You cross your arms, curling slightly into your seat. “I’m really good at my job, Winchester, I’m not that worried.”

Dean chuckles, glancing at your half-pout with an amused expression. “Still Winchester? When am I gonna get the honor of her majesty using my first name?”

You glare at him, and it just makes his grin wider. “Shut up.”

He clicks his tongue. “Bossy.”

And he’s so confusingly adorable and handsome—in the soft, shimmering light of the streetlamps and fog—that you speak without even thinking. “You have to earn first names, Deano.”

He freezes for a second, and his grin becomes his whole face. Wide and charming, sweeping you off your feet and knocking the breath from your lungs without even touching you. 

“So,” he drawls, still smirking like an idiot. “Nicknames you’ll pass out like party favors, but I need to work to just be Dean.”

“Seems that way, doesn’t it?”

“Well, can I at least shoot down Deano?”

“Maybe,” you hum. “On what grounds?”

“I dunno,” he shrugs, eyes flashing in the low light. “It kinda makes me sound like a birthday clown?”

You giggle. A small, soft giggle that he pulls out of you with barely any effort, that you want to hate but can’t figure out how to. “Maybe you are a clown-“

“Birthday clown.” He corrects, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “Don’t drop the birthday part, that means I’ve got a job. And I can’t be a clown, Sammy’ll never speak to me again.” Dean glances at you, his voice dropping slightly. “He freakin’ hates clowns. Might shoot me before I explain that a pretty lady turned me into one against my will.”

You raise your brows, trying to push down the flush on your face from pretty lady. How he’d said the words like they were teasing, but still so serious, and looked at you with a small smirk when they had his intended effect. You can barely remember how to clear your throat and use words, let alone tease and spar with him when the White is blinding in your body.

“Unfortunately,” you manage to speak, nudging his shoulder with your own. “All sales are final. You’re Deano now.”

Dean rolls his eyes, but his grin doesn’t falter for a second. “Until I earn Dean, though, right?”

“If you earn Dean.”

He hums, shooting you another, oddly heated glance. “And what do I need to do for that?”

You only shrug, running your fingers over your palm to sooth the darkness. It’s starting to eat over your nerves and heart, trying reach out and touch Dean in a way you can’t allow, in a way that will end whatever this is before it begins. Dean only gives you a strange look, his smile still wide on his face.

“Well,” Dean says your whole name, over-pronouncing each syllable. “Am I allowed to return the favor?”

“What favor.”

“Callin’ you a nickname.” He winks at you, and it settles—warm and soft and strong—in your core. “It’s only fair.”

You shake your head. “No. I don’t even have a nickname.”

“Bet I could fix that.”

“Would be a losing bet. I wouldn’t take it.”

“Whatever you say, Princess.”

And just like that, you’ve lost. You’d seen it coming, too. It was too easy a solution for him to have, to easy a path to allow him to take, too easy to let the small part of you—that had wanted to hear him call you Princess again, because it soothed something that was always feral inside of you and blurred the darkness into the White until nothing hurt inside you—allow Dean to coax you where he’d clearly wanted you, and follow with a smile on your face. But all of this was too easy. Talking to Dean was too easy, because the conversation seems to flow and ebb without effort, and you’re almost always in danger of saying too much. He seems to know how to—without any obvious intention—get you to tell him anything he asks, leaving you biting your tongue to keep down bits of the truth that could prove deadly. But he doesn’t push you to speak—which is perfect and terrifying all within itself—and when you fall into silence it’s easy too. It’s easy to control the darkness, calmed only by your thumb and long breathes, and easy to keep everything small. Just you and Dean in the soft silence of the car, just you and Dean in the whole world.

“My mom died.” Dean says suddenly, frowning out the window. “It’s why I’m hunting. And,” he adds, his voice growing a little firmer, a little more defensive. “It’s why my dad’s so careful. I know he can be tough, but we’ve only got each other, and he’s just tryin’ to-“

“I get it.” You whisper, something deep in your chest aching for him. For this pretty, impossible man who might be bigger than the whole word, and how his brow is knit in a confusing kind of hollow pain as he defends his father. Goes to arms for him without prompting, like it’s a reflex. And you really do get it, but even if you didn’t, you somehow care too much about him to force him to rage and spit fire in John’s defense. It looks like it might rip him apart, and you never really want to see him go. So you just offer him a gentle, full lipped but toothless smile, and place your hand on his arm. “And that really fucking sucks.”

He lets out a dry chuckle, and doesn’t try to move his arm away. “It does really fucking suck. Thanks.”

“My dad’s wife died.” You offer, as if that would somehow make this better, and Dean gives you an odd look.

“Dad’s wife? Not your mom?”

You swallow. You did it again. You slipped when you’re usually so fucking careful. “It’s complicated.”

“Ah.” Dean has a little furrow between his brow that you’d like to run your thumb over, but he drops it. “Are you, you gonna tell me why you hunt? If it’s not your Dad’s wife?”

You sigh, a feral instinct of survive shoving the truth just a little further down. “That’s complicated too. I mean it’s not,” you glance up at him, his eyes fixed onto the road. “It’s not like yours. I didn’t lose anyone.”

“Is it a family thing? Like, your dad brought you in?” Dean’s every word is careful, like he’s afraid he might spook you. But that’s another thing that’s too easy. Staying next to Dean and not bristling or fleeing is far too fucking easy. 

“No,” you say, watching the light and shadows shift over his face in a strange, perfect dance. “He tries to stop me from doing it all the time. Shit, he called me last night and asked me to come home.”

Dean frowns. “You-“

“Dean!” You cut him off with a hand over his mouth, and he slams the breaks with a screech. You can see his staring at you from the corner of your eye, but you barely spare him a glance, your eyes locked over his shoulder, out the window, at a shifting figure in the dark. “Look.”

He turns his head, prying your hand from his mouth as he glares out the window. “I don’t-“

“There,” you hiss, leaning a little further forward. “See the-“

“That might just be a shadow,” Dean mutters, his voice dropping to a whisper as he scans over the dark. “Or a fox-“

You turn your head, giving him a flat look. “Do foxes look like babies covered in blood?”

“No.” He grins at you. “But I’ve seen weirder shit, Princess.”

You’re suddenly aware of how close you are. How you’d leaned over the console and started to practically hang off of Dean’s body, how your faces are barely a breath apart and you can see every deep color and fleck of gold in his eyes. He really only gets prettier, and he’s so warm, and there’s molten silver in your chest trying to tangle into him. He smells like fresh grass and spice, his eyes are dilating—but maybe just from the dark—and everything seems to be slowing down as the silver looks for other places to leak out. Places that wouldn’t hurt anyone, like the mist of the night that seems to glow and the wind that seems to bend and creak the trees in your direction, and the golden streetlamps-

Dean’s eyes shoot to the road as the lights start to flicker, his body tensing against yours. “Shit. We should, uh-“

You nod, push yourself away, and try to pretend your body doesn’t grieve the loss of his touch.

John and Sam are taking too long to arrive. You’re tense and bouncing on the sidewalk as you wait, turning a sharp nail between your fingers, and Dean keeps a hand around your wrist as he frowns down the street. You think he can sense that, if he looks away for only a second, you’ll dart into the house and deal with this yourself. You could. This nail has killed three moroi before, and you’d been completely alone then. 

“Winchester.” 

Dean looks at you with a frown, and you tug your arm slightly.

“Let me go.”

“No,” he grunts, his grip tightening. “Dad said to wait.”

“He’s not my dad-“

“Doesn’t matter.” Dean mutters, his gaze moving back to the empty, dark fog. “We’re waiting.”

You scowl. “Fine. Can you let go-“

“No.”

“I swear to god, Dean Winchester-“

“If I let you go,” he snaps, his glare shooting back to you. “You’re going to run in there. So no.”

You narrow your eyes. “You don’t know me-“

He chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “Look me in the eyes,” he drawls your name, holding your gaze. “And say you won’t run.”

It should be an easy lie, but it gets caught in your throat and you can only gape at him. Dean raises his brows as you continue to stare, and the White inside you starts to thrash as you clear your throat, forcing the words out.

“I’d handle it.”

He scoffs. “There is no way you’re gonna be able to handle it alone-“

“So, come with me,” You hiss, leaning forward until your face is only an inch from his. “And I won’t be alone.”

You don’t know why it breaks him. But something flashes in his eyes, he groans—running his free hand over his face and giving you a look of disbelief—and he caves. 

And from there it’s mostly a blur. It’s always a blur. The darkness inside of you latches onto something primal, and it’s all only a blur. 

Usually it’s all but a blackout. Like something overtakes you and you become just as monstrous as what you’re hunting, your brain only holding onto what you’ll need in order to survive next time, and a sticky smell of blood to haunt your sleep. But Dean’s here now, and things come into focus. Time is still a rush, and you’re still moving on pure instinct, but you remember Dean’s body being pressed to yours as you crept through the suburban house. You remember to set look on his face as you swept the rooms, figuring out what the moroi could be, where it might be hiding. You remember seeing it first, and the sound of flesh tearing as it launched at Dean—over you—and you swatted it with your arm like a baseball. 

You remember Dean shouting your name as you raced forward with the nail in your hand, and how it sounded like his chest was being ripped open. You remember finding that small patch of soft flesh on the moroi’s chest, driving the nail home, and tasting bile when it vomited blood up into your face. 

You remember Dean passing you his shirt on the curb a few blocks down, because the very ungrateful almost-victims threatened to call the cops, and you were covered in blood. He’d faced away as your changed—zipping up his own jacket and humming while he waited—and you could’ve sworn he was blushing when he turned back around.

Then John Winchester had arrived—looking at Dean like he’d just sprouted a second, hideous head and you like he was imaging how amazing you’d look in a casket—and everything grew sharp as they drove away. 

More of it comes together as you drive yourself back to the motel. Dean had dumped the body in the gutter, and you had given him your motel address. John had snapped at you to meet them tomorrow for a debrief, and told Dean that they’d talk back at the room. Sam had smiled at you, and it was a nice smile. There hadn’t seemed to be anything beneath it—just a kind smile for the woman sitting on the curb next to his shirtless brother, her hair matted in blood and fingers covered in monster hair—and you’d liked that. 

When you enter your room, it suddenly feels too small. Nothing is big enough for how strange this is, how you might need all the world and a little more to figure out what the fuck just happened. You miss Dean. You’d met him today, and you miss him more than you’ve missed anything before. You keep looking to the side to see if he’s there, when you know he won’t be. The White is bucking and keening inside of you, the darkness falling out of your body—you can feel the pain of the water as it becomes steam in the shower, and you’re almost knocked to your knees by the ache of the phone to be closer to the lamp—and you need to find out if he could meld them together again. If it had been a fluke, or an accident, or if you were simply losing your fucking mind.

You have to be. You must be going mad. It’s the only explanation for why you take a long shower and change into your own clothing, but you still smell grass and leather and spice. It’s purgatorial. You go through your whole routine—scrubbing all the blood off your body with rough sugar that bites into your skin, running your hands under white-hot water that leaves your skin raw but the darkness pushed down, tending to your hair until it frame your features easily, and you don’t look like a bruised and battered animal—but you still smell him. You toss his shirt off to the side, but he’s clinging to the sheets. You change into sleepwear, but your body can still feel a strong, warm touch. You turn your empty flask in your hands, watching light catch off the steel, and someone’s knocking on your fucking door-

Dean hisses your name through the wood, and you freeze.

“I know you’re in there!” He’s half-shouting, and the whole world feels more colorful, and what is wrong with you. “C’mon, Princess, open the door. It’s me!” He pauses, the knocking faltering. “Uh, Dean Winchester.”

He sounds a little defeated, and you can’t stop the smile on your face as you toss the flask back into your bag, cross the room, and open the door. 

Dean gives you an adorable, almost nervous grin and scans over you. Slow and deep and appreciative—taking in your sleep clothes, how your whole body is more relaxed than it had been all day—and his smile grows as his eyes find yours once more.

“You look pretty wearing normal stuff.” He leans a little on the door frame, and it’s so effortlessly and perfectly rouge-cowboy-white-knight-and-knave that he has to have practiced. “Better than that old-lady jacket you hand on before.”

You roll your eyes. “That’s my professional jacket, Winchester. What do you want?”

The words are harsher than you mean them to be, and his grin falters slightly. “I was, uh, I was wondering,” he rubs the back of his neck, clearing his throat. “I got my dad’s car. I was gonna ask if you wanted to go for a drive or something, but you’re obviously ready to turn in, so-“

“Do you want to come in?” 

You’re not sure how he’s doing this. Making you speak without thought, making your words reckless when they’re usually so carefully chosen. You have to be careful with your words, because you’ve spent years weaving a web that shows everyone everything, but not from every angle. And he’s fucking unraveling it. Dean just looks at you, and you pull at a thread so he can see whatever he wants, and you can’t understand how the fuck he’s doing it.

It must be on purpose, but he looks just as shocked as you are—gaping at you slightly, his features open and uncertain—and you don’t think it’s an act. Especially not as his voice becomes slightly hoarse, his feet restlessly shifting his weight as he speaks.

“Yeah, if you want, but I’m good to just head out if you-“

“Do you want to head out?”

Dean’s grin becomes bright once more, and the shake of his head sends a spark of lightning through your body.

“So,” you step to the side, offering him a small smile. “Come in.”

He shuffles inside, scanning over your scattered possessions and stopping at the side of the bed. 

“I can,” he looks back to you, his eyes a little wide. “I can sit on the floor, or we can go outside-“

You shake your head, moving to his side. “There are bugs outside. Sit on the bed.”

Dean glances at the mattress like the sheets might leap up and strangle him. “Floor looks good-“

“Winchester.” You point at the bed, giving him a stern glare. “Sit.”

“I am not a freakin’ dog-“

You place a hand on his chest and push him—just enough for him to get the message—and he sit on the bed with a wide happy? gesture. 

You drop at his side, watching him carefully as you try to work out what is happening. Why he’s here. If he’s looking at you like that—like you’re more than a human, but that’s hypnotizing, and he’d love to find what you actually are—because he can feel this too. 

But Dean beats you to it.

“Can I ask you something?”

You tilt your head at him, pulling your knees into your chest. “Can I ask you something?”

“Huh.” Dean hums, the smile creeping back onto his face. “How about we trade? I ask you a question, you gimme an answer, then we switch.”

You give him an amused look. “That’s just a conversation.”

“Nah, because if I ask you something and you answer, now I owe you a question. You can turn down a question, but you’ll still owe an answer.”

You frown. “What happens if you owe an answer?”

He shrugs, flopping onto his back. “Then the other person keeps asking questions.”

Dean looks so real. He’s grinning up at you, light dancing as his eyes as he obviously baits you into whatever he’s trying to do. 

And you fall for it. Despite your best judgement, you fall.

“I’m going first.” 

He chuckles, but raises his hand for you to shake. “Deal, Princess.”

The moment your hand folds into Dean’s he pulls you down, leaving your smushed slightly against him and his face only inches from yours once more. And your yelp was undignified, and he’s such an asshole—laughing and grinning as you shove his chest—and you’re smiling too. 

Because this is easy. And you have a feeling that, if this strange man—who’s too pretty, and that’s making you feel like you’ve never really been alive before this—dragged you right down to hell, you’d still be laughing and smiling at him. And that’s so fucking dangerous. And you know that, but you still can’t stop looking at him, and you can’t roll away. And you decide that, just for tonight, you’re going to indulge this. You’ll dedicate hours when he’s gone to figuring out what the fuck this is. Right now you get to laugh and smile and act like nothing in the world has ever—could ever—hurt you.

“So,” Dean says your name, and it still sounds too good. “You have a question to go first with? Or were you just bein’ bossy-“

“Shut up.” You swing your leg to kick his shin, he laughs, and it’s like music. Making you high and dizzy as you watch him, running your thumb over your palm. “I’ve got it, Winchester. You ready?”

“Born it, sweetheart,” he winks at you, and that’s dizzying too. “Hit me.”

“Why are you here?”

“I told you already, I wanted to talk to you-“

You hum, holding his gaze with a small frown. “Why?”

Dean chuckles, shaking his head. “That’s two questions-“

“It’s a ride off of the first question-“

“Well, I still gotta ask my first question before you get a second one.” He raises his brows at you, bump your knee with his. “We shook on this, Princess, you don’t get to change it now.”

You glare at him, but you think he knows it’s fake, because his grin becomes almost blinding. “Fine. Go.”

Dean rolls onto his side, holding your gaze as he speaks. “How’d you get that car?”

You frown. “The Lexus?”

He nods, and you sigh. 

“I borrowed it.” It’s not a lie, but it’s a half-truth. It’s a half-truth that will keep him here, at your side, for a little longer than you might deserve. “For the hunt.”

“Well, it’s freakin’ awesome.” He grins at you, and your face might burst into flame. “Your move.”

“Why are you really here?”

Dean lets out a dry chuckle. “Will you let it go if I say to talk again?”

“Nope. Answer me.”

“It’s, uh,” he rolls flat on his back once more, running a hand over his face. “Tomorrow’s gonna be Dad telling us about safety and Sammy asking you a bunch of questions.” He shoots you a small, amused grin. “I think he’s been writing them down. He’s into all that geek-shit too-“

“I am not a geek-“

“Yeah, you are.” He shrugs. “Don’t worry, I think it’s adorable. But Sammy thinks you’re the coolest person we’ve ever met. So after Dad finishes, he’ll try to use you like a freakin’ library, and I just figured I’m the one who found you, so I should get a night of you all to myself.”

You gape at him for a second, and you’ve defiantly burst into flames. He wants you all himself, and he thinks you’re adorable, and he doesn’t know you, but he doesn’t seem like the type to say all that just to get in your pants, and if he was, he’d be there already. He’d just have to roll on top of you, but he’s only looking at you like you’re something sacred instead of a disease or trophy. 

He must feel this too. He has too. And you want to ask him, but you don’t know how, because you don’t even know what this is. It’s magnetic and infinite and bigger than anything, forging something you don’t know how to name between where the White and darkness live in your body. And Dean might not even have the White and darkness. Nobody else does—that’s something that’s wrong with only you—so if you phrase it like that he’ll think you’re insane-

“My turn.” Dean says, and you’re dragged back down to earth, grounded in his smooth voice. “What’s up with your hand?”

You blink at him. “What?”

“That one.” he reaches over, tapping the back your hand. “You’ve been touching it all day, and I kinda, uh,” he gives you an apologetic look. “I saw the scar. If you wanna pass on this one, I’ll drop it, but-“

“No, it’s,” you take a long breath, because this would be an easy one to refuse to answer, but his fingers are lingering on your knuckles and setting off little sparks over your skin, and you want to tell him. It takes a moment of just staring at him to you find the words, and his eyes never leave yours, and everything about him seems to drug you into a loose-lipped, trusting ease. “I’ve have it since I was really young. There was, um, an incident.”

Dean still doesn’t look away, his voice slightly lower. “Hunting incident, or-“

“No.” You swallow, turning your hand for him to see the long, clean scar on your palm. Running through it in a neat, raised line. “Just an incident.”

He looks like he’s going to say something. Not push, but say something, and you blurt out your next question before he can get the chance. It’s not what you wanted to ask—you hadn’t offered yourself enough time to find the right words for something really fucking weird is happening to me, and I need to know if it’s happening to you too—but it’s dragged out of you in desperation to learn a little more about him. In a plea for him to only know that you’re marred where he can see, and never discover that you’re twisted where he can’t.

“What’s it like?” You watch him carefully, your fingers starting to trace over the scar. “Hunting with your family?”

“It’s fine.” He shrugs. “I mean, Dad’s a freakin’ genius at it, and it’s awesome to watch him work. Plus I get to keep an eye on Sammy like this. Know he’s safe.” He frowns. “I mean, it’s better than sending him off alone. Letting him be in danger.”

You hum, scanning over the wrinkle in his brow, your thumb starts to itch to press on it, sooth his whole face into a relaxed smile. “You guys are close?”

Dean nods eagerly. “Yeah, I mean, He’s a freakin’ loser, but he’s all I got. He’s a weird little geek-“

You laugh. “He’s taller than you are, De. I wouldn’t call that little.”

“He’s little in spirit-“ Dean cuts himself off, and his grin looks almost manic. “Did you just call me De?”

“No.” You hold his gaze, even as your face warms. “Shut up.”

“I heard you, Princess, you can’t lie to me-“

“Well, is that your question?” You grin at him, your body leaning a little further without you moving it, and Dean eyes flash.

“You gonna tell me the truth if it is?”

You nod, and he smirks.

“Then yeah, it was.”

“Okay. I did call you De.” Before he can gloat, you push on. “Why do you call me Princess?”

“I told you already, it suits you-“

You narrow your eyes. “Try again, Winchester. Real answer this time.”

He sighs, shaking his head at the ceiling. “You just,” Dean waves his hand through the air. “You’ve got a thing going. You don’t look like a hunter.”

“What’s that supposed to mean-“ 

“It means,” He gives you a strange look you can feel flash through your blood, melding the White back into the darkness, turning every simple and bright as he continues. “That if you asked me what I thought you were, I’d have said something fancy.”

You open your mouth, but he’s not done, and he won’t look away from you.

“I dunno, you just seem too pretty to be down here in the mud with us. You should eating caviar and wearing those poofy dresses-“

You snort. “Poofy dresses?”

“Yeah, like in movies, when they dance around like douchebags-“

“So you’re saying I seem like a douchebag-“

“No, I’m saying you should be somewhere that’s not here.” Dean’s attention is washing over you like a rising tide—slow and natural and deep—and you still can’t read that expression on his handsome face. “The mud.”

He’s so close. And if he thinks you’re pretty, he’s a work of art. You’ve never see someone look like him. Like he was created, and not born. Every freckle on his face is more like a star than a flaw, and there a slight crook to his nose that tells you he’s been punched there before, but it only makes you want to run your finger over the bump and see if his pretty eyes flutter or flash. His lips are chapped but they’d still be soft. His hands look rough, but that just means he uses them.

You think it would be nice to let him use you.

“I like it in the mud,” you whisper, daring to inch a little closer, until you’re sharing a breath. “It feels real. And,” you grin at him, everything blurring around you but pretty green eyes and shining silver in your chest. “I’ve got good company down here.”

There it is. The flash in his eyes as they darken slightly, a warm breath fanning over your face, and he looks golden. In the warm light of the lamp, glowing soft on his tan skin, Dean looks like something more than human. You feel like something more than human, and for the first time in your life, that’s not a curse. And he’s still so fucking close, and this is a terrible idea, but you can’t bring yourself to move away.

You should. He’s John Winchester’s son, and you’re not sure how you forgot that. It’s past midnight, and you have a feeling he wasn’t supposed to be here at all, and this is the worst idea you’ve ever had. 

But you still can’t move.

“You should, um,” you swallow, and your lips might have brushed over his. “You should get back. It’s late, and your dad-“ 

“Shit,” Dean mutters, but still doesn’t try to move away. “Yeah.” 

Your eyes dart down to his lips—full and pink, just a small movement away from yours—and you decide you don’t care what’s happening to you. This is—Dean is—too good to care. You don’t need to know why this is happening, or what it means, or if you should be trying to run from it. You just need Dean. You think that—if the world ended and time began to move slowly—you might plant roots in the motel floor and grow into Dean until the world flooded and you were both washed away. 

“I have one last question,” he mutters, breath ghosting over your lips. “If I leave you my number, will you use it?”

You nod without thinking, he grins, and you’re so fucked. You can’t kiss him. You might fall from a million feet if you kiss him. Down, down, down, clinging to him as you both try to find an end to whatever this is and likely fail to. But Dean sits up slowly—like the movement is painful—and when he helps you to your feet you think you might ascend from just his hand in yours. Touching him feels like it’s making you pure and worthy of something, and you have to know what kissing him will do.

Not on the lips. You still have enough of your willpower and caution to not crash all the way down, at least not right now. But you kiss his cheek, and that’s tragedy enough. It snaps something into place inside you, soft stubble and warm skin too much for your entire existence to handle. It’s all too much to handle, and if he hadn’t mumbled a low promise of seeing you tomorrow and left when he did, you would’ve jumped on him to chase whatever this feeling is. How it’s the only thing you’ve ever felt that might belong inside you, and the only easy thing that the darkness has ever bended for.

And when you sleep, that’s easy too. It’s dreamless and deep, no nightmares, no waking up in a cold sweat, no darkness wrapping around you and leaving the sheets only ash when you wake up.

But when you do wake up, something is wrong. You feel it first, gnawing at your nails and blood. And when you roll over to check the time, your phone is gone. 

It had been on the bedside table, a scrap of paper with Dean’s number under it, and it’s gone.

The paper is gone too.

You shoot out of bed, and Dean’s shirt is still in the corner, because he’d told you to give it to him in the morning, to trade it for your Agent Smith badge. But your phone is gone.Your window is open—cool breeze rushing through the room—and your phone is fucking gone.

You’d been smart to pack the night before. You’d been smart to keep your keys in your jacket, and park right outside your room. You can shove everything in the passenger’s seat and screech out of the motel lot in a second. You don’t know why, but you’re heading to Dean first. Something is wrong, and you don’t know what, but the White is trying to strangle your heart and the darkness is already eating up your spine and over your skull.

John Winchester’s sleek, black muscle car—Dean told you it was an Impala, and he’d said it with a pride in his voice that had dragged a smile onto your face—isn’t parked in the lot. And when you knock on the door nobody answers. All the lights in the room are off, there’s no shadows moving through the window, and the door is locked.

You move to the front desk and ask if the men in that room had checked out. And when the clerk gives you a weary look and says that they’d paid for another two nights, but dropped the keys off that morning, your gut twists. 

They were gone. Dean was gone. And something fragile and new shattered inside you, leaving small pieces lodged through your whole body. You stumble back to your car, the darkness moving out of your body and the whole world too fucking big, and you don’t know what’s wrong with you. You’d known him a day. He’d known you a day. Nothing was owed, but you can still feel it. How the White seems to be howling from the loss of him, and the darkness can’t stop growing as it sinks in. 

He left. You don’t know why, but Dean left. He’d probably taken your phone, taken his number, and just fucking left you. Maybe he’d seen you last night, really seen you, and realized what you were. Maybe he’d just been playing you the whole time for some sort of scam. Maybe you hadn’t kissed him, and he’d decided you weren’t worth the chase. And that would mean you had been going crazy, and he hadn’t felt anything at all.

The thought lets the darkness move over you, and you can feel everything everywhere. The electricity in the wires over your head, the wear of painted lines in the parking lot, the hope of the grass peeking through the concrete under your feet. 

The grass that smells like Dean.

It breaks through you before you can stop it. Reaching past your body and down into the pavement, cracking it open with all the force of how much this hurts. How it shouldn’t hurt, it doesn’t make any sense that it hurts, but you’re still breaking and bowing and bending to the way you feel like you’ve been fucking shot. You fall down to the curb, curling into yourself as the ground shakes under your feet, and the wind picks up until—in the forest across the parking lot—a branch falls to the ground.

Then a second one. 

You manage to bring your hand to your mouth, to bite down hard and force all the darkness back into your body, and you still don’t know what to do. 

This hurts so much, and you’re alone in the middle of nowhere, and Dean’s gone.

You still have your burner phone. Your dad makes you keep it in your jacket, just in case something happens, and it only has his number. You dial him with shaking hands, the darkness still trying to climb back out of you, take a deep breath as you raise it to your ear.

He picks up on the second ring.

“Hey,” He says your name, his voice already edged with worry. “I didn’t think I’d be hearin’ from you until after that blood hunt thing-“

“Hunt’s over.” You mumble, staring at the cracked pavement. “Got it last night.”

“Was it a vamp like I told ya’-“

“Moroi.”

“I’d call that vamp enough. Good work, kiddo, Rufus owes us a dinner-“

“Bobby?”

Your voice is soft, and he hears it. Bobby always hears it. 

“What happened,” he says your name, and you can hear the frown in his voice. It makes everything worse, because you can’t tell him. Not now, maybe not ever if you can avoid it. You can’t handle how he’ll help you fix this and let you rest, then spend a week lecturing you and telling you everything you already know. Because you really do know. You fucked up, and you know that.

But Bobby doesn’t have to.

“Nothing, I just-“ you swallow, your nails digging into your calf. “Can I come home?”

There’s a long moment of static through the phone, and when Bobby speaks again his voice is low. “You can always come home,” he says your name, and you choke on the clean air around you. “But you get a week of mopin’ before we’re grabbin’ that dinner from Rufus. Alright?”

You nod, even though he can’t see it. “I’ll be there by tomorrow.”

“Should be two days, if you drive carefully like you’re supposed to.” Bobby grunts. “And ditch that fancy car you’ve been usin’, I don’t need the cops askin’ questions about it.”

You feel a smile tug at your lips. “You never let me have anything nice, Bobby-“

“You never let me have goddamn peace, kid.” Bobby snaps, and your smile grows. “Your bed will be ready for you. And I better not see that bells and whistles hunk of shit in my yard-“

“Aye, aye captain. No fancy cars.” You make a mock salute he can’t see, and Bobby huffs.

“Stolen fancy cars.” He grumbles. “Stop bein’ a smartass and get on the road.”

When the call ends, your smile feels real. The strange, fractured feeling in the White is still there, and the darkness might be trying to fly out of you, but you’re better than before. You’ll go home, Bobby will never know what happened, and none of this will last. You’ll be fine. Dean Winchester might haunt you like a phantom or cancer for the rest of your fucking life—or at least until you figure out what he did to you, and how to fix it—but you’ll get through this. 

You always do.

—————————

Dean’s grip was tight on Her phone. It was just a fucking block of metal—it would be useless when they tossed it off a bridge in a few miles—but he couldn’t let go of it. It felt wrong to let go of it. 

He’d be letting go of Her.

He hadn’t wanted to take it, but Dad said he needed to—Don’t want to let an angry woman have a line to you, son. Especially not a crazy one—and Dad knew what he was talking about, so Dean had done it. He’d snuck back into Her room through the window, grabbed Her phone and the paper with his number, and felt like the lowest piece of trash in the goddamn garbage can. The maggot-ridden chunk of food that nobody had wanted, but was still figuring out a way to fuck everything else up in twisted retribution. 

Because there was guilt eating at Dean’s stomach. He shouldn’t have taken Her phone, not when She wasn’t that much older than Sammy. Not when She’d said her dad would be waiting for her to call, and Dean might have stolen Her only line to safety just because-

Because She’d been using him. And he’d been falling for it. She’d given him that smile like he’d fallen out of the sun and into Her hands, She’d crafted some sort of perfect mask that had felt so real—felt like this strange, mouthy, clever woman had just appeared to him, and he could’ve had something nice for once in his goddamn life—and moved Dean like a fucking pawn. 

Dad had been waiting for him when he got back, and whatever weird spell She’d put Dean under—making him feel a little drunk on nothing, making him act like a fucking idiot—had been ripped away under his glare. 

But Dean hadn’t gotten yelled at. He’d just been sat down—Dad’s gaze filled with disappointment that Dean’s bones didn’t know how to handle—and had papers pushed across the table in his direction. 

“What are these?” He’d asked, and Dad had sighed, because Dean was too much of an idiot to just know, and Dad knew it. 

“Read them.” Dad had grumbled, watching Dean through narrowed eyes. “And tell me if you want to see that girl again.”

He’d frowned but scanned over the papers. Printed out website pages about… Her. Her family. How She was missing, how She’d stolen from them, and how they were rich. Normal, alive, and rich, looking for Her and whatever she’d taken. Warning that She was crazy, a chronic liar, and should be turned over to the police if seen. There was no picture, but there was a description that matched Her perfectly, right down to a scar on her palm.

“Dad.” He’d looked up with wide eyes, something strange bucking around inside of him, insisting that this was a lie. Dean didn’t know Her—they’d had three conversations for fuck’s sake—but this didn’t seem like Her. None of this seemed like the clever, beautiful, almost ethereal woman he’d been lying on the bed with. Dean didn’t know howor why, but this couldn’t be the truth. “I don’t-“

“She’s just usin’ you, Dean.” Dad had muttered, his eyes softening just enough for Dean to know he was sorry. He might not really like Her, but he was trying to protect Dean. He always was. “Chasing a high that her daddy can’t give her, lookin’ for a way to pull somethin’ on us. Probably huntin’ just for some sort of fucked up thrill. This,” Dad tapped the papers, his face twisting in disgust. “Isn’t someone who deserves our time, and I don’t know what her game is, but I ain’t just gonna let my boy fall for it.”

Something in Dean had still been fighting. Insisting that Dad was wrong, he had to be wrong, because Dean might not really know Her but he’d throw his life down at her feet. He’d plummet to the bottom of the ocean to follow Her down, if She called him with that siren-like voice and asked him to.

And that was how he knew Dad was right. Dean had no idea who She really was, and he’d already been ready to become a sword for her to wield. So he’d nodded, asked Dad what to do, and fallen back into the line She’d forced him out of. And it wouldn’t matter that Dean had been an idiot and almost fallen for Her—Her tricks, or just Her—because Dad had saved him. He’d protected him. And it didn’t matter.

Now, as they drove—Dad’s grip tight on the wheel, Sammy sleeping in the backseat—Dean repeated it over and over. That hadn’t mattered. It had been a mistake that Dad caught, so no harm, and it didn’t matter. It didn’t matter that She’d looked at Dean like she could see him, or that Her voice sounded like an angel in a dream. It didn’t matter that Her lips had felt right on his cheek, and that his annoying brain kept trying to move the ghost of Her touch to his own mouth. It didn’t matter that he could still smell the sugar and fruit that had invaded his every sense when She’d been pressed against him. It didn’t matter that She’d fit perfectly at his side, like she was just another part of him he hadn’t known he was missing. It didn’t matter that something felt like it had been ignited in Dean’s chest. Golden and light and washing him over with a sense of calm he’d never known, making him feel like—if he had been stupid enough to fall further—the worst that could happen was She didn’t fall with him. And even that would be worth the way this feeling was like lightning over his bones, making him strong and fucking alive. 

But it didn’t matter. He’d fallen for a pretty, spoiled little bitch—his heart almost withered at that idea, still being a freaking dumbass and trying to justify why She’d done this—and he’d never even see Her again, so it didn’t matter.

And it defiantly didn’t fucking matter that he’d taken Her flask, because he was fucking pathetic. Because he’d been sneaking around her room, and the flash of silver had caught his eyes, and he’d stolen it like some sort of street urchin. He’d burn it, just to rid himself of the way She was becoming plague-like on his mind. It wasn’t like she needed a flask, anyway. She didn’t even drink.

But that might have just been another strange lie. So Dean would burn it. He wouldn’t tell Dad or Sammy that he’d taken it—they didn’t really need to know how weak and useless Dean really was—so he’d burn it and everyone would forget this had ever happened. He’d burn it, and never think of Her again.

Dean felt like he was being ripped in half for reasons he couldn’t even start to understand, but it had been nothing, and it didn’t matter.

Dean dreamt of Her when he finally drifted off. And his heart kept trying to beat him back down—back to Her—but he held strong. He could dream of Her and not go back. He’d never see Her again, and dreams weren’t real. 

None of that had been real, and Dean could dream of Her.

So he would.

End Note: I know we’re off to a rough start, and we’ve got a long road ahead of us, but just remember this. What’s about to come could’ve been entirely avoided if John Winchester wasn’t the actual worst.

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

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[captn-trex]

brightest in the dark

Crosshair x F!Reader

word count: 9.2k

description: when you get caught up in an inescapable cave-in, crosshair finds that some things are easier to confess when it feels like the end of the road

warnings/tags: angst for sure but not all the way through, crosshair is an angsty boy in a lot of ways, forced proximity, frenemies (?) to lovers — reader and cross have a strained relationship because of the aforementioned angstiness of the boy, perceived unrequited love, injury detail, blood & needles, jealous (and a bit insecure) crosshair, implied there might be something between hunter & reader (spoiler: there isn't), grumpy/sunshine kinda, reader is a medic (how original), reader is described as being a similar size to crosshair, some suggestive dialogue but nothing nsfw

a/n: I will make every clone yearn if it’s the last thing I do. sue me. also If anyone knows where I took the title from we can be best friends forever btw. and shoutout to @lonewolflupe for the ‘sky rodeo’ <3

masterlist | join my taglist | read on ao3

“Have you got your water bottle?”

Crosshair rolled his eyes, kicking off the side of the Marauder as you descended the ship’s stairs with an irritating pep in your step.

“Mm” he confirmed, taking a toothpick from his belt, already pre-empting a grinding jaw.

“Medkit?” you asked, stopping just next to him to secure the top of your knapsack.

Crosshair didn’t reply, he just gave you a sidelong glance of irritation, toothpick clenched between his teeth. You looked over to him, most likely upon realising he wasn’t going to answer, and deflated slightly at his expression.

“Crosshair, have you got your medkit?” you asked more pointedly, an edge of exasperation that made the edges of his lips quirk up marginally.

“Yes, I have” he mumbled out, turning away from you and catching Hunter’s glare as he walked in his direction.

Crosshair had to fight the urge to roll his eyes again, he already knew what he was going to say.

“She’s only trying to help” Hunter scolded him, “if I hear that you've given her a hard time—”

“Alright, I get it” Crosshair snapped, his gaze as sharp as his tongue.

Hunter gave him an unimpressed look, eyebrows raised and a sigh escaping his lips, “alright, try not to take too long, report back as soon as you've got a visual”

Crosshair didn't try to suppress his eye roll this time, “this isn’t my first sky rodeo, Hunter”

“I know, but—”

“You ready, Cross?”

Crosshair's head twinged to the side slightly as his eyes fluttered closed, his jaw grinding and teeth clamped together at the nickname. He'd pretend it was because he hated it, as he always did.

He didn't reply, instead stalking away from the two of you and off in the direction of your mission objective. He could hear the way your feet scurried to catch up with his long strides and huffed, gripping his helmet tightly at his side. He felt your eyes on him, running them over his armour, and it took everything within him to keep from meeting your gaze.

“How did you sleep last night?” you asked, making his jaw tick noticeably.

He knew you had recognised his poor sleeping habits of late, but he wasn't really in the mood to speak about it, especially as it had something to do with the fact that you'd started sleeping in Hunter's bunk. He wasn't sure why, but that was somehow even more torturous than knowing.

“Fine” he replied coldly, keeping his eyes ahead as the two of you followed the trail that lead down into the valley below.

You sighed, “Cross…”

“Don't call me that” he grumbled, no real bite behind the demand, “and I said fine, so drop it”

He saw your shoulders slump out of the corner of his eye and shook his head, disappointed in himself once again.

Truth be told, Crosshair was painfully enamoured by you. Smitten was a more appropriate description really. He certainly felt as if he had been smited by some cruel deity who deemed that his life was worth being made difficult. He bore it like an open wound that he tried to ignore, a mess that wasn't given the proper amount of care and attention, and bled into the way he treated you.

You’d always been too kind to Crosshair, far kinder than he deserved. As much as it was your job as a medic, you always took care of him in the same way as the others, even though they always treated you with a level of respect that he didn't. He wished everyday that he could take it all back, go back to the beginning and start over, let you know how much he appreciated you and your efforts, how his feelings had grown for you to the point where his chest ached every time your smile was directed at someone who wasn't him.

It made little sense, he knew that. He acted as if he didn't care whether you lived or died, but it was the fact that you didn't seem to care that made him continue to act that way. So he couldn't take it back after all, and maybe he wouldn't want to anyway, because how else could he get close to you? He knew that made little sense too, but very few things were clear to him when it came to you.

In any case, he'd go on suffering in silence, a suffering of his own making that he cursed himself everyday for.

You did have a friendship, of sorts. He wouldn't call it that, and would certainly never admit it, but you were insistent in trying to get him talking. The way it would play out often went along the lines of him teasing you, making fun of you, to see how far he could push you as a juvenile way of coping with the magnitude of his affections. It was the closest thing to affection he would allow himself. You often rebutted his teasing remarks with ones of your own, and as much as he appreciated you matching his attitude, he mostly wished that you wouldn't allow him to get away with it, that you would give him a reason to show how he truly felt about you.

Safe to say the opportunity hadn't arisen, and he wasn't crossing his fingers either.

This mission's objective was simple; go and scout ahead, and comm the others when it was safe for them to move out. Since your joining the group eight months ago, Crosshair had often been lumbered with you in situations such as this. As the sniper, he wasn't made for nor enjoyed close combat fighting, and as the medic with little combat training, it suited you to hang back until you were needed.

Thankfully, the terrain that you were traversing this time was straightforward, a narrow valley that brought you right up to a ridge that overlooked a separatist outpost. Although the area was simple to cut across, it only made the silence that stretched between you even more tense, with no buffer to distract either of you.

You kicked up dust into the air with the way you were dragging your feet, and Crosshair was half of the mind to replace his backpack with you just so he wouldn't have to hear the grating noise. Holding a datapad in hand, you tapped the screen, tracking the direction that the two of you were heading in.

“Two more klicks” you mumbled, cutting through the tension with all the effectiveness of a butter knife.

Crosshair grunted in reply, casting his eyes across the top of the valley as the two of you descended to the very bottom. His hand shot out, slamming against your abdomen and stopping you in your place.

“What is it?” you asked, your voice low as you saw the way his gaze skimmed the top of the valley.

Crosshair slowly reached back and took his firepuncher from his backpack, “we're being watched”

The moment the first blaster bolt flew, Crosshair grabbed your waist and pushed you behind him, bringing his blaster into position and picking off the sniper droids he could see. Each bolt found its mark, piercing the droids between their eyes.

“Find us some cover” he ordered as he shoved his helmet over his head, looking for incoming droids. He turned back the way you had come, blaster raised as he walked backwards. It was silent for a moment, the only thing he could hear being the gentle padding of your feet against the ground behind him.

“Crosshair, in here” he heard you call from not far away, and he gave one last look around the edge of the valley before turning and making his way towards your voice.

There was a small cavern at the base of the cliff, a hideaway cut from the rock, and it looked to have been used for shelter before. A small pile of logs indicated a fire, with stones outlining a pit of ashes, only just visible with the way the afternoon light shone in through the opening of the cave.

Crosshair squared himself with the wall of the cave to look outside, his back pressed against it as he followed the line of the cliff through his scope. He felt your presence next to him, your chin knocking against his spaulder as you peered over his shoulder. Your breath wafted over the sliver of skin between the top of his blacks and his helmet, and his breath hitched as the heat of it made his skin prickle.

“Stay” he muttered, stepping forwards to put some distance between you, and to make sure that it was safe to move again. He stepped out into the valley once more, his rifle raised and ready should he meet more adversaries.

It was eerily quiet, the whistling of the wind the most audible sound, carrying no others on it. Crosshair stalked around the base of the valley, making sure that no other droids were in the vicinity, and called for you to join him when he was sure.

“One moment” you muttered, “I think there's a stone in my boot”

Crosshair rolled his eyes, lifting his weapon to look through the scope and make extra sure that it was safe. He wandered around as he waited, his own boots softly crumbling the dirt beneath them, then came to a stop next to you after a few moments, watching as you buckled up your boot again.

You looked up at him and a small smile crossed your lips, but almost instantly dropped, as if you'd done something wrong, “let's go”

Crosshair felt his heart fall from his chest at the subtle action. The fact that you wouldn't even allow yourself to smile at him left a gaping hole through the middle of him, and he felt completely and utterly ashamed. He knew it was his own fault, he'd blame himself even if it wasn't, but he wasn't prepared for how the simple motion would bring his mettle to its knees.

As he was caught up in staring at you with an inscrutible expression, one that didn't give away even one ounce of the anguish he felt, a blast flew straight past him, and narrowly missed your arm. He pushed you back inside the cave on instinct, and whipped around to deal with the incoming attack, but upon seeing the increased amount of firepower now gunning for the two of you, he quickly followed you inside, picking off the droids towards the front of the formation as he walked backwards.

As the droids continued firing down at you, a blast lodged itself in the ledge above the opening to the cave. When the rocks there crumbled away, they seemed to focus all their fire above you. Crosshair didn't think about the immediate implications of it, he just kept knocking down what droids he could, but when you called out his name and grabbed his arm to pull him backwards, he understood.

The rocks came down almost in slow motion, but quick enough that the pair of you couldn't have made it out in time. Crosshair fell backwards as you tugged on his arm, stumbling and trying to find his footing before he was taken to the ground. In the scramble to get away, a rock snagged his shoulder, just between his cuirass and spaulder, and he released a deep grunt as it brought him to his knees with the impact.

For a moment it was quiet again, only the heavy sound of breathing being heard in the darkness of the cave. Crosshair kept his head down, trying to keep his breath even and cut out the pain from his wound, though it was quickly becoming apparent to him that his shoulder was not in any sort of good condition. He could feel blood tricking down his side, soaking through his blacks, and he felt himself becoming feint, his mind fuzzy and unfocused.

A light flicked on, shining directly at him, and he groaned again, the hand of his uninjured arm lifting to cover his eyes.

“Crosshair” your voice was a hoarse whisper, as if it had got caught in your throat, and it wasn't hard to guess why.

He slumped forwards slightly, his back hunching as he dug his knees further into the ground to distract from the pain.

“I know” he said quietly, not even having looked at the damage yet. He was far too concentrated on trying to ignore it.

The light flicked off with the click of a button, and he heard you shuffling around, your knapsack hitting the ground with a thud that told him you were moving quickly, your actions rushed. Soon after, a warmer light started growing, and Crosshair realised you had taken out a lamp, and were now dragging it over to him with a medkit in hand.

He looked up, the softer light not invading his vision in such a piercing way, and he could now see the worry in your eyes. His gut twisted, the uncomfortable feeling of guilt spreading through his body and only making his wound ache more. You knelt in front of him, ripping off his helmet before your hand gripped his spaulder and pulled it aside to get a proper look at the injury. The both of you sucked a breath through your teeth, Crosshair in pain and you no doubt because of how bad the damage was.

You got to work quickly, silently, and unclipped the top half of his armour to get better access. Crosshair was glad that you weren't talking, he was already embarassed enough, feeling infantile, crumpled to his knees and completely weak in front of you. He was powerless to do anything else, his head pounding and vision hazy as blood gushed from his wound.

“Hold this here” you said firmly, pushing a cloth into the wound and bringing him back to the present harshly, another pained noise leaving him.

He followed your instruction without much thought, and when he took the fabric from you to hold in place, he felt the way your hand was shaking. His eyes snapped up to yours, and the distress he saw written into your expression was enough to shock him back into full consciousness.

Crosshair watched your movements carefully, his keen eyes noticing every twitch and shiver as you fumbled with the syringe. He wanted to comfort you in any way he could, but truthfully, he didn't know how. It wasn't something he'd ever sought to do, and now faced with the challenge, he didn't know what would be the right thing to say.

“It's just a scratch” he mumbled, a small chuckle passing his lips in an attempt to at least alleviate some of the tension.

“A scratch?” you huffed, your voice disbelieving as you shot him a unimpressed look, “this isn't funny, Crosshair”

“Hey—”

“If I hadn't pulled you away you'd still be there. You'd be de—”

Crosshair called your name sternly, and you stopped your fiddling with the syringe to look up at him, “it's going to be fine, do you hear me?”

His voice was grave, and while he knew it wasn't necessarily a comforting tone, it was the best thing he could muster up with the panic steadily growing within him. Your eyes flicked between his, your shoulders relaxing slightly after a few seconds.

“Okay” you breathed out deeply, pressing your hand over his to hold the cloth tighter to the wound, “look to your right”

Crosshair could feel his pulse throbbing all over his body, the blood rushing through him and towards his wound, towards the hand that covered his and brought about such a reaction. Your skin was warm through the fabric of his glove, and he'd been so distracted by the touch that he barely registered when you had administered the pain relief injection into his neck.

You took your hand from his as you placed down the syringe, and then found the hem of his blacks, your fingers skimming along the edge, “I need to take this off, is that okay?”

“It's fine” Crosshair replied, taking the cloth away from his wound to allow you to continue.

You nodded once, and ran your palms across the skin of his abdomen as you peeled the body glove from him. Crosshair couldn't help the way his body shivered, the way his jaw clenched at the feel of your hands on his skin. His eyes locked with yours as you pulled the top up, warm knuckles brushing over him, and he let out a shuddering breath, trying to relax his mind. He groaned in pain, eyes screwing shut when he lifted his arm to help you take the shirt from his injured shoulder.

“I know, I know” you spoke soothingly, your voice measured and calm as you discarded the shirt, “I’m sorry”

“Don’t apologise” Crosshair hissed out, the pressure to his wound returning as you grabbed his hand once more and brought the cloth to his shoulder.

“Alright, here's what's going to happen now” you started, your hand still covering his as you held his attention, “I'm going to take this away and clean the wound first. It's going to hurt a lot, but it'll be over before you know it. Then I'm going to need to stitch it up”

“It's that bad huh?” Crosshair huffed a laugh, still not keen to look down at the wound, but he heard how strained his voice sounded in saying it.

“It's going to be fine” you assured him, and your fingers closed around his, gripping his hand tightly, “it'll only take a few minutes, and then it's just a matter of putting a bacta patch over it”

He breathed out deeply, his skin alight where yours was touching it, trying to remain as calm as possible.

“Alright, do it” he spoke, forcing his eyes away.

You gave his hand one last squeeze as you brought it away, and despite how it made his heart flutter, it wasn't enough to fight the stinging pain of the antiseptic spray.

As you cleaned out the gash, wiping away drying blood and dirt, you responded to Crosshairs groans and whimpers of pain with comforting words, telling him that it was almost over, and as much as he appreciated it, he only felt more embarrassed. In the lull between cleaning and stitches, he tried to take steadying breaths, but the antiseptic was still stinging at the open wound.

“Are you ready?” you asked quietly, and his eyes found yours again at the softness of your voice.

You held the curved needle in your hand, ready for whenever he said the word, and between his deep breaths and pounding head, he couldn't help but just sit and admire you for a moment too long.

“Do you want something to hold on to?”

“What?” he frowned.

“To grip, for the pain? or… something to bite down on?” you suggested.

“No, no” he dismissed, shaking his head.

“Okay, I'm going to start now” you informed him, and he nodded quickly.

As soon as the needle pierced his skin, Crosshair's hands shot out and gripped the fabric of your shirt, bunching it at your waist with the way his fingers tightened, his bones almost creaking beneath the pressure.

“Fuck” he breathed out, trying hard to keep himself in check, to distract himself by focusing on the rhythm of your breath.

“I know” you said gently, “you're doing well, just a couple more”

His head fell forwards, resting his forehead against your temple as you worked, and he instead found that he was losing himself in your presence. He could feel your breath against his cheek, steady and warm, where his was harsh and shallow. You continued to send comforting words his way, your sharp actions a direct contrast to your tone and sentiments. He focused on the sound on your voice, the scent of your hair, the soft fabric of your tunic between his fingers, and soon they began to loosen.

“There, all done” you pulled away from him as you put down the needle and peeled off the back of a bacta patch, and Crosshair had to catch himself from falling forward.

You placed the patch over the affected area, lightly running your fingers over the edges to press it into his skin, and he immediately felt the solution beginning to cool the flaming agony that stemmed from the gash. A breath left him, and he sat back on his heels more as his head tipped back in relief.

“Better?” you asked.

“Better” he replied, then looked down at you to see your worried expression taken over by something more unreadable.

You chuckled slightly as you tidied up the medkit, “don't worry, I'm not expecting a th—”

“Thank you" he spoke before you could finish, voice firm enough that your eyes snapped back up to his.

You cocked your head a little as you looked over his features, “well… you're welcome then”

Placing the medkit back in your knapsack, you produced a dark piece of fabric, handing it over to him. He looked at the black material clasped in your hand and realised you were offering him your spare blacks.

“That wont fit me” he nodded his head to the item of clothing, an unimpressed furrow in his brow.

He watched on as you frowned in return, then trailed your eyes down his chest and abdomen, no doubt sizing him up.

“We look about the same size”

Crosshair scoffed, “are you calling me skinny?”

“Are you calling me skinny?” you replied amusedly, one of your eyebrows raising in tandem with your lips.

He rolled his eyes, “whatever, hand them over”

He held out his hand, looking away from your irritatingly enraptured gaze, and you dropped the top into his hand. He threaded his arms through the top and the sleeves, going to pull it over his head until his shoulder cried out in protest, and another pained grunt escaped him. He tried again, but was met by the same results.

“Here, let me help y—”

“Don't touch me” he replied on instinct, his tone venomous in a way that made his insides coil tightly together with guilt. He could see the hurt in your eyes, a flicker of sadness that only made that nasty feeling inside of him pull taut.

Truthfully, he couldn't stand to have you touch him. If he hadn't been so woozy previously, he may have shrugged off your help with his wound as he usually did, telling you he could sort it himself. Now that he was in his right mind, there was no way he would let you anywhere near him. He didn't trust himself around you. He didn't think he could have you touch him and not do everything in his power to keep it that way.

Though, observing the hurt in your eyes, in the slight downturn of your lips, he felt he couldn't deny you anything in that moment. After a long silence, he sighed. “I'm sorry”

Without so much as a single word, your hands found the fabric of the top, and you gently pulled it over his head. Crosshair knew he didn't have to say anything, because as much as he wished you didn't, you knew him well, and could read him far more than he was comfortable with.

He kept his eyes trained on yours. So much of your emotions were given away by your eyes, and he felt that you didn't try very hard to hide them, not like he did. He admired you for that. You were so openly giving and sought connection with everyone, even him. Your eyes caught his as you pulled the top down over his chest.

A small smirk wound it's way onto your face, “don't worry, I won't tell the others you needed help dressing like a little boy”

Crosshair huffed, trying to disguise what was really a laugh as an unimpressed scoff.

“I'm going to try and contact them” you muttered, moving away from him to pull out your comm. “Hunter? Are you there?” you were met by static, nothing coming through the line.

You tried again a few more times, calling for Hunter to reply, and every time you said his name it was like a punch to the gut. The last time was so desperate, so soft and bordering on loving that Crosshair almost clamped his hands over his ears. He couldn't stand it.

He didn't want to feel resentful towards Hunter, he only had himself to blame for leaving the space for something to blossom between the two of you, and it didn't surprise him in the least. You were both generous in a similar way, looking out for others before yourself, and it made sense that you had gravitated towards each other.

He tried to push it from his mind, vaguely aware that you were sending a recorded message about what had happened. He was more focused on the intense need he had to escape this situation. He couldn't be trapped in here with you, it would be the end of him, he was sure.

You began trying to shift some rocks from the base of the mound they had fallen into, but it only caused a slide from the ones on top of it. You yelped as you sprang back, and a thin crack appeared, running along the ceiling of the cave. Crosshair just huffed and pushed himself off of the ground, going to continue on in your stead.

“I'm not sure that's—”

The same thing happened, the crack deepening and small rocks falling from the ceiling. Crosshair paid it no mind, but you insisted that he stopped, pleading with him when it only got worse, more rocks shifting unsteadily and falling down around you. Really, it was hurting him a lot, his shoulder calling out for him to stop much like you, but the prospect of being stuck in here struck him as far more painful.

You had always given back what Crosshair gave out for the most part, but with the tone of your voice, he could tell your patience was wearing thin. You were quickly losing your sense of humour, and you finally snapped.

“You know what Crosshair, I'm kriffing sick of you! If you want to go and get yourself killed, be my guest, I won't stop you”

Crosshair stopped what he was doing, turning to face you, “you don't mean that”

His tone was partly joking, partly serious, as he didn't know which end of the scale you were on at that point.

“I mean every word” you spat at him, far more angry than you'd ever been, and you grabbed the lamp, dragging it behind you as you walked away.

He watched you slide down the far wall of the cave, your arms wrapping around your knees as you brought them into your chest in a huff. For a moment Crosshair didn't know what to do, but he figured he wasn't going anywhere if you weren't onside, so he trudged over you slowly, not approaching quickly for how he didn't know what kind of reaction to expect.

“Go away” you muttered, your eyes staring ahead of you, hardened with a resolve to not engage with him.

“No” he replied petulantly.

“I'm not dealing with your shitty attitude right now” you gritted through your teeth, still not looking at him.

It seemed that his mistreatment of you had finally caught up to him, and made you snap, and Crosshair was almost scared of the uncharted territory that you were now in.

“Just get up and help me shift these rocks” he knocked his foot on yours, urging you to abide, but you didn’t move.

You were silent, and realised then that it looked as if you were shaking subtly, but it was hard to tell in the low light. He was worried about you, but he knew there wasn't anything he could say or do that would help. He crouched next to you with a small sigh.

“What's the matter with you?”

“The matter? Crosshair we're stuck in here!” you finally looked up at him, a scrunch in your nose that he couldn't help but find adorable, and he found himself wishing you would have snapped at him before.

“What? Are you scared?” he asked, his usual teasing tone making an appearance.

“Yes! I'm scared, alright?” you hissed, and he could see a flicker of fear in your stormy eyes, “I don't know why you aren't”

“I don't get scared” he replied quickly, a knee-jerk response.

You laughed humourlessly, rolling your eyes, “right, of course. I should've thought of that”

Crosshair could see he wasn't getting anywhere, so he took a seat next to you, his back to the wall, one knee bent to rest his forearm on.

“I can't believe I'm going to die trapped in here with you” you grumbled out.

A pang of hurt cut deep in Crosshair's chest, but he forced a dry chuckle past his lips, an instinctual reaction to deflect the pain. You didn't seem so amused.

“Hey” he said softly, and you turned your head to look over to him, “we're not going to die”

His voice was as soothing as he'd allow himself, and he hoped that it could bring you even a little reassurance. You seemed almost taken aback, your mouth hanging open a little as your eyebrows raised. You blinked at him, and then settled back into a frown.

“I'm not stupid Cross, there's no way to know whether we're going to get out of this or not” you spoke softly.

The nickname made his chest seize up, but he sighed, leaning his head back against the wall of the cave, “you're right”

He wasn't going to lie to you, you didn't need that, and it wouldn't fix anything about the predicament you found yourselves in.

For a little while, you sat in silence, save for a steady drip of water on the opposite side of the cave that Crosshair had failed to notice previously. Now, it was all he could focus on. It was a particularly grating noise, something irritatingly steadfast and unyielding about it, just existing in the same space as you, but doing a much better job at consistency than him. It felt like it was taunting him, mocking him, calling him a coward. Maybe he was already going crazy, but either way, he felt compelled to speak up, if only to try and drown it out.

“I'm sorry” he said quietly, almost a whisper.

You sighed deeply, deflating, “it's not your fault”

Crosshair shook his head though you didn't see it, “I mean, that you're stuck here with me. I know that you'd prefer if it was Hunter instead”

You looked over at him with a curious expression, one that he only saw for a split second before he had to turn away. He couldn't bring himself to look at you for whatever you were about to say.

“That's not exactly true” you said in a measured tone.

His gazed snapped up to you, and you were giving him one of those looks where you were trying to figure him out. He hated when you did that, you were so good at it after all. He sometimes felt that you could see right through him and into his very soul, but he sincerely hoped that wasn't the case, he couldn't think of anything more horrifying.

“I didn't mean what I said before” you murmured, turning your body towards him with a small smile, “you're a great end of the universe buddy really”

Crosshair rolled his eyes, “so you don't actually want me to die?”

“Of course I don't” your face softened with your tone, and he couldn’t believe that such a tender look could be directed at him, he could only think that he didn’t deserve it, “you just drive me up the wall sometimes”

His lips quirked into a small smirk on instinct, and then it was your turn to roll your eyes.

“No one enjoys winding me up as much as you” you muttered, drawing your knees back to your chest as a shudder wracked your body.

Crosshair cast his eyes over you at the action, realising that your medics robes were not as warm as the blacks you had packed for situations exactly like this. He thought that maybe if he was a better man he'd give the top back to you. That's what Hunter would do. Instead, he looked across the cave, to where the previous dwellers had made a makeshift fire. There wasn't much wood, but it would be better than nothing.

“You have a lighter in there?” he asked, motioning his hand towards your knapsack.

“Uh… yeah” you replied.

Crosshair pushed himself from the ground, only a small grunt leaving his lips as the bacta had already began healing his wound. He grabbed the bag and crouched down by the pile of wood, rifling through it to find the lighter which was rattling around at the bottom.

As he arranged the remaining pieces of wood into his preferred shape, you stood and walked over to retake your seat in front of the soon-to-be fire. He got it going quickly enough, lighting one of the smaller pieces and placing it into the structure he had built, but it was weak at best. It wasn't going to keep for more than a few hours with the resources available, and Crosshair was already worrying about what would happen then.

He looked over to where the opening of the cave had been. In the dim light he could see the crack that had appeared in the ceiling, and he felt his stomach twist into a tight knot upon observing how much worse it was already. He blew a long breath out, making the fire ahead of him flicker slightly more, before it settled into its previous dance. Crosshair couldn't hear the dripping anymore, not above the crackle of the fire, and it was a strange relief. Thank the maker for small mercies, he thought, inwardly scoffing at the sarcastic thought.

“Why haven't you been sleeping?”

The question caught him off guard, so buried deep in his own thoughts that he had almost jumped when you spoke up.

“I don't want to talk about it” he mumbled in reply.

You nodded, seemingly satisfied with the assertion, but he could tell something lingered in your mind at the way you watched the flames before you both.

“You've been in my dreams the past few nights” you said absentmindedly, eyes almost glazed over as you stared into the fire, little regard for how it made Crosshair’s heart skip several beats. Your eyes flicked up and met his, and he lifted an eyebrow, not sure how else to react. You chuckled slightly before you continued, “they weren't great dreams, really. Nightmares, maybe”

Crosshair could feel his insides constrict at the idea of him featuring in your nightmares, his heart beating faster as he willed himself not to react in any way.

“Go on”

He watched your throat bob as you swallowed, “well, it always starts with me being chased by a fire-breathing lizard… creature”

Crosshair couldn’t help the way the edges of his lips lifted a little, and he brought his hand up to scratch at his stubble to try and hide it.

“I can see you laughing at me” you scoffed, “it was scary at the time”

“I'm sure” Crosshair replied, still fighting a smirk.

“Whatever” you rolled your eyes, uncrossing you legs to stretch them out ahead of you so you faced the far wall of the cave.

Crosshair’s curiosity quickly got the better of him, “what was I doing there?”

You looked back over to him before turning your face back down to your feet where you gently kicked your heel into the ground, “it's… silly, really. Far fetched”

He frowned, “I'm listening”

You huffed, and he could see your cheeks darken as you deliberated over your next words, “you were protecting me. You had a durasteel sword and you were trying to slay the creature”

Crosshair’s eyebrows raised, but quickly shot back down at your earlier insinuation, “why's that so far fetched?”

You tilted your head to look at him, your own frown creasing your brow, “I don't know, it's not something you'd do in real life”

A pang of hurt sent a sharp pain through his chest. He could feel it, like a real, physical thing, a knife piercing through his heart. You truly believed that he didn't care for you in any way shape or form, and as much as he knew he had no right to feel slighted by it, it cut deep within him.

“Nice to know you think so little of me” he grumbled, pulling his knees up to his chest and tucking his chin behind them as he stared into the fire.

He could see your eyes go wide even as he refused to look at you, “I don't think little of you! I— I think you're… great, just—”

“Just what?” he snapped, eyes darting back up to yours.

“I don't know, I don't see you doing that for me”

Crosshair's frown only got deeper, and he forced himself to look away and into the fire again. All of the hurt and jealousy within him, every negative emotion he had brought upon himself by not being honest with you bubbled up to the surface, and he failed to keep it to himself.

“I feel like I've upset you” you said softly, but he just grunted in reply, “what is it?”

“You really think I wouldn't protect you?”

He knew that this was a path he didn't want to go down, one he wouldn't dare tread if both your lives didn't hang in the balance, but they did. He felt vulnerable, more vulnerable than he ever had or wanted to, and severely misjudged. Something about it made indignance rise up his throat and mingle with his words.

You paused, but spoke you mind after a moment, “not at the expense of yourself, no”

He grunted again, “well you're wrong”

“Why?”

“why?” he scoffed, shuffling his feet ucomfortably, “I'm not heartless, you know”

“I didn't say you were” you rebutted, and he finally looked up at you when you paused. You watched him carefully, “you would… put yourself in harm's way, for me?”

“Of course”

The shock was evident on your face, your mouth hanging open a little as you stared back at him, eyes wide and unblinking, and he knew instantly that he'd said too much, and that you didn't feel the same way for him. The worst part was, he understood. He knew that he'd given no reason for you to care for him in any real way past doing your duties as a medic, and any kindness you had offered him had been purely from the goodness of your heart, with no ulterior motives in consideration. All the same, it was frustrating. He was frustrated at himself.

His gaze dropped to the fire once more, and it felt as if it were stinging his eyes, but he soon realised that the sensation was actually brought forth by the tears that had collected in his waterline. He blinked them away, knowing that he couldn't, shouldn't cry, even if he had just come to the realisation that you would never see him the way he saw you, never admire him like that, never adore him like he wanted you to. It made him feel like a cadet again, surrounded by people who were supposed to be his brothers, but only feeling like something was wrong with him, that he was unwanted and unlovable for a reason that would forever elude him.

It was his fault. All his fault. He knew it, he’d always known it, and he'd have to live with it for as long as he knew you. It didn't make it any better to know it, it only made it worse. He wished he could blame it on you, make it easier for himself, displace all the blame and take this crushing weight from his shoulders, but he wouldn't wish this weight upon anyone else, much less you.

He didnt dare look up at you again, especially as you hadn't said anything. If the ground opened up and swallowed him whole in that moment he wouldn't have cared, or probably noticed.

“Do you think the others will be looking for us by now?” you asked softly after a little while.

“Doesn't matter, they won't find us” he grumbled back.

You huffed, “that's not very reassuring”

“Reassurance does nothing”

“Maybe not to you”

“No, not to me”

“Right” he could tell you had rolled your eyes, “you don't get scared, how could I forget”

“I am scared, just not for myself” He snapped, his tone sharp as he glared at you. He was feeling annoyed now, and not in the mood for joking in the slightest.

“What do you mean?”

He scoffed, his tone not matching his sentiment, “I'm scared for you. I don't want anything to happen to you”

You watched him from across the fire, tilting your head, and he had to look away.

“Why aren't you scared for yourself?” you asked.

Crosshair was reluctant to say, but you had no teasing in your tone, and admitting to the truth felt easier knowing that he might not make it out of this cave. He decided that he'd find a way to say what he wanted in as few words as possible.

“Because… if I die, I don't have to live without you”

Your eyes widened slowly, and he watched your mind work around the meaning of the words, the gears turning behind your eyes. He could feel the embarrassment clawing at his throat, begging him to stop speaking forever more. He didn't know why he would have said that, beyond it being true. You didn't need to know, it wouldn't help you, and it certainly didn't help him.

Then, you did something that he didn't expect at all. You rose from your place on the opposite side of the fire slowly, as if not to scare him, not that it worked. His eyes followed you as you made your way around, and retook your seat in the spot right next to him, so close that if he shifted his arm he’d be touching you. Then you put your head on his shoulder, looking into the fire.

“I'm scared for you too” You said quietly.

Crosshair didn’t know what was going on. His heart was beating out of his chest, only just managing to keep a hold of the rhythm of his breath as he watched you from so close. You had never been affectionate with him like this, and he was too plagued by confused thoughts spilling into his brain that he couldn’t fully enjoy it — enjoy the fact that you were in this proximity to him willingly.

“You're too careless with your life, you treat it like it doesn't matter. I don't like it” you spoke up again.

He didn’t know what to say.

“How should I treat it?” he asked quietly, his voice low.

“Like it's precious”

Crosshair took soft breath in automatically, taken aback by the simple admission, by how easily you had said it. He could only find it within himself to deflect the comment,

“It isn't precious, clones are expendable”

You raised your head from his shoulder to give him a stern look, “I know you don't believe that”

He shrugged. He could feel his cheeks scorching and he hated it more than anything. He hoped that the low light would save him from you noticing how your touch made him act. Peering into your eyes as you did to him, searching, your frown softened.

“Your life means a lot to me" you confessed in a whisper. Crosshair’s heart was trying to escape him now, and even more so when your face returned to being serious, “and I wouldn’t want you to risk it for me”

Crosshair matched your frown, drawing his brows together as the dots, the pieces of what you’d said, starting connecting.

“Do you think that's why I would protect you? Because I don't value my own life?” he asked, an irritate edge that made you draw back from him marginally.

“Yeah? I mean, why else…?”

He could have laughed, but instead he shook his head, “that’s not it”

He knew what he wanted to say really, but his mind fought to come up with something else, struggling to find the words to express every unsaid thing in a way that didn’t make him want to curl up in a ball and never speak again.

“It’s— I…” he trailed off, uncertain, “I value your life… more than anyone else’s”

Your eyes widened, and if he wasn’t mistaken, the corners of your lips lifted almost imperceptibly, “what do you mean?”

He rolled his eyes and looked away, “must I explain?”

“I'd like you to” you sounded small, and he looked back over to see that your eyes were wide, shining with hope. It filled him with such an uncommonly warm feeling that he couldn't possibly deny you an answer now.

“I…” he's flicked his eyes across your features, landing on your lips before finding your eyes again and sending you a somewhat pained look, “I can't— I don't know how to—”

You took his hand, rubbing your thumb across his knuckles and leaving goosebumps in your wake, “take your time”

Crosshair sighed, suddenly struck by how poor of an idea this was. He couldn’t help but dwell on the simple fact that you were far too good for him. He didn’t deserve someone like you, and he knew it. You were took kind, too patient, too far superior in emotional maturity and every other thing besides shooting a blaster for that matter. He didn’t believe that perfect people existed, but if there was anyone who reached the closest to those heights, it would be you.

“I… the way I treat you, it's not… right. and it's not a reflection of how I truly feel” he admitted.

You hummed, nodding as you focused your gaze on his palm, drawing shapes with your first finger, “and how do you feel?”

Crosshair was thankful that you weren’t looking at him, and knowing you, it was probably intentional. You knew what he was like, who he really was, and it was as startling as it was comforting. “I feel… a lot. You make me feel a lot”

You smiled, your thumbs tracing over his, “a lot of what?”

An exasperation began creeping on his mind. He knew you understood, you were smart, but you just wanted him to be the one to admit it. He could respect that, however hard he was finding it; you were finally not accepting his half-arsed attempt at affection.

“Happiness” he said finally, “you make me… happy”

Your eyes finally raised to his, giving him a curious look, he felt the need to continue.

“I know that I don't act like it, and I know that I certainly don't make you feel that way, and that you're interested in Hunter, so I'm under no impression that—”

“What?” your head tilted to the side, your expression portraying all of your confusion, “I'm not interested in Hunter”

“Oh” Crosshair sat completely still, just staring at you. He was sure he looked as confused as you did in that moment, but his heart still leapt in his chest all the same, “but… you were sleeping with him…?”

“He was just… I don't know” you sighed, wrapping his hand with yours, “when I had nightmares as a kid it used to help if I slept beside someone else. He noticed I wasn't sleeping well and offered some… comfort, I suppose”

Crosshair nodded, looking away and into the fire anyway, because he knew that Hunter would always be your first choice, and not him, even if it wasn’t in the way he had originally thought.

“But it didn't really help anyway” you said, “I suppose maybe I was sleeping next to the… wrong person?”

When he glanced back to you, there was something more reserved about your demeanour. You were never usually shy, sometimes quiet, but this was something that he hadn’t seen from you before.

“You're right, by the way” you noted, and he raised an eyebrow, “you haven't always made me feel very happy”

He offered a pitiful look, “I'm sorry”

“I know you are, and I don't forgive you for all of it, but I know you, and I know that you don't really mean it. And— well, the reality is…” you rambled out, finally pausing for a breath, or to muster your courage, “you also make me feel alive”

Crosshair’s brows shot up.

The entire atmosphere around the two of you changed, the air between you charged with unspoken words, energy waiting, begging to dissipate. Your free hand reached for his face, and you ran your thumb along the lines of his tattoo that followed his cheekbone. His eyes closed momentarily, a shaky breath leaving his slightly parted lips, and he gave into the moment, focusing on the feel of your fingers caressing his face.

Allowing himself to revel in your touch, appreciate it rather than trying to avoid it, he was ready to crumble into nothing. He could have, and he would have died a happy man, his last moment being in the embrace of your calming presence. Your hand found its place on his jaw, and he opened his eyes once more. He copied you, his hand reaching for your face and taking it tentatively within his grasp. Your skin was soft, ever so soft, and his thumb slid across your cheek with ease.

He felt so vulnerable in that moment, but he just didn’t care anymore. He felt safe with you, and for once he didn’t want to act like a wounded child about his feelings for you. He wanted to show you how strongly he truly felt, the beginnings of making up for the way he had treated you in the past.

Without another second to spare, he tugged on the hand that still clutched his, pulling you towards him, and his lips met yours with an ardency that surprised even him. His arms wrapped around you as he kissed you deeply, holding your body tightly to his, unwilling to let you slip away from him. He was stealing the very air from your lungs, giving you everything he had to offer, and you were taking everything in kind. You were trying your best to keep up, mostly succeeding, but eventually you had to break the kiss, almost gasping for air.

Your breath was heavy against his lips as he kept you in close proximity, and when your eyes met his, a small chuckle left you, bordering on a giggle. He pulled you flush against him, so you rested in his lap, and your face lit up even more. Crosshair felt like he was walking on air, and when you kissed him again, leaning all of your weight into it, he couldn’t help but smile against your lips. The kiss grew more heated gradually, and before he knew it, you were tugging at the blacks you had given him.

He shook his head, pulling away before you could get the wrong impression, “not here”

“Why not?” you frowned playfully, your hands slipping beneath the top and brushing against his skin.

Crosshair growled quietly as you attached your lips to his neck, making his next sentence hard to get out, “because I have more respect for you than to take you on the dirty floor of a cave”

You chuckled against his skin, pulling back to give him a genuine smile, but then it faltered, and he watched a thousand emotions flick across your face in the space of a second. He gripped you tighter, about to ask what was wrong, but you beat him to it with your answer.

“What if this is the only time we have?”

Crosshair knew you meant more than something as fleeting as a shared intimacy, and with the look on your face, he immediacy began to understand why people lied to others in the name of sparing their feelings.

He pushed his forehead into yours gently, “the others will find us”

Your lips turned down in a dubious expression, “but how are they going to get us out?”

For that, he didn’t have an answer. He brought a hand to your face, taking your jaw and hoping his actions brought some comfort, “I don’t know, but I’m not letting you die in here”

“Even you don’t have that power” you huffed.

Even you. The words hung in Crosshair’s mind, front and centre, meaning a lot more to him than you probably realised. It seemed that you were saying, even him, someone who could do almost anything, couldn’t do this. He realised then that you must think a lot more of him than he ever knew, and his heart almost seized up in his chest.

He let a small grin wind it’s way onto his face, “sure I do”

You gave him a lopsided grin, rolling your eyes as you buried your face in his neck, “yeah, yeah. Whatever you say”

As it promised to be, getting out was difficult. The others eventually came for you and Crosshair, by which point he had almost accepted that this was it, that he’d shared his final moments with you. That wasn’t enough anymore, it wasn’t a sufficient amount of time spent with you, and when he heard Hunter call for him, his need to get out was stoked. Tech had found that the rock on the other side of the cavern held a cave system, Wrecker had set a number of charges with a limited blast radius, and they pulled the two of you out from the other side.

But all of it was inconsequential, unimportant in the face of what had happened while you were still trapped. Even more so now that Crosshair held your body tightly to his, his arm wrapped around your waist as the fresh scent of your soap invaded his senses and no doubt began clinging to his bedsheets. He hadn’t let the others ask why he was suddenly being so clingy to you, but something about their smirks and knowing looks told him that he had only been fooling himself in not telling you how he felt.

You laid on his chest, careful not to rest against his wound, which you had treated properly upon returning to the ship. You had insisted it was the first thing you did, before anything else, and he wasn’t going to argue with you then, not when you frowned at him in a way that made his chest tighten. The trade off was that he got to join you in the shower afterwards. It hadn’t taken too much convincing.

Now with you in his arms, your light breath fanning his bare chest, he knew he wasn’t ever going to let you go. He’d spent too long trying to push you away, but now that he had you, you weren’t going anywhere, he’d make sure of it.

taglist: @darthnihila @cdblake1565 @heidnspeak @burningnerdchild @orangez3st @clones-cyare

[simplyraeblue]

King and Captive

(Hunter and Hunted Spin-Off) read here

modern au a chance meeting with Sukuna quickly turns into a nightly routine you can't escape. as the lines between game and something more blur, you start to wonder—how long can you keep playing, or will Sukuna make you his next conquest? !Sukuna x !femreader

chapter warnings/tags: MDNI, NSFW, swearing, use of "princess", "she/her" pronouns used, mentions of OG story, appearance of other characters, SMUT SMUT SMUT, p in v, creampie, unprotected, Sukuna is a changed man afterwards (but really?) A/N: the time has COME my friends (heh, pun). so sorry it took me forever to post, the holidays have been insane with travel, and I was soaking up every second with my long-distance BF. someone in the OG storyline had commented that Sukuna needed someone to match his freak... well, they were right. (• ᴗ -)

index part four | part six

part five word count : 4,588

every day since your first kiss with him, without fail, Sukuna appeared parked out front of your work waiting for you. you weren’t sure if the satisfaction you felt was from seeing him leaned against his bike, or if it was the reactions of the dickwads you worked with.

“are you sure that’s safe?”

“does he have a motorcycle license?”

“what’s up with all that ink?”

you just brushed them off, tossing your hair over your shoulder as you practically skipped over to your mysterious tattooed man before receiving a warm welcome in the form of a deep kiss on the lips. to make it worse for your coworkers, they definitely saw Sukuna slip his tongue in your mouth as he side-eyed them.

bunch of heathens, he thought to himself. he knew the comments they made behind your back, the peaks they took at your ass, even could guess that they thought of you when they had nothing but their hand to give them comfort. pathetic.

and yet, he’d made no move to take things further than a few heavy make out sessions. maybe he was the pathetic one.

but all that would be put to the test tonight.

“a party?” you asked, twirling the straw in your glass around and around while Sukuna smirked at you. of course, had taken you to your usual bar to treat you after work - just like he did almost every day.

“my brother asked me to come, said I was required to bring a guest.” Sukuna was only partly lying – Yuji had asked him to come but never mentioned anything about bringing someone. but he knew you’d be just fine.

“I don’t know, aren’t we a little… old to be going?” you teased lightly but truthfully, you’d already accepted the invitation in your mind. “bunch of college kids, drinking and dicking around?”

Sukuna’s shoulder shook with a booming laugh. “if there’s no dicking around, then it’s not a party, princess.”

you couldn’t help but pout as the thought of who would be there crossed your mind. did you dare ask him? risk bringing up a sore subject?

he’d told you about what happened last summer, one night when you both had a few too many glasses of wine. Sukuna swore that wine was his truth serum. so now you knew that his former – lover, ex girlfriend, fling? – was dating his half brother Choso.

curiosity gnawed at your bones. was she pretty? hot? drop dead fucking gorgeous? how did you compare?

a light tap of Sukuna’s finger to your temple snapped your from your anxiety spiral. “what’s going through your mind?” he asked softer than usual, the change in his demeanor catching you off guard.

no, you couldn’t let yourself drown in what-ifs. “let’s do it. I owe you one.” you told him with finality, face set in determination as you downed the rest of your drink in one go before standing from your seat and pulling your jacket on.

Sukuna was curious why your attitude towards the idea suddenly changed; you were dead quiet for a minute, brows furrowed and already thinking of something he would have loved to correct you on. most certainly about how you’d fit in. and yet you stood with confidence now, lips in a tight line and eyes locking with his.

god, he wanted to kiss you until he couldn’t breathe.

“owe me for what, princess?” Sukuna smiled at you, sharp canines flashing in doing so.

“for putting on a damn good show in front of my ex. it’s time I return the favor.”

oh.

-

this was a mistake. a big fat fucking mistake and you didn’t realize it until you were walking up to the front door with Sukuna. you fidgeted with your skirt, smoothed your hair, tried to make yourself at least look like you hadn’t just let Sukuna tongue fuck your mouth in the car just moments ago.

would anyone be able to tell that you were sexually frustrated and as tense as a stretched rubber band? god you should have told him to knock it off but you just couldn’t help it.

Sukuna knocked three times, alerting Yuji to his presence before opening the door ahead of any answer. this used to be his home, after all. before everyone and their mother decided to come and dry hump on the couch every night.

he’d seen Choso’s lights on as you both walked up, and he was sure that she’d be here - and he silently hoped that wouldn’t scare you away.

“hey, Sukuna’s here everybody!” you heard someone shout, followed by a few grumbles of fake enthusiasm. did everyone really look down on him that much?

his brother Yuji, or you assumed by the matching head of pink fluffy hair, practically bounded over and wrapped his arms around Sukuna. “I’m so glad you made it!” Yuji exclaimed with a wide, toothy grin.

“yeah, yeah, like you would’ve noticed my absence.” Sukuna teased before turning the tables on Yuji and enclosing an arm around his brother’s throat to roughly rub his knuckles across Yuji’s scalp. “don’t make a big deal okay? I’ve got someone I want you to meet.”

it was until then that Yuji noticed you, standing slightly behind Sukuna and smiling at the display - honestly surprised to see that side of Sukuna. “hi, I hope you don’t mind that I tagged along.” you bowed your head slightly, but a quick elbow from Sukuna had you straightening up.

“don’t do that, you don’t have to.” he corrected you with a smirk, and Yuji was having none of it.

your hands were quickly enclosed in his, and he bounced up and down with enthusiasm. “guys, Sukuna brought a girl with him!” Yuji yelled out behind him as he suddenly wrapped you in a hug too.

Sukuna rolled his eyes as he watched his little brother almost squeeze the life out of you. he half expected you to shrug it off, or push him away, but you were beaming. a grin stretched across your face and he felt his heart race wildly at the sight.

“woah, really? what, did you kidnap her or something?” a red-haired girl rushed around the corner, but when she saw you her jaw dropped. “holy fucking shit, she’s gorgeous!”

“that’s Nobara Kugisake, please ignore her for your own mental sanity.” Sukuna grumbled out an introduction, earning a sharp glare from Nobara before she also wrapped you up in a hug - joining Yuji seeing as he hadn’t even let go yet.

you were soon introduced to Megumi Fushiguro, Toge Inumaki, Yuta Okkotsu, and Maki Zenin. the only one out of four who showed an ounce of enthusiam was Inumaki, who extended his hand for you to shake.

you couldn’t help but wonder where -

“who’s your friend, Sukuna?” you turned at the voice, eyes catching on his other brother Choso standing at the bottom of the stairs, and then -

fucking hell. she was beautiful. like, “doesn’t have to try” beautiful.

and you were very, very aware of her eyes scanning over you, lips parted slightly in what looked to be surprise as she noted your presence. more specifically, Sukuna’s hand enclosed in yours.

Sukuna was quick to make introductions, not wanting to dwell on the fact that he had noticed how your demeanor shifted suddenly. he knew why, and he’d make sure to discuss it later, but for now he focused on wrapping an arm around your waist and keeping you at his side.

he didn’t want you to draw comparisons, but he could tell you were already doing so. your eyes followed her almost every where before you’d look down at your outfit, comb your fingers through your hair, or adjusted your posture.

to Sukuna, there was no fucking comparison. you were his and she was not.

but you couldn’t help it. you had wanted to know how - how had this one girl once had both Sukuna and Choso wrapped around her finger? and now after looking at her you knew. and you hated that she wasn’t hideous or bitchy. hated that you had yet to find anything negative about her.

the night dragged on, and so did your swirl of negative thoughts. Yuji was amazing, and Sukuna had been right that you two would get along. Choso was even very sweet, although still side eyeing Sukuna on occasion as if you couldn’t see.

once everyone was good and drunk, and things took a turn for the crazier side of a party, you were mentally checked out. Sukuna watched as you started to stare off into the distance, blinking a little too long and yawning into your elbow. you were getting sleepy, he knew it because you always looked the cutest when you were half awake.

“I think it’s time I get her back home. right, princess?” Sukuna pulled you closer to his side as everyone bid you goodnight, Yuji making sure to express repeatedly that you were always welcome. he didn’t miss the last long look you gave her from across the room.

you almost fell asleep on the ride back to your apartment, Sukuna’s warmth radiating off of him as your arms were wrapped around his torso. did you make a good first impression? did everyone like you, or hate you?

were you as pretty as her?

Sukuna had been fully intent on walking you to your door, and dropping you off like a gentleman. but manners be damned. as soon as you turned the key, and turned to look at him with big doe eyes, he was screwed.

“am I as pretty as her?” the question slipped from your lips before you could stop it, but you couldn’t help it. you had to know, otherwise you’d go crazy wondering about it.

but Sukuna didn’t respond, which made your stomach drop as he ushered you through your door before clicking it shut behind him. you almost took the silence as your answer, until suddenly your back was pressed up against the inside of your door and Sukuna had two hands firmly planted on either side of your head.

“don’t. don’t start making comparisons to her, because there is nothing to compare.” Sukuna growled lightly, chest heaving as he tried to keep a tight leash on his resolve to kiss you until you forgot all about it. “if you’re looking for something to set yourself apart - you’re mine. she’s not, and that’s that.”

“but-”

“no buts.” you were making it increasingly more difficult for him to control himself. what must he do to prove it to you? to chase away your negative thoughts and show you that you are the one he wants, exes and hookups be damned.

when you looked up at him again, he had one tiny, tiny shred left.

“then show me I’m yours.”

you were expecting him to laugh it off, to tell you that you were too tired or that he was going to be a gentleman. you were sick of that - fuck being a gentleman, you wanted him to fuck you.

but no, Sukuna took it as a challenge.

his lips crashed into yours, rough and unrestrained as his body pressed into you fervently. you tasted sweet, all he could think about as soon as he kissed you was how sweet you tasted and how he craved more. it made him wonder if you tasted just as sweet every where else.

the notion led him to start trailing rough kisses down your cheek, your jaw, onto your neck. peppered kisses mixed with nips of his teeth against your skin and you were already feeling hot. so fucking hot that it made you wonder what you’d set your thermostat to before you left.

you were so ablaze that you decided you needed your clothes off - now.

you started to lean into Sukuna, more and more until he started backing into your apartment with you in his arms, not allowing himself to breath and stuffing his face into your neck. he didn’t want to move or stop what he was doing, not until he was thoroughly drunk on your scent.

he backed up until he hit your bedroom door, reaching behind himself with one hand to open it and pull you inside with him. Sukuna’s lips returned to yours, nipping and tugging roughly at your bottom lip, causing you to moan out of your parted lips. he made note of how much he loved that sound, deciding to make sure he heard it throughout the night.

both of you tumbled back onto your bedspread, with Sukuna pinned under your body as you returned his needy kisses ten fold. he was warm and rough and sturdy and you ached for every bit of it. you went to bite his lip back, barely missing and catching his cheek again and his hips jolted in response.

Sukuna felt like a wild animal, and you seemingly matched his energy with your roaming hands and rough gentle teeth. if he knew how much you loved to bite he would have done this a hell of a lot sooner.

as your hands reached between your bodies and fumbled with his belt, Sukuna’s sank his canines into the exposed skin right between your neck and shoulder and hauled. hauled you to the side and rolled until you were firmly planted beneath him now, turning the tables.

he had to remind himself of where he was, who he was with, and what he intended to do with you. with permission.

“do you want to?” Sukuna’s voice came out broken and rough from lack of air due to your addictive kiss. his eyes scanned your face for any ounce of hesitation, but all he could find was your eyes half open as you smirked up at him.

“oh for fuck’s sake, I want you.” you murmured to answer him, reaching a hand up to rest on his cheek and smile at him.

and he melted on the spot. your warm touch, your smile, everything you were taking and giving right back to him made his heart thump wildly in his chest. if he didn’t know any better he thought you might be able to hear his pulse racing in the silence.

he didn’t let himself hesitate before his lips were on your skin again, now more gentle as he worked over your neck and jaw line. “tell me what you want. or don’t want.” Sukuna bit out that last part, trying desperately to remember how much progress he’d made in his journey to becoming a better man.

but dammit was it hard to be better right now when all he wanted to do was shove your face in the mattress and make you take his cock deep.

you hummed out soft praises as he worked his way down to your top, helping you rise and pull it over your shoulders, and soon after your pants followed to be discarded somewhere on the floor.

“how come I’m the first one that had to strip, and you’re still fully dressed?” you teased as you nipped at his exposed neck, pressing your tongue flat to lick a small stripe up the tattoo lining his shoulder.

Sukuna wanted to fire back, argue and tease until your cheeks were heated, but not right now. no, he made quick work of his own clothing, until the both of you were down to only your underwear.

and my oh my was Sukuna in nothing but boxers a sight to behold. you couldn’t help but ogle the growing mass straining in his underwear, twitching already as if it was begging to be freed.

“I knew it.” you gave him a smug grin as you stared right at his covered cock. “I knew you were big.”

Sukuna laughed, your blunt honesty taking him off guard but finding it hilarious nonetheless. “so, you’ve been thinking ‘bout my dick, have you?” he quipped before quickly smashing his lips to yours to halt any further remarks from your mouth. “how’d you like to see the real thing, princess?”

you nodded eagerly, hands already reaching for the waistband of his boxers and gulping as you felt him twitch at your touch. just by looking at it, even covered by fabric, you wondered if you’d be able to take it. would he even fucking fit?

your question was validated as soon as you slipped his boxers down past his knees and his cock was released.

the tip was already glistening with leaking pre-cum, his veins so prominent that your mouth went dry, and the thickness… god you really would be struggling to take him all in.

“your turn.” Sukuna grinned wickedly as he watched you stare at his cock. he could see the way you gulped at the sight, no doubt wracking your brain for an explanation of just how he could fit inside of you. “let me see you, pretty girl.”

his fingers danced along your panty line, feather-light touches sending chills up your spine as his knuckles brushed over your core.

“so wet already, hm?” he cooed as he let his middle knuckle press into your clit through the cloth. your back arched at the touch, and he sucked in a breath as he watched your mouth fall open from the littlest amount of pleasure.

without wasting any more time, he pulled your panties past you knees and off of your ankles - tossing them in his pile of clothes instead of yours. he’d be saving those for later, of course.

Sukuna had never felt himself go breathless at the sight of someone naked before. but now, every touch he gave and every noise from your lips had him shaking with anticipation.

you felt one of his fingers run through your wet folds, a groan escaping his lips at the feeling. “don’t be a tease.” you whined as you tried to scoot your hips into his touch. one of his hands firmly planted itself on your waist, pinning you in place to halt your desperate movements.

“just trying to get you ready, princess.” Sukuna explained before circling your clit, causing you to suck in a breath and grip the sheets a little tighter between your palms. “you said it yourself, it’s pretty big.

but you were impatient. you needed him right fucking now. “don’t care, I can take it.”

you can’t take it, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“don’t wanna hurt you.” Sukuna was trying so hard to be gentle, to fuck you the way you deserved but goddamn were you starting to make him crazy.

you looked him in the eye, pupils blown out with lust already, and smirked. “what are you, scared?” you teased, hoping that it would elicit the exact response you wanted.

and oh it did. he snapped, immediately pushing your legs up and back so that you knees met your chest to fold you up. Sukuna loved that you were smaller than him, pliable, easy to move around as he saw fit. if you were going to act like a brat then you could take it like a brat.

you moan at the first nudge of his tip in your entrance, his pre-cum mixing with your arousal as he teased so deliciously at your hole. he was baiting you to say something more. to talk back so that he could fuck the attitude out of you.

“you wanna rethink your cockiness now, sweet girl?” he bit out the words as he restrained himself from sheathing his cock to the hilt in one go. fuck he wanted to bury himself within you and watch as you fell apart. “I can feel your tight cunt already startin’ to stretch.”

it was a divine mixture of pain and pleasure to feel him slowly ease in, the tip of his dick now pushing past the first ring and sliding into your cunt. but it wasn’t enough for you.

“more, pl - please, give me more.” you groaned while reaching up to claw at his pecs. “just - ah - fuck me already dammit.”

“if you say so.” a grin spread across Sukuna’s face before he jolted his hips forward, bullying past your tight walls as fast as you could physically allow him until he was firmly planted deep inside of you.

you cried out, borderline screamed, at the stretch and burn of his huge dick molding you to his desire. oh it was so so good. you had never felt anything like it - you felt completely stuffed.

Sukuna but his lip so hard that he tasted copper as your walls clenched around him. “fuck you’re so - ngh - tight princess.” he pressed a hand across your abdomen, finding that sweet spot where he could feel his tip under your skin, almost buried within your cervix, or even past that. “takin’ me so well, feel s’ good.”

“holy shit, holy fucking shit.” a whine escaped you when you sucked in a breath. you dared to open your eyes from being clenched to see Sukuna hovering above you, completely still as if he couldn’t risk making another move.

and sure enough, his hand lifted to rest on your cheek, eyes boring into yours as he searched your expression. “you okay?” Sukuna bit out, resisting the urge to move his hips even the slightest.

“s’ good, Sukuna. ‘m okay.”

he watched as the tension left your body and your gaze softened as you looked at him. with your cheeks already flushed, Sukuna thought he was the luckiest guy in the world to see you like this. “Ryomen. if I’m inside you, start calling me Ryomen.” he blurted before he could stop himself. not that he regretted it.

the corners of your mouth turned up, and if your heart wasn’t already racing it sure was now. “now, can we continue, Ryo?”

he was so fucking screwed.

“anything for you, princess.”

and so were you.

literally.

one roll of Sukuna’s hips, even slight, had you clawing at his shoulders. you felt like you were floating and being suffocated all at once, and he fared no better. he didn’t know it could feel like this, like it was… well, he didn’t know what, but it was fucking better than anything else.

his head dipped into your shoulder, sinking his teeth into your skin and groaning into the bite. you swear you felt full body chills as his hands continued to roam your body as his cock destroyed your cunt.

with each gentle thrust, Sukuna became more and more confident with your responses, and started to pick up his pace with ferocity. honestly, if he didn’t, he was going cum sooner than you and he couldn’t have that. “god, you feel s’ fucking good. can’t believe we haven’t done this sooner.” he cursed under his breath at one particularly brutal thrust that had your walls clenching around him even more than they already were.

“well – shit – you had to earn it.” even in your messed up state you stilled toyed with him, watching as he smirked back at your attitude before reaching a hand down between the two of your bodies. his fingers brushed against your clit, feather light and teasing, but it still sent shockwaves through you. “ah don’t be a fucking tease, Ryo. I’m sure you know better – fuck!”

a harsh pinch to the clit had you shutting your mouth, or at least moaning so loud it interrupted your sarcasm, and Sukuna grinned devilishly. “what were y’ sayin’?” he chided as he pinched the sensitive nub again, delighted to watch as your body heaved in reaction.

“fuck, ‘m sorry, just don’t stop!” your nails dug into the muscle of his bicep, desperately trying to keep it pinned in place so that he would continue to work his magic with his hand. “please, please keep going!”

Sukuna obliged, now circling your clit as his cock shoved harder inside of you – in out in out – at an almost inhuman pace. his hand gripped your hip so tightly you were sure there would be bruises from where he tried to keep you still while he fucked you senseless. you were so beautiful to look at that Sukuna couldn’t look way, eyes screwed shut and mouth wide open to release your honeyed moans, cunt sucking him in with each thrust.

when he felt your walls pulse and tighten, he knew you were close. and he prided himself in the knowledge that it was him getting you there. “you gonna cum, princess? all over my dick?” as you nodded fervently, he swept in and crashed his lips to yours, slipping his tongue inside your mouth and swallowing your moans as your release came crashing over you.

your cunt became like a vice, squeezing him to death as your body spasmed beneath him. the tightly wound band inside Sukuna’s abdomen was holding on by a single string, but he pulled away to watch you come undone.

“Ryo, please, want y’ to fill me up.” and fuck if he was going to argue with you. Sukuna slid both arms behind your back, wrapping around you to hold you still while his hips thrusted even harsher and faster than before, chasing his own high.

“say my name, princess. I’m gonna – ah shit – gonna cum. wanna cum inside this perfect pussy.” Sukuna was babbling at this point, and if he had any sense he’d hate himself for it but with a cunt this warm and good he couldn’t stop.

“fuck, Ryo!” you scratched your nails down his back harshly, pushing him off the edge. he let out a low, guttural groan as you felt him twitch inside of you, before you felt the warmth of his cum coating your walls and spilling out of you with the force of it.

once his balls started to ache, Sukuna pulled out and collapsed on the bed next to you. “holy shit.” he panted, wiping the sweat from his forehead and pushing his hair back. “that was –”

“– fucking phenomenal.” you finished for him, a cheesy grin spreading across your face as you started to chuckle. “hell, I think you enjoyed yourself more than me.”

“did not.” Sukuna growled lightly but you didn’t miss the corner of his mouth twitch upwards.

“did too. gonna have you pussy whipped now, right?”

you were only teasing, but when he glanced your way, his pupils were so dilated that his eyes looked nearly black. he gave your shoulder a playful shove, a loud laugh spilling from his lips. “maybe,” he said with a grin, “just maybe.”

you’d count that as a win.

before you could fire back another quip, Sukuna slid an arm around your waist, tugging you closer in one smooth motion.

“c’mere,” he murmured, the warmth in his voice betraying how much he enjoyed seeing you flustered.

his free hand guided you until you were nestled comfortably against him, the steady rise and fall of his chest lulling you into a sense of calm. it felt surprisingly natural—his larger frame, the solid press of his body, and the low, rumbling chuckle that vibrated through you when he realized you weren’t resisting.

“just maybe, huh?” you teased again, your cheek pressed to his shoulder.

he let out a soft snort, tightening his hold as if you might slip away. “shut up,” he grumbled good-naturedly, but the way his hand splayed against your back was anything but irritated.

⊹. ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ��₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁₊

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . taglist : @mangiswig @sorahatake @osohchoso @clp-84 @sterzin @csolya @emochosoluvr @aldebrana @ravester @marie-is-in-the-dark @makingtimemine . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

[scorpioriesling]

What Happens on NYE…

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Rhysand, Cassian, Azriel, Lucien, Eris, Tamlin x Reader

Warning(s): none

Summary: Each of the ACOTAR males paired with reader of you were to attend a NYE celebration with any of them. <3

SR’s Note: So… HAPPY NEW YEARS EVERYONE!! I’ve been so busy getting ✨married✨ (yes, quite literally. Lol.) & then getting back into the swing of things — not to mention, becoming really sick as 2024 wraps up. (‘: Not to worry! I have the best friends, family, and hubby that have been taking the most care of me. I know I’ve been lacking, especially with the Invisible String series — so allow me to feed y’all tonight, at least a little bit!

Tags: @mellowmusings @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @kitsunetori @velarisdusk (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Rhysand

“Sweetheart, what’s got you so… preoccupied?”

You sigh, turning your attention away from the drink you’d been studying to meet your husband’s gaze.

“I just… I’m just so… I don’t know, dear. Preoccupied, like you said.” You chew on your lip, the cranberry juice in your glass doing little to calm your nerves. Around you, Rhysand’s closest friends and family flit about, singing and dancing and drunkenly laughing with one another. Usually, you’d be right there with them — it’s felt like ages since you’d had a stiff drink last.

“Darling,” he coos, his hand sliding against yours as he takes your glass from you. “Whatever is there to worry for?”

Just then, a large crash sounds from the room adjacent — and your husband pulls you close to his chest out of instinct. When you lock eyes again, he chuckles.

“Why don’t we—“ he sets your glass down on the kitchen table. “… go somewhere more, private, hm?” You nod, a small smile forming on your lips as his hand wraps protectively around yours waist. He runs his fingers up and down your spine, his next words holding a smile of their own.

“Ahh, now there’s that beautiful smile I love so much.”

He walks with you to the terrace, quietly opening the doors and stepping outside with you. The cool breeze of the night feels wonderful against your skin, which only grew warmer by the minute.

“A new dress tonight, hm?”

You grab the loose fabric of the skirts, swishing it back and forth. He leans against the railing as the light of the moon reflects off of his silky black hair.

“Yes — do you like it?” He nods, scanning you up and down.

“I love it, dear. I must say, I’ve never seen you in a style like this.” He takes your hand, pulling you close to him once more. The light of the ever rising moon makes the band on his ring finger gleam.

“Well… it is New Year’s eve, after all.” You fake a confident smile. It was true — you usually went for more form-fitting gowns, or ones that at least showed off your assets… but this occasion was, well… different.

“It’s nearly midnight, you know.” Rhys points out, his gaze fixing on the moon above. You nod quietly, preparing for the clock to strike twelve.

“Anything you want to leave behind this year? To not bring into the new year with you?” He asks. You chew your lip again, not sure how to answer. You’d prepared and practiced for weeks, yet now it felt as though no amount of preparation could have helped you for this moment.

Rhys shrugs after a moment. “I, for one, would like to leave any bad vibes behind now,” he pauses, listening and chuckling as Cassian belts out a line from the newest Taylor Swift song inside. You can’t help but laugh too as he says, “… and, maybe Cassians singing.”

The lighthearted moment eases you for only a second, a mere glimpse of time before you must work to steady your mind again. You realize, going into the new year, with the husband you have — this is exactly, the right moment, and nothing would make it more perfect.

“I, have something I’d like to bring with us into the new year, rather.” You say, and Rhys looks out as fireworks burst among the stars, cheering through all of Velaris heard from where the two of you stood. As you gazed upon the side of your gorgeous husbands face, you took a deep breath and just said it.

“Rhys, I’m pregnant.”

He slowly turns to you, his joyous expression morphing into surprise as he gazes into your tear-filled eyes.

“W-what?” You don’t think you’d ever heard the High Lord of the Night Court stutter. “Did you say-“

“I’m pregnant,” you say again, more confidently. His eyes grow larger, his hands taking yours as his lips curl into a wide grin.

“You’re… oh Gods, we’re…” he laughs breathily, almost in disbelief.

“We’re having a baby, Rhys!” You beam, and he instantly swoops you into his arms, spinning you around in the light of the firework streaked sky.

“We’re having a baby!” He shouts joyously, gently setting you down to take your face in his hands and pull you into a deep kiss. When he releases you, he stares down at you in pure joy, his hands cupping your cheeks.

“My darling, you’re going to make such a wonderful mother.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Cassian

You bend in half, laughing so hard your stomach begins to tighten. Eyes squeezed shut, you try to regain your composure — but what your boyfriend said was just so. Damn. Funny.

“Cass… you’re truly a comedian,” Mor giggles from beside you, her hand resting on your shoulder. When you open your eyes again, the first thing you see is your handsome man’s face alight with a smile.

“So I’ve been told,” he chuckles, taking yet another sip of his beer. His gaze settles on you as he slides a hand around your shoulders, pulling you close and kissing you on the head. “That’s how I got this one, yeah?”

Mor laughs again, and you blush as you lean into his strong frame. Strong, but a little wobbly under the influence of all the alcohol he’d consumed tonight.

“Whatever you have to tell yourself,” Mor hiccups. “…to convince yourself worthy of such a gorgeous girl.” She winks, and you reach a swaying arm for her.

“Awwwh, Mor,” you say, as she stumbles a bit before standing upright. “You’re such a good friend!” There was a million better things you could’ve said, but in your intoxicated state, that’s all you could come up with.

“Oh my gosh!” The blonde squeals. “It’s starting!”

Everyone’s attention turns to the widescreen, the DJ cutting the music as the number 10 flashes on the screen.

“Alllllright, Rita’s!” He announces over the mic. “Let’s count down into this new year together tonight, shall we?”

The crowd cheers, beginning the descent from 10 as the numbers flash on the screen. Cassian pulls you closer, and you all but crane your neck to look up at him.

“Six, five, four…”

Cassians hand slides against your jaw, the other holding you to him by the small of your back.

“Three, two…”

“Gods, you are the most beautiful-“

“One, Happy New Year!”

You don’t even let the crowd get to one, or allow your boyfriend to finish that sweet sentiment before you press up into your tip-toes and smush your lips onto his. His grip tightens, almost lifting you off the floor as his mouth drunkenly devours yours. When you finally do pull away, he smiles softly at you as though it were just the two of you in the middle of the dance floor.

“I… truly am,” he whispers. “So, so lucky.”

Then, his mouth is on yours once more.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Azriel

“Dare!”

Feyre takes another long swig from her glass, giggling as she sets it down in front of her.

“I dare you, Nesta,” she giggles. “To take off your bra, right now!” She cackles, as the group expresses their disbelief.

Through the protests and shocked expressions, Feyre groans over-exaggeratedly.

“Oh come on,” she whines. Nesta reaches behind her back, working to unhook the clasps.

“Yeah — it’s nothing you’ve never seen before.” She triumphantly yanks her bra free, removing it and tossing it into Cassians lap without so much as untying her gown. Cassian scoffs, feigning annoyance.

“What am I gonna do with this?” He picks it up, beginning to inspect it. Nesta chuckles, sitting up on her knees as she scans the group.

“Hehehe… my turn.” Her steely gray eyes land on you. “Hm. Y/N,” she says, and you feel your heart jump. You never liked truth or dare much anyway, especially not when your crush was involved.

“Truth? Or dare?” She raises an eyebrow.

You gulp. “Umm. Truth, please.”

She grins wickedly, subtly looking between you and Azriel as she pretends to contemplate a question for you.

“Truth, then. Hmm… alright, I’ve got one.” She leans back on her hands, watching as you fidget with yours.

“If you had to pick anyone in this group to kiss tonight, who would you pick?”

Your face heats, and you glare at her. Practically everyone knew of your interest in Azriel, everyone but himself — admitting that now would only be embarrassing.

“Oh… Gods Nesta, uhh…” The tequila from earlier swirls in your stomach, and for once, Azriel looks as though he’s interested in the game again and not the countdown celebration happening beyond the palace walls.

Your eyes meet hers, and she gives you an encouraging look.

“Go on then… name them.”

You swallow, glancing toward Azriel. Grave mistake, he was already looking at you.

Your cheeks deepen their shade of crimson.

“M-maybe… uh, Azriel.”

Nesta shakes her head slowly, that wicked grin only growing. Soft chanting from outside can be heard, the citizens of Velaris participating in the end of year countdown. They’re already at eight when members of the Inner Circle notice how near it is to midnight.

“Guys — it’s almost midnight!” Cassian says giddily, but Nesta keeps her gaze trained on you.

“Prove it.” She says lowly, and you sigh, taking your abandoned glass and throwing back the rest of what was in it.

In an instant, you’re standing, stumbling toward Azriel — your friend, your trainer. Your true love. If only he saw it that way.

“Five, four,” the friend group has engaged in the chanting as well.

Those deep hazel eyes meet yours, his rough hands reaching to help steady you as your friends brush past you for a look out the windows. He cracks a smile, his gently hands bracing against your forearms. You are close, so close — foreheads practically touching as he leans down to peer directly into your eyes.

Behind him, Nesta rises slowly, seeming rather pleased with herself.

“So,” his voice is low and gravelly. “Are you going to prove it?”

You don’t think twice before pressing your lips against his, every point of contact between the two of you sending a million fireworks through you. His lips move, eager for more — you’re happy to oblige.

Behind you, cheering and clapping and the distant sound of fireworks is all drowned out by the sensations taking over you — Azriel’s lips, his hands holding you to his chest… Gods, he smells so good—

He pulls back, breathing heavily as he grins down at you. You chuckle, unsure if the fluttering within is the bubbles from your earlier champagne or perhaps, butterflies.

“I don’t think,” he whispers. Your eyes widen.

“I don’t think you… proved it, enough. Yet.”

You grin, wrapping your arms around his neck before kissing him again, his hands sliding around your waist. Just before you loose yourself in the moment, you squint to meet Nesta’s pleased gaze.

“You’re welcome,” she mouths silently.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Lucien

The cold winter air bit into your exposed arms, but you didn’t care. The night had been so cold, you were suprised to find your tears hadn’t frozen right on your face — perhaps, the constant flow kept them streaming down your cheeks instead.

You’d heard rumors of Lucien, your absolute best friend being mated to none other than Elain. Sure, she was beautiful, and kind, and quite perfect really — which was exactly the problem. Everything so right about her, only made you that much more insecure.

If you were honest, you understood why the Mother would choose her for him. Your best friend was perfectly imperfect— he was a beautiful male, that you’d known for years, but he was also selfless, kind, and one of the best people you knew. That’s what made him so special; he truly was, the greatest friend you’d ever made.

Perhaps, that’s why the rumors broke your heart so much. No, he hadn’t mentioned it to you — had he known? Surely he couldn’t have known of your feelings, you’d kept them so buried inside… how deeply you’d cared for him. Loved, him.

“Why?” You whispered, glaring at the night sky above. “Why couldn’t you just let him be with me?” Your voice broke, and you whimpered once more. Tonight was pure Hell — watching him, watching her. You couldn’t blame him, she was gorgeous… and for all your friend had gone through, you only wished for him to be truly happy.

You rested your head on your hands, leaning against the marble ledge of the balcony and crying so hard you didn’t hear the terrace door slide open.

“Y/N?”

Your sniffling seized, and you looked up to meet the horrified gaze of your best friend.

You wiped a hand across your face, looking down to not meet his eye.

“Lucien, please-“ you coughed. “Please, enjoy the party. It’s nearly midnight-“

He was to you in three long strides, sitting beside you on the marble bench and resting a gently hand on your shoulder.

“I don’t care what ever else is going on — what’s wrong, Y/N?” His voice carried so much concern, a wave of fresh tears stung your eyes.

“It’s nothing,” you lied. He rolled his eyes, gripping your shoulders and pulling you into his lap. You rested your head against his shoulder, your wet tears dripping onto his collar.

“It’s surely not nothing,” he argued, his hand running soothingly over your back. You swallowed, regaining some control before sniffing and peering up into his face.

“It’s…” you tried, your lower lip wobbling. His hand rested against your cheek, a small encouraging smile on his lips.

“You can always tell me anything,” he encourages. You sigh, looking right up into his beautiful face.

“I… I heard, about Elain. And I’m so sorry, Lucien, I shouldn’t be doing this and behaving this way, because I want you to be happy and-“

“Wait wait. Y/N what are you even saying?” He chuckles, his thumb brushing away a fallen tear. Your eyes well up with more as you feel like this may be the last moment you’ll ever have like this, with the man you love most.

“You’re… I heard, about the bond. You, and Elain.” You sniff.

He tosses his head back, his bright laughter splitting the air between you. You scrunch your eyebrows in confusion, watching as he refocuses on you.

“Y/N, come now,” he starts, his hands wrapping around your waist. “If Elain and I were truly mates, don’t you think I’d tell you about it?”

You shrug, glancing down at the stone. “I… I don’t know, I-“

He tuts, tilting your chin to look at him again. Inside, the partygoers begin counting — nearing midnight.

“Oh, Y/N… you really don’t see it, do you?” He shakes his head, gazing down at you. Your bottom lip wobbles as you look to him again.

“I just… I only want you to be happy, Lucien.” He smiles warmly, leaning in as the first firework bursts across the night sky.

“You’re what makes me happy, Y/N.”

He kisses you with so much love and adoration, you hadn’t ever imagined possible. Your fingers thread through his hair as you kiss him back with as much love as you can convey.

All he says when he pulls away is, “I love you, so much, Y/N.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Eris

You sigh as you bring the mug to your lips once more, hoping the caffeinated tea can keep you awake for a little while longer.

“I don’t like this one much,” Eris comments, watching as the girl onstage sings about getting pregnant. You chuckle lazily, setting the mug down and leaning against his shoulder.

“Not a Sabrina fan?” You add playfully, and he moves his arm so you can lay more comfortably against his chest.

“I suppose not,” he says, his arms resting as he lays beneath you on the couch. He yawns, the first telltale sign of his tiredness — you had to admit, it’d been a long day. Between planting new seeds in the orchard (an annual tradition), taking the kids to visit the in-laws and wrangling them into their rooms at the end of the day… yeah. You could say you were quite exhausted.

Eris’ fingers ran along your bare arms nonchalantly as he gazed at the screen, watching Dick Clark chat with Sabrina Carpenter after her NYE performance. Her dress glittered against the city lights, reminding you of the times you and Eris shared celebrating nights like these in the past.

Sighing, you tilted your head to peer up at your mate. The angle of his jaw, so strong — it complimented the angular panes of his face, so strikingly handsome in any light. He must have noticed your stare, as his fingers stilled and he looked down at you with a tired smile.

“What is it, dear?” You sighed, toying with the small bow at the top of your pajama camisole.

After a quiet beat, you replied. “I just… I’m sorry, you know.” His brow raised, his chin tilting so he could look at you more directly. “We don’t… celebrate. Like we used to.”

He chuckles, the movement shifting you as you pressed against his chest.

“Well, my dear… we do have children, you know.” You half-smiled.

“Yes, I am aware — I’m just missing the days we went out, I guess. Me in a glittering gown, just for you, and all that.” You chewed the inside of your cheek. Your husband’s hand began lightly brushing your arm once more, his expression sympathetic.

“I understand, but, there’s nothing to apologize for my love.” You looked up at him, and he gave you a small smile. “I’m grateful we had those times, yes — but I’m even more grateful now. Nights like these are wonderful; they’re everything I want and need. I’m grateful for our children, tiresome as they may be.” You share a giggle, and his hands move to thread through your hair. “But, this, right here, laying on this couch with you on New Year’s eve… I couldn’t possibly want anything else.”

You close your eyes, snuggling closer to him as he continued playing with your hair. You began to drift off, resting peacefully knowing you were going into the new year with the one person who loved you most.

Eris only moved to reach for the remote, turning down the volume as the crowd on the screen began chanting. You stirred, but he could tell you were fast asleep — gazing down at your beautiful face, his heart swelled.

He leaned down as the crowd roared, pressing a small kiss to your temple.

“Happy New Year, my love.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･

Tamlin

“So, are you gonna go talk to him, or what?”

You’d been eyeing the blonde all night, trying (and failing) to keep your staring to a minimum. Naturally, your friend caught on — likely when she noticed the sudden changes in demeanor as he entered the room you were in.

“W-who?” You feigned innocence. She rolled her eyes, jerking her chin to the brooding blonde by the mini bar.

“You know who,” she chuckled. “Mystery man?”

Now it was time for you to roll your eyes. “That’s what we’re calling him?”

She smirks. “Well, you haven’t gone and asked his name yet, so yeah. That’s all I’ve got for now.”

You sigh, sipping on the last few ounces of your drink.

“Come on,” she eggs on. “Go over and at least say hi?” She nudges your shoulder. You tip back your glass, swallowing the rest of what was in it. Only when you step forward does she applaud you.

“Shh!” You glare over your shoulder, but your friend only watches with amusement as you nervously make your way toward the bar.

Once you’re within arms reach, you take a deep breath, your gaze meeting the emerald green one you’d been eyeing all evening.

“Uh… h-hi.” You stammer. He raises an eyebrow, looking you up and down before opening his mouth.

“Hi.”

Your lips press into a flat line.

“Uh… what’s your name?” You ask. The butterflies in your stomach threaten to come up your throat, and you swallow hard.

“…Tamlin.”

Your eyebrows raise.

“Like, from the Spring Court?” You squeak. He huffs a laugh.

“Like, yeah.”

Your brows furrow, cheeks heating at his lack of communication skills. You fidget with your fingers, not entirely sure what to say next.

“Is there something I can-“

“Why are you here?” You cut him off. Now he raises his eyebrows, and your mouth opens and closes like a fish.

“No, no uh I didn’t mean it like that, I just mean, uhm. Why come to a, uh, party in Autumn if you’re from Spring?” You stutter.

He tips back his glass, setting it on the counter before him before turning to fully face you.

“Friend brought me.” He glances to the room next to you, where Lucien is talking to a group and laughing.

You shrug. “Me too.”

He looks at you near expressionless, leaving you so defeated that you turn to walk away. His hand catches your wrist, and your breath hitches as you whirl around to face him again.

He stares silently for a moment, before pulling you closer to him.

“You’re not here with a… a male?” He asks. You shake your head slowly, and he smirks.

“A shame. For everyone else, but hopefully not me.” Your cheeks darken as you watch his eyes rove over your face, down your neck, over the edge of your top…

“I didn’t come with one,” you choke out. “But, I’m not opposed to leaving with one.” You can’t believe you just said that out loud. He apparently finds it amusing, chuckling as he glances to the clock.

“You’re not above kissing a stranger you just met at a party where you know no one?” He asks, his palms resting on your hips as you stand between his parted knees. You hadn’t noticed how close the clock hand had gotten toward 12, quite literally so distracted by the man in front of you now.

“Are you?” You retort. He smiles, his right hand resting against your jaw.

“Absolutely not.”

✧･ﾟ: *✧･

[ohmystaxk]

For there is beauty | Chapter Two: Progress takes time

[MASTERLIST] | [CHAPTER 1] | [NEXT] (01/10/25)

Tags/Warnings: No Viktor in this chapter, Academy burnout, Jayce taking care of Reader, Jayce is so touchy, Cait and Reader being girls (I love my babies, your honor!!), Accidental fake dating, Accidental flashing, Not Beta Read.

Summary: After meeting Viktor at the library, it was time to head back to Jayce and Cait. Another day in your routine, just like any other, except you started feeling the effects of burnout after months of working hard.

Suddenly, Cait asks a question that makes you answer in a very shocking way. Why did the girl have to be so curious?

I have created playlists that I encourage you to listen to while reading (spotify, yt music and apple music) this fic!

spotify yt music apple music

Tracklist:

1. Vienna by Billy Joel 2. Matilda by Harry Styles 3. Birds of a feather by Billie Eilish

You knocked on the door three times. The books were still in your hands as you heard footsteps approaching from the other side. The door slowly opened, and in front of you stood Jayce as he looked behind him. His cologne was the first thing you noticed, perhaps it had been the sudden start to your day, but you did not remembered him wearing that cologne. He finally turned his head your way.

“There should be a pencil there somewhere.” He spoke to who you could only assumed to be Cait. His eyes met yours, and his teeth flashed as he smiled. You always liked the tooth gap on his front teeth, and you especially liked how sharp his canines looked. “Hey, you’re back!”

“Told you I wouldn’t take long.” You shrugged, tilting your head to the side waiting for him to let you in.

Jayce nodded, he leaned over and took your books from your hands. “Come in, eat your food before it gets cold.”

He smelled like bergamot, with a hint of rosemary and cedarwood.

“Are you wearing the cologne I gifted you?” you asked with a grin. To that, the man nodded with a frown.

“Yeah. I ran out of mine.” Jayce opened the door wider, giving you space to walk in. “You have good taste.” He kicked the door closed behind him.

“When do I not?”Jayce laughed as he trailed right behind you.

You reached your workbench and sat down on the stool. He put down the stack of books on the table.

When you placed down your bag, you started fishing for your notebook. The man turned around and headed towards Cait, the girl had sat down on a stool next to Jayce’s workbench, taking a bite from her food as she seemed to write things down on a piece of paper.

“So, Cait.” You started, placing down your notebook and a pile of your research notes on the table; your pencil had been the last thing. “No strange women today?” You could not help the grin that appeared on your lips.

“Nothing to report.” She said once she finished her bite.

“Good.” You nodded with a smile when Jayce narrowed his eyes at you.

“Well, except that he didn’t get a discount this time.” Cait leaned over the bench, writing some more.

“Oh, really?” You opened your notebook, flipping through the pages.

“The lady at the counter was not there today.” Cait then took another bite.

“She was sick,” Jayce explained and grabbed his food, as well as yours, and walked to you. “So, the older lady was in today.”

“What a shame, could’ve tried charming her pants off to save yourself a pretty coin.” You reached for the book on top of the stack, but Jayce placed the food in front of you and pushed the stack away from your reach.

“A bit more decorum, please.” Jayce tilted his head towards Cait. You raised your hands and smiled at him with tight lips, guilt on your features.

“My bad.” You said, crossing your leg on top of your thigh, and putting your hands down to fix the wrinkles on your skirt.

Jayce’s eyes followed your movements and then quickly shifted back to your food.

“Please eat before it gets colder.”

With full stomaches, the three of you began working. You and Jayce talked, and he would write on the chalkboard as you looked at the notes you wrote the day before. During that time, Cait would work on her homework, sometimes speaking up to ask for some help here and there. It was a routine, one that worked so well between the three of you. Jayce would sit down once in a while, his back to the bench as he leaned back, his elbows on the surface. You would stand up and pace around the room with your notebook in hand and your pencil tapping your forehead. Then the words began to look foreign as you tried to read them again, and again. You sighed heavily, turning around too quickly and tossing your notebook and pencil harshly on your workbench.

You walked to the glass door of the balcony, opening the doors, and going to lean over the railing. At this point, sunset was beginning to set. Time always went by faster when working on Jayce’s project. The complexity caused your brain to shut off the outside world. You decided it was best to simply take a break out there, the fresh air hugging your lungs so well.

Then you glanced to the horizon, from where you stood you could see parts of Zaun. A chill went up your spine, you could hear your father’s voice in the back of your mind. ‘ We have to work five times harder than they do. We have to show them who we are.’

A hand came to your lower back, you felt another shiver as you felt fingers trailing up to rest between your shoulder blades.

“You doing okay?” Jayce leaned his arm against the railing, leaning close to you.

You let out a sigh.  Closing your eyes tightly.

“It still feels surreal.” You let your head hang low.

“What does?” Jayce’s hand went down to your lower back, staying there as he leaned over even more.

“Making it out.” You said, the words tasted wrong in your mouth. “I know how much my parents have worked to give me a good life, one better than the one they had in Zaun.”

Your mind brought you back to when you were only eight, hiding behind the door of your bedroom as you heard your father talk with someone.

“Do you think this is easy? Do you think I am not scared ?” Your father spoke, hand slamming against the old dining table . “I have a wife and daughter to take care of, my priority is them. I care about this place! But I will not put them at stake here, I was given an opportunity, so I will take it.”

There was silence, a deafening one as you heard your father’s heavy breathing. Followed by a heavy sigh.

“I know.” The voice came from another man, you don’t remember his name anymore.

“I am tired of working in the mines, V. I am tired of coming home and barely being able to make ends meet with the poor fucking excuse of a payment I receive. Zoila is growing sick, I need to get them out of here.”

“I understand.”

“Do you?”

“I don’t want to disappoint them.” You whisper, holding the rail tightly with your hands.

“You don’t,” Jayce says back softly, his hand traveling to your right shoulder, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “They know how hard you work, just how much you put into your studies.”

“I have worked on this for months, Jayce.” You turn to meet his eyes, and you want to look away. He looks deep into yours, he shows a softness and worry in them. “The words are all meshing together, they don’t even make sense.”

“You have to remember why you are doing this. Progress takes time.” He smiles gently at you, giving you a small shove.

You notice the sun starting to set, the golden glow making his skin vibrant. His eyes are even lighter, they shine like honey as they stare back at you. You can’t help when your eyes fall on his lips, a nice plumpness to them. You force yourself to glance back at him, but his eyes seem a bit darker now.

“I’m heading home!” Cait’s voice breaks you out of Jayce’s hold. You turn to look at the girl as she looks up from her spot, her eyes widening a bit. “It’s getting late.” She points out.

“I’ll walk you home.” You say, turning around and heading back inside. “I will work on this tomorrow.”

“I will take her home. Is closer to my place.” Jayce spoke from behind you.

“I want her to take me.” Cait put her bag across her chest, and her bright blue eyes stared at you. “If that is okay?”

Jayce stopped next to you. He looked at the girl before looking at you, he placed both hands on his hips.

“Sure can, Cait.” You said with a smile. You started grabbing your bag and putting everything you needed back inside. “I will probably stop by my parents’ on the way back.”

When you finally had everything ready, you turned around, bumping into Jayce.

“Don’t get home too late, alright?” You said, and took a step to the side, but he was just looking at you, his head tilted to the side. You frowned, narrowing your eyes as his eyes softened a bit. Oh, of course . “You are impossible, Talis.” 

You rolled your eyes before you stepped on your toes and leaned forward, placing a hand on his chest for support. You could see a smile forming on his lips as you placed a quick kiss on his cheek.

“That’s better, doll.” He placed a kiss on your cheek. “Say hi to your mom for me.”

You slapped his chest and stepped back. It had become a habit of his since he was fourteen, to kiss your cheek goodbye. ‘ My mom told me it’s polite .’ He had told you that it was something older people did when greeting or when leaving where his mother was from. And it is something he always did from then on.

“Tomorrow around the same time?” You walked past him.

“Yeah, I will pick you up. Will you stay over at your parents?”

“Yeah.”

Cait and you were not far from her home, the two of you talked the whole way there. You asked her about school and how that was going. She asked you about your research and noticed how stressed you looked back in the workshop. You joked with her, and you even stopped on the way to grab pastries for the two of you. Caitlyn liked being around Jayce, and so did you, but even you were aware of how nice it was to just be around her. Just two girls talking about everything and nothing at all. She was smart, witty, and always so curious. And for her, it was nice to just be able to ask you about things only you understood.

“Oh! And you should have seen her face when I shot right in the center.” She smiled big, her eyes widening as she spoke. “The target was so far, and I still hit it .”

“That’s great!” You shoved her playfully, smiling wide as you could not help but laugh at her enthusiasm. “I told you, no one will be able to mess with you.”

“Thanks,” She took a bite from her pastry.

“So, when do you have your next lesson?” You took the last bite from yours.

“Next week.” She cleaned her lips with a napkin.

“Well, you have to tell me how that goes.” When you said that, she nodded, but not before she went quiet.

Cait looked at you, then looked away. She held her pastry closer to herself.

“Is something wrong?” Your voice softened, frowning as you leaned down a bit to catch her face. “You can tell me, you know?”

“How come-.” She paused, looking your way this time. “How come you and Jayce are not together?” Her question made your brain go blank.

You stopped in your tracks.

“What?” You laughed in confusion.

“I mean, you two are always together. As friends . But, you like him, don’t you?” The question finally settled, and your heart started beating fast as you felt heat rush to your face.

“A-are you pulling my leg?” Another laugh escaped you. “Real funny, Cait.”

“No, I mean…Jayce always talks about you, all the time . And when it’s just you and me, you also talk a lot about him.” She explained.

“That’s because we care about each other. Friends talk about one another.” You walked to the trash can near you, and dumped your napkin.

“Do you talk about me?” You suddenly choked on your spit.

“W-we do…” She narrowed her eyes at you. “Okay, you got me there. But Jayce and I are just friends , we have known each other for years now. And yes, we are always around the other, but it’s because we are lab partners, we work together.”

“He is always a little too close to you.” She grimaced at the words.

“That’s how Jayce is, he is just a big…physical-touch type of person. Me, on the other hand, not so much. But he is always so…touchy?”

“Three ‘buts’ so far,” She took another bite and placed a hand on her hip. “I saw you two at the balcony, that seemed pretty close.”

“He was trying to comfort me. Listen, Cait. You have not seen Jayce when he actually likes someone. He is all smiles and compliments, he uses every charm in the book. He gives them this…stupid smile that shows his teeth, and he laughs as he tilts his head while he gives them the eyes -.”

“The eyes?” She frowned with confusion.

“Don’t worry about that.” You quickly realized where you were heading. “I don’t like Jayce. And he doesn’t like me, we are friends.”

“Well, it sounds to me like you do.” She shrugged with a sly smile.

You rolled your eyes, more heat on your face this time.

“Let’s get you home before your mom gets someone to come looking for you.” You looked away as you started walking again. Then you heard a gasp, you turned to look at Cait.

“You do like him!” She said a little too loud for your liking, pointing a finger at you. You quickly signaled her to keep quiet.

“No, I do not.” You shook your head.

“Yes, you do! For how long?” She ran to the trash can and threw her pastry away.

“Okay, I am going to keep walking.” You heard Cait quickly sprint your way.

“Why are you trying to avoid my question?” She frowned. “He likes you, I can tell.”

You sighed heavily and brought a hand to your face.

“I don’t like Jayce.” You felt your heart throb painfully as you said that.

“Why not?” She walked in front of you, turning to face you as she walked backward. “It’s not like you are not always jeal-.”

“Because I already have a partner!” You blurted out, both of you stopping in your tracks. The two of you stared at each other in shock.

“What!?” She frowned as she stared at you in utter confusion.

“Huh?”

“D-does Jayce know?” Her voice lowered, leaning forward as if the conversation was now a secret.

“N-no, he doesn’t and you can’t tell him, alright?” You pointed at her.

Why does she have to be so curious?

“Why not?” She crossed her arms at you.

“B-because…” Fuck, why would Jayce not know? You wanted to hit your head against a wall. “Because you know how he is.” Great work, genius.

“Which is?” She narrowed her eyes, arms still crossed.

“He is protective, he will want to know them, maybe even test them or something.” You wanted to keep walking, to get back to your parents’ house and fall face-first on the couch.

“Who is it?” Cait asked, and you should have known she would. “I won’t tell him. I promise.”

You knew people, you had a couple of friends from the Academy. But you were sure Cait knew most of them from when she would tag along with you and Jayce at the Academy, it had to be someone she didn’t know. You tried to think, of someone, just anyone. Then there it was, your mind flashed you those amber eyes you would see during lectures, of that pretty shade of brown hair, and of the two moles adorning his face.

“Viktor.” You said, feeling proud of yourself for quickly coming up with a name.

“Counselor Heimendinger’s assistant?” As soon as she said that, you felt your heart drop to your stomach.

“You know him?” You felt the heat from your face completely leave. “H-how?”

“I have seen him whenever I go with my mother to some meetings.” She scratched the back of her head, head tilted to the side as she raised an eyebrow. “Is he not…a bit too quiet?”

“Just a little, but he is nice.” You shrugged, a guilty smile on your face. Please forgive me, Viktor. “But, you can’t tell Jayce! O-or mention me to Viktor.”

“Well, I don’t talk to Viktor. But, why should I not mention you?” This time you started walking, and Cait followed you immediately.

“I will tell you later, let’s just get you home.”

When you woke up the next morning, you almost forgot you were not in your apartment. The old bed creaked as you stretched out your limbs, the springs digging into your ribs. You sat down on the bed, your old room was still how you left it when you moved out. Old posters of science fairs, drawings, and paintings you and your mother made together. On your nightstand sat two picture frames, one of you and your parents when you were about fifteen. The other was of Jayce with an arm wrapped around your shoulders, both of you with big smiles as you held a science fair award; you were sixteen, and was Jayce seventeen. You kept forgetting to take them with you.

You stood from your bed, your mother’s night dress falling down your thighs. You walked out of your room, the smell of food overtaking your lungs, making your stomach growl. You turned the corner to the kitchen and immediately paused. Seated at your kitchen table was Jayce, a cup of what you knew to be coffee in his hand. Your mother was at the stove, she laughed as Jayce said something to her. You normally did not care about what you looked like in the morning, Jayce was used to seeing you in your nightwear, but your mother was a different story. The nightgown was long, but not too much, it was loose, but the color was off-white, and it was too thin for your liking. It was the first thing your mom had pulled out of the drawer, you were just supposed to sleep with it. You took a step back; you still had time to go and change.

Then the wood floor creaked under the weight. And Jayce turned to look your way, a smile on his face.

“Hey, you are finally awake.” He looked back towards your mom, but not for long. His eyes flicked a little too quickly towards you.

Don’t say anything. You mouthed at him, widening your eyes while you pointed at him.

Jayce cleared his throat, his eyes falling on the nightgown. You knew he would not shut up about it, and would probably tease you later. It was your mom’s fault for not simply giving you a shirt and pants, or at least something of your dad. Well, no, you should have just dressed up before coming out here.

“Good morning, baby. You woke up right on time.” Your mom was still facing the stove. “Jayce here was telling me about the progress on the Jet Tech.” She waved the wooden spoon around, and some liquid flew in the air.

“Hextech, mom.” You sighed. “Good morning.” You looked back at Jayce and to your surprise, he was still looking at you, but when he realized you saw him. He cleared his throat again, focusing his attention on his coffee.

“How about you take a seat and I can-.” Your mom cut herself off, you looked at her and watched as her eyes were wide, quickly making her way to you. “Actually! Help me with something.”

You frowned as your mom grabbed you by your shoulders, turning you around and making the two of you walk back toward your room.

“What do you need-.”

“Baby, the dress is a bit too see-through.” She whispered to you, and you immediately felt your face grow hot.

“What!?” You choked out, trying to look behind you, but Jayce was downing his coffee.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t notice which one I gave you.” You hurried to your room, swinging the door open and going straight to the mirror.

“Is this even meant for sleeping?” You spoke with horror as you noticed how sheer the dress was.

“Well…” Your mom leaned over the door frame, also looking at your reflection.

“I don’t want to know.” You hid your face in the palms of your hands.

“I will go and serve you both some breakfast.” She closed the door behind her.

It was no wonder Jayce was staring, even with the loose fabric, you were able to see underneath it. With dark lighting, it looked normal and modest. Just, not with the sunlight coming from the kitchen. You had practically flashed Jayce on a random morning, at your parents' house. You groaned into your hands.

What a way to start the day.

Taglist: @mommymilkers0526 @crvcified-kinx @night-fall-moon

Want to be tagged when a new chapter drops? Tag yourself!

[xtarmanderx]

@fanficsbysteve tagged me on my main account for First Lines of 2025! I was actually up well past midnight working on this fic and decided to jump back in first thing this morning, so here are some words from it! This is my double amnesia fic and currently consuming my every thought.

-

Tommy, Buck thinks, is someone who is completely uncomfortable in his own skin.

Buck’s only been talking to him for the last hour, but it’s painfully clear that Tommy doesn’t want much to do with him. He tries not to let that thought burrow under his skin too much. Just like him, Tommy’s lost a decade of himself and he’s clearly trying to wrap his head around it all. He doesn’t shut Buck out, but his answers are short and clipped as Buck tries to understand the life this version of Tommy is in the middle of living in his head.

“What’s the last thing you remember? Not-not like a work call,” Buck amends with a fluttering of his hand, “but personally?” Tommy doesn’t answer him immediately, looking somewhere off to the side like he’s been doing when a question makes him uncomfortable. Buck is fully prepared to drop it when Tommy takes a deep breath and looks at him again.

“I’d just bought a ring for my girlfriend, Abby.” Tommy’s mouth pinches unhappily and Buck frowns, his fingers twitching with the desire to reach over and smooth his lips back into neutral territory.

“Oh,” he says quietly. He can’t help but glance down at his gold band that matches Tommy’s. “I-I have a girlfriend named Abby.” He says, fiddling with the edge of Tommy’s sheet hanging from the bed. “I’d just set up a hot air balloon ride. Last thing I remember is getting off the phone, I think.”

“You…” Tommy tilts his head, his gaze unreadable as he searches Buck’s face. “A romantic, huh?” He asks, lips quirking up faintly at one corner. Whatever he’d wanted to say is locked up tight and Buck doesn’t know how to get past those walls.

“Yeah.” He flushes and scratches at the back of his neck. “Maddie says she’s married now and lives in another state.” He laughs and looks back up, eyes widening as Tommy goes pale. “T-Tommy?”

“Oh fuck,” he mutters while scrubbing a hand over his face. “Howie said the same thing. Don’t tell me…”

“Oh no,” Buck whispers as he quickly catches on. “We didn’t…”

“I think we did.” Tommy huffs. “I think we fucking did.”

-

Tagging: @fairytalegonewronga03, @salty-autistic-writer, @equallyloyalandlethal, @exhaustedpirate, and @jamieroyjamieroy! And anyone else who wants to participate, of course!

[rocknrollsalad]

rating: m that feels over cautious but i'd rather be that then under cw: making out with strangers, drinking tags: rockstar!eddie, waiter!steve, no upside down au, eddie has game, I'm not sure how to tag this one word count: 843

written for @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt "midnight"

-

“C’mon, in here.”

Steve is shoved into a dark room, it smells like an attic, an old lady’s house, or a thrift store. It’s enough to make Steve give a couple of coughs but he doesn’t have time for anything else. The other guy is pushing Steve to the back of what he assumes is a closet, kicking the door closed so the thud of Steve’s body and the latch of the door hit at the same time.

His shift drink isn’t enough to have his head spinning like this. Steve grips at the wall to find balance and bring himself back to earth.

It takes seconds to get the stupid bow tie on the ground, Steve helps the other unbutton his crisp, white dress shirt and tries not to regret the choice to wear an undershirt. Usually, his tips are better without but Steve was told this party was a big deal.

The guy was famous or some shit. Steve didn’t know him or the band he sang for. Which made running into him that much weirder. Thankfully someone, somewhere along the line told Steve whose house they were at because he’d really hate to be whimpering the wrong name right about now.

“Eddie…”

The sound made Eddie press against Steve, trapping him against the wall. “Thought you didn’t know who I was, gorgeous.”

All Steve could do was sigh. The comeback would hit hours later but, in this state, his brain couldn’t supply his address let alone witty retorts. Instead, Steve slid his hand up the ragged, ripped band tee Eddie wore and held on tight.

Moving like this was something he did with every waiter, Eddie firmly planted his leg between Steve’s. He licked along Steve’s collarbone and made Steve’s hand grip tighter, a desperate move to not show everything that did to him.

This was a level of desperation Steve wanted to feel ashamed about but instead, he wanted to rip his clothes off…then Eddie’s. Of all the casting couches Steve was warned about, he didn’t expect to want to get on his knees for some metal band singer and the promise of nothing in return.

Eddie laughed; it was the most devilish thing Seve had ever heard come out of another human. His hand easily wrapped around Steve’s neck and he didn’t apply any pressure but patiently gauged the reaction. In the dark, he couldn’t see the challenging stare but Steve kept his breathing even and waited to see what came next.

With a graceful move, Eddie’s hand slid up until his index finger rested under Steve’s chin, tipping it up, and dark or not, Steve could feel Eddie’s eyes on him. Not watched or appreciated but consumed. It was a warning of what was to come. Or a promise.

After a long second, Eddie moved in for a kiss. The hunger behind it took Steve’s breath away. He writhed against the wall and against Eddie’s knee. Every wire and synapse fired, rushing in this beautiful overwhelmed feeling that Steve could get addicted to.

His arms wrapped around Eddie’s shoulders, holding on and desperately trying to get them those last centimeters closer.

“So needy,” Eddie panted.

Steve’s cheeks flushed for being called out but who could care in a moment like this? The guy was gorgeous and the way he’d argued with Steve out in the dining room was better than any foreplay Steve had ever experienced. He both hated and loved the guy.

However, the hatred slipped some as Eddie seemed hellbent on turning Steve into a puddle of goo, unable to do anything other than moan. Something Steve was usually doing to others.

“Fuck you,” Steve muttered, no bite and barely saying the words without stuttering.

Again, that delightfully evil laugh followed and Steve knew he'd lost. No one would ever compare to this guy.

As if dishing out torture, Eddie slowed down and kissed Steve. There was a passion behind it that matched what Steve was feeling, a devotion and request for this to happen for the rest of time. More than that, it was a reprieve, Steve was able to catch his breath. If only slightly.

Together they moved, making out like kids who’d been pushed into the closet at some basement party. Something Steve felt a little more familiar with. Desperately trying to please rockstars was new but seven minutes in heaven was old news.

Eddie pulled his shirt off and Steve took advantage of that pause to let his shirt fall to the floor. Before they could pick back up, “Happy New Year” came from every voice in the other room. Followed quickly by a chorus of noisemakers and tiny explosions.

There was a silent, still beat in the room as Eddie and Steve tried to process the information. Eddie leaned forward after a second and kissed Steve again, something quick as he pulled back and said “Happy New Year.”

All Steve could do was laugh.

“Yeah,” Eddie agreed, and a dry chuckle came around the word. “Fuck that. Let’s have some fun.”

[wandasboy]

A Well-Deserved Break (part 2)

Older!Detective!Agnes x Younger!GN!Reader

DO NOT COPY OR PUBLISH MY WORKS. MINORS DNI. 18+ ONLY

Summary: It had been a week since your last encounter with Agnes, you couldn’t stop thinking about her no matter how hard you tried.

Tags: Age gap, gn!reader, no use of y/n, pet names, flirting, suggestive themes, sexual content

Word Count: 1200+

A/N: Sorry it took so long! Also, I have never written smut before so bear with me. There will likely only be one more part.

It is finals week, and you have one more exam to study for. You had been hunched over your desk for most of the evening once classes were over and were beginning to feel how stiff your back and neck were. You decided it was time for a break. It’s winter, but you decide a walk would be nice, just to stretch and get your blood pumping. You pulled on the first coat you saw and walked outside. 

About 10 minutes into your walk, you began to curse yourself for leaving the house without gloves or a hat, or even a thicker coat. Being stubborn, you shoved your hands in your pockets and kept going, not wanting to waste your break. As you are shuffling along the sidewalk, you hear a car pull up to a stop next to you.

“Well look who we have here, what are you doing walking around outside this late?” Detective Agnes smirks at you and waves you over. 

You smile and walk closer to the passenger door. “Hi Chief, I’ve been studying for hours and wanted some fresh air.” 

She watched as you rubbed your hands together,  chilled from the cold breeze. “Pretty cold for a walk don’t you think, sweetheart? C’mon, hop in and get warm.” 

Your face is red and wind-burnt and you can’t feel the tips of your fingers. She unlocks the door and you step in. “Thank you,” you mumble while shivering. 

“So smart and yet you’re out here without gloves and a hat?” She clicks her tongue in feign disapproval. She reaches into the back and grabs an extra jacket, throwing it over your lap. 

You pull it up over your arms and around your shoulders. In doing so, you catch a hint of her sandalwood and amber cologne lingering on the collar. You breathe it in, relaxing into the passenger seat. 

She watches you in her peripherals, smiling to herself. Within minutes of pulling away, she gets a text which makes her huff in frustration. 

“Damnit, stupid officers can’t do a single thing on their own.” She turns to look at you, “Sorry baby, I have to stop at the station and fix this. Do you want me to drop you off at your place?”

You can tell she’s peeved by the tone in her voice. Her grip on the wheel had tightened and she had turned back to face the road. 

You had missed her since the last time you saw her. Although you had only been with her for a few minutes, you found yourself longing to spend more time with her. “Can I come with you?” 

Agnes drew a short breath at your question, surprised. She quickly regained her composure, “I don’t see why not.”

~~~

Upon arriving at the station, Agnes opens the door for you, leading you to her office. She sits in her chair to take a call. You watch her from your spot near the door, unsure what to do. You try not to pay too much attention to the way her legs are spread, how her fingers grip the phone, and how every time she raises her voice it sends chills down your spine. 

Instead of standing there awkwardly, you take the opportunity to look around her office. Her chair is pulled away from her desk, so you walk in front of her to look at the items on her desk. She has case files, sticky notes, a framed picture, and a few trinkets scattered on her desk. You pick up a half-solved rubik’s cube and begin to fidget with it. 

Agnes looks up, watching you move in front of her, looking and touching the many items she has on her desk. She continues her conversation (although it is more her yelling at the person on the other end.)

Focused on the rubik’s cube, you barely notice her stand up, grabbing a file in front of you. You feel her breath on your neck and you shiver. Your heart begins to race as her front is almost flush to your back. Getting the file she needed, she sits back down in her chair. You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. 

You turn to watch her, seeing how focused she is (albeit irritated), how she exudes authority and confidence. Gathering courage, you decide to sit on her desk, facing her, while you wait. She suddenly looks up, watching you. Her eyes rake over you and you shrink under her stare. She yells at the guy on the phone then hangs up with a sigh. You look down at her coyly as she sits back, enjoying her view. 

“Such a pretty doll you are.” She smirks, watching how you react to her words. Without thinking, you lick your lips and shift on her desk. She suddenly stands up directly in front of you, quickly taking advantage of the slight spread of your legs, stepping between them. She places both hands on the desk on either side of you, leaning into your space. You gasp, feeling her up against you. She chuckles at your reaction and moves her mouth closer to your neck, whispering. 

“You like this don’t you, sitting here, acting innocent. Such a tease.” She nips at your ear and you let out a small moan and instinctively shift your hips. The action causes your core to brush against her front. 

She takes this opportunity to grab your hips and pull you closer. You yelp at her rough grip, which encourages her to grind you against her. You reach up and put your hands on her shoulders to stabilize yourself. “Mm, such pretty sounds.” She presses her lips to your neck, ghosting her lips slowly downward. She licks at your pulse point and you wrap a hand around her neck. She bucks her hips and slides one hand under your shirt. Before she gets further, there is a knock at the door. She pulls away from you and sighs. Someone yells, “goodnight chief” through the door and walks away. 

Agnes looks at her watch and then back up to you. “It’s pretty late, we should get you home.” 

You look at her, visibly frustrated. “But-”

“Another time, baby. C’mon.” She gives you her hand to help you down from her desk. She grabs her coat and takes your hand, leading you out of the station. The drive to your place is silent, the tension evident in the air. You wonder how she knows where you live, but don’t question her. Upon arriving, she turns to look at you. 

“Goodnight, doll,” she says leaning over to kiss your cheek. 

You feel your cheeks turn a dark shade of pink. “Goodnight Detective,” you say with a small smile and get out, turning around to wave once you reach your door. 

Once you get inside, you lean against the door, letting out a deep breath. You close your eyes and try to stop your mind from racing. You decide to take a shower, hoping it will ease the butterflies in your stomach. After showering, you get in bed, knowing you’d be unable to focus on studying at this point. Lying in bed, your mind wanders, remembering the feeling of Agnes’ hands on you, her tongue tracing down your neck. You fall asleep, unable to ease the throb between your thighs.

~~~

Agnes drives back to her place, her mind replaying the events in her office. Upon getting home, she grabs a beer and sits on her couch, trying to distract herself from imagining having you all to herself, no interruptions… 

[abusivelittlebunny]

I want you to know I read your blog like the morning papers. I read your filthy tags and sip my tea while doing so. An excellent morning read.

Funny that because I also am sipping on my coffee as I scroll through content and reblog with my nasty input. Cheers for a horny breakfast ☕ idk what you're interested in most particularly but here you go anon

Continuing the previous ficlet...

Warning for A/B/O & mpreg

"I gotta pay you back somehow," Charles chuckled into the phone instead of starting with a normal 'Hi' or 'Good morning'; Max preferred things straight to the point, Charles knew by now.

"Read the news. It worked that well, huh?" Max snorted, audibly sipping on something; he must be struggling with the no caffeine for the baby rule.

"He was," Charles bit his lip to suppress his giggle, rolling around on his king sized bed like a smitten teenager, his bruised body aching all over in the most delicious way possible, "just wonderful last night. God, he hasn't fucked me this rough since Vegas."

"Hm, you're a freak as per usual," he could hear Max's eyeroll through the phone almost. "Hope you're not planning on waltzing around today showing off a blackeye and a busted lip."

"He knows better than to leave such obvious marks. Well, for now at least." Charles traced the prints left on his pale thighs; galaxies of pink and purple from the belt and Carlos' strong hands. His lips curled into a too wide Cheshire cat grin. "No guarantee what he will do when he finds out the little surprise I have in store for him."

Max was quiet for a minute, but Charles could hear him shift and sigh, the weight of his babybump making it harder to get up from a sitting position. "Please tell me you didn't do something petty like key his car or take videos of last night with him beating the shit out of you for blackmail purposes. I can see a lot of speculations already about the belt; you better stay indoors if you don't want your soon to be husband to get publicly stoned by your fans."

Charles' hand caressed up from his thigh to his belly, rubbing gentle circles into his skin while he listened to Max. Instead of answering directly he hummed a coy question of his own.

"I really liked that little onesie you got from Checo. The baby blue one with the white stripes and cats. What brand was it?"

A pause and then Max spoke carefully, "I'm not sure I got a ton of baby clothes and stuff gifted to me in the last few weeks, I gotta check. Why?"

"Do you already know what you got? If the baby is a girl or a boy I mean."

"Charles, what are you on?" Max sounded irritated now, and Charles could hear him open up the fridge, no doubt looking for a sweet treat to make his overly hormonal mind calm down. Charles gifted him a whole freezerful of ice cream when Max first broke the news to the press; Max at first rolled his eyes at it but now he was munching on Charles' gift every day, his hips and tits growing even more plush as he entered the seventh month. "You know my stupid fucking gender reveal thing is not due until a month, you got fucking invited to it."

"I know, I know, just wondering. You can really tell the gender of the baby early these days. I admire that patience of yours." Charles traced his teeth with his tongue, unable to keep the grin from showing in his voice. "I couldn't wait to learn mine was a boy."

A clatter, a bang, and utter silence followed on the line. Charles hasn't told anyone yet, only received the news two days ago himself by his doctor doing the ultrasound. A strong healthy boy has been growing in Charles for the last twelve weeks.

"I just wanted to know, you know, that onesie was so cute I really envy the-,"

"Charles." Max cut his giggly rambling off with a strained voice, clearly trying to compose himself from the shock. "Don't tell me you-, you have to be kidding, mate."

"I told you, didn't I? One way or another, Carlos would have no other choice but me." Charles rolled out of bed and watched himself twirl in the wall length mirror. His belly was still completely flat, he was barely in the third month after all but he pushed his hips out and imagined how it will look stretching with his baby. He knew he could pull off a stylish pregnancy look, not get so soft and careless about it like Max. "He was always going to be the father of my children, and his transfer to Williams was just an unforseen bump in the road but nothing that could take his role away from me as my future husband."

"Does he-, oh my fucking God, Charles, how did you... Charles. What did you do?" Max wanted to sound stern but his voice was shaking a bit.

It was sweet of him to be concerned for his friend's career, he knew he'd be due in the middle of racing season, making him unable to compete. Max has already confirmed he'd compete in the second half of the season, basically robbing himself of another championship, but he told Charles how he didn't plan for his pregnancy at all either. He still didn't say who the father was, and Charles doubted he knew really.

Between Daniel, Checo, Fernando, Horner, and whoever else has found their way between Max's thick thighs, the babydaddy would remain a mystery, Charles mused.

Not that he was overly judgemental or Max giving up his cunt to any alpha that was into his bossy bratty omega ways, he admired it a bit actually for enjoying sex in such a carefree manner after he got enough championships under his belt that his daddy could no longer monitor his every waking move.

Besides, it meant he was in no danger of losing Carlos to him, since Max indulged in so many options. At first he was madly jealous, knowing Carlos had a very intimate history with Max, had proposed to him before too before Max's father shot the entire thing down. But Max reassured him they were just young and dumb, and Carlos left Redbull on his own volition not because Jos forbid him from ever seeing his son again.

They remained good although more distant friends, that's all. Just how Charles preferred it. So of course he'd be concerned and know that Carlos had zero clue about the baby.

"I stopped taking birth control about seven months ago, you remember? I got a doctor to sign off on it for performance's sake. So Carlos had to switch to condoms, and well-,"

"Don't tell me you fucking fished the condoms out of the bin, I swear-," Max groaned on the other line and Charles gave an offended squeak.

"Excuse you, I'd never do something so low, come on," Charles scoffed and waltzed over to his own kitchen for a sweet treat for himself, enjoying the soreness of his body with every step. "I just took a needle and pierced through the whole batch."

Max choked on the other side. He was coughing violently on his ice cream as Charles rattled on.

"I know, I know, it seems a bit much, but you know we were gonna have babies anyway, he knew I wanted some from the beginning, this is just a pleasant early surprise for him, you know? Just because he's in Williams now I can't let him think of other omegas as potential endgame, maybe even kick up our engagement." Charles scoffed opening a caramel fudge flavored tub. "Besides, you don't know how annoying it was, waiting for the birth control's effect to clear out of my system. He was giving it to me raw without knowing and I didn't get pregnant for weeks, it was fucking awful, not seeing the two lines. You never took birth control, did you? I know your dad was very strict on eliminating any performance reducing stuff."

Max was still wheezing softly, not saying a word. Charles felt a pang of irritation, thinking Max was judging him for what he has done. As if he had some moral highground, jumping from knot to knot for his satisfaction, not knowing who his babydaddy might be.

"Listen, I know you don't exactly approve, but still, we're friends aren't we? You're like my best friend, Maxy, you know I didn't do it maliciously. Carlos loves me. He will be delighted, I know. A bit mad at first, if he realizes the truth though, so please. Don't tell him, okay? This has to stay between us."

Max was quiet for a minute, then two before letting out a shaky sigh. "When will you tell him?"

"Not sure. Maybe after the wedding? But if he keeps pushing out the date I gotta tell him sooner. But I want it to be a public reveal. Make sure the fans see how happy and surprised he is; so they can see the wedding isn't happening because he knocked me up. I don't want them to think I forced his hand."

Max was silent on the other end of the line and Charles itched to know what he was thinking about. Sure, him and Carlos have been friends since childhood but their teen romance ended long ago, surely Max couldn't be jealous. He spent more time with Charles after all, barely ever interacting publicly with Carlos.

"Max, stop fucking judging me. You should be happy for me." Charles seethed on top of his kitchen counter, eyeing the clock. Carlos has been gone since before he woke up, but he should be back for dinner. He swallowed and took a gentler tone, "You know how much I wanted this. And now we'll be pushing our strollers side by side, and have little play dates with our kids together, go shopping, select kindergartens and everything. You won't be alone in raising your kid."

He hoped he didn't come across as too pitying, but still, Charles was the one between the two of them with a definite babydaddy.

"I know you've been having a tough time fitting in in Monaco since you moved here but I can help you with everything now while we're taking a break for our babies. It will be fun, I promise! It will be almost like they're siblings!"

Max was somehow even more silent on the other end of the line and Charles bit the inside of his cheek. He knew Max would come around, he just needed to settle his thoughts about the matter.

Charles felt a little insensitive; he didn't think about it until now but their wedding with Carlos would happen soon after Max's gender reveal party. And if he told the media about his own pregnancy right around the time Max gave birth, he'd overshadow him again. But maybe that was a good thing, Charles reassured himself. Max hated the headlines speculating about the father of his child.

"It will all work out, I promise. This will just strengthen our friendship and you won't even notice not having the father around, me and Carlos will be with you always! It will be so fun to raise them together and share their cute little clothes and-"

"I gotta go." Max hastily said, and Chsrles could hear the door of Max's bathroom open in the distance before he hung up.

Oh.

Charles mused to himself that maybe Max isn't as lonely as he thought. Of course all the alphas he was with would've been happy to step up as the father of his kid, but Charles didn't think Max was pulling towards anyone in particular in that regard.

Anyway, he was happy to know Max wasn't alone now. Maybe they could go out together baby clothes shopping once Max is calmer, just Charles, Carlos, Max, and his chosen alpha.

"Who was that?"

Max swallowed thickly and dropped his phone onto the counter, scoffing without answering the question, taking his ice cream as he walked back to the bedroom.

"Are you angry at me now?"

Max again didn't answer, just stood in front of the balcony and let the gentle late afternoon breeze wash over him.

A sigh behind him and then the tap-tap of wet footsteps approaching before a strong, tan, hairy pair of arms wrapped around him. Max grimaced at the feeling of cold moisture against his still warm body as he got enveloped in a gentle hug from behind.

"Not at you." Max finally sighed as he adoring kisses were pressed into the side of his neck, the stubble tickling his tender skin when his face was turned manually so he could receive some more kisses on his plump pouting mouth.

"Was that Daniel again? Or Horner? God, that pestering idiot won't let you breathe for a second." Max's robe was easily pulled down his shoulders as kisses rained down on him. They fucked three rounds already but that didn't seem enough to satisfy the alpha. "If the baby really is his, he'll make your life even more miserable."

"No." Max simply said, swallowing before putting hid treat on the bedside table.

"Yeah, I won't let him annoy you any longer-,"

"No, I mean the baby is not his." Max sighed, pushing the strong alpha body off of himself and moving back onto the bed. The alpha scoffed but followed, his mouth glued to Max's soft skin he loved so much; he's been more eager since the pregnancy started to show, instinctively attracted to the fertile omega beneath him. Max had a hard time peeling the man off of him now that he could fuck him raw as much as he wanted. Little did he know.

"You weren't so sure until now. If he does end up being-,"

"Horner is not the one walking around with busted condoms." Max snapped, eyes welling up with tears as he watched the alpha's brows furrow above him. "It's you, Carlos."

[wetcatspellcaster]

2024 fic wrapped

I was tagged by @cursedhaglette to do this tag-game, but I found the focus on stats made me a little uncomfortable! (also, no one needs to know how many words I wrote while having multiple breakdowns last year, truly).

But, I didn't want to ignore Mia's tag! so instead, I'm going to take @cinnamontails-ff wrapped tag-game, just bc I sympathise with the logic and I like this set of questions a lot more!

Thank you Cin for coming up with questions that don't focus so much on productivity. And thank you again, Mia, for including me in the original game :) hopefully this is an acceptable substitute!

What's been your biggest learning point this past year?

I guess, what it feels like to be a 'popular' author - and the answer is, 'both good and bad, in fact, extremely mixed'. Obviously, many parts of it are wonderful: more people interacted with my work in the height of the BG3 fandom than I've ever had before, I felt like my writing mattered and I enjoyed every conversation I had about it. I also felt under a lot more scrutiny, very hyperaware of how I acted in 'public' (ie. on this blog), and aware of the people I'd disappoint with the directions I took my stories and what I chose to include. I also had to watch the baffling half-life of modern fandom! BG3's 6 month peak and 1yr trough was wild to me, as someone who joined dragon age 8yrs after the game was released. But I've decided I actually really like the middle-road of interaction, with much less noise and dedicated, recurring readers who I recognise and who make me smile and laugh every single time they comment or tag my work. I'll probably never experience whatever the fuck Pieces was ever again, and I'm honestly... ok with that, currently? Not to sound awful, but I'm not sure I liked it lmao.

In terms of my writing, my biggest learning point was "you're good at this, actually". Chanting this to myself in the mirror while I white-knuckle the sink.

How has your writing developed this past year?

I'm genuinely not certain. Pieces was certainly my most ambitious story yet, but a lot of the outlining of that took place in 2023 so it feels like the development happened then... though I suppose landing the dismount was something I worked very hard to do. I guess the main development this year was that a lot of what I wrote was extremely, extremely angsty. I wrote Pieces, I wrote This Is Not A Love Story. and I gave Rosalie to Orin :))))) this doesn't necessarily surprise me, given the way my writing often reflects things I'm dealing with in my life, and I've been trying to both recover from - and desparately stave off a relapse into - depression. I think that I can see why I keep making characters into the worst versions of themselves (this goes for Astarion, Rosalie - bc Pieces Rosalie is NOT in a good place, Gale and my Durge) and then watching them claw their way back to happiness in the hope of proving to myself that that's possible.

But jfc, it all got a little heavy. I've decided that 2025 is the Year of the Rom Com™.

Good writing habits?

Committing myself exclusively to what I want to read and sticking to my guns - which means I actually finish the thing, rather than getting into my own head about it.

Stretching my comfort zone a little (writing something vaguely smutty, writing something very different in style, switching genres for a bit) without losing my own voice.

Not falling into any jealousy/existential crises about my own writing, which I guess is much easier when you're experiencing a bout of 'success', but I've managed to keep it up even after the success began tailing off :)

I wrote a lot of words last year. I'm not putting the stat down but god. It was a lot.

Bad writing habits?

Overwriting everything. Everything. All the time. Party Favours was so short!!! I used to write novellas!!! Why are my chapters so fucking long now?????

Having multiple fic wips when I promised myself I'd wind down fanfic and start writing original work again :')

I wrote a lot of words last year. I think I did this bc I was extremely unhappy, and productivity is how I define myself. when I feel bad, I write and post bc it makes me feel good. And I felt very bad this year. So anyway, I think my wordcount is both a good thing and also a wee cry for help :'))))

Favorite thing you wrote?

Chapter Twenty-Three of Pieces (Mephistopheles consultation and my Ascended!Astarion meta-reveal)

Chapter Four of Cooler Than Me (putting the blorbos in a formal-wear situation)

I also liked my sex scene in Pieces :') it was tame but it was written for me specifically x

Favorite reads?

for fic!

long summer days can lead to lazy vices by @pouroverpaloma

eyes like fire by demonsbanebard

only once by @bearhugsandshrugs

and of course stitched into your sleeve by the bestie (@violacae)!!! my first ever gift fic!!!

for literature!

The Scholar and the Last Faerie Door by HG Parry

Long Live Evil by Sarah Rees Brennan

Deeplight by Frances Hardinge

Biggest win?

god. I'm endlessly grateful for my gift fic and for my fanart, but... it's got to be bookbindings. I used to daydream, about somebody ever wanting to have my fic bound, but I thought it was impossible and would never happen! I now know of 3 copies of my work that exist in the world :D and the ones I've seen were fucking gorgeous, like oh my fucking god.

I am also very proud I finished Pieces! It was my most ambitious project, and writing the ending presented even more challenges than I expected - as I discovered how much you write yourself into a corner when you resoul Astarion. I still haven't managed to read the completed work in full yet, but I'm proud it exists :)

Goals for the new year?

finish outstanding wips, and then see where my writing takes me next. I want to write original work, but I also don't want to make it a resolution. As long as I continue to enjoy writing, that's what matters most to me!

Your favorite words of the year, aka the words you check each chapter for, making sure you didn't repeat them 788 times?

I think I use '[x character] froze' a lot, but rather than focusing on my repetitions I want to focus on some of my favourite turns of phrase that I managed to pull from the ether! :)

'before her brief courtship with death threatened to become a commitment' - from the risk and the reward

'We can all still be butchered. We cut away the parts of ourselves to make us fit' - from this is a love story.

"He played an androgynous, morally-grey vampire, of indeterminate gender! In a nice coat! Anyone who had two working eyes and a relevant Kinsey Score read the porn, back in the day!” - from cooler than me

What are you excited for in the new year?

act 3 astarion characterisation for honest lie! the first big romance moment in cooler than me! and then just romcoms! 2025 is the year of the romcom! I want to write exclusively happy things!!!!

tagging: @cursedhaglette (as it's a different set of questions lmao), @imscissorbladez, @violacae, @eraserspiral, @scaryanneee, @sitting-in-the-sink, @pricemarshfield, @pouroverpaloma and anyone else who wants to give this a whirl. anyone is welcome, and if you tag me in it I'll share x