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delugyu · 3 days ago

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hii ! i definitely need a part 4 of the beomgyu drabble please 😭

hehe glad to see people are still enjoying this

one / two / three / four

(wc: 4.3k / warnings: gyu being kind of a bad friend 😭, dry humping, spit kink sorry, fingering, masturbation, virgin!reader, a bit of nipple play, cum eating, jealousy, some possessiveness)

it feels a little weird when beomgyu hangs out with you again. everything was fine until your mutual friends decided to leave together, leaving him alone with you at the bar. beomgyu had no problem being normal and cool a minute ago, but that all leaves him in an instant.

a month ago, this would have been the easiest thing ever. he would have been able to continue the night laughing and chatting with you like friends. how was he to know that teaching you how to give a handjob was going to lead to all this? that it would make it impossible to even look at you a little too long?

“i’m shocked yeonjun left before you did,” you say. he wonders how you can still talk to him so normally, as if nothing had happened between you two at all.

he tries his best to not make himself a fool in front of you. “yeah,” he says. he doesn’t know what more to say. he can hardly stand to look at you for more than a couple seconds at a time.

“you plan on leaving alone?” you ask. beomgyu’s body tenses for a second. a hopeful part of him thinks you might be flirting, but he also knows hope is synonymous with delusion when it comes to how much he wants you.

“not sure yet. are you?” he asks.

you shrug. “taehyun said he might come by, so i’ll”—the rest of whatever you say gets tuned out by beomgyu. he wants to listen and smile and root for you, and he feels like the worst friend ever for not being able to do so, but it’s so impossible to hear you talk about taehyun when beomgyu’s struggling with these weird feelings for you. he doesn’t even know what he’d call it. it’s not like he’s in love with you, but he feels sick whenever he thinks about you with anyone besides him.

he’s never caught feelings for anyone just from hooking up, so it can’t be that. he’s sure that whatever he feels for you is purely physical. he’s a man, after all; it only makes sense that lust would blind him this badly. he chooses to ignore all the signs that would lead him to any other conclusions.

beomgyu misses when you didn’t care about boys; he didn’t have to deal with all these confusing emotions back then. you and beomgyu were never super close, but being part of the same friend group meant that you at least hung out often. it was always fun and easy, at least until now.

“are you and taehyun really serious now?” he asks. maybe he should’ve bit his tongue, but he trusts that the question is innocent enough at face value.

you seem like you don’t know how to answer that, taking a moment to think of a response. “define serious,” you end up saying.

nothing that comes to beomgyu’s mind would be appropriate to ask you. do you let him touch you? do you go on dates as more than just friends? do you treat him like he’s your boyfriend? and, god forbid, do you have feelings for him?

“are you exclusive with him?”

you blink at beomgyu. “i mean… i guess not.”

“what do you mean you guess not?” beomgyu wants a straight up answer, cause if you’re not exclusive, he’s taking you home tonight, and if you are exclusive… well, taehyun will just have to hate beomgyu’s guts tomorrow.

“we never really talked about it,” you say.

“then you’re not. taehyun would make you his girlfriend if he wanted to badly enough,” beomgyu says, and it comes out much harsher than he intended. he only realizes it when he sees a bit of offense on your face. he quickly tries to recover, “i mean, i’m sure he really likes you, and he’d be super lucky to have you as his girlfriend.”

you just look more confused, brows slightly furrowed, head tilting just a bit. god, beomgyu wants to punch himself. what the fuck is wrong with him?

“what’s the point of this?” you ask.

beomgyu sighs and looks off into the crowd, trying to find his answer. instead, he finds taehyun walking into the bar, scanning the room until his eyes land on you. this is such a joke.

in an ideal world, in which reputation doesn’t matter and beomgyu doesn’t have to be mindful of his actions, he would have taken your hand and ran out of this place with you. he’d kiss you in the parking lot and make sure taehyun was the last thing on your mind. this is not an ideal world, though, and instead beomgyu has to smile at taehyun when he sits next to you.

beomgyu might literally throw up. why are you smiling at taehyun like that? you’ve never smiled at beomgyu with such adoration. taehyun’s whole demeanor is just sunshine and rainbows, and beomgyu’s sure it must feel so swell to have all your attention and affection at his whim.

whatever. “i’m gonna grab a drink,” beomgyu says, excusing himself from the table.

the bartender eyes beomgyu up and down like he knows exactly what’s up. beomgyu’s not exactly trying to act all happy, so it doesn’t take a genius to figure out that he’s in a bit of a mood.

“just give me something strong and cheap,” beomgyu says. he needs something that will make the sight of you and taehyun being lovebirds semi-tolerable.

he heads back to the table after finishing his drink, and taehyun’s laugh is a lot more grating than he remembers. you look happy to see beomgyu come back, which at least feels like some kind of win. beomgyu’s not drunk, but he’s buzzed enough to sit here without feeling miserable.

some amount of time passes by before taehyun finally seems to be leaving. if you ask beomgyu, he’d say it was about five hours—the clock shows it was more like one.

“oh, come on, you’re not even gonna have one drink?” you laugh, grabbing taehyun’s hand when he gets out of his seat.

“he’s not much of a drinker,” beomgyu answers for him. taehyun laughs and agrees.

“i’ll see you tomorrow though,” taehyun says, squeezing your hand and smiling at you before stepping away. “and we gotta hang out soon too, bro.” taehyun slaps a brotherly hand onto beomgyu’s shoulder, patting it in parting.

“for sure,” beomgyu says, hoping he sells the excitement that he does not feel. he’s such a bad friend, and he feels like shit for not being able to act normal.

you look all set to go a few minutes after taehyun heads out. it’s late into the night, so beomgyu can’t blame you. but he also can’t let you walk home alone like this.

“can i bring you to your place? or at least get you a ride?” beomgyu offers, rising from his seat when you do.

“you can come to mine and just stay over. it’s late and i live closer anyway,” you say. a smile finds its way onto beomgyu’s face before he even realizes it. he’s surprised to see your lips curl up into a sweet smile back at him.

when beomgyu gets to your apartment, he takes his time analyzing your room. you have a lot of decor that he gets to look at while you change into more comfortable clothes in your bathroom. he’s already sitting on your bed when you come back, and his heart does this weird jumpy thing when you’re in his sight again.

“do you want the bed and i’ll just sleep on the couch?” you ask, standing in your doorway. beomgyu laughs at how cautious you are. you act as if you haven’t shared a bed with beomgyu before.

“just come here,” he says, patting the spot on the mattress next to him. you look so shy and sweet when you walk over, taking tiny steps and getting onto the bed like a dainty little thing. “you’re so cute,” he laughs, not bothering to hold back his words. he’s glad he didn’t, cause the way you smile and look away at the compliment makes his heart race.

beomgyu’s got this terrible thing where he just can’t keep his hands off you when you’re alone in a room. he rests a hand on your thigh, innocently enough to just be friendly. he thinks you look so adorable in your pajamas, meanwhile he’s still dressed in the same outfit he went to the bar in. the contrast between that gorgeous dress you wore earlier and the sleep set you wear now is so funny and endearing.

“beomgyu, can i ask you something?” your voice holds some sort of seriousness to it, and it hits beomgyu like ice cold water. his hand stiffens on your thigh.

“anything,” he says.

your hand lands on top of his, just lightly resting over it. your eyes are on your hands instead of beomgyu’s face. he runs his thumb over your skin to soothe you, trying to get you to relax, even if he’s a little scared to hear your question.

“do you not like taehyun?”

beomgyu halts all his movements. he doesn’t even breathe. it lasts just for a second before his facade comes back. “taehyun’s my friend. why are you asking this?”

you pick up beomgyu’s hand and lace your fingers between his. beomgyu thinks it might be the alcohol in your system that’s getting you to act so clingy and brave.

“you just seemed weird about him tonight,” you say.

beomgyu hums and nods slowly. “don’t worry about it,” he reassures, coming in to place a kiss on your cheek. maybe the alcohol’s got him acting brave too.

you turn your head and give him a smile that seems like you’re just begging him to kiss you. beomgyu’s not a strong-willed man—he sees you batting your eyelashes at him and it’s game over. with a hand on your chin, he leans in to give you a sweet kiss, and for the first time, he doesn’t think he has sexual motives behind it.

well, until you moan in his mouth. then he has a bit of a change in plans.

he brings you carefully down to the bed, not disconnecting from your lips once. his hands hold your face still, keeping you nice and pliant for him to lick into your mouth and keep making you mewl.

“we should make a new rule,” beomgyu says, face hovering just an inch from yours. you hum in question. “no more talking about taehyun when we’re alone.” the suggestion is accompanied by a laugh, but beomgyu’s only half-kidding.

“you’re crazy,” you giggle, pulling him in for another kiss. he thinks you’re the best kisser on earth. nothing feels as good as kissing you does, besides maybe making you cum.

“can i touch you?” beomgyu asks, breathing hotly against your lips, hungrily pecking you just for a moment so as to not stop you from answering.

you turn your face to the side then, and the slightest frown tugs at your lips. something about it makes beomgyu’s chest tighten.

“what?” beomgyu asks, coaxing your attention back to him with his gentle fingers on your jaw. he pouts as he observes your hesitance. “do you just want to kiss tonight?” he won’t push you farther than you’re willing to go. he’ll always prioritize your pleasure, and with that comes your comfort.

“gyu, tell me this isn’t wrong,” you say, running a hand through his hair.

“why would it be wrong?” he would hope that everything you do with him feels nothing but right. that’s how it feels to him.

“cause taehyun doesn’t know,” you whisper.

beomgyu’s quiet for a second, then he brushes your hair back soothingly. “he doesn’t need to,” he whispers back. his hand goes beneath your shirt to rest on your waist. the feel of your skin never fails to send electricity down his spine.

“what if he asks me out soon?” beomgyu hates the way your eyes shine when you say that.

“i thought we agreed not to talk about taehyun anymore,” beomgyu laughs, but it doesn’t sound very convincing. taehyun’s name becomes a bitter weight on his tongue.

what will it take for you to forget about him? does beomgyu need to imprint himself into your head? beomgyu’s lips tingle with a need to kiss you again, to burn his taste inside your mouth. he wants you to be full of him in every way you could be.

he leans in to capture your lips slowly, deeply. it’s a mess of saliva and needy moans, but when he feels your hands gripping onto his arms, he feels like a winner. he wants more of that—more of you being desperate for him, less of you thinking about other men. fuck, is kissing you stupid all it takes? because that’s not too bad of a price.

your hips cant up into beomgyu’s, and he can’t stop the laugh he huffs out at your eagerness. he’s normally the one pleading to get you off, so to feel you seeking out pleasure without beomgyu having to beg for it seems like a miracle. he presses his hips into yours, more than willing to give you the relief you’re looking for. you whine as he grinds against you, and he eats up your every noise like it’s what he was made for.

he pulls away to catch his breath, eyes full of lust as he watches your face contort with pleasure. god, he could watch you like this all day. he can’t believe no one else has ever seen this before. he leans down to your neck, sucking hard and not caring whether or not it bruises. he wants you more than words could let you know; he turns to marking you to show you just how bad he craves you.

you yelp when he starts grinding against you a little harder, and he bites down a smirk at the satisfaction he feels. he holds your hips down, keeping you in place so he can give it to you just how he wants, just how he knows you’d like. you have no clue how good he wants to make you feel; he’d love to see you overwhelmed and trembling, shaking nonstop and begging with tears in your eyes for more and more. he bets you don’t even know how much you could take. he wants to push you to your limits and find out.

his body’s buzzing with the need to get you off, to have you creaming in those cute little pajama shorts. he laughs when you whimper out his name, clawing at his shirt like this is already too much. he wants to go a lot further than this, though.

“we’ll have to stop when taehyun asks me out,” you whisper, breaking beomgyu’s fantasy. he almost runs a hand down his face from the exhaustion and irritation, but he holds back. instead, he levels you with a stare, one that seems to make you shrink back a bit.

his eyes flit to your lips. “open up,” he commands, patting your cheek lightly. your wide, confused eyes dart across his face for a moment, then you oblige. your mouth parts slowly, pretty pink tongue just barely visible. “wider,” he says, and you do.

he needs to show you what happens when you don’t listen to him. he lets a glob of his saliva fall from his lips, watching it slowly drip towards yours. your legs clamp around his waist, and he could almost laugh at the whole ordeal. you’re getting even needier cause he spit in your mouth? or is it because he’s being a little more strict with you? do you like being put in place?

he watches his saliva land on your tongue, dark eyes finding yours. “now swallow,” he says, and he rubs his hand over your clothed cunt as he says it. he feels your body tremble a little. you keep eye contact with him as you close your mouth and do as he says. beomgyu nearly cums in his pants on the spot.

“don’t bring up taehyun again.” he grinds his palm against you a little harder to get his point across.

“i’m sorry,” you say, and you sound so docile that beomgyu feels a little bad.

“it’s okay, baby. you didn’t know better. i just have to get this pretty head to stop thinking, right?” he kisses your forehead, and he feels you nod. you’re so needy right now that beomgyu thinks this might be a wet dream—he’s been dying to see you like this again. “will you let me inside you? just my fingers?” he asks.

you gasp as his fingers circle your clit, and he’s starting to feel how wet you are even through the layers of clothes. he imagines sinking his finger into you, something no man has done to you before. he gets to have all your firsts, he’ll make sure of it. no one else deserves it. no one else could make you feel like he can.

“j-just go slow,” you say. beomgyu can’t take your clothes off fast enough, throwing your shorts and panties to the floor in seconds. he has to stop to admire your pussy, rubbing your slit and gathering your arousal on his fingers.

“you’re the prettiest,” he praises, bringing your hand to his lips so he can kiss the back of it. you smile shyly, then gasp as he glides his fingers across your clit. he continues just playing with the swollen bud for a minute, wanting to get you soaking before he stretches you out.

he circles his finger around your entrance, teasingly applying pressure just to watch you squirm. he feels the ultimate power rush right now—he’s going to change your life, going to make sure you come crying back to him every night asking for his touch.

“are you ready?” he asks.

“yes, please.” you’re so sweet. he’d kiss you if he wasn’t so focused on watching your cunt as he starts pushing his finger in.

his eyes almost roll back at how much you're clamping down on him. he pushes in until his finger’s halfway in and gives you a moment to adjust to the feeling. he gives a couple shallow thrusts, listening to your breath catch, before he pushes in the rest of the way.

“look at you, doing so good,” he coos, letting his free hand caress your thigh.

“i-i can take more,” you say, clenching around his finger.

“are you sure?” you nod vigorously, and who is he to deny you? he pulls out, circling your entrance with two fingers now. “tell me if it hurts,” he says.

he pauses when you cry out as he pushes in, looking at you in worry. “no, keep going,” you insist, rolling your hips eagerly. he continues, getting his fingers in you the rest of the way and stopping to let you adjust. you already look so fucked out, body twitching and hands grasping at the sheets.

“can i move?” he asks.

“yes, please!” your voice is so whiny and breathy, and it makes beomgyu feel fucking crazy. he has to control himself and not jackhammer his fingers into you, even though he’s love to see you take it. you bring a hand to his arm, holding onto him like he’s keeping you anchored. he’s reminded of the greatest feeling in the world: the feeling that you need him.

“i’ll give it to you, baby,” he promises, slowly fucking his fingers into you. you’re insanely tight, and beomgyu doesn’t know if you’d even be able to fit his dick with such a tiny cunt. his cock sits hot and heavy in his pants, but he barely pays it any attention. he’s much more focused on working you up to the greatest orgasm ever.

you sob out his name, and he thinks it’s so cute that you’re already such a mess. he almost wants to put a third finger into you and watch you struggle to take it, but he thinks that might be too cruel. your walls are getting adjusted to his fingers now, and the slide becomes easier, fucking into you a little faster.

“oh my god,” you moan, arching your back and digging your nails into him. he can’t wipe the grin off his face, more than satisfied at your reactions. “feels so good,” you pant.

“yeah?” beomgyu asks, breathless as he increases his pace a little more, curling his fingers up. it takes him a minute to find what he’s looking for, but he knows he’s got it when you cry and your leg kicks out helplessly. he keeps pressing into that spot, curling his fingers up to hit it every time, relishing in the garbled moans that spill out of your mouth.

“beomgyu, i’m gonna”—you’re cut off by your own gasp, whining and arching further into the feeling. you look like a mess, and beomgyu’s never felt more attracted to you than right now. he’s dying for you to lose control, to spill your juices into his hand and become a brainless thing for him to play with.

he feels you tightening around his fingers, so much he can barely move, stuck pressing into you relentlessly to get you to your peak. you’re such a dream when you’re mewling and panting like this.

“fuck, that’s it, just let go for me, give it all to me,” he says, bringing his palm to your clit to aid in your orgasm. you look breakable, and beomgyu would do anything just to tear you apart and rewire your brain to only think about his cock. you lying so prettily beneath him, looking all vulnerable and sweet, makes him feel like the biggest creep in the world. the things he imagines doing with you right now are driving him insane.

he wants to flip you over and pull your hips up in the air, put your cunt on full display for him to ravage and do whatever he wants with. he wants to ram his dick into you while you gasp and whine under him, not even knowing what to do with all your pleasure. he’d make you all his one way or another, fuck you nice every day, make sure you never get the chance to want for another man.

he pulls his fingers out of you when it looks like you’ve had enough, and his slick hand immediately goes to his dick, pulling it from his pants and jerking himself off over your body. he doesn’t care how much of a horny dog he looks like—he’d hump your leg like a bitch in heat if that’s all you’d let him do. he’s just aching to relieve himself, beyond worked up after seeing and feeling you fall apart for him.

“pull up your shirt, babe,” beomgyu breathes out as he fucks his fist. you obey so nicely, exposing your tits for him to spill all over. he can’t even be embarrassed that you just watched him jerk off for less than a minute before cumming. he fucking needed that.

he groans as he milks out the last of his orgasm, watching the white substance land onto your tits and stomach. he collects what landed on your stomach onto his fingers, then brings them up to your mouth. he doesn’t even have to tell you to open, you just do. you’re so well-trained for him already, it makes his heart skip a beat.

your tongue laps at his cum, keeping your eyes on him as you clean him off. he pops his fingers out and leans down to lick the rest of his cum off your tits. you bring a hand to his hair as his tongue licks a stripe up the valley of your breasts. beomgyu thinks he was made for this—to ruin your body, to fix it, to please it, to worship it. he feels like this is the right place in the world for him as he takes your nipple into his mouth, sucking and swirling his tongue around the bud.

you sigh out, tugging harder at his hair as he gives your other breast the same treatment. he releases your nipple with a pop, then flicks his tongue over it just to watch you jump a little. he soothes your tits with eager hands, fondling the flesh as he sits back between your legs, looking down at you with a proud smirk.

“i should shower,” you say, fixing your shirt back down. you sit up and stretch, and something about this moment feels so domestic.

“let me join you,” beomgyu suggests, pulling you in by the hips to sit you on his lap. you laugh a little as he does so, then try (and fail) to push away his face as he delivers a million kisses to your cheeks.

“stop,” you giggle, leaning away to escape him. he probably should stop; he’s going a lot further than just simple hook ups. he relents, choosing to just look at you instead. you’re so cute, just staring back at him and holding back a smile. you stay like that for a minute before you look away.

“go shower,” beomgyu says, patting your thigh. you get up and he follows behind you eagerly. you turn to him in the doorway of your bathroom, poking a finger against his chest.

“i didn’t say you could come with,” you say, but you don’t sound like you’re totally against it.

he pouts. “don’t make me wait out here all alone.” your eyes trail down his face, and beomgyu realizes that this smile of yours is quickly becoming one of his favorite things in the world.

you step aside. “fine, but keep your hands to yourself,” you say.

“i will,” he agrees with a wolfish grin. safe to say, beomgyu breaks that promise the second you’re both beneath the water.

#txt x reader #beomgyu x reader #txt smut #beomgyu smut #txt hard hours #beomgyu hard hours #delugyu drabbles

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marbofmoorock · 2 days ago

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TADC Swap AU story: Another day in paradise?

One day, Caine was enjoying a day off from the adventures, as Pomni announced surprisingly that the adventure were canceled today due to technical difficulties.

Caine, (more quiet and timid than his Canon counterpart), decided to go for a walk outside, at the digital lake. He could drink some water. That always helped him calm down.

As Caine walked, he ran into Jax. Jax was almost the opposite of his Canon counterpart in this swap, as he was rather kind and Considerate to a fault, and was kind of a Considerate older brother to Caine.

"Eeey, Chuckleface, everything alright today?"

"I guess Jax, it just still feels strange getting used to all this. It's been almost a month, and I'm still having difficulty keeping up. I think Pomni does not like me..." Caine thought about a moment where he caught Pomni glaring at him for a split second after having one too many panic attacks before the adventures even started.

"DON'T worry about it, it's not the end of the world. Pomni's an ai, she doesn't understand humans like us very well. All we can do to help her is play along, and continue to suggest more humane adventures, with trial and error, she's bound to get it right."

Caine thought about Jax's thought, seeing the validity of patience and further implementation of ideas to help Pomni make fun adventures for everyone. "I... guess that makes sense. Say, do you wanna lap around the lake with me?"

"Sure." Said Jax, happy with his sly, but kind yellow smile and dapper patchwork outfit with a bow tie, looking like some storybook character who lives in a Burrow or shoe.

They walk for a bit, leaving the tent outside, and they spot Gangle, who was kinda grumpy looking at this hole in the ground.

"Hey Gangle," called out Jax to her, "whatcha dooin?"

Gangle, seeing Jax, breathes out in a rather heavy and huffy way, with a small scowl. "Oh, nothing really, just checking out this weird hole."

Jax and Caine came over and observed the hole as well, finding it odd that there was one, it looked deeper, but it was too small for anyone to fit inside it

"What do you suppose is inside? Have either of you guys found holes like this before?" Said Caine, curious.

"Well, I sure didn't dig it." Said Gangle, grumpily huffing, then walking off. "If anyone needs me, I'm gonna fuck off and drown myself again."

"Gangle we can't die, remember?"

"DON'T remind me..." yelled out Gangle as she left kinda furrowed.

"What's with her?"

"I dunno Caine, she's been grouchy ever since I got here. She's pretty nice otherwise."

Caine shrugged his shoulders as he and Jax watch Gangle walk away, then they decide to leave the hole alone too.

Their moment is interrupted by a mallet hitting each of their heads.

"Ow, what gives, this is-oh...it's you."

Rags walks up from behind. She gives a cheeky smirk as she pats her mallet on her ragdoll mits, like some Italian mobster ready to break kneecaps.

"Buzz Off Rags." Said Jax, slightly heated, yet holding a composure of calmness and etiquette.

"Make me~" Said Rags, the mean spirited prankster(as if she werev like canon Jax, but worse), "and Chuckleboy here could lose some teeth since he talks too much anyway."

Rags Looks at Caine slowly inching towards him with each footstep: "But Don't worry ToothBrain~ Pomni will give you gold replacements, you might even look actually a little cool, so let help ya~." She said sadistically, starting to chase Caine, swinging her mallet trying to hit Caine's teeth, of which Caine runs for his life from. "Aaaaaaaa, HEEEEEEELP!!! POMNIIIIII!!!"

"Tattletail! Snitches get Stitches! Now come here, and let me be your Dentist for a Day, you oversized denture man." Rags Yells, running after Caine in her jean overalls, determined to make an example of him, who runs just fast enough to outrun her.

Jax hesitates to help, not wanting to get involved, knowing Pomni is pretty good at hearing the crew when they scream that desperately, and could definitely help.

"Don't worry Caine, The squeaky wheel gets the grease." Says Jax, relaxing since Pomni's definitely going to hear Caine.

Pomni pops up, snapping her fingers, and freezing Caine and Rags in place.

"Tsk, Tsk, Tsk, once again fighting like little children... You guys are something else. Aren't you all in your 20s?! CAN'T YOU GUYS GO WITHOUT FIGHTING A SINGLE DARN DAY?! I'm putting you both in time out, right now..."

"Pomni, if I may, Raggy here was trying to operate on Caine today. She's the one instigating this fight, and she's usually the one doing it."

Pomni, liking Jax for his agreeableness, believes him, and glares at Rags, as she secretly detested her messing up the adventures for fun before, deciding to let Caine go, and transports Rags away with another snap, before Ragatha could finish: "Jax, you Motherf-#)#/&@) Sni-" poof, and she was gone, likely locked/detained in her room.

"(Sighs), I'm sorry guys, she is such a pain. You boys enjoy her day. Adventures await tomorrow~" She says joyfully, with a little undertone of menace, clearly pissed off at Rags, as she disappears in an instant.

Caine and Jax then keep going, eventually running into Kinger, who sits on a bench by the lake.

"Oh, hi guys, how's it going?

"We're good Kinger, Caine, and I were just enjoying the view too." Jax and Caine joined Kinger.

"We found a hole." Said Caine.

"OH, how interesting. I wonder what it's for."

"We don't know, but we decided to leave it alone."

"That's probably for the best, hah-," Kinger said, then trailing off, looking at the sun.

Caine andJax join him as they stare out into the distance, forgetting about their original plans for a walk.

Wet Gangle floats to the surface after sitting at the bottom of the lake awhile, having spaced out getting lost, gazing at the aquatic bubbles(as being underwater doesn't hurt her she can breathe down there like everyone else), secretly pretending she's an axolotl while feeling like she doesn't belong anywhere, nor fits in with anyone in the group, save for secretly Zooble, whom quietly gazed at her from the other side of the lake from everyone else on the little steamboat that merely floats in place, wanting to cuddle her and tell her it's okay, but was too shy to make a move, and found herself diving into her sketchbook and drawing herself holding Zooble and picking her up out of the water instead.

(End)

some swap au screenshot redraws

#tadc #the amazing digital circus #digital circus #tadc fanart #tadc jax #tadc pomni #tadc caine #pomni #tadc au #ragatha #tadc swap au #swap au

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justagalwhowrites · 3 days ago

Text

The Savage and the Sanctuary: Ch. 10 - Weight

In the immediate aftermath of the attack, things shift with Joel. A continuation of The Savage and the Sanctuary, a no outbreak TLOU story, from the prologue through chapter 9 found on Tumblr here.

Boy was this gif perfect fucking timing

Pairing: Joel Miller x Female Reader

CW: SMUTTTTTT :D; Mild medical stuff, past canon-typical violence. No use of Y/N. Whole fic will be explicit so minors DNI, 18+ only.

Length: 9.5k

Fic Masterlist | Masterlist | AO3 | Prologue | Previous Chapter

You kept your face buried in Joel’s chest.

It was all it seemed like you could handle in that moment. The warmth of his skin, the strength of his body, the smell of him still clear even through the metallic scent of blood on the air. He rocked you and held you and you clung to him, to the safety and comfort of his presence.

Joel had you. You were safe.

Everything outside of him seemed very far away. You were so focused on him that it took a moment for the sound of chaos around you to reach you. But then there were hands on you that weren’t Joel’s, someone trying to pull you away from the safety of his arms and, for half a moment, all you knew was that you couldn’t let them.

“No!” You shrieked, the sound ripping its way out from the base of your chest. You were frozen, not sure what to do with your body. You wanted to shove these strange hands back from you but you needed to clutch onto Joel more. “Don’t touch me!”

The hands retreated for a moment but then were on you again, firmer, more insistent and you pulled your face from the safety of Joel’s chest to look over your shoulder.

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

“We just need…” an unfamiliar voice said but Joel cut him off as you buried your face in his chest again.

“She almost died,” he said sharply. “She’s scared, back off!”

Joel’s hold on you adjusted slowly, his hands staying on you the entire time so you could feel where he was. One hand stayed on your back, the other came around to cup your cheek and pull you gently from his chest, enough that you could see his face. His eyes were deep and soft, no sign of the harshness that so often lingered in his gaze when he looked at you. His thumb stroked your cheek so delicately.

“You’re OK,” he said. “You understand? You’re OK.”

You nodded into his hand and went to bury your face in his chest again but he held you still.

“Need you to trust me for a minute,” he said. “Think you can do that? There’s a paramedic here, he needs to look you over. I’m not gonna let anybody hurt you, baby. You trust me to protect you?”

You looked at him for a moment, focusing on him. It was like coming back into yourself as you did, more aware of your body than you had been since you’d wound up on the ground. Your chest hurt, your arm and cheek, too. Your heart was beating fast and the air was cold.

“I’ll protect you,” he said gently. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, I promise.”

“OK,” you said, and you let him guide you away from his body, turning you to face the paramedic who was kneeling beside you. Your hands shook. The paramedic introduced himself and said your name and it was odd, for a change, having someone you’d never met know your name. You were usually used to it but in that moment, it was strange. Like you should have needed to offer it up instead of them just knowing.

“I’m going to just look you over here,” he said. “Looks like you’ve got a nasty cut, we want to get that patched up.”

You nodded, still trembling.

“Here,” he said, getting a small plastic bag out of his pack and opening it, pulling a silver blanket out. He draped it over your shoulders. “It’s chilly out here and you might be in shock. That’ll help.”

“Thanks,” you said quietly. He got to work on the cut at your chest, cleaning it and bandaging it. “I’m sorry I yelled at you.”

He laughed once.

“It’s alright,” he said. “You’ve got a pretty good excuse, won’t hold it against you.”

Joel gave your waist a squeeze and you closed your eyes, taking a deep breath, letting the world go on without you for a while. You weren’t sure how much time had passed when Joel spoke.

“Siren,” he said in a way that made you feel like he’d probably tried to talk to you before. You looked at him, that soft look still in his eyes. “We’re gonna move you, take you back to the hotel. Police are gonna talk to you there, Quinn’s gonna meet you there and…”

“I’m staying with you,” you said quickly, chest getting tight, breaths shaky. “I’m not going without you, Joel, you have to come with me.”

“I’m not letting you out of my sight,” he said. “It’s OK.”

“OK,” you said and you let Joel and the paramedic get you up. Joel immediately tucked you against his side and helped you gather the foil blanket around yourself so it covered the injury on your chest.

The lounge was eerily quiet and empty, crime scene tape going up over the doors.

“Keep your head down,” Joel said quietly. “I’ll get you to the car but there are fuckin’ reporters outside and we don’t need them seeing you right now, they don’t deserve it, fucking vultures.”

“Thank you,” you said quietly.

“I have you,” he said again. You weren’t sure how many times he’d said that but it was a comfort every time. You wanted to hear it again, over and over until you could breathe again.

He guided your face to his chest and you closed your eyes, tucking your chin low but the blinding light of camera flashes and the yelling of photographers still made you flinch. Joel moved faster, until he got you to the car, helping you up into it before slamming the door hard enough to make you jump. You looked around, frantic for a moment, the scene outside the tinted window hectic.

“Joel?” You looked around quickly. “Joel!”

“I’m here,” he said, door on the other side of the car opening before he quickly got inside. “Not going anywhere, I’ve got you.”

You threw herself at him and he hesitated for a moment before his arms went around you.

“I’m sorry,” you said after a moment, taking a deep, shaky breath. You couldn’t seem to stop yourself from being on the brink of tears, a hysterical edge to everything you did and felt and said. “I know this isn’t what you signed up for, I just…”

“Yes it is,” he cut you off and you pulled yourself away from him enough that you could see his face. “I signed up to protect you. I meant it. That includes this.”

You nodded and burrowed into his chest again. You could have sworn that his lips brushed the top of your head and you could hear how hard his heart was pounding against his ribs.

“I thought I was going to die,” you said softly. He stiffened against you. “I thought Ellie was going to lose someone else, I thought I was going to leave her. I thought he was going to kill me.”

He held you closer.

“I should’ve been there,” he said quietly. “He never should have been able to touch you.”

“It’s not your fault,” you said, sitting up from him again. He was just watching you, his jaw set firm. You reached out slowly, hesitantly, and brushed his hair back, your fingers brushing the scar you’d noticed at the convention. “You saved me.”

He watched you for a moment before he tugged you gently back against him, his arms around you, holding you close and steady.

There were photographers outside the hotel, too, enough of them that you could hear them from inside the car, the flashes bright even from your place tucked against Joel’s chest.

“Keep your head down,” he said, his lips near your ear. “I’ll get you in the door. Don’t let ‘em get a piece of you. They don’t deserve it.”

You nodded against him and Joel guided you inside. You kept the foil blanket around yourself, your head pressed securely into his chest. You didn’t emerge until you were on the elevator with him, just the two of you in a cocoon of quiet and you felt secure enough to pull yourself far enough away from him to look at him. You kept your body close, close enough that if someone were to step on the elevator now they might mistake you for lovers, but you didn’t care. You didn’t want to be where you couldn’t feel him. He reached out slowly, delicately, and ran a thumb over your cheek, the tip of it brushing against your lower lashes.

You noticed his knuckles then, frowning and tugging his palm away from your face. You cradled his hand in yours, the back of it bloodied and bruised.

“Joel,” you whispered, your thumbs grazing the unbroken skin just below his damaged flesh before looking back to him. “What did you do?”

“What I had to to keep you safe,” he said, pressing his forehead to yours, his eyes locked on your own. “It doesn’t matter, s’long as you’re safe.”

The elevator chimed and Joel shifted you behind him and you peered around him as best you could, one of his hands staying on you, the other ready to throw a punch but it was Quinn there when the doors slid open.

“Thank God,” she breathed, throwing herself at you. You caught her but flinched, the wound at your chest pressed against her. You didn’t say anything. “You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry,” you said, voice thick, as she stepped back from you, looking you up and down. She took your hand.

“Come on,” she said, giving your fingers a squeeze. “Let’s get you back to your room, a doctor is on the way to look you over and the police will be here soon to talk to both of you.”

You followed her but looked over your shoulder, making sure Joel was still close. It was almost funny, how badly you needed him to be next to you after you’d spent so much time wishing he wasn’t around. His hand found the small of your back, his fingertips pressing firmly into the beading so that you were keenly aware of him there.

In the room, Quinn took the foil blanket from you and gave you the fluffy spa robe that had been waiting for you in the closet when you checked in, helping you into it over your gown, knotting the tie at your waist.

“Here,” she guided you to the couch and you sat where she directed, still feeling somewhat outside yourself. Like when you told your limbs what to do, there would be a moment before they would obey, as though they were only loosely tied to you over some great distance. “Do you want water? Tea? Coffee? Caffeine might be a bad idea, though, maybe I should…”

“Water, please,” you said softly, suddenly realizing that you were thirsty. Almost like you needed to be reminded of what your body did to feel any of it. Joel stood behind her, watching you, his eyebrows knit together.

“Of course,” she said, leaving you with Joel for just a moment before returning with a glass of water. You gulped it down and she refilled it before getting a makeup wipe from her bag.

“Here,” she knelt in front of you, pressing the wipe gently to your skin. “Get you cleaned up, that way you can just rest once all this is done…”

You just let her run the cloth over your face again and again, until it was totally discolored and there was a gentle knock at the door. Joel let in the doctor who spoke to you for a moment before you fully registered it, the sound feeling like it was coming from underwater, distorted and muffled and far away.

“Sorry,” you said. “What did you say?”

“I said I’m Dr. Lucas,” she smiled almost sadly at you. “I’m here to check you over and get you patched up. I don’t think we’ll need to send you to a hospital, we should be able to handle everything right here, OK?”

“OK,” you nodded. “Thank you.”

You catalogued what you thought was injured in a daze, mind still spinning. Try as you might, you couldn’t seem to really calm down, every nerve of your body on edge as the doctor gently looked you over, pausing to focus on the places that hurt. You just kept your eyes on Joel. He was stable, safe. He was close, you knew you weren’t going to get hurt again because he was there.

“The good news is, you really only need a few stitches on your chest,” she smiled kindly when she was done. “And, if you’ve haven’t had stitches in a while - or ever - don’t worry, I’m not going to take a needle and thread to you. It’s a nice, clean cut, and you should see minimal scarring. Everything else is just some nasty bruising. I’ll prescribe you a few things to help keep you comfortable and calm while you heal but you’ll be just fine.”

“Thank you,” you said, more on autopilot than anything else.

While Dr. Lucas got to work on you, you turned your attention to Quinn, who was hovering not far from Joel.

“Can you call Elise?” You said. “Or Esmo? I’m sure this is going to be all over the news in the morning, I don’t want Ellie seeing it and getting scared…”

“Already done,” Quinn smiled tightly. “I called Thomas at Miller Security, he reached out to the guard who has been with them and filled him in so he can tell Elise and Esmo first thing in the morning, that way they’re not being woken up in the middle of the night. Joel, he said to tell you that he’s on the way with legal counsel…”

“Legal counsel,” you frowned, looking from Quinn to Joel, your heart picking up. “Why would you need legal counsel, you just did your job, you protected me, he was going to kill me, you were just…”

“I know,” Joel said gently, going down on a knee next to you so he was on your level. He took your hand. “But ain’t smart to talk to cops without an attorney. Standard procedure, it’s OK.”

You nodded quickly, squeezing his hands and closing your eyes, trying to force yourself to calm down. It was easier said than done. What if something didn’t go as planned and he got out again? What if he didn’t try to take you next time, what if he just killed you before Joel had a chance to intervene and Ellie lost someone else? The doctor pressed two fingers to your pulse point, making you jump and you looked at her as she nodded to herself.

“You’re all stitched up,” she nodded to your chest where there was a clear bandage over the cut and you tugged the robe back around yourself. “But I’m going to give you a few things to help you feel better for a bit…”

She went into her bag and pulled out a few sample packs of pills.

“This is for pain,” she said, holding up one pack. “Just ibuprofen 800s, nothing to be too concerned about.”

You nodded and she held up another.

“This is Xanex,” she said gently and you frowned. “You’re clearly under a lot of stress, possibly in shock. I’d like to keep you calm until you can get home and see a therapist. Follow the directions on this one closely, OK?”

“OK,” you said and she handed the packs off to Quinn, who took them before walking her out.

Joel sat next to you and you leaned against him, lacing your fingers with his and taking a deep breath, your heart rate slowing as you did.

“You’re OK baby,” he said softly, his nose brushing the crown of your head.

“Don’t leave me, Joel,” you whispered.

“I’m not,” he said. “I’m right here.”

***

“Don’t give them a statement until I’m with you in person. Tommy and I will be there in a few hours, we’re on the next flight out,” Maria said over the phone. Joel could hear his nephew crying in the background, Joel’s brother trying to get his child’s things together. “No, not that one, he needs the… yeah, the dinosaur, he won’t sleep without that one. From the sounds of it, you didn’t really do anything wrong. In Texas, there would be no question. California does not have a duty to retreat and the force sounds proportional to the threat to me, so you should be in the clear. Worst case, we can leverage the good will around her pretty extensively, the DA isn’t going to want to charge the man who saved the life of America’s sweetheart if they can help it…”

“I’m not gonna let you fucking leverage her,” he bit out, keeping his voice low. You were just on the other side of the door and Joel was eager to get back to you and he didn’t need you to hear this shit. You were talking with an attorney Quinn had called, the police on their way, and he’d been kicked out while you spoke with your legal representative. But he couldn’t see you. The last time he couldn’t see you, someone had taken you, hurt you. His skin crawled, his chest was tight. He needed to get back to you. “If they wanna lock me up, fine, but I’m not about to use her as a fucking tool to-”

“Joel,” his sister-in-law cut him off, her voice gentler than he was used to it being. It was a tone she only used with him when it was something that involved Sarah. “I’m not going to take advantage of her. Stand down.”

The elevator chimed and a uniformed cop plus two more in suits with badges on their belts stepped off.

“Gotta go,” Joel said. “LAPD’s here.”

“Call me if you have any issues,” Maria said. “We don’t fly out for five hours and I’ll have WiFi on the plane. Not a word to the police until I’m there, not except to tell them that you’ll give them a statement when your representation is present, we clear?”

“Yes ma’am,” he said, hanging up before the police reached them.

They introduced themselves and Joel told them that he was your licensed armed private security guard, intending to leave it at that. They weren’t thrilled when he said he wouldn’t be providing a statement but they didn’t move to cuff him so he was calling that a win.

He went back into the room first, opening the door slowly and his eyes found you immediately. You were still in that same spot on the couch, your shoulders slumped, your eyes still a little wider than usual.

“Police are here,” he said and your attorney nodded. The man was sitting beside you, closer than Joel thought was necessary, and he resisted the urge to go and move him. You didn’t need someone you didn’t fucking know that close to you right now, it should be someone you could trust to protect you. It should be him.

“We’re all set here,” the man said, giving you a tight smile. “Pretty cut and dry.”

Joel just nodded and let the police in.

They looked around the room, nodding in appreciation, like they’d never been in a nice fucking hotel room before and Joel ground his teeth. He followed them closely, ready to intervene if needed. The police should be safe but, in his experience, they were fucking useless at best. He wasn’t about to blindly trust them just because they showed up with goddamn badges.

He kept his eyes on you as the cops settled in and introduced themselves, none of them bothering to ask your name and he clenched his fist. It threw you off when you didn’t have to introduce yourself but the person you were with did, he could see it in how you held yourself and hear it in your voice every time it happened and they were just doing it to you now, not giving a shit about what would keep you comfortable or not.

“We just need to ask you a few questions,” the first detective said. “Why don’t you start at the top and tell us what happened.”

You looked at the lawyer who just gave you small nod and you took a deep breath, pressing your fingers into your thigh like you did when you were nervous.

“We were at the afterparty,” you said, your voice shaky. “Everything… it was normal, it was all so normal, I was talking with some friends, I danced a little…”

“Why don’t you start when things turned to not normal,” the detective interrupted you and.Joel clenched his jaw.

“Right,” you said, your hand clenching and then pressing into your thigh again. “My friend Chloe…”

“Chloe Tyler,” the detective interrupted. “The actress, correct?”

“Yeah,” you shook your head a little like you were trying to reset your mind, every time this asshole cut in throwing you off a little. “Yeah, she’s an actress, we’ve been friends for a while, she was at the premiere, too.”

“What happened with Miss Tyler,” the detective said.

“She said she needed to…” you paused, eyes darting to the lawyer who just gave you another nod. “She needed to use the bathroom and that’s easier said than done in these dresses so she asked if I would help her and I did. I talked to my bodyguard before we went in so he was waiting outside the restroom while we used the bathroom. But when we got in the bathroom and realized that there…” Your eyes looked to Joel, something like an apology in your gaze. His heart clenched. “There was a second way in and out.

“We didn’t really think anything of it,” you continued. “We used the bathroom - we just both went in the handicapped stall so I could hold up her dress and she could hold up mine…”

“Like girls do at weddings,” the uniformed cop said. The detective glared at him and he cleared his throat. “Sorry. My wife talked about it.”

You smiled a little.

“Yeah,” you said, sounding a little more like yourself when you did. “Like weddings. We came out, washed our hands and I was a little tipsy and I…” You looked to Joel, tears in your eyes. “I talked Chloe into going out the other exit so we could sneak up on my bodyguard, I thought it would be funny, I’m so sorry, Joel, I didn’t think anything would happen, it was stupid, I was so stupid, I almost got you and Chloe hurt and if I’d just come out of the stupid fucking bathroom when I noticed the other way in and out and told you I…”

“S’OK,” Joel cut you off, wishing he could just hold you. “It’s not your fault, don’t have anything to apologize for.”

You nodded, dabbing at your eyes with the sleeves of your robe and taking a deep breath and Joel was focused on you, so sharply it almost hurt. This part he didn’t know but he was almost afraid to know it. You’d been hurt when he couldn’t see you, couldn’t help you. He’d been so fucking close and he wasn’t able to help you.

“On our way out of the bathroom, we bumped into… him,” you said, a twinge in your voice. “For a second, I thought he was a waiter, he was dressed like a waiter but then I recognized him, he was the same man who broke my wrist at the premiere a few months ago… He had a butcher knife, I’m not sure where he got it from, maybe the kitchen…”

“We don’t need you to speculate,” the detective interrupted you. Joel clenched his jaw. “Just tell us what you know.”

“Right,” you said quietly. “Sorry.”

“It’s OK,” Joel said, even though it wasn’t him you were apologizing to. You smiled at him just a little.

“He…” your voice shook. “He held the knife up, he said… he said we weren’t leaving… Chloe freaked out and I just… I knew I had to get her out of there, she wasn’t who he was after and if… if she got hurt or if she… she died because of me, I couldn’t…” You were crying now, hard enough that you were almost choking. “I had to get her out of there. So I tried to calm him down, I… I can’t remember exactly what I said to him but I know I promised to go with him anywhere he asked and do whatever he wanted if he just let her go and I got him to point the knife at me and let her go.

“But even after I told him that I would do anything he wanted, he was rough with me, he didn’t trust me to do what I said, he kept the knife against my throat and he grabbed my arm and dragged me with him and… when we got to the kitchen, someone tried to step in - I’m not sure who, one of the cooks, I think - and he moved the knife and I thought he was going to stab him and I just grabbed him, I couldn’t let him kill someone because he wanted me and…” You took a deep breath. “So he grabbed my face and…” Joel’s blood got hot and he clenched his fist and you trembled and he hated that he was so close but couldn’t hold you why couldn’t he just fucking hold on to you? “And he told me that if I did something like that again that he would kill me and I could tell he meant it and I could just… I could feel that if I left with him he’d, he would…”

The detective offered you a box of tissues from a side table and you took one, taking a moment to calm down and you took a deep, shaky breath before continuing.

“I tried to keep from going with him without really fighting him,” you said. “I didn’t want to give him a reason to kill me right then so I just… I tried to slow him down, give Joel time to get to me, I knew Joel would come for me if I just gave him time…”

“You did good,” Joel said softly and your eyes snapped to his. “You kept yourself safe, you did good.”

You smiled tightly at him.

“We were in the parking lot when Joel got to me,” you said. “Joel told him to let me go but he wouldn’t, he… he put the knife to my throat and he kept saying how much I needed him and… Joel distracted him for a moment, shocked him enough to make a move but he cut me before Joel got me away from him and the next thing I knew I was on the ground and… I didn’t really see what happened after that, I’m not sure how long I was there, I just… I couldn’t move, I was just there until Joel got to me and… and then we came here.”

The police asked some follow up questions - ones that made it so Joel knew they were going easy on you - and he just watched you. You were so impossibly mortal there on the couch, bare-faced with your red-tinged eyes and in the plush, white robe. It was the furthest from the other-worldly being he knew you as that he’d ever seen you and someone had made you like this. Someone had taken you from him - when you were so close - and he hadn’t been able to stop them, not before they made you bleed.

What if he’d been a second later? What if you hadn’t resisted just enough and he’d forced you in the car? What if you’d resisted too much and he’d killed you? What if he’d gone the wrong way or Chloe hadn’t reached him or or or. So many possibilities, all ones that ended with you cold and dead and out of reach, all of them because he hadn’t done his job until it was almost too late.

“Thank you,” the detective said, standing up and closing his notebook. “I think we have everything we need, unless your bodyguard here wouldn’t mind giving his statement now?”

He turned to face Joel expectantly.

“I’ll talk when my attorney’s here,” Joel said, arms crossed tightly over his chest.

“Don’t leave town,” he said, giving Joel a look. “At least not until we have that chat.”

“You know where to find me,” Joel said, voice flat.

“That we do,” he replied, giving Joel a stern once over before looking back to you. “Please take care of yourself. We’ll be in touch.”

Joel walked them out and stood to the side as Quinn and the attorney talked to you, too.

He walked them out, Quinn turning to look at him, her eyes ranging over him in an almost calculating way.

“I’m trusting you with her,” she said. “I know you two have had your moments but she’s fragile right now. Take it easy.”

Joel clenched his jaw for a moment.

“I’ll take care of her.”

She looked at him for another second before just nodding once and then it was just the two of you.

Joel locked every lock on the goddamn door before moving for you slowly, cautiously. You were still in that same spot on the couch, your fingers twisting around on each other as you stared at the coffee table.

“You OK?” Joel asked quietly when he got closer. You jumped a little at the sound of his voice.

“No one would tell me what happened to him,” you said, watching him with wide and honest eyes. “Do the police have him or is he in the hospital? Are they just going to let him go again? I don’t…”

Your voice trailed off and Joel went and sat beside you, close enough that he could feel the warmth of your body beside him.

“He’s dead,” he said, reaching out and cupping your cheek gently and your eyes went even wider. “He can’t ever hurt you again.”

“Joel,” you breathed, your hand leaving that place on your thigh where your fingers dug in when you were stressed for the first time in what seemed like forever, your palm covering his as he held you.

“He was a threat,” Joel said. “Gave him a chance after the first time, he didn’t take it. I promised to protect you and I… I’m not going to lose you, baby. I’m not.”

He wasn’t sure when it happened, but you’d leaned into him. You were so close that he could feel the heat of your breath on his lips and smell your perfume tinged with the sharp scent of iodine and he wondered what it would be to brush his nose along yours. What would that intimacy do to him when it was with you? A kind of tenderness he’d not had any desire for in years tugged at the base of his chest, drawing him closer and closer to you until, if either of you moved at all, your lips would be touching.

“You should rest,” he said quietly, almost choking on the words. “It’s late. You’ve been through a lot.”

“So have you,” you said, voice just as soft and, for half a moment, he had the thought that you meant more than just tonight. You couldn’t, you didn’t know about Sarah, about how he’d lost the whole world once before, but it seemed like you knew there was something inside him that had been ripped away and had left this gaping, aching wound that refused to close.

“You need to sleep,” he said.

“Will you be here when I wake up?” You asked, not moving away from him.

“I’ll be right here,” he said. “I’ll make sure no one hurts you, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

You finally tore your eyes from his, looking down to the couch where your thighs were side by side with his and you nodded.

“Thank you, Joel,” you said, getting up from the couch and going to your room. He watched you move, the shine of your gown around your feet where it wasn’t hidden below the robe. Your eyes met his at your door. “Goodnight.”

“Goodnight,” he said, watching you close the door and keeping his eyes on it well after you disappeared behind it.

He stretched out on the couch, not willing to go to his own room - that was another door between you, more distance that he would just resent - and stared up at the ceiling, trying not to think about the sight of you on the ground in your bloodied gown, how you’d trembled in his arms, how it felt so much like when he’d lost her. All because he’d been too far when it had mattered, all because he hadn’t done the one thing he was supposed to do: protect her. Protect you.

“Joel?”

Your voice was so soft it shocked him and he sat up quickly to find you standing in the doorway to your room, your robe clutched tightly to your chest.

“You OK?” He asked, his eyes going over you again and again, just in case something else had found a way to hurt you when he was so close but so far.

“I’m sorry,” you said, tears welling up again. “This is so stupid…”

“Sure it’s not,” he said gently, getting up off the couch and going to you before he could think better of it.

“I’ve been in this robe so long, I forgot…” You shrugged out of one side of it - your uninjured side - and revealed the beaded strap of your gown. “I… I can’t get out of this dress on my own, can you help me?”

“Course,” his mouth was dry. “C’mon.”

He put his hand in the middle of your back, guiding you into your room until you were at the foot of your bed.

“Where’s the zipper?” He asked. You were so close to him.

“Back,” you said softly. “And once it’s opened, there’s a band at my waist that closes with hooks.”

“OK,” he said. His heart was pounding. “Turn around and take the robe off for me.”

You nodded and obeyed, moving slowly. You slipped the robe down your arms slowly, almost sensually, exposing your skin to him inch by glorious inch until he was right there, so close to all that silken softness as you dropped the robe to the bed.

Joel swallowed hard.

“Gonna unzip you now, baby,” he whispered. You nodded, your arms at your sides, your head angled down toward the ground as his eyes traced the gentle arc of your spine. He resisted the urge to run his fingers over you there, the burning drive to trail over your skin, and reached for the top of the gown at the middle of your back, where a tiny zipper the same color as the fabric of the gown almost blended in entirely.

But he let the back of his damaged knuckles brush the exposed skin that lay just over the top of the gown before he took that little zipper in his large fingers, tugging the tiny tab down slowly. The zipper stopped just at the top of your ass and he could see just a piece of soft, satin-looking fabric peeking over the top of where the opening of the gown ended.

He forced himself to focus, the band you’d mentioned sitting not far below where the top of the dress was and he slipped his fingers below it to hold it steady, you gasping softly when he brushed against you and your skin was soft, so fucking soft, it didn’t seem real that anything living could be that soft. One by one, he unfastened the hooks, the dress falling open a little further with each controlled movement until your back was exposed to him.

His fingers traced over your skin then, moving to the strap of the gown and he delicately lifted it away from your shoulder, slipping it down your arm and he frowned when he saw the angry looking indentation that was left behind. Your arms went from your sides to holding the gown up against your chest as he went to the other side, sliding that strap down, too, and the only thing left keeping your dress up was you.

You didn’t move then, though. Your breaths were deep and trembling and Joel couldn’t help but look at the skin he had never been allowed to see before even though he’d found himself thinking about it more and more, a hunger gnawing at him that he’d tried to sate with pictures of you and videos on fucking porn websites that were nothing - nothing - compared to you in front of him.

But he frowned as his eyes worked their way over your body, noticing more cruel-looking indents in your flesh similar to the one at your shoulder. Without really thinking, he touched you there, his fingertips running slowly, gently over the angry mark. You gasped and startled but stilled, letting him touch you.

“The dress is heavy,” you said softly. “It takes a lot to hold something like that up for so long.”

“Shouldn’t need to put on shit that hurts you,” he said, finding another one of the marks and tracing it, too. “You’re already too damn good for this place, they sure as hell don’t deserve you putting yourself through that.”

You took a slow, shaky breath and lowered your arms. The gown slipped down your body when you did, all the weight and shine of it pooling at your feet and the only thing left that covered you was your underwear.

“I…” Joel forced himself to take a breath. “I should go.”

But he didn’t. He stayed where he was, his feet rooted to the ground as you turned, slowly, to look at him and he fought to keep his eyes on your face.

“I don’t want you to go,” you said softly, stepping out of your gown and moving closer to him.

“You don’t mean that,” he whispered.

“Yes, I do,” you said, reaching up and trailing your fingers through his hair. He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch.

“I can protect you from the other side of that door,” he said even though that hurt to say.

“I know,” you whispered.

“I should,” he opened his eyes and you were so fucking close and every reason he knew he should leave this room was slipping away. His hands found your waist all the same and you pressed your bare front to his clothed one. Your arms went around his neck.

“Do you want to go?” You asked. You were close enough that your nose was brushing his but that small intimacy wasn’t enough now that he had it. It just sparked something in him that was hot and urgent, something that had been dormant so long he thought it had left him long ago.

“You’re hurt,” he said, swallowing hard. He moved from just holding your waist to cradling you and you arched into him. “You’re afraid…”

“Do you want to go?” You asked again, firmer this time.

“No,” he said, like it was some shameful thing. “Christ, no.”

“Then don’t,” you said and your lips were on his.

They were soft, delicate, almost like you were touching him out of happenstance and not purpose and he knew it was so he could still pull away and leave you behind but he knew that was never really a possibility. This, he realized, was what he’d been moving to since the moment he met you, whether he’d ever understood it or not. There was no taking himself away or stopping this, even if it would be smart. He was yours now, if he’d ever been anything else at all.

Joel kissed you back, gentle at first as he held you tighter to him, his fingers sinking into your skin and a tiny, needy sound slipped from your throat and he let himself go. His mouth was desperate then, taking every breath and moan and taste you would let him have and swallowing you up as though that act would keep you with him even when this was done. Your tongue slipped hesitantly, cautiously between his lips and he took that, too. It didn’t help. He wanted more. He kept waiting for something to ease the ache inside him, something that gave some relief when he took that next step but it was the opposite. Every motion seemed to just make it worse. The fire in his belly burned brighter, the hurt of longing stronger. He needed more. He needed you.

You turned in his hold, your hands twisting in his hair as you held his face to your own, until you backed against the foot of the bed and you pulled your lips from his just enough to look in his eyes, your gaze bright and wild.

“Stay with me,” you whispered, fingers trailing through his hair. “Please.”

He didn’t respond. Instead, he just kissed you again, his hands moving to your waist as he eased you gently, slowly back down onto the bed. You let him adjust you until you were in the middle of the mattress and he settled between your thighs. Your hands moved from his head to his chest, palms slipping to find his skin below his shirt for a moment before you started unbuttoning it, pushing the fabric down his arms and he helped you, lifting his body from yours enough to cast it aside and you looked up at him when he did, your lips parted and needy and glistening. Your fingertips ghosted over his newly exposed skin, eyes following their path. Joel groaned, needing to close his eyes before he got too worked up too quick.

“I’ve wanted to touch you like this for so long,” you said softly, your palm stilling over his thudding hart.

He opened his eyes then to find yours watching his face almost cautiously, as though you were afraid he was going to change his mind and leave you in that moment. As though he’d even have a prayer of being capable of that.

“Me too,” he whispered back, a trembling hand slipping from your waist to the middle of your stomach, sliding up and between your breasts so he could feel the rise and fall of your breaths.

He saw the wound at your chest then, without looking for it. He’d avoided watching the doctor do her job, not able to bear looking at what he’d let happen to you but it was there now, almost cruelly covered in a clear bandage so he could see the glue and strips holding you together. He carefully, delicately traced the bottom edge of the bandage.

“It’s OK,” you said, your hand finding his cheek and gently tugging his head up so he was looking at your face instead. “It’s not bad. It’s OK.”

“I let him hurt you,” Joel said.

“No,” you shook your head. “You saved me.”

He kissed you again, soft and gentle and deep, before kissing down your jaw - lips tracing delicately over the place where the man he’d let touch you had marked you - and over your breastbone. He could feel you breathing like this, every rise and fall of your chest against his mouth a comfort, and, eventually, worked his way to that wounded place at your chest. He kissed you there, too, just below where the bandage lay protecting the hurt he’d let happen on his watch and you took a deep, shuddering breath when he did.

It was only after paying tribute to these failures did he feel like he could move on to take in the rest of you beneath him. He carefully and reverently cupped your breast, the bloom of soft flesh in his hand making him groan as he kissed your nipple before pulling it into his mouth with a sharp suck that made you gasp. He licked and suckled at you and he was so fucking hard in his goddamn pants he was half afraid he was going to rip the damn things, his cock straining painfully against the zipper. But he wasn’t about to rush to taking off what remained of his clothes, not when you were like this in front of him and he was finally getting to see you and touch you.

Because, while he’d returned to that video of you more times than he was proud of over the last few weeks, he always skipped the first parts. He jumped to the end, to the scene that was just soft and intimate, one where he couldn’t see anything you hadn’t already allowed him to see in person. The temptation of your naked body was always there, always just a few clicks of the rewind button away, but he’d never seen your skin, even just on screen and you were here now, where he couldn’t just see you but touch and taste you, too.

He moved to your other breast, kissing over the soft swell of you before taking that nipple in his mouth, too. He felt it stiffen on his tongue and he rocked his hips down into the bed without meaning to, just desperate for some form of relief for his aching cock. Your nails scraped over his shoulder, his spine and you squirmed a little below him, your hips pressing up into him like you were seeking out the same relief he was.

“Joel,” you whimpered. “Please.”

He sucked harder for a moment, making you moan, before releasing you.

“I’ve got you,” he said, voice rough, before kissing down your body to the waist of your panties and looping his fingers around them and tugging them down. You lifted your hips to help him and he got off the bed as he pulled them free of you, dropping them on the floor. He watched you - panting for breath like he’d just run a goddamn marathon and not spent the last however long just kissing you - as he opened his pants and slid those and this underwear down to his feet. He stroked his already dripping length, memorizing how you looked in that moment, before crawling back up the bed to you. He settled into the cradle of your hips, nothing separating the two of you beyond skin and he groaned at the feeling of so much of you touching him, his head dropping to the middle of your chest as he fought to keep his shit together.

When he thought he’d be able to handle looking at you again, he pulled himself from that warm, safe place against you and kissed you. You moaned into his mouth and wrapped your arms around him, holding him against you - your skin was soft, silk or satin or something so far beyond him that he didn’t have a word for it - and his hand ran over the curve of you to slip between your bodies and between your legs to find your warm and swollen sex.

The seam of you was slick under his touch and he pressed gently on you, pressed until his thick finger was nestled alongside your clit. He worked you there, your hips rocking against him as he rutted himself against your thigh, feeling your desperation below your skin as another finger circled your entrance. He pushed that finger inside you slowly, moaning into your mouth as your tight heat swallowed him up inch by agonizing inch until he was sheathed within you. He moved inside you gently, hooking that finger up against your inner walls and feeling the firm muscle of your channel as you tightened even more around him.

He adjusted his hold on you so it was his thumb working your sensitive nub and the fingers that weren’t inside you could cup your sex, letting him touch as much of you as he could reach. He learned your body as he did, where he touched that made your hips stutter, how he could move to make you moan, until you were so wet inside that he added another finger. He stretched your core, spreading his fingers apart to make it so you could take him because fuck you were tight inside, tight and wet and warm and he had to feel you, he had to, that need a drumbeat in core of him.

Just as he thought he couldn’t be driven any higher or become any more wanting, you came on his fingers, your back arching below him so much that you broke the kiss, crying out with pleasure before collapsing, your body going limp as you panted for breath. You looked up at him, your eyes wide and pupils blown, and he slowly, carefully pulled his fingers from your body, making you groan. The hand that hadn’t been inside of you trembled as he reached for you, palming the crown of your head, his thumb brushing over your forehead.

“This what you want?” He asked, too far gone to even care that he already sounded fucked out and so goddamn desperate.

“Yes,” you answered, quick and breathless. The sound went straight to his cock and he fucking hurt he wanted you so bad.

“You don’t have to,” he said. “We can stop right now, there’s nothin’ you owe me or…”

“I know,” you cupped his cheek, your thumb brushing the scruff of his beard. “But I want you. Please, Joel. I want you.”

If he could live in a moment for the rest of his fucking life it might be this one, where your plush, soft body was spread below him and you told him that you wanted this, too. That you wanted him.

“OK baby,” he said, taking his length in the hand that was covered in your wetness and stroking himself with it. He notched himself at your entrance and kissed you as he pressed in, slow and shallow. The fact that he didn’t have a condom - hadn’t just carried something like that on him in fucking years - barely crossed his mind. You were there and you wanted him and he needed you so badly he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit about anything else. He could only think about you.

You were so tight around him that he stopped with only a little more than the head of him inside you, giving your channel a chance to adjust to him before working those same few inches slowly in and out of you. His hand slid over your body, cupping your breast, up to your arm. He followed the line of you there before he laced his fingers with yours and pressed your arm down into the bed, covering you with him.

There was something deeply satisfied inside him when he did and he realized just how protected you were in that moment. Your body was safely and totally enveloped by his own. Nothing could reach the vulnerable cage of your chest or hinge of your jaw or structure of your wrist, not without going through him. He was between you and anything that could harm you and you were safe. There was nothing that could take you from him.

He deepened the kiss and tightened his grip on your fingers, keeping up his slow and aching rhythm in you until he felt your body relax enough that he thought he could ease more of himself inside. He pulled his lips from yours and looked in your eyes again, his nose brushing yours.

“Joel,” you whispered, voice hoarse with wanting.

“Gonna give you everything now,” he said, dropping his forehead heavily to yours. Your gaze stayed locked on his.

“Please,” you said, so softly he could barely hear you, and he let himself sink into you. He focused on it, memorizing everything he could about the first time you took him into yourself. He could feel how your body stretched for him, see as your eyes went wider and wider until he was buried to the root, feel the stutter of your pulse from within you and against your wrist and inside your chest.

“Fuck,” he groaned, his hips flush with yours. “You feel… fuck, you feel…”

You didn’t respond. Instead, you arched your back and pulled his lips to yours and he kissed you again before he started slowly, firmly, moving inside of you.

He kept one hand on yours, holding you to the bed, while the other went to your thigh. He pulled your leg up over his hip, his fingers pressing deep into your flesh as he adjusted the angle, making it so he could push impossibly further inside, claiming more and more of you. It was almost a compulsion. He had to touch you, every inch of you he could manage, he had to touch you and feel you and memorize you. He had to hold onto you in every way he could, for his body now and his mind later. Your hips rolled up against his and your free hand scrambled over his skin as you groped and tugged at him, straining to bring him as close as possible as he worked you.

It felt like he hadn’t been inside you for long - definitely nowhere near long enough - when your body started to tighten around him. He groaned at the feeling, kissing down your jaw to the tender skin at the base of your lobe and then your throat.

“I’m gonna come,” your voice was strained, almost frantic. “I’m going to come, I… I…”

“Good,” he said more into your neck than anything else, pressing into you harder, the head of him finding that place inside you that made your thrusts stutter before before he pulled his lips from your throat to look at you again. He needed to know what you looked like when you came - really came - with him inside you. He needed this moment to replace the one in that fucking video, the one he went back to again and again. “Christ, you feel so good, I need to feel you come. You going to let me? Come on, baby, let me feel you.”

“Fuck,” you groaned, closing your eyes and pressing your face to the side like you were trying to bury it in the pillow.

“No,” Joel damn near growled, pulling your leg to wrap around him so he could take your cheek in his hand, turning your face to his. “Need you to look at me, baby. Need you to fucking look at me when I make you come.”

You nodded against him, your eyes opening so he could look at you - really look at you - all raw and vulnerable and wanting. None of the fear that had been there just hours before was left in your eyes and you cried out, your channel fluttering over him as you came. He fucked you through it, his thrusts only stuttering for a moment before your orgasm began to ease and he couldn’t hold his own climax back any longer, pressing himself deep and low inside of you as he spilled into your warmth.

Your eyes were still on his own as he finished and he held your gaze as he came back down to earth, his cock going soft inside of you, the two of you fighting to regain your breath. His hand trembled as he adjusted his hold on you, his fingertips tracing your hairline along your forehead. Your eyes searched his, almost cautiously, like you were waiting for him to snap or leave but he just stayed as close as possible, nestled inside your core and between your thighs, shielding you from the world.

Eventually, he leaned down and kissed your forehead before easing himself from your body and collapsing alongside you. He rolled to face you and you watched him, a cautious and almost caged look in your eyes as you did. Joel just reached for you and you let him move you onto your side and pull you against him. When you were against his chest you reached for him slowly, cautiously, and rested your hand on his cheek as you watched him. He wrapped himself around you, pulling you into him until you were as close as you could be and he could feel all of him around all of you. Your hand rested on his chest and you nuzzled into him, breathing deep when you did.

“What happens now?” You asked quietly, your lips brushing his skin when you spoke.

He held you a little closer, his chest getting tight at the idea of you being away from him again. Joel kissed the top of your head.

“I do what I have to to keep you safe.”

A/N: AHHHHHHH WE GOT HERE!!!

This scene is the one that I pictured when I first thought up this fic. Just two, incredibly damaged people who have survived by building up all these walls suddenly having all those protections ripped away. Joel by almost losing someone he actually cares about and Siren by having all these manufactured versions of herself stripped bare and it's just them, raw and vulnerable and finally acting on these feelings that have been building for MONTHS.

BUT

Here's the thing...

I'M GOING TO TELL YOU RIGHT NOW

DON'T GET ATTACHED TO THIS, OK?

It's in all caps because I'm so serious, this is not their happily ever after yet. A lot of y'all have read things I wrote in the past so it could come as no surprise that I, for some reason, just can't leave things alone when it comes to Joel fucking Miller, I apparently have to put this man through it at every opportunity. Someone take him away from me.

Thank you for reading! I hope you're enjoying these two, they've been giving me such brain rot this week and it's such a joy to share them with you now.

Love you!!

Taglist: @christinamadsen @eff4freddie @brittmb115 @copperhalfcent @r3dheadedwitch @pedropascalsbbg @lovelyjess69 @yopossum @moel-jiller @picketniffler @lilyevanstan1325 @reluctanthalfwayoptimism @wintersquirrel @missladym1981 @mellymbee @canthinkof1user @inept-the-magnificent @secretlyangelic @pedrobae @scarletsloveletter @phry-k @sunnytuliptime @mistresssolana @joelmillerpascal @hoddystark

#fanfic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #the savage and the sanctuary #tsats #joel miller smut #joel miller x female oc #bodyguard!joel #bodyguard au

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satorus-princess · 19 hours ago

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she loves me not, she loves me

synopsis: gojo satoru - the oh-so-confident, strongest sorcerer - becoming a nervous wreck on his wedding day? no way. (one suggestive joke, but otherwise sfw)

fem!reader x gojo satoru, canon au but geto never defected 🥰

gojo thinks he's successful in being able to conceal the effect of his doubts and worries on his demeanour. but, obviously, his best man picks up on the way that he constantly fixes his pushed-back hair, straightens his tuxedo for the umpteenth time, and redoes his tie for a third time. well, honestly, anyone would be able to infer his fears from his behaviour, no matter how forced his smile is.

“are you nervous, satoru? you have no reason to be, you know,” geto says, sitting on a chair in his own suit as he observes his best friend standing in front of the mirror who brushes off atoms from the sleeves of his tux.

“hah, why would i be nervous? i'm hard to resist, and she loves me,” the tone and manner in which gojo says that sounds as if he's reassuring himself rather than trying to convince geto he isn't nervous.

“she does. i've seen you get into destructive relationships, but not this one. (y/n)'s perfect for you,”

“she's so perfect... what is she doing marrying me?” gojo groans, stepping backwards and slumping into an armchair behind him.

“she said yes for a reason,” geto reminds gojo.

“you're right, you're right. she said yes to me. she wants to marry me.” gojo's head is tilted back over the edge of the chair, trying to keep his thoughts under control. that lasts a minute before he's grumbling under his breath, “shit, i'm a mess.”

while gojo is consumed in his whirlwind of thoughts, he doesn't even hear geto calling someone on the phone and talking to them. that's until he scoots closer to the groom, holding out the phone to him with a short “here”.

“what are you doing?” he asks, lifting his head up, confused as to why his rambling is cut off and what could possibly be more important.

“‘toru?” your sweet voice chimes through the speaker, and suddenly, gojo feels as if his heart has stopped. he takes the phone from geto, who steps out of the room to let you two have your moment, knowing that the only person who can ease gojo's nerves is his future wife herself.

his fingers slightly tremble around the phone as he presses it against his ear. he swallows thickly before speaking, “(y/n)?”

“yeah, it's me, my love. are you okay?”

a gentle smile paints over his lips, his shoulders visibly relaxing as he lets out a sigh - subconsciously relieved. he nods, despite you not being able to see him. “yeah... yeah, i'm okay now that i've heard your voice. fuck, you sound so pretty through the phone, i might cry,” he jokes, but the choked-up laugh that tumbles out suggests that he might not be completely joking.

he hears you laugh on the other side of the phone and his heart signs up for a marathon. “hey, save the tears for when you see me.”

“oh, those aren't gonna be tears. that's gonna be full-on sobbing and snot everywhere,” his tone is light and playful, feeling much calmer now.

you laugh again, this time louder. “you're ridiculous. although i'm not sure i doubt you.”

“i'm definitely not joking. just thinking about you in your dress is bringing me to tears.”

“you love me,” you state simply in a quieter tone, but it's such a powerful affirmation.

“i do, with every fibre of my being. i can't wait to marry you and spend forever together.”

“me too. you know what else i can't wait for?” you ask playfully in an attempt to lift his mood, waiting for gojo to respond before continuing. he gives you a soft hum in question. “the honeymoon. spending lots of quality time together. in bed, especially.”

he lets out a surprised laugh, though his deep, ocean eyes soften into something more tranquil, like a fresh stream shimmering in the sun. “god, i love you. this is why you're my wife-to-be.”

“but seriously, you have nothing to be nervous about, you know? we're getting married because we love each other, there's no doubt about that.”

gojo releases a heavy, shaky sigh. “i know... you're not gonna leave me waiting at the altar, are you?” he jokes, but there's an underlying concern that's more serious than he lets on. but, of course, you sense it.

“that's the most ridiculous thing you've said in your life, my love. i wouldn't be here, dressed up to marry you if i was going to leave you. i'm not going anywhere or leaving you behind, no matter what, okay?”

he hums in understanding, and you assume he's chewing on the inside of his cheek to hold back his emotions.

you continue, “satoru, my heart belongs with you. if, in the craziest scenario you can think of, i leave you, my heart will still be with you. it'll always love you, and it'll never forget about you. i hope you know i love you more than anything.”

he swallows again before speaking, “i do know. that's why i can't believe you only want me; do i even deserve you?” he whispers, and the broken crack in his voice makes your heart crack along with it.

“hey, none of that. i don't think i can stress how much you deserve everything good in the world. and you were the one that taught me that i deserve only the best, that i should never settle for anything else. so, here i am, only marrying the best,” you say softly with a smile that you hope he can hear in your voice.

and you assume he can when you just about hear the hitch in his breath. “... thank you, (y/n),” he murmurs. it's a simple utterance, but it means everything to you, knowing you were able to reassure him in such a vulnerable moment. he didn't think his words could be used against him in the best possible way - if he believes that you deserve the best, then it must be true that you believe he deserves the best too. “who knew the strongest would be so nervous on his wedding day, huh?” he attempts to lighten the mood again, but this time, he isn't burying his emotions - he's overcome them thanks to you.

“ah, but you're the weakest when it comes to me, aren't you?” you tease. “i love this side of you, you know. the human side, the one that you only show to me.”

“alright, i get it, i get it. you don't need to make me cry again yet. we haven't even gotten to the vows yet,” he chuckles lightly, revealing the fact that he may have shed some tears while you were reassuring him.

“my sweet boy, you really are gonna be sobbing, huh?”

“without a doubt. continuously from the moment i see you.” his heart flutters when he hears your laugh ring through the phone, half filled with amusement and half with love.

“well, now that you aren't doubting anything, why don't you go out there and wait for me, hm?”

“mhm, yeah... i love you, sweet girl.”

“i love you, too, ‘toru. i'll see you out there, okay?” you confirm in a tender tone that is unreplicable, tugging at his heart strings that form a beautiful melody that only you manage to orchestrate.

“okay, mrs gojo.”

#hazel's masterpieces #gojo satoru #satoru gojo #jjk gojo #gojo jjk #gojo x reader #gojo x you #jjk #gojo fic #gojo fics #jjk fic #jjk x reader #jjk fics #satoru gojo x reader #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen gojo #jujutsu kaisen x reader

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shopwitchvamp · 3 days ago

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Despairing frustrated rage about tariffs, and only having bad choices ahead:

I've been avoiding making this post for some time now, but today in the latest tariff threats we're staring down the barrel of an additional 25% tariff being put in place on April 2nd for any country that imports Venezuelan oil. If it actually happens that'll put tariffs on Chinese made goods up to 45% (as far as I understand it at least..) and with that, we will have certainly passed the point that I can continue to just eat costs and hope to hold on until things calm down again someday maybe.

With that said we'll be facing a number of pretty much only bad choices in figuring out how to survive this.

A look at those and what might have to change soon under the cut-

I'll be at a decision point on April 2nd, if +25% tariffs happen on top of the 20% that's already in place. Here's the potential actions I'll have to take to keep the shop from crashing & burning within a few months:

1) Raising prices. Well it's obvious that this would be one way to deal with costs going up. Even if my costs are going up 45%, I can't exactly raise prices by 45% and expect anyone to want (or be able) to buy our clothes though. But price increases of 10-20% would have to happen to keep the business sustainable. This would look like mini/skater skirts going from $49.99 to $59.99 (+20%), midis/joggers going from $64.99 to $74.99 (+15%), and maxis going from $69.99 to $79.99 (+14%). I don't want to do this, I will not be making more profit from this (profit would still be down compared to pre-tariffs), and I don't expect it to be received well, but if tariffs are in fact that high.. I don't see any way around a price increase.

2) Not keeping D Size on hand / Additionally raising the price on D Size. So the first part of this, not keeping D Size on hand, already happens at times because certain designs sell so rarely in that size that I can't justify ordering D Size anymore. I always make it available during preorders though, and if any preorders come in for D Size then I'll always get at least a little extra of them (if nothing else than because I usually have to order more than what comes in for preorders to hit the order minimum). I will need to consider making this the way things work deliberately and all of the time because I can't afford the higher cost of D Size only to have it end up sitting in our inventory and not selling when it's on hand. To give an example, D Size skater skirts cost me nearly twice as much as A or B Size. I've been relying on things averaging out alright since I sell so many more A/B/C than D, but with the potential of +45% costs in tariffs it will make D Size so much more expensive that this no longer works. I'll be approching a point of losing money on D Size, and unfortunately the quickest way to lower my average cost is to not order D Size as often. For part two of this one, I could consider raising the price for D Size in the shop so that it's not affecting the overall cost average as much. It may come to that, but I don't think it's the best or most useful idea because I know it will not only upset people- it will also drive down D Size demand even lower, and when it's already the size that sells the least it makes it make even less sense to keep D Size on hand most of the time. So we circle back around to probably just making D Size available mainly during preorder & not keeping them on hand.

3) Purposefully scaling down. There's three parts to this one. One has to do with guest artists, one has to do with my partner, and one is just the scale of the business altogether. For guest artists- with tariffs cutting into profit margins I may end up at a point of not having much to pay them (profits are split 50/50) for their art or to pay me & my partner for our work. We were starting to plan another large collection including guests artists for this summer, but I'm having to rethink if it will be possible or if it makes any sense now. Projects like that might need to be put off until the situation changes. For my partner- my partner was able to quit his job in 2022 and since then he's worked with me full time on the business. If things start looking rocky enough, he would be looking at job hunting for at least part time IT work and pulling back on how involved he is with the business. For the business as a whole- I had a lot of plans in the works for new designs, new collabs, new collections, new types of clothing, etc etc. and all of that could have to be put off, slowed down, or not happen at all. Especially if my partner ends up going back to a "regular" job, I'd be looking at returning the shop to something more like how it was in the 2020-2021 era. Far less new releases, less restocks, keeping less inventory on hand, and so on. Because money/tariffs aside, I would have to go back to handling most things on my own and I can't operate at our current scale solo.

If you made it this far, thanks for reading and I hope I haven't instilled too much fear & panic. We are doing ok right now. We can keep doing ok for at least a few more months even if the tariffs happen. But I want to keep you all informed about what things my look like further down the line. It really sucks to have been doing so well and grown so much over the past few years and to have it all crushed seeminly overnight, but that's what we might be facing. I'll do my best to keep Witch Vamp alive even if it means going backwards to where it's more of a hobby level project and not a livelihood sustaining kind of thing. Then maybe in the future we can power back up when conditions are better..

And who knows, since things are so chaotic and uncertain there's always the chance we luck out and don't get hit with a bunch of this stuff. Right now chances are sounding slim.. but it's possible.

I'll let you all know how things are looking when we maybe know more on April 2nd. See ya then 🖤

#witch vamp #text post #long post #so long and full of despair #my current outlook is bleak #who knows what tomorrow will bring because everyday is a new disaster it would seem #wish i had better news but yeahh :[

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aquanutart · 2 days ago

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I revive Shocking and heal them before continuing. As I do, I realize that child me also thought Revives were important, because I have way more than I have potions to heal Pokemon after reviving them. I should have bought another Max Potion instead of those Revives--but we've come too far to second-guess.

I forgot I named my rival Ash. It was one of the default rival names you could choose, and I think I just picked the first one. Unlike JELLYPOOO the Metapod, I didn't really know what to name my rival.

My apologies to the real Ash. I know it's not really you!

He leads with Pidgeot, and Blastoise quickly knocks it out. We're off to a good start!!

He sends out Alakazam, who does some serious damage with Psychic before Blastoise can even attack. We retaliate with Surf, but... it does barely anything?!

I use my last Max Potion to bring Blastoise back to full health. We might get hit with Psychic again, but on the next turn we'll switch out and--

NO!!! BLASTOISE!!!

It's okay!! I'll revive you!! But right now--who am I going to send out--??

I remember that either Psychic and/or Ghost is weak to the other type and to itself. I've only been playing the TCG for so long, which simplifies it to Psychic is weak to Psychic, and I remember it's different from the games. I know the Ghost Pokemon in this game are weak to Ghost and Psychic, but is Psychic also weak to Psychic? I can't believe I forgot--?!!

Ghoulie will definitely get hit for super effective damage, so I don't want to send them out. Will Hypno take double damage from Alakazam--??

On the chance that Hypno can survive the damage and maybe do double damage as well, I send Hypno out.

Wait!! Psychic is RESISTANT to Psychic!! Hypno, we can tank the hits!!

All right!! Since half of our attacks will do no damage (Flash and Dream Eater) and one is ineffective (Confusion), we are left with one viable strategy: Headbutt Alakazam until it gives in!!

The battle between the two great Psychic-types begins! Hypno's incessant headbutting is wearing Alakazam down, but Alakazam keeps using Recover and undoing all of our work!

If it's to be a battle of attrition, I worry about how few healing items I have left. Still, I revive and fully heal Blastoise while Alakazam is using Recover. It's a matter of keeping my team together.

Then, suddenly, Hypno crits!! Alakazam has no chance to recover! Alakazam fainted!!!

Blastoise!! I'm so glad you're okay again!! Go for it!!!

Shocking comes in to handle Gyarados!

Blastoise joins in one more time for Arcanine!

And Beauty strikes the final blow against my rival's starter!!

WE DID IT!!! Blastoise, Hypno, Ghoulie, Shocking, Beauty, Kitty--everyone--WE WON!!!

Everything we went through--the years I spent trying to be someone else, the years I was afraid to talk to anyone, the years I felt like I couldn't be accepted or respected as myself, the years I felt like I couldn't speak up and had to be what others wanted--somehow, we got through it all and made it back together, to do what we set out to do.

I was talking and I mentioned that I have my old Game Boy and original Pokemon cartridge. I said, "I think they still work."

I was told, "The internal batteries on the Game Boy cartridges have run out. They're all dead."

"Oh," I said, trying not to show how crestfallen I was. I felt like I was losing nerd cred for not knowing that, although I never kept up with that type of info anyway. I'm here for the fantasy and imaginative aspects of games, and tend not to follow the competitive or technical details.

I tried not to feel anything as I went home. If they were real animals, I reminded myself, I would have had to say goodbye long ago.

But like so many other people, Pokemon was my childhood. It was all I thought about and dreamed about, and the closest thing I could imagine to heartbreak was the knowledge that they weren't real. I spent nearly all my time writing longhand self-insert Pokemon fanfiction--far more than I spent actually playing the game. My Pokemon were with me in my imagination wherever I went. I started playing Pokemon Blue when I was 5, and the last time I had played it was probably when I was 9 or 10. I remembered I had turned it on again one more time after that, not to play it, but to look at my childhood Pokemon.

It was during high school, after a move overseas that completely upended my life, and I was struggling with the crushing blow of being taken away from everything I knew and trying to make sense of anything (least of all adolescence) in another language. All I wanted was to go back to childhood and have everything go back to how it was before.

Seeing my Pokemon, just as I'd left them, had comforted me. I had looked at their stats pages, taken photos of them with my digital camera (that I don't even know if I still have), and then turned it off without doing anything.

That was probably 9 or 10 years after the games came out. It had been a long time since then. I had long since taken the AA batteries out of my Game Boy Color and left it untouched. I didn't even have AA batteries anymore.

It had worked then. But now it had been 27 years... I thought about not trying to turn my cartridge back on. As long as I didn't turn it on, I could believe my Pokemon were still there, the way I remembered them.

On my day off, which happened to be Pokemon Day, I googled and read that some people on forums and Reddit were still able to play their original Pokemon games.

Then... it was possible. I went out to buy toothpaste. At the store, I asked where I could find AA batteries.

It was a big thing for me to be able to go to the store and buy things myself. When I moved at age 13, I felt like something went wrong with growing up. It was difficult to follow what people were saying, and people didn't always understand what I said either. I had been introverted even in English, but now I had enough negative experiences that I became afraid and stopped trying to talk to people altogether.

I threw myself into video games and reliving childhood memories. The internet was where I could communicate in my first language and understand. I lived online and didn't interact with the real world. On the internet I felt like I was understood and could find people who shared my interests the way I did, but in the real world it always felt like I could get hurt if anyone knew me.

I realize now that I could have had a better experience overseas if I'd known how to adapt and socialize, but this was not something I knew even in English, and trying to learn in another language made it ten times harder. I'm sorry now for missing out on interactions that I know I could have had, but I just didn't know how. I wouldn't know how until I learned, and it took me a long time to learn.

I grew up online, in the company of others who had trouble fitting in with the real world, even in their own language. Those experiences shaped me, and the friendships I've made and support I've received online are invaluable to me. The internet gave me a way to live, and through it I learned how to interact with others. But in many ways, for many years, it felt like my life was put on hold and I stopped growing up.

Several years ago I moved back, to not far from where I was born, and I was able to work for the first time. I began to interact with people and feel like I had a place in the real world.

After shutting myself away for so many years, every little step I made out in the world felt terrifying. But every little thing I did on my own made me feel like I was living for the first time.

Even something as little as going to the store and buying a pack of batteries.

I was directed to a shelf at the end of an aisle, and found myself looking at a rack of lithium AA batteries. Did they not sell the old kind anymore?

I walked around to the other side and was relieved to find the familiar black and brown Duracell batteries I'd known from my childhood. I felt more confident about putting in a battery that looked the same as I remembered. The smallest pack they sold was an 8-pack for $12.99. I really didn't need 8 batteries. I didn't have any other devices that used them.

I thought, what if I turn it on and it doesn't work and I'll have wasted $12.99?

I also thought we might already have batteries. I might be able to say, "Mom, do we have any batteries?" and she'd pull out two AAs from a drawer somewhere and I'd save my money.

But somehow I felt like part of what was important about this was being an adult and being able to buy my own batteries.

Yet... what if it just ended up making me sad? Was it better not to know?

I went to the checkout with just the toothpaste and stood hesitating at the edge of the checkout line.

If I didn't get the batteries now, and it turned out we didn't have any batteries, I wouldn't try it. I knew I would just put it off until even more time passed, and then... "Are you in line?" someone asked me.

"No," I said, and I turned around and went back to the shelf.

I bought the batteries.

At home, I took out my original Game Boy Color from the drawer where I left it, the one my dad had surprised me with when I was 5 years old and that I had brought overseas and back.

I put the batteries in and turned it on without a cartridge first to make sure the batteries were inserted correctly. The Game Boy logo scrolled across the screen and it made the familiar blinging Game Boy startup noise. I turned it off again, satisfied.

I took out my original Pokemon Blue cartridge, momentarily having to remember which way it went in, and slotted it in.

I turned it on, watched the whole Pokemon Blue intro out of nostalgia, and then pressed START.

My heart leaped for joy.

MY POKEMON!!!! MY POKEMON ARE ALIVE!!! 🥺🥺🥺

My original Pokemon, that were with me in 1998 when I was 5-6 years old, are still with me 27 years later. I want to cry!!! I love the old sprites, I'm SO happy to see them again 😭😭😭 the Pokemon look so little and cheerful at the same time, which I love 🥺🥺🥺 I know there are people with many more hours on their games, who have leveled all their Pokemon to 100. But these are my Pokemon who were with me through my childhood, and I spent many more hours making up stories about them than actually playing the game. I'm so happy to see them again 😭😭😭

All I want is to see my Pokemon. My other Pokemon are in boxes. Now, how do I get to the nearest PC? Where am I?

Oh... Oh. I have to confess something. When I was a kid, I was scared of the dark cave areas, and whenever I got to them, I stopped playing for a while. (I was stuck at Mt. Moon until I was like, 7.) So I never actually beat the game.

And here I am on Victory Road, with the team of Pokemon I was taking to the Elite Four, without an Escape Rope.

The only way for me to see my other Pokemon is... to finally make it through Victory Road, after 27 years?!

#long post #pokemon update #there is one more update coming right away (i apologize for putting this long post on your dash twice)#thank you so much to everyone for reading and cheering for me through this story!! 🥺🥺#edit: had to edit wording because i realized the reason the ghosts are weak to psychic is their dual poison typing

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reccyls · 1 day ago

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Victor's Main Route: Chapter 5

< Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter >

Victor: It’s time we re-evaluated your duties!

Kate: W-whoa!

Victor made a grand announcement as soon as I opened the door to his office. Surprised and confused, I stepped in.

Victor: Now, please take a seat. This is a very important task ahead of us.

Kate: Um, thank you?

Victor pulled out my usual chair. Holding back my questions, I sat down. He took his seat across from me with a serious look on his face. With his elbows on the table, he laced his fingers together.

Victor: Kate, I’ve been thinking for a while.

I swallowed nervously. Seconds passed in silence. And then, as he drew in a deep breath, Victor spread his hands wide.

Victor: Aren’t you doing far too much work!?

Kate: …Huh?

I couldn’t help the noise of confusion that left my mouth when I heard the exact opposite of what I was expecting. Still looking deadly serious, Victor continued passionately.

Victor: What exactly are your current duties!?

Kate: Um… I accompany Crown on missions and record what happens, and I also help you with your work here.

Victor: That’s right, your work even includes that now!

Kate: Uh…

(Well, I didn’t set out intending to become Victor’s assistant…)

Recording what happened during Crown’s missions were my duties as Fairytale Keeper. But the main reason I began helping Victor with his work was because I wanted to learn more about him.

(But it’s not as if it’s really difficult or anything…)

Normally it only took an hour to finish, maybe two or three at the most. And on top of that, having half an hour to an hour of break for tea time here in the office had already become a part of my daily routine.

Victor: Maybe you yourself don’t see it, but I think you’re already doing more than enough work.

Kate: But I think you have a lot more work than I do…

Victor: I’m fine. It’s to be expected as Her Majesty’s aide, after all.

I’ve seen how much work VIctor has to do each and every day. I doubted that there was anyone else who worked as hard as he did. Even during his rare days off, he was always thinking about Crown’s matters. It was like even his private life had become entirely consumed by work.

Victor: By now, you’ve already been on a mission with everyone in Crown, haven’t you?

Kate: Yes, that’s right. But only when you requested that I join them.

I’d never been on a mission outside of the ones where Victor requested my presence. So that’s why I didn’t feel like I’d been doing too much. However…

Victor: I was wondering whether it was time you became someone’s personal Fairytale Keeper.

Kate: A personal Fairytale Keeper?

Victor: Isn’t it overwhelming if you have to join everyone on their missions, and write reports on all of them? Victor: I had thought it was a good idea. However…

Kate: Victor?

Victor: Ah, it’s nothing.

There was a slight pain in Victor’s expression. He slowly opened his mouth to continue, as though it was hurting him to speak.

Victor: It’s just that it might make it difficult for you to come by so often to help me, so I realized how lonely I’d be.

(He really thinks that?)

Kate: I’d also be lonely if we stopped doing this.

Though I found VIctor’s behavior cute, I also felt the same way. I figured I should tell him directly. Although I hadn’t been doing this for very long, this routine with Victor had already become a comfort to me.

(When I go on missions with Crown, I learn more and more about the injustice that exists in the world. And every time, I wonder just what it is that I can do.) (I keep trying to face forward and meet things head on, but I can’t help but think that…)

Every time I witnessed another tragedy, I felt the urge to do something. But the knowledge of how little I could do haunted me.

(That’s why the time I spend with Victor is so important to me.)

Even though I didn’t speak about it, maybe Victor noticed something anyway. He never asked me about the missions in any detail when I’m in his office.

Kate: I want to keep going on missions with Crown as Fairytale Keeper, and I also want to keep working with you. Kate: Is that alright?

I must have looked nervous. With a conflicted smile, Victor opened his mouth.

Victor: If that is what you wish. Victor: But if it’s ever too much, you must let me know immediately, okay?

Kate: I will. Thank you.

With that discussion done, I got ready to start working. However…

Victor: But you really have been working too hard lately. You should rest for today.

He stood up and headed for his desk.

Victor: You stayed up late last night researching to prepare for the mission you’re going on with William, didn’t you? Victor: You’re doing more than anyone asked of you. So rest your wings a while.

Kate: But-

(Isn’t there a lot to do today?)

As I was about to ask Victor that, he firmly shook his head.

Victor: Take it as a personal request from me.

He looked at me with puppy-dog eyes, everything about him radiating cuteness. I felt my heart skip a beat.

Victor: Pretty please?

(I’m sure if Jude or Harrison were here, they’d call this gross and tell VIctor to stop acting like a child.) (But there’s no way I can say no to that face…)

Victor was normally the ever-reliable man of a hundred talents. Seeing him act like this hit me right in the heart.

(I can’t rule out that he knows I’m weak to this kind of thing, but still…)

His eyes were practically sparkling. The gap between now and his normal behavior made my pulse race in my ears.

(I know he’s messing with me, but I’m still going to say yes anyway.)

Kate: Fine, I will.

Victor: Excellent! Have a good rest.

I gave him a nod as he waved goodbye to me, and left his office. Dark clouds hung in the sky outside.

-----

William: So you knew he was manipulating you, and you still lost.

Kate: “Lost” is a strong word… But… yeah…

We were seated at the upper floor of the theater. I kept my eyes on the stage and my voice low as I spoke with William. He looked amused as he rested his chin on one hand and similarly kept his eyes on the performance. Young, beautiful actresses were performing on the stage. However, their acting skills were still quite rough. It was pretty obvious that they were all new to the stage. Today’s mission was to approach the women under the pretext of becoming their patrons, Investigate to see if they were potential targets of human trafficking, and collect solid evidence if so. Sitting in the box across from us was the suspect, an aristocrat who was eyeing the women on stage with a cigar in hand.

William: Victor knows that look works on you. William: He’s not one to put on the cute act otherwise.

Kate: I know…

On stage, the actress’ eyes sparkled with excitement.

That there could exist a future where that brightness would end up snatched away was unforgivable.

(According to William, the theater staff are all also accomplices. None of them should escape justice either.) (We have to do something before things get worse.)

Before their eyes, so brilliant in the pursuit of their dreams and belief in the future, clouded over. Maybe I was getting more worked up than usual because these actresses were performing on the stage that I held so dear, and they were similar in age to me.

William: I won’t need to be that forceful. But I will pass judgment on that man, and everyone else involved, before these women become victims.

Kate: That’s a relief to hear.

My eyes darted back to our target. He was whispering to someone who looked like he was one of the involved theater staff.

William: Seems that things are moving quickly.

The staff member briefly left, and when he returned, he had a piece of paper in his hand.

Kate: That’s…

William: A sales contract.

The target scribbled on the contract with a quill pen, then withdrew a check from his pocket. He exchanged it for the contract, and then the staff member left once more.

William: It’s time for our mission to begin.

Applause filled the theater as the curtains drew to a close. Seeing our target stand, we also stood.

William: We’ll seize the contract from the target as planned.

Kate: Got it.

We exited the main stage area before our target did, and made sure to stand apart from each other as we walked down the corridor. As the suspect appeared, William called out to him.

William: You’ve left awfully early. Are you not staying for the curtain call?

Target: Lord Rex! To think I’d meet you here.

Distracted by William, the target didn’t notice me hiding behind him.

Target: Well, the acting was quite poor, if you’ll forgive me for saying so. Target: I wasn’t in the mood to watch for much longer.

William: I’d prefer to say that those actresses still have room to grow.

Target: Ah yes, that’s right. It’s–

As he was getting drawn into the conversation, I approached the target from behind, and bumped into him.

Kate: Oh, I’m sorry!

Target: What do you think you’re doing?

Kate: I’m so sorry, I was going to the restroom and I got turned around.

As I lied shamelessly, William brushed his hand across the target’s coat.

William: Oh my, you have something stuck there.

Target: Do I? Where?

As the target was distracted by trying to check his coat, I saw my chance and reached for the target’s inner pocket. It wasn’t difficult to steal the contract.

William: It’s alright, I’ve got it.

Target: Thank you very much. And as for you-

I kept the contract hidden behind my back as the man glared at me. William spoke up.

William: If she hadn’t bumped into you, I wouldn’t have noticed the dirt stuck to your coat. William: Thank you, miss.

You’re welcome.

I’m sorry for bumping into you. (+4/+4)

Smile awkwardly.

Kate: I’m sorry for bumping into you, sir.

Target: …I’ll let you off just this once.

William: The restroom is that way, miss. You can’t miss it. William: Well then, we shall be leaving first. William: Do be careful. And now, if you’ll excuse us.

Kate: Thank you very much.

After making sure both the target and William were gone, I started running in the other direction. Stashing the contract deep in my purse, I left through the emergency exit.

(I’m glad it worked.)

When William suggested that I steal the contract while he distract the target, I was nervous whether I’d be able to do it. But everything had gone according to plan. I felt my shoulders drop as the tension bled out of me. However, the mission wasn’t over yet.

(It’s not over until I rendezvous with William and we return to the castle!)

If we didn’t return with the evidence, then the entire mission would be pointless. My hands tightened around the strap of my purse and I steeled myself.

Kate: …Alright.

The plan was to sneak around to the other side of the theater through the alleyways, meet William, and then take a carriage back to the castle. If I head straight to the meeting point with no delays, it’s only a few minutes away. Even though this was an alleyway, there were plenty of people passing by out in front. I’d been told that it was a safe area, but still…

(It’s better to hurry.)

The silence was starting to get to me, so I took another deep breath to calm down and started walking faster. Just a little while ago, I was regularly navigating alleys like these to make my deliveries. But maybe because it’s been a while since I’d walked around by myself, I was starting to feel nervous. My hands tightened again around my purse. I was always supposed to be accompanied by someone from Crown if I left the castle. At first, I had thought of it as a way to keep me in line. But as I’d gotten to know Crown better and realize that they were protecting me, they began to feel more like escorts than wardens.

(And Victor always makes me feel the safest.)

He always had a kind word ready, and a gentle look. Whether he acted cheerfully or adorably, Spending time with Victor always made me relaxed. It made me happy.

(Maybe it’s because Victor always puts others first.)

Every time I noticed a small act of consideration from Victor, it filled my heart with warmth. This level of care must be why he’s able to succeed in his role as the queen’s aide.

(...I really want to see him.)

Tomorrow, in his office. When I open the door, he’ll be waiting for me with a soft smile. And he’d ask me: “Are you okay? Are you hurt?”

(When I get back, I’ll write up my report immediately and hand it to him first thing tomorrow morning.)

While I was daydreaming, I checked to make sure no one else was walking down this alley, but–

(Huh?)

I saw the fluttering of black hair disappear around a corner deeper into the alleyways.

Kate: Victor?

Although I only caught a glimpse of him, that was unmistakably Victor.

(What is he doing here?)

I found myself turning to follow him, drawn in by how much I had wanted to meet him. I approached slowly. Voices echoed in the alley, and Victor’s was among them.

Victor: –evil.

I heard the sound of groaning, and I hurriedly rounded the corner.

(...What…?)

The sight of several people sprawled on the ground met my eyes. They had their hands wrapped tightly around their own necks, rapturous expressions on their faces. They were dead.

Kate: Ah… wha-

In response to the shock I couldn’t contain, Victor spun around, illuminated by the light of the moon. The eyes that met mine were impossibly cold, almost inhuman. My voice died in my throat as I realized… …I knew nothing. I was just a little robin, kept safe and ignorant inside a cushion-lined cage.

#ikemen villains #victor (ikevil)#my translation

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cheeseborgorbord2 · 3 days ago

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𝓘 𝓑𝓮𝓽 𝓸𝓷 𝓛𝓸𝓼𝓲𝓷𝓰 𝓓𝓸𝓰𝓼

Season 2 Vi x (afab, latina) doggirl reader

Warnings: dead dove content, violence, abuse, alcoholism, euthanasia mentions, pet names, brief piss, distress, injury, good ending.

Dividers by: @animatedglittergraphics-n-more

Doggirls and dogboys barked and approached the cage doors as Vi walk by browsing for the perfect one to adopt.

Vi had been feeling lonely lately. Her breakup with Caitlyn was left on a sour note. She'd been missing the warmth of another body on top of her, but she wasn't ready for a relationship yet. So, she figured she could get a pet, a human pet.

None had caught her attention. While many of the doggirls were cute, they weren't perfect. Vi had walked several rows of the shelter, growing frustrated that she would have to go home alone again. But as her hope had dwindled, her eyes landed on what seemed to be an empty cage until her orbs caught the curled-up figure lying on the floor, covered under a blanket. The doggirls had been fed during the past hour, but the bowl was full to the brim with kibble.

Vi's hands gripped the cage bars as she stared. She could sense the hopelessness and despair radiating from the doggirl she was staring at. She couldn't help but feel her heartache. Another creature like her, alone and suffering.

She was perfect.

"Excuse me!" Vi called out to a shelter staff member who so happened to walk by. "Can I adopt this one?"

The staff member walked beside Vi to see what doggirl she wanted but gave a face of uncertainty.

"Oh, sorry. But she's not adoptable. She's bit too many of our staff members, myself included. Nearly grabbed my fingers when feeding her. The poor girl was rescued from fighting rings, and was a champion too."

Vi listened intently as he spoke.

"She was in terrible condition when taken into custody by enforcers. She had tangled hair, outgrown nails, and cuts and bruises. She has a lot of scars from those brutal fights. Doesn't get along with the other doggirls either. Unfortunately, we might have to put her down for her own well-being. She hasn't eaten and hardly moves from one spot. I'm surprised she even drinks water," he continued.

Vi's heart was completely shattered at the information, "she must be so afraid."

"I bet," he replied. "Not much we can do. We're going to schedule her to be put down on Friday."

"What!? No, you can't do that! That-that's not fair!" Vi's voice boomed, the panic and anger not subtle.

"I'm sorry!" The staff member put his hands up in defense, "there's nothing I can do!"

"I'll adopt her! I don't care if she's dangerous or aggressive, I'll take her."

He momentarily stared in disbelief at the woman in front of him. "You still want to adopt her? She's far too aggressive. She can cause some serious injury to anyone."

"She's scared," Vi objected. "I know what it's like to be scared too. To hate everyone and everything." Her eyes filled with sorrow stared into the cage.

She remembers the heartbreak of her breakup and how she coped with it.

Being abandoned by Caitlyn changed her severely. Vi fought in Zaun's pits, drowned her pain in copious amounts of alcohol only to puke it up later, the cycle repeating every single time. Just like with Caitlyn, she was falling hard, and fast.

It took one long look in the mirror to make herself realize this wasn't what she wanted. No longer recognizing her own reflection, she broke down. Screaming, sobbing, taking her anger out on the punching bag in her cell-like room. Soon enough, she collapsed on her mattress in exhaustion.

She was going to change herself, no matter how difficult it was going to be.

She just had to.

Vi spent the next few days collecting as much as she could to buy what you needed. Food, toys, pillows, blankets, clothes, and a large and slightly expensive cage for you to sleep in.

She pushed the doors to the shelter lobby open before slamming an envelope of money on the receptionist's counter, "I need to adopt a doggirl before she gets put down."

The receptionist looked up at Vi, taking a sip of her coffee, "The adoption fee is 80 dollars."

"80 is in here, now where is the ex-fighting doggirl before you guys put her down!"

The receptionist raised an eyebrow, "The ex-fighting dog? Oh, honey, she's already been put down."

Vi's heart sank. She was a day early to get you, but they had moved your euthanasia to today, Thursday.

"No, that can't be! She was scheduled for tomorrow!" Vi screamed. "I was her last chance!" Her eyes glossed over with unshed tears.

"That's how it is, honey. A lot of these girls deserve a second chance, but not all of them have the strength to go through that second chance. She was old and severely injured." The woman said before tying onto her computer.

"Wait a minute," Vi paused in thought, "she wasn't old. The one I saw looked younger."

"There is no other..." the receptionist took a second to think, "Oh! My bad, there are other ex-fighting dogs in here. The recently rescued, right?"

"Yes! Them!" Vi nodded eagerly.

"Oh, I see here. The one you're talking about is still here. Scheduled for euthanasia tomorrow," the woman turned the screen to Vi to a displayed schedule of appointments and putdowns. "This one, right?" She hovered the mouse over your ID number, a photo showing above it.

"That's her!" Vi pointed at the digital photo.

"Are you sure? She an aggresi-"

"I don't care. She's the one I want to adopt," Vi interrupted. "I'm her last hope."

The receptionist gave her a bit of a judgemental stare before shrugging, "you're brave. I'll get someone to get her for you. In the meantime, you'll need to fill out paperwork. Should take at most an hour."

"An hour?" Vi questioned.

"Yes, an hour," the woman spoke as she browsed through files before picking yours up. She typed a few things into the computer, papers calmly escaping the printer. "Here," she handed Vi the stapled stack of papers and a pen.

Vi quickly filled out the papers, scratching out any mistakes, desperate to take you home. Once she finished the papers, she shoved the clipboard in the receptionist's face.

"There, done, now get here so I can take her home."

The receptionist scans over the paperwork, "everything seems in order. They'll bring her in about 10 minutes. Here are copies of her medical records. Bring her in a few months for a check-up."

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" Vi kisses the papers as she sits back down to wait for your arrival.

20 minutes had passed and you haven't been brought to her. Vi's foot tapped impatiently. Just as she was about to get up and find you herself, two staff members were dragging and pushing you into the lobby.

"Sorry it took so long, we had to put a muzzle on her. She's surprisingly strong," one of the two staff members spoke, tugging the leash that connected to the collar around your neck.

You growled, using all your weight to push back against the pulls like a toddler throwing a tantrum. But your protest was futile with the second member pushing you from behind.

Vi stood there watching as you struggled against them, a black muzzle encasing your face. She could see the fear in your eyes, the way your cropped ears tilted back. You were terrified, and they read it as anger and aggression.

"Stop, you're scaring her," Vi stepped in front of the two members. "Take that muzzle off her."

They looked at Vi like if she was waving a gun around.

"Are you crazy, lady? She'll bite you!"

"She's my dog now. Take it off," Vi demanded. She wasn't the type to easily back down, further deepening the comparisons you two shared.

"Yeah, no." The second member answered.

Vi saw red.

"How dare you! Take it off of her, now! She's scared, not aggressive. I don't care if she bites me. Give me that," Vi snatched the leash out of their hands before reaching down to take off the muzzle.

In your eyes, you saw an angry hand reaching to hit you, like in the pits. You yelp, pulling against the leash, the flimsy material snapping, giving you the perfect opportunity to run. You use your legs to dash forward towards the door, clawed hands reaching the handle.

"Hey! Stop!" Vi called out as you ran out the lobby.

The moment you stepped outside, you were met with all sorts of sounds and smells unfamiliar to you. You was overwhelming, scary even.

You could hear Vi and the staff members coming after you. You couldn't get caught, not again.

You ran into the streets, nearly getting hit by bustling cars. You ran one way, then the other, frightened by the cars, the sun, the stench of gasoline, and the asphalt burning your feet. Next thing you know, you feel the impact of the car, finding yourself lying in the street. You can hear the screech of tires and Vi's screams as your vision blurs. Your ears rang, your hair draping over your face, as the world went black.

The beeps of machines entered your ears as you woke up from anesthesia. Your tongue lazily hung out the side of your mouth. You tried sitting up, your arms giving out easily, your upper body making a soft thump in the vet's recovery cage. The sounds of your awakening caught the attention of a nearby vet tech.

"Hey, good girl," the vet tech approached the cage, crouching down. "How you feeling? You got hit pretty hard, but luckily there was hardly any damage. Your owner's really worried about you." She opened the cage door and gently pat your head.

You flinch, falling forward when trying to escape her touch.

The vet tech quickly withdrew her hand, "okay, okay. I won't touch you. I'll let your owner know you're okay." She leaves, letting you wobbly crawl out the cage. The tiles are cold under your hands and knees. Your ears perk up at the sounds of Vi's heavy boots and the waiting room door creaks open.

"Here she is, up and ready," the vet tech announced to Vi.

Vi walked in and immediately sat your level, "hey, angel, you ready to come home?" She offered her palm out for you to sniff, but you backed up, tripping on your arms. She gasped, picking you up with ease, "I think it's time we go to your new home."

She carried your conscious but weak body to her car, placing you in the back seat. The back seats had soft blankets covering the cush leather. She clipped your shelter collar to the headrest before getting in the driver's seat.

"Relax, I'll take care of you."

Vi had carried you to her apartment, gently placing you in your new cage. She placed your head on the pillows, next to the stuffed animals she bought. She filled heart shaped bowls next to the cage with food and water as you slept. She watched from a distance at how you curled up, wrapping your arms around yourself as if protecting yourself from harm. She couldn't imagine the abuse you must've faced, but she could imagine the time she'll spend gaining your trust.

It had been hours since you hadn't bothered stepping foot out of the cage. Your tail stayed tucked between your legs as you watched every movement Vi made, growling and barking your teeth when she got too close. Every 30 minutes, Vi threw bits of treats into the cage, hoping to get you to eat. But you didn't eat in front of her, only when she left you alone. It stung but she understood the lack of trust you had with her.

She left the cage door open when she went to bed, giving you free access to roam the apartment. When you heard the click of her bedroom door close, you cautiously poked your head out of the cage. You looked around cautiously, your hands trembling as they touched the wood floors. They creaked under your weight, scaring you back into the cage. It took awhile until you tried again, your feet touching the floor. Your ears stood tall in alert at any small sound. Your nose found its way the the bowls next to the cage: beef patty and kibble. Your stomach grumbled at the sight of the food. You sat in front of the bowl, leaning down carefully, your tongue licked out to taste the food. You could feel your tail wag as you chowed down. This was the first time you had good food since being taken from your mother as a wee pup.

You hardly let your guard down as you ate, checking your surroundings every few minutes. Once you finished your chow, you drink the water and go back in the cage.

Morning rolls around. Vi stretches, sitting up in bed bed dragging herself to her bathroom. When she steps into the hallway, her foot steps in a puddle, a bit warm to the touch, the aroma of urine hitting her nose.

"Oh, come on!" Vi growls in frustration, but her disgust subsies when she hears your whine at the entrance of the hall, ears back in shame. "Hey, sweet girl. Had an accident? It's okay, I'll clean it up. I should've had pee pads out for you." Vi hopped on one leg to her bathroom, washing her foot. When she steps out of the bathroom, there's already a roll of paper towels on the floor. She chuckles, picking up the paper towels, and cleaning the puddle.

You went back into your cage, lying down in shame. You were used to releasing youself on floors, had been kept in a dirty cage, neglected despite being a top fighter. You paced around her apartment, trying to find a spot. The carpet? No, the smell would linger and the carpet would stain. On the balcony? No, it would leak down to the neighbors downstairs. Your cage? Definitely not. The floor was the last option.

The bouncing of kibble against ceramic broke you out of your head. Vi poured your kibble into your bowl in the kitchen. She added the pieces of beef patty and sprinkled some supplimentary powder. She brought the bowl and placed the bowl at the entrance of the cage.

"Hey, mamas, hungry? I saw you ate your dinner. Good girl," Vi praised. Your tail wigged at her words. She smirked as she tested the waters with pet names. "You like being called a good girl? Yes, you do! Who's my good girl? You are!"

Your tail wagged faster, thumping against the cage sides, your backside wiggling. You let out a few whimpers, looking up at Vi with puppy eyes.

"See, there's nothing that can hurt you, my good girl," Vi slowly reached a hand towards you. Your body visibly tensed, preparing for a strike, only to receive soft strokes against your head. "It's okay. I won't hurt you."

She watches as your body slowly relaxes under her touch. Her chest fills with a fuzzy feeling of fulfillment and pride. She studies your face, noticing a few scars: one across your cheek, a cut on your lower lip, and a bite along your jaw.

"Poor girl, you must've been through a lot," Vi commented. "Must've experienced hell and back...a lot like me. Everyone gave up on us," she sat in front of the cage, still petting you.

You moved your head onto her lap, seeking her comfort. The heat radiated off her body and like a moth to a flame, you couldn't help but go towards the light.

You felt loved.

"I bet on losing dogs because they deserve a fighting chance. I couldn't leave you behind. You needed me, and I needed you."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

𝓗𝓮𝓪𝓭𝓮𝓻𝓼 𝓶𝓪𝓭𝓮 𝓫𝔂 𝓶𝓮.

𝓟𝓵𝓮𝓪𝓼𝓮 𝓭𝓸 𝓷𝓸𝓽 𝓬𝓸𝓹𝔂 𝓶𝔂 𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓴 𝔀𝓲𝓽𝓱𝓸𝓾𝓽 𝓬𝓻𝓮𝓭𝓲𝓽. 𝓛𝓲𝓴𝓮𝓼 𝓪𝓷𝓭 𝓻𝓮𝓹𝓸𝓼𝓽𝓼 𝓪𝓻𝓮 𝓪𝓹𝓹𝓻𝓮𝓬𝓲𝓪𝓽𝓮𝓭.

🄼🄴🄽 🄰🄽🄳 🄼🄸🄽🄾🅁🅂 🄳🄽🄸

#arcane #vi league of legends #vi fanfic #violet arcane #piltover's finest #arcane headcanon #headcanon #arcane lol #vi headcanons #vi imagines #dog girl #vi x y/n #vi x you #vi x reader

43 notes · View notes

zepskies · 2 days ago

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Hahaa love it! Reading with coffee is a perfect match. ❤️❤️

My mind went straight to Ross Geller for this one and his “they should put that on the box!” Could I find a gif? No, so you get Dean being proud of his swimmers 😂

LOLL exactly! Allll the Friends parallels in this story - from the Ross/Rachel/Joey triangle when Emma was born, to Monica trying out a bunch of chocolate chip cookie recipes for her future kids, to even the Mona subplot. 😂😂

Dude! No! Don’t do that and then brush it off with such a lame ass statement. Friends don’t kiss friends on the lips (someone wise said that?)

lol right?? Dean's going through denial of the biggest form in this story.

This whole scene annoyed me so much. I can only assume that the rules in the Stares are the same as here, and anyone stressing momma out has to leave! Girl should’ve got rid of Dean while he was playing silly buggers with Lisa, but I guess he made up for it when he ended up being supportive, however,

Oh yeah - an unspoken rule but definitely an important one! Dean got Lisa out just in time lol, but he came back to support the reader throughout the rest of the birth and afterward. 🥹

BEOKE MY HEART. Although, you don’t need a man girl. Her and Robbie could potentially be okay without Dean or anyone else, but thank god these two did in fact get their act together - five plus years too late…

Heartbreaking, right? She knows logically she doesn't need a man/husband to be a good mom, but it's a scary moment. I was thinking of the conversation Janice has with Rachel after Emma is born. 🥺❤️‍🩹

It’s giving my separate vibes

lolll yes Rugrats and Reptar!! Perfect example of the neon green dinosaur I was thinking about. 🤣🤣 Damn I grew up on that show - it's been a million years since I thought of it.

I know you said I’d feel sorry for her, and I did at the end, but she kind of did this to herself. Why did she keep going back to him if she knew he mind was wanting someone else. You could argue she didn’t know, but come on…. I love how judgy I’m being even though I’d probably be Lisa in this exact scenario - “but I can fix him!”

lollll yeah, Dean deserved a few slaps throughout this chapter for everything he put Lisa through, but she did stay with him! It's one of those toxic-ish relationships where you know deep down it's not going to work (his heart is divided), but you want to make it work.

I was going to ramble about the whole bike scenario, and how ridiculous Dean was being, I get it I do, I’ve just got sympathy for the single mama (being one myself)

Aww yeah, Dean was being a dick there, but he's conflicted and angry about a lot more than the bike -- namely the idea of Benny and the reader getting married. Dean's just using that to unfairly vent his frustrations at the reader. 😪 Aw you're a single mama too? Some of this might've been relatable to you then! 💕

There it is! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ I’m so happy that they finally figured it out. It would seem Benny already had deep down too, I’m just glad he was so nice about it. My writing brain is seeing the repetitions and I love it!

Yeeeah Benny knew deep down, but like Lisa, he just wanted to believe he could make it work with the reader and be enough for her. 🥲

Aw yeah, my writer nerd heart loves some repetition and parallels! 💜

Gosh dang Alex! This was a masterpiece! Please give us more if ever you feel inclined. I’d love to know they got to do the whole baby planing together a second time right, if it were to happen for them, but this was a pleasure on its own as is, too

Omg thank you, Beth!! 🥹🥹🥹 Honestly yes that's what I was thinking for a possible Part 3/Epilogue - seeing how Dean and reader's relationship matures and how they might continue their little family. 💕💕 Thank you so much for your lovely feedback on Part 2!

IF I STAY - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Plus-Sized!Reader

Summary: Your dream is to work with kids as an elementary school teacher. Dean is well on his way to becoming a firefighter, keeping things light and “strings unattached” as he goes. After a one-night stand you never saw coming, you and Dean are forced to deal with the consequences…and figure out if the connection between you is worth fighting for.

AN: Deep breaths Are you ready for a rollercoaster of emotions? 😘❤️

Song Inspo: “I Can’t Help Falling in Love” and “It’s Now or Never” by Elvis

Word Count: 13.1K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, pregnancy feels, hurt/comfort, fluff, time jumps and flashbacks, sexual tension, mutual pining, spice~, and an ending…

❤️‍🔥 If I Stay Masterlist

Part 2: It’s Now or Never

At the doctor’s office, Dean goes in with you for the first trimester ultrasound. There you learn that you’re going to have a boy. Tears well up in your eyes and slip down your cheeks.

Dean wears a look of amazement as he sits on the edge of your bed. He takes up your hand and squeezes gently. He tries to be a strong support, even though he also tries to hide the fear that begins to churn in his gut.

For one of the first times in his life since Sam was born, he feels the weight of responsibility pressing down on him. In a good way. In a fucking scary way.

He looks at you and sees the wonder written across your face while you watch the tiny shape of your baby on the screen. His heartbeat thwaps fast and loud in the speakers.

Dean realizes something else then; the decision you're making is changing the course of your whole damn life…and it’s his fault.

With his weekly hookup rate, in the very back shelves of his mind he knew something like this could happen, even though he thought he'd been careful. (Apparently, condoms are fragile little shits.) But here, in this white wall-to-wall room that smells like hospital antiseptic, that thwap thwap thwap of a heartbeat reverberating in his ears, the reality of this is crashing hard on his shoulders and rattling down to the base of his spine.

Despite his earlier happiness, those thoughts stay with him when you two eventually get back into his car. You have the pictures of the sonogram in your hands. You smile down at them before you put them back in your purse for safekeeping.

However, you notice Dean’s sudden melancholy as he stares out at the road. He’s started the car, but he hasn’t moved to pull out of the parking lot yet.

“Hey, you okay?” you say, resting a gentle hand on his arm.

Dean shakes his head. “Look…I’m sorry for tossing a giant friggin’ monkey wrench into your life. I know this hasn’t been easy for you.”

If possible, your heart softens even more. You slide your hand down to grasp his.

“Dean, this baby wasn’t planned, but he’s not a mistake,” you say. “I don’t regret anything.”

Dean stares back at you, incredulously. He can’t believe you could really say that to him. He doesn’t know what to say. He only knows what’s in his mind, and what he feels compelled to do in that moment.

He leans over and kisses you. It’s a firm meeting of his lips to yours and achingly familiar. But ultimately, it’s chaste. He pulls away and settles back in his seat.

When you blink your eyes back open, your expression is slack in shock.

“I’m sorry,” he says, seeming sheepish, and guilty. “I meant to say thank you. Just didn’t know any other way to say it.”

After a moment, you smile at him. It’s warm and almost shy.

Dean clears his throat, trying to ignore the way his face is heating up. He doesn’t say anything more. He just takes the wheel and shifts gears, pulling the car out of the parking lot.

You don’t know what possesses you to bake cookies. Dozens and dozens of them, all the chocolate chip cookie recipes you can find. You’re in search of the perfect one. This will be the recipe your son will grow up on, and every time he eats them, he’ll remember how much you loved him.

And then, he’ll be ruined for any other chocolate chip cookies that try to grab his taste buds. He’ll say, Blech. Chips Ahoy? These aren’t as good as Mom makes!

…Or something like that.

Yes, these cookies have to be perfect. You’ll even write the ingredients down on a notecard and hide it away, and it’ll become your family secret recipe.

Once you feel like your cookie game is strong enough, you decide to test these babies out. You bring two dozen painstakingly baked confections to Firehouse 83, where Dean works. The man is a bottomless pit, to be sure, but you also want other people’s unbiased opinions. For science.

You park your car on the side of the road, making sure you’re not blocking the driveway where two huge fire trucks are parked. You head inside the firehouse with your big container under your arm and your purse on the other. Now at seven months into your pregnancy, you’ve gotten to the embarrassing “waddle” stage.

You’re still determined to be active though! You plan to keep working until you have the baby. Your parents live a few hours away, but you’re grateful that they want to help out as much as possible.

Even though they weren’t happy to hear about how you got pregnant, by now they've met Dean and begrudgingly admitted to liking him. He's really stepped up to the responsibility of a future father, insisting on baby-proofing your apartment, helping you shop for the essentials, and going with you to as many doctor’s appointments as he can. He’s even agreed to giving you child support payments, even though you hadn’t wanted to ask for it.

You look for him now as you enter the firehouse, trying to push the heavy glass door open with one hand.

“Here, I got you,” says a familiar baritone voice.

You’re pleasantly surprised at the man who helps you inside.

“Benny! It’s good to see you.”

“Yeah, been…a while,” he chuckles, glancing down at the swell of your belly, but he squeezes your shoulder and leans in to hug you gently.

“Dean filled you in?” you ask. You hope so. Having to explain the story to one of his own friends would be embarrassing, especially since this is the man you walked in Sam’s wedding with. It reminds you of that day, and the way you told Dean that news in a glorified closet, with shaking hands and the wrong kind of butterflies.

Thankfully, Benny nods. “That he did…but come on, I’ll show you around. And I see you’ve brought somethin’ special for us?”

He gestures at the container you're holding and offers to take it off your hands. You give it to him, grateful for the help.

“Yeah, and I want you guys to give me your honest opinion.”

Benny tosses you a wink and a smile. “That I can do.”

Your cheeks begin to warm in a blush, but the way he helps you to a comfy couch in the common room earns your smile. There are still good men left in this world, and you’re glad to know that Dean works so well with one.

“You want some coffee, or water? Think we might have some lemonade,” Benny says.

“Water would be great, thank you,” you reply, as you rub your belly. The little man has decided to kick at your liver today. “I stopped drinking coffee for the baby. ”

It's your biggest challenge, to be honest. Try wrangling a group of fifteen to twenty six-year-olds while running on green tea, the fumes of sleep deprivation, reduced bladder control, and as much vim as you can muster.

“Ah, right,” Benny nods. “My sister has two kids. She cut out coffee, pain meds, some dairy stuff. But she claimed cheesecake was all right, ‘cause it’s got cake in the name.”

You giggle. “I see no flaw in her logic.”

Down the hall of the firehouse, Dean is just coming back in from going through a set of drills. He’s still the Candidate—the freshest blood in the house—so they’ve been putting him through his paces for the past several months. He’s eager to learn and to prove himself.

His ears perk up in confusion though. Did he just hear your voice?

Why does it smell like a bakery in here?

When he rounds the corner, he sees you in the common room, smiling and giggling like a teenager at something Benny said to you while he eats a soft baked cookie right out of a Tupperware container. You must’ve brought it for the firehouse.

This cozy little scene kind of annoys Dean somehow, though he doesn’t know why. He does know that it shouldn’t.

“Hey, look who’s here,” Dean says, forcing himself to smile. It becomes easier when you look his way, your eyes brightening at his arrival.

“There you are! Come ‘ere and try these,” you say, pointing at the box Benny holds. “Tell me if our son’s going to have the best PTA mom ever.”

Dean can’t help but grin after trying a big bite of one of your cookies.

“Oh, mah Gah,” he says, holding a hand under his mouth so nothing comes crumbling out.

“Good?” you ask.

“Good friggin’ cookie,” he confirms, after he swallows. “You’re gonna have the other parents frothing at the mouth. Who’s gonna be able to compete with this?”

Benny nods in agreement. When Dean squeezes your shoulder, your sweet, happy smile makes him smile too.

She’s going to be a good mom, he thinks. He can only hope against hope that he can be the man his son needs.

Two months later, the time has finally come. Your water breaks when you’re in the middle of teaching your second graders how to spell exaggerate—and no, Joey, it’s not e-g-g-zagerate.

However, the embarrassment of him pointing out the fluid beginning to stain your slacks is swiftly cut off by your shock. Your first call is to the principal, to have her send someone to cover your class. Your next call is to Dean, telling him to meet you at the hospital.

“Why the hell did he have to bring her,” you mutter to yourself, wiping sweat from your brow. Here you are, gritting your teeth through contraction after contraction in this damn hospital bed, and Dean is outside the room talking to Lisa.

You know you have no real reason to be upset. She’s been trying her best to be your friend in recent months. Hell, she helped Eileen and your mom plan your baby shower. She even brought you flowers when she got to the hospital, but you notice how less than five minutes after she got here, she and Dean became embroiled in yet another argument. It seems to you that all they do is argue, break up for a week or two, and then get back together again.

The sex must be explosive, like the fireworks at goddamn Disney World.

But Dean eventually does come back into the room alone. His support grounds you over the next few hours. He lets you basically break his hand, all while he gives you encouragement (and stands by your shoulder, so he doesn’t see anything you’d rather him not see).

And then, your son is born. Every muscle, every cell in your body is exhausted, but the pain meds have kicked in, and you’re in that blissed out state between abject reality and being entirely entranced by the bundle in your arms. His perfect face is just there, sleeping for the moment after the nurses taught you how to breastfeed.

Dean returns to sit in the chair beside you. He gives you some water and a piece of a protein bar. You’re not that hungry, but he pointed out that you haven’t eaten since before your water broke.

“Sam and Eileen are on their way up,” he says.

You nod in reply. You’re too into your son right now to think of anything else.

Dean shakes his head in wonder as he reaches out with a tentative hand, brushing his fingers over the baby’s downy head. He was born with a little tuft of brown hair.

“Okay, down to business,” Dean says, shooting you a playful look. “I vote for Zeppelin.”

You groan. “Dean, no. Veto. I’m not naming my son after a rock band.”

“Aw, come on. It’s a badass name!”

“What about Aiden?” you suggest.

“Veto,” he snorts. You two agreed to getting five “vetos” each, but this discussion has been more like a battle of wills over the last several months.

“Okay, what about Daniel? That’s strong, classic,” you pose.

Dean considers it with a tilt of his head. “All right, that one’s a maybe.”

Again, he strokes the baby’s soft cheek. You look over at Dean with a small smile.

“You’re going to be a good dad, you know,” you tell him. It earns his gaze. Although he’s trying to stay strong, you read the hidden insecurity there, the worry and fear. You rest a hand on his arm. “You are, Dean. You’re a good man, and you’ve really stepped up these past few months. This obviously isn’t how either of us thought our lives would go, but if this had to happen with someone, I’m glad it’s you.”

Dean’s expression softens. He hesitates, but he lays a hand over yours and squeezes gently.

“Thanks,” he says.

Your eyes meet, and it’s a moment charged with something you can’t even name. It’s not the first time you’ve felt this feeling with him. It both fills your heart with warmth, and makes you ache.

Then the door opens. It’s Lisa, Sam, and Eileen. Dean’s hand slips away from yours as they all pour in to congratulate you and Dean, and of course, meet the baby. There’s a lot of soft cooing and playful shushing.

In that small chaos, your parents call to tell you that they’re finally almost here. It really sucked not having your mom with you, but your parents live far enough away that they were going to take a train and stay with you for at least a week. Their train unfortunately got delayed due to mechanical failure.

It's okay though. Getting through the past several hours has made you realize that you’re stronger and more capable than you think, and even though part of you is still scared to death, you don’t need a husband to be a good mom. You’re going to give this your all, no matter who’s beside you…

And that's no more apparent than when Dean soon has to step out again, leading Lisa out of the room. He saw how her “helpful” suggestion to have a get-together at their apartment to celebrate the baby’s birth was setting you on edge. Really, you just want to sleep for the next 24-hours and not have any more pictures of you taken.

It gets loud enough outside your hospital room that Sam and Eileen feel they have to intervene. Lisa is Eileen’s best friend, and she’s the best equipped to try and deescalate the argument from that end, while Sam deals with Dean. It’s messy, it’s irritating, and it means that even today, you can’t just have a little bit of peace.

You sigh and cradle your still nameless baby close to your chest. He’s all that matters. Already, your heart is so damn full just taking him in.

“What’s your name, my little love?” you whisper. “What am I going to write on your certificate, besides Winchester?”

“How about Benjamin,” comes a Louisiana drawl.

You perk up and smile in surprise. “Benny, hey.”

He greets you with a slightly hesitant kiss on the cheek. He’s brought the baby an adorable teddy bear, and you a beautiful bouquet of white and blue roses, along with a box of chocolates.

“It’s the assorted kind, but they’ve got plenty of the caramel ones you like,” he says, then gazes down at the baby. “Aw, he’s a little charmer. Already got more of you than Dean, that’s for sure.”

You laugh lightly at his teasing. “I don’t know about that.” You hope your son inherits Dean’s strong jaw, and his green eyes.

Benny scratches the back of his head. “Also…sorry if I’m crossing some kind of boundary here. Looks like it’s a bit of a circus outside.”

You shake your head and smile through burgeoning tears. You set the chocolates on the end table where he’s placed the flowers and the teddy bear.

“No, it’s very sweet. Thank you,” you say. You glance out the window of your room to the hallway, where the arguing between Dean, Lisa, Sam, and Eileen seems to finally be calming down. You’re so damn tired, you don’t give a crap about whatever they’re hashing out now.

You look down at your son, and despite your strong thoughts earlier, insecurity begins to creep back into your mind like inky claws.

“How are you holding up?” Benny asks. His face is kind and concerned when he notes the change in you.

You meet him with a wobbly smile. “Honestly? I’m afraid. I know I have a lot of people who want to support me, and I’m grateful, but…I just have this terrible feeling that we’re going to end up alone, him and me.”

You look down at your son, and you have to wipe away a tear from your eye before it falls on his face.

A large, warm hand rests over yours. Your gaze raises slowly, and Benny smiles at you. He’s serious though.

“Don’t you worry about that,” he says. “You’re not gonna be alone.”

FIVE YEARS LATER...

For all that changes, there are some things that stay the same.

Dean and Lisa are still the world’s most “off again, on again” couple you’ve ever met. Sam and Eileen are still going strong as the hardworking, driven career couple. Your son is growing more and more every day and just started kindergarten this year.

(You ultimately caved on Dean’s idea to name him Robert, as in Robert Plant, lead singer of Led Zeppelin.)

Oh, yeah, and the “you and Benny” thing? That’s been going well for two years now.

What can you say? The man is persistent, but respectfully so. He’s considerate, reliable, and always calls you when work at the firehouse has him running late.

You haven’t yet invited him to move in with you. That part you’re still hesitant on, mostly because of your son, but Benny helps you drop off Robbie at school and makes breakfast for you all whenever he stays over your apartment. Benny takes an interest in your son’s life and keeps up with all his energy, taking him to the park to run himself ragged before dinner, and helping you tuck him in at night.

Benny is a bit closed off though, the strong stoic type. He’s hard for you to get a read on, and sometimes you wonder if he’s just indulging you when you ramble on about your day or make silly jokes. Even now, sometimes you withhold the first thought that comes to your mind, hoping he doesn’t think you immature or…too much.

But Benny shows his caring in all those little things he does for you. They add up into the big things, and he makes you feel supported. He makes you feel safe.

He even helps you plan your son’s fifth birthday. Robbie wanted to go all out on a dinosaur theme; he’s been hooked on Jurassic Park ever since Benny “accidentally” let him watch it with him on one of your rare nights out with your friends.

So you set up a little party at the park by your apartment. You managed to reserve the biggest gazebo, where there are three picnic tables covered with dinosaur plates, and tablecloths, streamers in different shades of green. You even bought a big dinosaur cake—also in a radioactive green color that you hadn’t been sure about, but your son talked you into. Robbie thinks it’s awesome.

He’s running around on the playground with a few of his friends from school. Their parents (along with Sam, Eileen, and Lisa) are talking amongst themselves at one of the picnic tables while you try to figure out how to get the Bluetooth speaker to connect with your phone.

“Haha! Got it. If you're so smart, Alexa, why don't you connect on the first try?” You fist-pump the air triumphantly, just as Benny comes to your side. He wraps an arm around your waist and kisses your cheek, making you smile.

“How’s it going out there?” you ask, nodding at the kids. Plus Dean, who’s gamely been the one to keep them entertained with different games. Right now, it’s a thrilling game of Cowboys and Outlaws, where Robbie and his friends are the cowboys, and Dean is the outlaw. He’s been hiding under the slide, behind trees and other playground fixtures, while the kids have little squirt guns to pelt him with water every time they find him.

It's pretty damn cute, and you’ve been taking pictures. You smile at the sight of Dean leaping out at Robbie and the kids, catching them off guard.

“You’ll never take me alive, Sheriff!” Dean declares.

“Oh, it’s goin’,” Benny remarks with an amused shake of his head. “Still hard to believe that guy’s about to make it to Lieutenant.”

“Hahaaa, gotcha!!” Dean cackles. He’s grabbed up Robbie and yanked him over his shoulder in a fireman’s carry. Robbie screeches with laughter while his dad runs around the playground, being chased by a bunch of five-year-olds with squirt guns.

Your smile threatens to make your cheeks hurt. You know your life is…unconventional, to say the least, but Dean is a good father to your son. He’s also been working hard at his job. He just took the Lieutenant’s test, and even though Benny already occupies that position at Firehouse 83, a spot at another firehouse might open up for Dean to transfer.

“Part of me doesn’t want to,” Dean admitted to you last week, while he was working on fixing your stubborn, leaky sink. “All the guys there, they’re like family, you know?” “I understand,” you nodded. “You have to do what feels best for you, whether that’s staying where you feel comfortable, or moving up in your career somewhere else. If it doesn’t feel right, don’t do it.” He took in your advice with a slow nod. “Yeah, thanks. Guess I have to time to think about it. Lisa had other ideas.” “Of course,” you said with a smile, but it soon dropped. “Why, what did she say?” “Do what I can to move up,” he sighed. “She’s got a point. That title comes with a pay bump, one I could really use right now.” “I get that. Totally valid,” you said. “But I just think it’s important for you to be happy with it too. Especially with what you do, helping people, saving people…I’d imagine being in the right mindset for all that is important, right? Who you work with can be just as important as the money stuff.” Dean considered you with a smile. “Yeah, exactly.”

As you think about it now, you have to admit that he’s grown up a lot.

Dean has to lean against a tree to catch his breath. Am I already getting too old for this crap?

Feels kind of young to have a stitch in his side after a few rounds with these kids, but even he has his limits. Lisa comes to bring him a bottle of ice-cold water, which he appreciates. He’s tempted to dump it over his head like he does after successfully neutralizing a fire. It gets literally hot as hell under that helmet and mask and all his gear underneath.

“Need an iron lung?” Lisa teases.

“Toss in a new pair of knees, thanks,” he wheezes. He downs half the water bottle in one go, but he smiles at seeing his son keep running around with his friends. He’s just got that manic kid energy that goes on for days. But Robbie’s also smart; like Dean, he likes taking things apart and putting them back together in new and ingenious ways.

Dean hopes his son likes the new model car set that’s waiting for him on the picnic table full of presents. In fact, he’s still surprised that you didn’t go with the race car theme he suggested for the party, but apparently, Robbie’s more into dinosaurs now. Dean wishes he knew that before he bought the model car set.

He looks over and catches sight of you and Benny wrapped up in each other. He has his arm around your waist while you fiddle with something, but the way you lean over and whisper near his ear elicits a smile on Benny’s face.

Dean’s good mood diminishes.

“Well, don’t they seem cozy,” he mutters.

Lisa arches a manicured brow. “Yeah, pretty sure he’s getting ready to propose.”

That earns Dean’s attention, his head swiveling back to her in surprise.

“Really?” he asks. “Who told you that?”

“His sister,” she replies. “Meg’s in my intermediate class, remember?”

Dean nods, sipping at his water, even though he’s a bit absent in the eyes. Lisa watches him shrewdly.

“Why do you seem upset about it?” she asks. “Benny’s your friend.”

“I know,” Dean says. He doesn’t need that reminder, or the guilty twinge. It’s not like he’s done anything wrong.

“And she seems happy,” Lisa points out. “Don’t you want the mother of your kid to be with a good man who treats her right?”

He nods, trying to hide his growing annoyance. “‘Course I do. I just…I don’t know. I still don’t see them together, I guess.”

“Well, they’ve been together for like, two years.”

Again, Dean nods his acknowledgement. It’s hard for him to believe that so much time has passed already. He honestly didn’t think you and Benny would be together this long. He’d always felt a little uncomfortable with one of his best friends dating you, but you’d seemed happy about it, so he didn’t discourage it. But he’d never been very supportive, either. At least, not about your relationship.

Lisa sighs and grabs his arm, pulling him aside before he can rejoin the party.

“Listen, we need to talk about something,” she says.

Dean restrains a tired groan. “Can this wait ‘til later?”

“I think we should do this now,” she says. A hallmark Lisa-ism. She’s opinionated and strong-willed, something Dean’s always respected about her. Sometimes though, the timing is damn irritating. He doesn’t want to get into another argument with his girlfriend in public, especially not at his son’s birthday party.

“Speaking of commitment,” she says with a sigh. “I think it’s fair to say that we’ve been on a five-year rollercoaster, you and I. You know why that is?”

“I’m sure you’re gonna tell me,” Dean says, crossing his arms.

“It’s because you’re spread too thin,” she says. “Between the firehouse, construction jobs on the side…not to mention other things.”

“What? What’re you talking about?”

Lisa’s lips purse, before she pointedly gestures over at you with her eyes. “Well, for example. You’re still going to her place after your next shift to fix her fridge, right?”

“Yeah, I mean, should be pretty simple. I’ve just gotta swing by the hardware store and grab this specialty tool I ordered—”

“Dean,” Lisa deadpans. “That’s exactly the kind of thing I’m talking about.”

She heaves a deep breath, running her fingers through her long brown hair.

“I get that navigating this situation hasn’t been easy for you,” she says. “It hasn’t exactly been easy for me either, but look.”

Lisa takes his hands in hers, uncrossing his arms. “I want to get married someday. I want kids too. And I want that kind of life with you…I’m just not sure you want it with me.”

Dean expels a heavy sigh. “Lis—”

“Don’t answer me right now,” she says, but she levels him with a serious look. “You need to decide though, Dean. Five years is long enough. You should know by now if you want to be with me.”

After letting go of his hands, she softens the edges of her words with a gentle kiss on his cheek. Then she turns to join the group now gathered around the picnic table where the food is, all the kids cheering for pizza and cake.

After the party, Sam, Eileen, Lisa, and Benny pack up their cars and yours with the leftover food, party supplies, and presents. Dean helps you clean up the trash, all while keeping an eye on Robbie getting out the last of his sugar-high on the playground swing.

You shake your head tiredly, if with a fond smile. “That kid’s gonna be up all night hype on that radioactive cake.”

Dean chuckles. “You want me to take him tonight?”

“It’s okay. I think he’s going to want to play with his toys,” you reply.

“Well, he could just as easily do that at my place,” he reasons.

You consider it, but you shake your head. “Yeah, but we got him the bike. He’s probably gonna want to try it out for a few minutes before we get him cleaned up.”

“By ‘we,’ you mean you and Benny,” Dean says, his tone becoming surly. “And about that. Don’t you think a bike is something you should run by me? That’s typically a ‘dad’ kind of gift.”

You pause what you’re doing at the sound of his tone. Your brows knit together.

“Sorry, but I feel like a bike isn’t exclusively a dad thing,” you say.

“My dad got me my first bike,” Dean replies. “Spent a whole three days teaching me how to ride.”

You take a minute to think about it. You understand where Dean’s coming from, so you nod.

“Okay, I get it. You want to be there to help teach Robbie? I’m sure he’d love that.”

Dean tosses a wadded-up ball of frosting-covered napkins and stops, letting his hands fall to his sides in frustration. He draws closer and helps you untie the balloons from the picnic table.

“Yeah, I do, but that’s not the point,” he says. “Why can’t I take him home tonight?”

You blink up at him in confusion. “Well, like I said. The bike—”

“That I should’ve gotten for him,” he snaps. “Which, let me guess, Benny picked out. Right?”

You frown at him in earnest now. “Dean, why are you getting so upset about it? It’s just a bike.”

“Well you know what, it’s not! And it’s not just the damn bike either.” He swipes a hand over his face in annoyance, a telltale sign you’ve come to read well on the man. “Look, I’m missing too much shit, all right? Like, like the dinosaur thing! And the fact that I only get him on the weekends.”

You turn toward him, trying to put a cap on your own annoyance. This isn’t the first time you two have had a conversation like this.

“We’ve gone over this before, Dean. Your schedule at the firehouse is just too unpredictable,” you say. “Robbie needs as much stability as possible between us. But…okay, if you want to take him tonight, that’s fine. We can bring the bike over to your place and show it to him there.”

You’re trying to be as reasonable as possible, and Dean knows that. Still, anger prickles just under his skin, and he can’t help but push his luck.

“You still should’ve asked be before you got the bike in the first place,” he argues.

Your brows raise high. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

“Look, it’s not like we bought him a Honda Civic. Honestly, Dean, why are you picking a fight with me right now?” you ask. “Did you and Lisa get into it again or something?”

Dean looks away and crosses his arms, giving you all the confirmation you need.

“Yeah, that’s right,” you nod. “I saw you two over there on the playground, looked pretty heated. But do me a favor. Don’t come at me with that energy, because I’m too damn tired of it!”

When you walk away from him, Dean can’t help but stare after you. He knows he fucked that up, just as he knows that you don’t deserve him snapping at you. He’s just too irritated to admit it.

For the entire week that follows, Dean finds himself distracted. He sticks to his word and helps Benny teach his son how to ride a bike in between their shifts at the firehouse, but Dean comes home each night feeling even more frustrated and drained than before. It’s too much, knowing Benny’s slowly but surely carving out a father-figure role in Robbie’s life.

These thoughts follow Dean to work, even while he climbs up the firetruck ladder in the rain. It’s parallel to a busted utility pole that still sparks with electricity, even in this torrential downpour. His task is to get up to the top and grab a large branch that’s tangled in the lines.

Rung after rung, he climbs. His safety mask protects his eyes from the rain, but he wishes they had some mini windshield wipers to keep his vision clear of the droplets pelting him in the face.

He also can’t help thinking of you. If Lisa’s right, then Benny’s about to become a more permanent fixture in Robbie’s life, and yours.

Okay fine. It’s not like Dean expected you to be single forever, but did you really have to get with one of his best friends? Does it really have to be Benny, who seems so natural with Robbie, and more patient than Dean, and more of a support to you and Robbie than Dean can ever be?

And then there’s Lisa’s little ultimatum. He understands why she’s frustrated with him. Honestly, he’s surprised she’s stuck around this long. He knows she’s not going to wait too much longer for him to get his act together. For him to decide, as she put it.

It’s not that he’s not sure about her, it’s just that…

Just that what? he wonders.

He manages to grab the wily tree branch and maneuver it out of the power lines.

He just doesn’t realize that his glove doesn’t have quite enough friction on the metal side panel of the ladder. Not only does his hand slip, but he’s forced to let go of the branch while he loses his balance. The branch falls to the sidewalk, far, far down below.

“Dean!” Benny shouts in alarm.

Luckily, the truck itself breaks Dean's fall.

Holding Robbie’s hand tightly in yours is the only thing keeping you steady as you lead him through the hospital. After the receptionist had checked you both in and gave you the room number, you hastened down the hall and up to the right floor. 2005.

Robbie breaks into tears when he finally gets to see his dad, laid up though he is in his hospital bed. Your throat tightens at the sight of Dean hooked up to all those monitors. He has his arm wrapped up and fitted into a sling. He has a thick piece of gauze taped to the side of his face, covering a wide, angry abrasion, but he seems to be resting easy on his back. The bed is at an incline, with most of the overhead lights turned off.

Robbie rushes to the bed before you can stop him. He hesitantly touches Dean’s non-injured right hand. “Daddy?”

“Robbie, wait,” you say, keeping your voice quiet. You quickly go over to the bedside and grab ahold of Robbie’s shoulders, but Dean takes a deep breath. His eyelids crack open.

“Hey, buddy,” he says, attempting a smile. His voice is rough and weak, but at least he’s awake.

Robbie’s lower lip wobbles as tears fill his eyes again.

“Come ‘ere,” Dean says, a little stronger. When he reaches out to his son, the kid hops up onto the bed and buries his face into his father’s chest. Dean holds him as securely as he can, soothing his hand over the boy’s hair and pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

“It’s okay, little man. ‘M okay,” he promises. Robbie nods, but he still continues to cry.

You can’t help but do the same. Tears slip down your cheeks without your consent. Dean beckons you over too, gesturing with his chin and a slight smile. You’re more tentative in the way you sit down at the edge of his bed. You run your fingers through Robbie’s light brown hair to help reassure him. Then, you meet Dean’s gaze and lay a hand on his good shoulder. You don’t know whether you’re steadying him, or yourself.

“How do you feel?” you ask. “The hospital called me. Benny told me what happened.”

The thought reminds you to text your boyfriend. You hadn’t had a chance to tell him you made it here yet. He must be downstairs grabbing a bite to eat, because he’s the one who rode with Dean in the ambulance and has been with him for a while.

“The hospital called you?” Dean notes in slight confusion.

“Eileen told me that Sam is in court right now, so I must’ve been next on the list,” you say. He also must have taken Lisa off his emergency list the last time they broke up for almost a month. He probably forgot to update it again.

You reach out a hand to almost touch the bandage by his temple. Instead, you hesitantly hold the side of his face to see the area better. Dean closes his eyes for a moment. You can see he’s in pain. Your hand lingers on his cheek, but you know, deep down, that it shouldn’t.

Dean doesn’t stop you though. He lets out a deep breath, savoring how nice the gentle touch feels when the rest of his body feels battered to hell.

“Fell off the ladder. Was a stupid rookie move,” he explains, but when he sees that look on your face, he tries to inject a little more joking into a smile. “S’ not so bad.”

“You could’ve broken your head as well as your arm,” you say, more sharply than you mean to.

Robbie whimpers and clings tighter to Dean. You cover your mouth, as if you can trap the words back inside. You don’t want to upset your son more than he already is, so you fall silent. Another tear works its way down your cheek, but you brush it away. Dean shakes his head.

“Hey, I’m okay,” he reassures you too. He manages to smile as he pats Robbie’s back. “Right, buddy?”

The boy’s head perks up. His eyes are still shiny, but he smiles too. He’s not one to speak when he’s upset though, so he just curls up against Dean’s chest and hangs onto him. Dean rests his good arm snugly around him.

You smile and stroke Robbie’s back. Though your hand lowers, resting on Dean’s hand. You take in a deep breath to calm yourself down. Dean’s fingers curl around yours, prompting you to glance up into his eyes. The way he’s watching you is soft, grateful.

Until the door creaks open. Benny steps in with a subtle clearing of his throat. You jolt internally, and you slip your hand away from Dean’s. You offer your boyfriend a wan smile.

“Hey,” you say.

“Hey, baby.” He comes over and greets you with a kiss to the side of your head. He smiles at your son gently. “The gang’s all here.”

“Oh! Let me call Sam, and Lisa too. They still don’t know what’s going on,” you say. You get up from the bed to grab your phone out of your purse. Dean nods in agreement and thanks you, while Robbie plays with his dad's long fingers.

“How you holdin’ up, brother?” Benny asks, after you step out of the room. He settles into the chair near the foot of the bed.

“Ah, you know me. I’m like a cat. Always stick the landing,” Dean says, smiling lazily. The morphine is starting to kick in again.

Benny smirks. “Maybe you do got nine lives, the amount of close calls you like gettin’ yourself into.”

Dean’s good humor fades. He considers his son in his arms, and he shakes his head.

“Yeah, well, no more,” he says. He got a taste of what it would be like to leave his boy behind, and he’s not fucking doing it. He’s not leaving you to raise Robbie by yourself. The mere idea tears a new hole in his heart.

His eyes sting just enough that he has to blink a bit harder, swallowing past a thick well of emotion in his throat. He presses another kiss to the top of Robbie’s head. Then, Dean meets Benny’s gaze.

“Thank you,” he says, and he means it.

Benny nods.

“You got it, brother.”

When Lisa steps off the hospital elevator on the second floor, you happen to be coming out of the bathroom to fix your racoon eyes. You’ve been crying way too much. You attempt to greet Lisa with something reassuring, but she cuts you off.

“What happened, and why didn’t the hospital call me directly?” she asks.

Her tone is cutting, and it takes you aback.

“Well, Sam and I were listed as his emergency contacts—”

“Why?” she snaps. “You’re not his wife or his girlfriend. I should’ve been listed.”

Jesus Christ. At this point, you can’t help it. You’re too tired and emotionally drained to lasso in your temper with this woman.

“Maybe if you and Dean stayed together longer than five minutes at a time, he’d put you back on the short list,” you sling back. “But the truth is, you’ve never just…been there for Dean. Not without demanding something from him.”

Lisa scoffs incredulously. “Oh, that’s fucking rich coming from you. You’re the reason he can’t commit to anything. You think your little world is the only one that matters, and you call Dean for any little thing! What, don’t you have a boyfriend to help fix your goddamn sink?”

You open your mouth to retort, but you pause as her words seep into your mind. She might actually have a small point about that one. You realize then just how often you’ve been asking Dean for his help, not just with your apartment, but with your car, and other logistical things that usually have to with Robbie. Dean’s just such a good handyman, and you thought he genuinely liked being able to help…even though Benny did mention once or twice that he’d be just as happy to help you.

“Lisa, this is a lot more than a leaky sink. I just wanted to get here with Robbie and make sure Dean was okay,” you try to explain.

“Good. I’m glad his son was the first person Dean got to see when he woke up,” Lisa says. “But I should’ve been the second.”

She brushes past you before you can even think of what to say. You’re in a state of shock, feeling guilty, incensed, and on the verge of tears all at once.

A familiar voice calls your name, and you turn to Benny just as those tears begin to fall. He gathers you up into his arms and holds you there in the middle of the hallway.

“She shouldn’t talk to you like that, no matter how high tensions are today. I’ll talk to Dean,” Benny says. You shake your head and bury your face in his chest, clenching your fingers in his red flannel shirt.

“No, it’s okay,” you reply, despite the sob that shudders through you. You’ve lost the will to fight.

Benny shakes his head and presses a kiss to your forehead. “It ain’t okay, baby.”

“Please, don’t bother Dean with this. Especially not right now,” you say. You take a moment to wipe your eyes and get ahold of yourself. “I’m gonna go get Robbie so Dean can rest.”

You can’t shake the feeling that Lisa is right. You do rely on Dean too much. You just don’t want to think about why that is.

Dean makes a full recovery after a few months. He never does hear about what happened in that hallway, but he knows that things need to change.

He decides to dig out his mom’s engagement ring from a locked box of his parents’ keepsakes, though he’s still waiting on the right time for it. He and Lisa start looking at houses though, for real this time. She hires a realtor and everything.

He’s making a firm decision, and he thinks it’s the right one. He wants to be there for his son, but he doesn’t want to keep “spreading himself too thin.” He has to figure out how to set some roots, and some boundaries with you while he’s at it. He’ll just have to come to terms with the idea that he won’t get to be there for everything.

He has to be okay with the fact that you’ll probably marry Benny. You’ll keep making him cookies and cakes, giving him your smile and your time and your body. And Robbie will probably think of Benny as more of a father than his own Weekend Dad.

Meanwhile, you’ve spent the past few months keeping yourself in check as well. You’ve stopped calling Dean for help whenever something breaks down in your old-ass apartment. You try to keep your conversations less about life and troubles and whatever funny thing your students did that day in class, and more focused on Robbie–strictly about his schedule and his needs.

It’s kind of painful, if you’re honest with yourself. Sam will always be one of your closest friends from college, but in the past five years, Dean has truly become your best friend. Because you’ve told him things. The things that come from sharing a child with someone, like Sunday dinners with your parents, flipping through old yearbooks and childhood pictures—and the details of day-to-day schedules and little stupid things that happen in moments between moments.

Dean also knows the deep cuts. Like being pregnant and scared and breaking down crying on the side of the road. Like sharing the deepest well of your insecurities with someone who knows your body intimately, even if just for one amazing night...a night you’ve never quite been able to put out of your mind.

However, you know that things can’t stay the same. From now on, he just needs to be your son’s father. Nothing more, nothing less.

So today, on a crisp April 24th, you’re getting ready for a highly anticipated evening with your boyfriend. Robbie is sleeping over your parents’ house, and Benny has been planning something special for your third-year anniversary.

You slip into your new dress, a deep emerald green, with a pair of black heels you’ve rarely worn since before you got pregnant. Come to think of it, you were wearing these the night of Sam and Eileen’s bachelor-bachelorette party. The night you…well, the night Robbie was conceived.

You shake your head to rid yourself of those thoughts. You even consider changing.

You’re being silly, you shake your head. They’re just shoes.

And yet. Thinking of that time so long ago, it reminds you of a recent Sunday dinner at your parents’ house.

Two Months Ago...

Your parents live modestly, but comfortably in rural Kansas. Their ranch-style home boasts a creek in the backyard, where your dad is teaching your son how to catch minnows. Your mom is inside working on an apple pie, knowing it’s both Dean’s and Robbie’s favorite.

You and Dean have kept close to the house under the shade, sitting on a bench made more comfortable by a pair of old polyester cushions with red, faded flowers.

“How much longer do you have to wear that?” you ask Dean. He glances down at his cast-covered left arm.

“Doc says it’s about ready to come off,” he says.

You nod, allowing yourself a certain smile. “How bad are you itching to grab my mom’s garden shears and cut it off right here?”

“Woman, don’t tempt me,” he says, his lips twitching at a grin. “I’ve been eying those overgrown scissors for the past half hour.”

You laugh and take another sip of your glass. Yours holds sweet tea, while Dean’s has some of your dad’s favorite whiskey. You both raise your heads when Robbie yells across the backyard.

“I caught a minnow!”

“Good job, buddy,” Dean grins. “See if you can catch a marlin!”

“A marlin?” Robbie questions.

“Yeah, like that orange guy in Finding Nemo,” Dean calls back.

Your dad gives Dean the same wry look you do, though yours is tinged with more amusement.

“Dean, that’s a clown fish,” you say. “He’s not gonna find that in the creek.”

“Aw, shit,” he tries to quiet his laugh. “Ah well, should keep him occupied for another twenty minutes.”

You bite your lip to stifle your laughter as well. Though something else occurs to you the longer you watch your son play and explore in the creek. Your dad has the patience of a saint as he puts yet another bait worm on the hook for the kid.

“He’s starting to ask questions, you know,” you tell Dean, in a quieter voice. “‘Why aren’t you and Daddy married? Why can’t we all live together?’”

Dean's brows raise. His good humor dims when he looks over at you.

“What do you tell him?” he asks.

You take in a deep breath, considering your words now as carefully as you did with your son.

“That we care about each other a lot, as friends,” you say, meeting Dean’s eyes. “And we love Robbie very much. Nothing’s going to change that, even if you and I aren’t together like a normal mom and dad.”

Saying it like that makes your heart twinge, for more than one reason. The way Dean’s mouth twitches into a rueful smile just makes it worse, but you try your best to ignore it.

“I never thought about having to explain it to him,” he says, rubbing a hand over his mouth.

It’s that anxious tell of his again. You notice every time he does it.

“I have,” you admit. “I just didn’t know for sure what I was going to say until it was coming out of my mouth.”

Dean smirks a little. “Yeah, that sounds like you.”

You roll your eyes and sip your drink, crossing your arms as well. Dean considers you then, looking at you in a way that makes you raise a brow in question.

“What?” you ask.

“Nothing, it’s just…” He sits back against the bench and rubs his hands down his jean-clad thighs. “For the record, I did try to ask you out once.”

“What?” you scoff incredulously. “No, you’ve been with Lisa since the beginning.”

“Before Lisa,” Dean says.

He isn’t joking. He isn’t teasing. He’s serious as he stares back at you with those green eyes of his. Your brows furrow as you wrack your brain. Did he drunkenly leave you a voicemail on one of those “off again” episodes between him and Lisa? No. You know you’d remember something like that.

“It was a few weeks after the bachelor party,” Dean says. “I called you up, remember?”

Your eyes widen. Finally, that jogs your memory.

“So I just thought maybe you and I could do something again. Maybe you wanna come over my place this time.” And there it is. You deflate at his words, shoulders sagging. The "convenient booty call" proposition.

You have to laugh, shaking your head in disbelief.

“Dean, you did not ask me out,” you say. “You wanted to hook up. There’s a distinct difference.”

Dean frowns at you. “No, I was. I invited you over—”

“For essentially some Netflix and chill,” you retort.

“Hey, I offered to make you dinner,” he argues. “I didn’t say anything about hooking up.”

You pause at that. His earnest denial makes you actually think back to what you remember about that conversation on the phone.

You cover your lips with your fingers as you begin to realize…

“That was you asking me out?” you ask incredulously.

Dean’s brows furrow and he throws his hands up. “What? Who doesn’t like a little movie night?”

“Dean,” you huff another laugh. “You could’ve made it sound more like a date.”

“Well, ‘scuse me. Sorry I couldn’t afford the Ritz at the time,” he grumbles.

You sigh. “That’s not what I meant.”

The more you think about it, the more you just shake your head at yourself. Why did you have to overthink it, like you do everything?

“Wow,” you say, softer and more contrite. “I honestly never thought…”

“Yeah,” he says. He shifts his gaze out ahead.

You glance over at him, now more unsure of yourself. He wouldn’t have any regrets, you think. He has Lisa. As much as they go at it, they always inevitably get back together. And now you know they hired a realtor. They’re about to start making solid steps forward.

But Dean surprises you with another question.

“Do you think if…”

He doesn’t finish it, but you think you know what he’s asking. You hesitate, your fingers flexing around your glass that beads with condensation. You set the glass down beside you.

Just as you open your mouth to reply—

“All right, pie is cooling and dinner is served!” your mom calls out. Her head pokes out of the sliding glass door to the backyard. You offer a smile, trying to hide how you jolted in your seat.

“Okay, thanks, Mom,” you nod.

You turn back to Dean, who also hesitates. His eyes meet yours, but all too soon, he locks the moment away.

Bracing his hands on his knees, he rocks to his feet and goes out to get Robbie and help your dad bring in the fishing gear.

You grab Dean’s whiskey along with your tea on your way back inside the house. You consider the amber liquid disturbed in his glass, and you down the rest yourself. The burn down your throat is a good distraction. If he asks about it, you’ll say you got the glasses confused.

You know you’ll have to leave that conversation unfinished at the foot of the bench.

Now...

Benny comes by your apartment and helps you into the passenger side of his pickup truck, like the gentleman he is. He takes you to a nice restaurant in downtown, much nicer than the usual sports bar or kid-friendly restaurant. You're very much looking forward to eating at a restaurant that doesn't feature chicken fingers or "kiddie" corn dogs.

“This is gonna be really expensive,” you whisper to him, after he hands his keys over to the valet.

Benny squeezes your hand in his, leaning over to kiss your temple.

“Don’t you worry about that. We both deserve a night out.” His blue eyes gleam with amusement. However, his gaze gentles, becoming more sincere. “You work hard, carin’ for everybody around you. How about you let me take care of you for once.”

Your eyes begin to water, your throat constricting with emotion. You rub his arm gratefully.

“Thank you,” you say. “You don’t know how much I appreciate that.”

It’s always easy with Benny. Nice and simple and easy. Nice, supportive, and considerate.

Nice and safe.

That thought follows you while you and Benny walk into to the restaurant. He’s reserved great seats in the back corner, overlooking a beautiful courtyard. It’s decorated with hydrangeas and light wood dining tables, all framed with a rod iron archway as the sun begins to set just so. After holding your chair out for you before he sits himself, Benny orders a bottle of champagne to kick things off.

He turns to you with a somewhat nervous look in his eyes, like he's steeling himself. It’s uncharacteristic of Benny, who’s always so calm and charming and sure of himself. It makes a zing of anticipation run down your spine, and…a dash of fear. You don’t know why, and you don’t know how to beat the feeling down as you fidget in your seat.

He subtly clears his throat, then takes your hand. “Sweetheart, I know I’m not all that good at the words you’re supposed to say. But I can say that the past three years with you and Robbie, it’s come to mean the world to me.”

Your smile softens. He brushes his thumb over the back of your hand, encouraged by your reaction.

“So I think it’s time I made it clear where I stand, and how much I want to be the man in your life,” he says.

Your eyes begin to widen in shock, but not for the reason he thinks.

“Dean,” you gasp.

Benny’s expression slackens. “What?”

You point over his shoulder, and Benny turns to follow your line of vision. Dean and Lisa have just walked into the restaurant. They notice you pointing their way, and they both pause in surprise as well. Lisa is beautiful as usual in a slinky black dress, completely backless (something you feel you could never pull off, unless you had an invisible bra to keep the girls perked up).

Dean is…well, you’ve very rarely seen him in a suit, but charcoal gray works for him. The open collar and white buttoned-down works for him, as do the three top buttons he’s left undone, showing a tantalizing strip of tanned skin. He stares back at you like he forgot you live in the same time zone, let alone the same zip code.

“Uh, hey!” he casts out an awkward wave, before he makes his way over to you and Benny. Lisa is less than enthused.

“We shouldn’t interrupt their night,” you catch her whisper to him, but Dean doesn’t seem to hear her.

“What’s up, party people! Of all the gin joints in all the world, huh?” Dean says, a little too loudly when he thumps Benny on the back. Benny grunts, giving a bit of a forced chuckle.

“Dean,” he greets. “I think I told you about this particular gin joint. Good to see you can actually clean up once in a while.”

“Ah, you know what, this monkey suit ain’t too bad,” Dean says, pulling at his collar.

You smirk in amusement. “Yeah, I remember how much you complained about wearing a simple tie for Robbie’s Christmas pageant.”

He smirks down at you. “Hey, ties still might not be my thing, but nothing wrong with a sharp collar.”

He pops his for emphasis. You don’t know why it makes you laugh, but it does. Maybe it’s just his face and the silly, endearing expression he makes when he pouts his lips in a “blue steel.”

“So, is this just a night out, or you guys celebrating something special?” Dean asks, gesturing at the champagne bottle and your full glasses of bubbly.

Benny gives his friend a certain look. “Yeah, as a matter of fact. Today’s three years.”

He takes your hand and kisses your knuckles. You smile back at him, though you’re a bit self-conscious at the way both he and Dean, and even Lisa have their attention on you.

“We should let you guys get back to it then,” Lisa says.

Honestly, it’s a relief. You and Benny nod, wishing them a goodnight.

For some reason, you notice how Dean’s smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. But he goes with Lisa, laying a hand on the small of her back. You force yourself to tear your eyes away from them and refocus on Benny. You take up your champagne glass and raise it in offering.

“All right, where were we?” you ask, if with a nervous trill in your belly.

Benny smiles. He takes up his glass and clinks it with yours.

Lisa nearly sighs. She and Dean are back in line at the front of the restaurant, waiting to be seated. The second time she catches Dean glancing over at the table where you and Benny sit, she shakes her head and digs into her purse for the valet card. She’s done with this.

“I think maybe we should go to a different restaurant,” she says.

That finally earns Dean’s attention, mostly confused. “What, why?”

She just gives him a long look.

He realizes that whatever her reasons are, it’s easier to just give in than to fight her on it. He’s learning when to pick his battles. Or is he just giving up?

Also, if tonight’s “the night” he thinks it is for you and Benny, maybe he doesn’t want to stick around after all. Three years, huh?

“All right, fine. Let’s go,” he agrees.

Dean and Lisa wait for the valet to bring the Impala around. The minute he gets behind the wheel and turns the key into the ignition, she changes her mind.

“Look, let’s just go home,” she says. “I don’t really feel like eating out anymore.”

Dean’s brows raise. “What? Aw, come on. We’re already dressed and everything. You look great, Lis. Just tell me where you wanna eat.”

Lisa remains firm, with a small shake of her head. “Please, Dean, just take me home.”

After a moment of indecision, Dean sighs. He revs the ignition and does as she says.

It’s only a fifteen-minute drive back to their apartment, but in that stifling silence, it seems to drag on for a small eternity. He glances at her a couple of times. Lisa has her arms crossed as she stares out the window, watching the other restaurants and mom-and-pops shops and forest trees and old houses of Lebanon, Kansas go by.

Dean counts it a blessing when they’re finally home. He walks up the few short steps up to their ground-floor apartment and unlocks the door. He flicks on the lights inside, and she breezes past him to toss her purse onto the couch.

Dean takes off his blazer and begins to undo the buttons on his cuffs. He watches her all the while, knowing that a storm is brewing. She shucks off her heels and slowly paces the living room on bare feet, like her whirling thoughts are fueling every step.

“All right, I give. What’s going on?” Dean asks. “What’d I do this time?”

She pauses, with her back turned to him.

Shit, he thinks. He shouldn’t have said it like that.

He prepares for the inevitable blow up, but it never comes. Lisa just heaves a sigh. Slowly she turns, and Dean’s shocked and dismayed to see the tears welling up in her deep brown eyes. He makes quick strides toward her, but she raises a hand to keep him at bay.

“Dean, when you picture yourself happy, truly happy,” she says. “Is it with me? Can you imagine yourself marrying me? Buying the house, having kids, growing old together?”

If Dean was thrown for a loop before, he’s even more stunned by her question. “Lis…”

“Just be honest, for once,” she pleads. Her tears begin to brim over, but she blinks, somehow keeping them at bay.

It’s a bit too long before Dean realizes that he can’t give her an answer. At least, not the one he knows she wants to hear.

When he thinks of that picture in his mind, of course he sees his son. But the only other person Dean can imagine there beside him is…

“I…” He wills his mouth to work, but nothing else comes out.

The only face he can conjure is yours. Your eyes are warm and welcoming, your smile as bright and contagious as your laugh.

The only voice he can hear is yours, gentle and strong at the same time.

The only one he can see is you.

He knows the shampoo you use and the perfume you like to wear, how the sweet and floral scents mix together and linger in your hair and on your skin.

Even now he remembers the contours of your body, and how it could fit so well against his. He knows that you used to try and hide your shape under loose, baggy shirts and cargo pants that did nothing for you. He knows how much courage it took you to wear that red dress to his brother’s party, because you told him once, at one of those Sunday dinners at your parents’ house.

Come to think of it, there’s not a whole lot that Dean doesn’t know about you, except maybe what you see when you look at him.

“You love her,” Lisa finishes for him. “I think you always have.”

Dean’s throat tightens. Somehow he swallows anyway, and he shakes his head.

“Lisa, I loved you.”

“Maybe you did, in your own way,” she says, laughing a little through her tears as she wipes them away. “But you already have a family, Dean. Go fight for it.”

Dean doesn’t know what to say, but he knows what he can do.

He goes to her and kisses her cheek.

“I’m so sorry,” he says.

Lisa merely nods, wiping her face dry. She watches Dean Winchester walk out of her apartment, and out of her life for good this time.

Dean calls your cell, but it goes to voicemail. He drives all the way back to the restaurant and doesn’t find you or Benny there.

Dean realizes that what he’s doing, what he plans to do, is not fucking cool. He wouldn’t blame you or even Benny for being severely pissed when Dean shows up. He also knows that he can’t let another day pass where he keeps lying to you, and himself.

He eventually finds you at home. What’s weird is that Benny’s truck isn’t in the driveway—just your car. He knocks on your door, and he waits.

He unconsciously holds his breath while he waits in that terrible existence of limbo. However, his heart thrums back to life when he hears your footsteps drawing closer to the door. Anticipation, excitement, dread, it all roils together inside him like a bad cocktail as the door swings open.

And he’s once again rendered a bit breathless at the sight of you in that dress. The color alone appeals to him, let alone the way it accentuates your every curve, from full breasts to the swell of your hips, the softer slope of your thighs, and bare toes painted. You’re fucking delectable, every curve, and a temptation without you even meaning to be.

You’re just…you’re still so goddamn beautiful, like the night he first saw you. Even now, he can almost feel the give of your thighs under his hands, his fingers pressed to supple flesh.

But then he’s drawn to your face, and your wide eyes full of surprise. Your mascara is a bit smudged though. Your eyes are red too, like you’ve been crying. His brows furrow in concern.

“Dean, what’re you doing here?” you ask.

“I need to talk to you, but uh…did something happen?” he asks. “You okay?”

You’re reluctant to tell him. Did Benny say something to upset you? Or was it something he did?

“Yeah, I’m okay,” you say.

Instinctively, Dean knows it’s a lie.

“This isn’t a good time though,” you say, after clearing your throat. “Can we do this tomorrow, maybe?”

Dean leans a hand on the doorframe.

“Please, it’s important,” he says. His eyes implore you harder than his words. Please.

That does it. A sigh passes through your lips, but you let him in. He knows Robbie is with your parents for the night, which actually makes this easier.

Once he steps inside the apartment, Dean does notice that your bedroom door is open. Half the drawers to your dresser are open too, and empty. Certain frames that used to be on your coffee table are no longer there, like the one of you, Benny, and Robbie on a camping trip.

“You want some coffee, or soda?” you ask.

Dean declines and grasps your arm before you can busy yourself into “hostess” mode. He leads you to the couch, where you both sit down together.

“What happened tonight?” he asks. “Where’s Benny?”

Your lower lip wobbles, the beginning of your telltale cry face. Dean knows his son gets it from you, and it always breaks his heart. He squeezes your arm gently, trying to ground you.

“Benny proposed to me tonight,” you confess, taking in a sharp breath. “He proposed, and I couldn’t give him an answer.”

You shake your head as the tears sting hot in your eyes.

“He got so upset, he just—he left!” You throw your hands up. “But honestly, I don’t blame him.”

Dean tries to comfort you as you try and fail to wipe at your face. He wraps an arm around your shoulders, cupping your cheek to brush the tears away himself.

“Why couldn’t you answer him?” he asks.

You look up at Dean, and you finally notice the shine of hope in his eyes. Dean touches your cheek more tenderly.

“Does it mean I have a chance here?” he asks.

Despite what your eyes tell you, you still gape at him in shock. “What? But…what about Lisa?”

“It’s over. For good this time,” Dean shakes his head. “I realized what I wanted for my life, and where my heart is…”

And he chuckles weakly. “Truth is, you’ve had it the whole time, sweetheart.”

You begin to crumble all over again. You pull away from him and his touch, because you can’t believe it. You cover your face with your hands, sniffling as you try to make sense of his words, his touch, and the warm flutter threatening to brim happiness in your heart.

“God, Dean. You can't just..."

"I mean it," he insists.

You're still reluctant to take him seriously...no matter how much you want to. It's a conflicting realization that hurts, and makes you feel stupid for taking so long to figure it out, and makes you hate yourself for hoping his words are true.

"Come the morning, you’re going to change your mind,” you reason, without looking at him. “Like you’ve done with Lisa a thousand times.”

“No,” Dean says firmly. He shifts closer and prompts you to look at him, really look at him.

“Not about this, and you know it,” he says, catching and holding your gaze. “That’s why you couldn’t say yes to Benny. Because you know what we’ve got. It’s the real deal.”

You still look uncertain, even though you can’t bring yourself to pull away this time. Dean has always had this way of looking into the very depths of you, like he can actually see every thought as it passes through your mind.

“I should’ve said yes,” you say. “I can rely on Benny. I know he would stay by my side, and…and I know he won’t hurt me.”

Not like I’ve just hurt him, you think. Guilt still pricks at your heart. The last thing you ever wanted to do was lead him on, and yet, that’s what you’d done, wasn’t it? You thought you had loved him. You’re sure that you did, but maybe it just wasn’t the kind of love that could reach down deep and grab you, set your blood on fire, and make you ache when the burn was gone.

That spark licks across your skin when Dean takes your hands.

“What if I want to be that guy for you,” he says.

You allow yourself to look at him. Really look at him.

You know Dean. When he gets an idea in his head, it inhabits every bone and shred of muscle in his body. There’s no mistaking his resolve, or the steady grip of his hands over yours.

“If you let me, I’ll stay. I won’t leave you,” he says. In his eyes, there’s a firm promise. “I can be the guy you rely on. The man you can trust. The man who’s gonna love you, come whatever. Because now I know what it means. I know how it feels.”

You bite your lower lip against the smile that wants to surface.

“Are you sure?” you ask.

Dean smiles for you. “If you wanna know the truth, I’m pretty sure I’ve been loving you since the day I heard Robbie’s heartbeat for the first time.”

Your tears flow harder at that. A shaky breath escapes you, though it does nothing to steady you. Dean strokes your cheek gently with his thumb.

“Please, just give me this one chance,” he asks. Begs, really.

He doesn’t have to though. You nod, just a little.

“Okay,” you agree. “Let’s try.”

Dean smile spreads slow, but warm across his face. It’s your favorite kind, the kind that crinkles his eyes.

He leans in and claims your lips with his own. The passion of it is familiar, but you don't think it’s the same as five years ago. Now, there’s an underlying note of tenderness in his touch and each new way he tastes you deeper. He holds nothing back this time, and neither do you.

Your fingers tangle in his shirt, and then in his hair as you moan into his mouth. “Dean.”

“Yeah, sweetheart?” he answers against your lips, though he doesn’t give you much room to keep talking.

You haven’t heard him call you sweetheart in a long time. You feel your heart knitting back together, stitch by stitch. Tears sting in your eyes anew, but you squeeze your eyes shut against them.

“I…”

You can’t even continue the breathless thought. You hold his face desperately between your hands, pressing your forehead to his for a moment as you both catch your breath. But this man is like the sweetest, most seductive vice. Now that you’ve gotten another hit, you can’t resist. You no longer want to.

His arms wrap around you more securely, and he leans in to lure you back into his kiss. His tongue breaches past your lips to curl along yours with tantalizing strokes. His hands slowly move down your back and along your waist.

“Mmm, missed the hell outta this,” he groans into your mouth. Your heart flutters again at the way he holds you, the way his big hands squeeze you and feel you.

You let him guide you down onto the sofa cushions. He slots himself between your bare thighs and runs his hand up familiar smooth skin, bunching the skirt of your dress higher as he goes. He aims to get himself reacquainted with every soft part of you that welcomes him back.

For once, the gates around your hearts swing free.

Dean never imagined that his own son would hand him the ring he gives to his wife, but today, it just feels like symmetry. He grins and winks at Robbie.

“Thanks, buddy,” Dean says.

His son’s beaming grin is wide and toothy, but the boy takes his job very seriously and delivers the other ring to you. You smile brightly and caress his cheek after you take the shining, white gold band from him. It matches the thinner band that Dean has for you; it'll soon join the engagement ring that once belonged to his mother.

Robbie had liked Benny a lot, but he loves his dad. He’s probably the happiest person in the room to see his parents take each other’s hands in front of the minister.

Benny is understandably absent in the chapel today. You had met with him after that night of your botched anniversary to apologize to him, and so had Dean. Benny understood. He’d admitted that in the back of his mind, he feared this might happen.

“I wouldn’t blame you for being angry with me,” you said to him. “You can even hate me if you want.” Benny gave you a wry, melancholy sort of smile. “Part of me’s still mad at you, I won’t lie…but there’s no use in it. Not even hating you.”

Even though Benny bowed out, carrying his hurt and his grief on those broad shoulders, letting you go meant letting go of a friend too. He put in his paperwork to transfer out of Firehouse 83.

As he’d told Dean himself that day, and in fact, the last words Benny said to him…

“There you go, Lieutenant. A spot’s just opened up.”

Dean didn’t want to get promoted this way. He felt guilty enough as it was, and not just for Benny leaving the firehouse. Benny recommended Dean to the Chief himself though, saying that if they were going to give someone a Lieutenant’s badge, it may as well be the guy who got a perfect score on his test, and had the natural leadership skills to boot.

To the end, Benny was a gentleman.

Now, Sam beckons his nephew over. Robbie quickly goes to his uncle’s side and puffs his little chest out as he stands proud behind his dad.

Dean is able to take you in, your beautiful white dress, and everything about you that makes him smile…including the way you smile back at him.

Man and wife is all he hears. It’s all he needs to hear, before he’s pulling you closer by your newly anointed hand. He dips you for a thorough kiss in front of all your family and friends.

You squeal in surprise, making Dean smile hard enough for his cheeks to hurt. Giggling hard enough to make you tremble, you raise a hand to caress his cheek. But you give him another real kiss after he guides you back up to your feet.

“I love you,” you whisper against his lips. The words are just for him to hear. Dean pulls back enough to see the truth shining in your eyes. Beautiful.

“Can’t help it, right?” he teases.

You smile in amusement, but you grab his chin and shake it.

“You got me,” you reply. “I really, really can’t.”

Your beaming smile softens. Even though the entire room is clapping and hooting and hollering in celebration, in that moment, all you really see is Dean.

Here in his arms, you know that this is where you were meant to end up. From now on, it’s where you’re meant to be.

AN: *dreamy sighs* From Lisa and Benny to Robbie and everything in between. Dean and the reader certainly aren't perfect, but what do you think about how their story unfolded? I truly hope you guys enjoy this one, because I've had so much fun with it. 🥰❤️❤️‍🔥

**As a reminder, One More Day (Dean x Latina Plus-Sized!Reader) comes out on 4/04 - the day after my birthday!~

Until then, please let me know what you thought of If I Stay! 😘 I might write more for these two in the future...

"Shall I stay? Would it be a sin, if I can't help falling in love with you?"

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empressdede · 2 days ago

Text

Whispers of Magnolia - 7

Chapter Seven

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A/N: This is a love story set during segregation times. The languages are harsh but please be aware that I am trying to be as historically accurate as possible for fictional content. Racial slurs will be used, and some chapters involve really dark content: Death and Non consensual sex. Please read at your own will.

The car ride home was quiet.

Jey sat in the passenger seat, his arms crossed over his chest, shaking his head.

Jimmy drove, his face set in hard lines, knuckles gripping the steering wheel tighter than necessary.

Roman sat in the back, silent, staring out of the tinted window as the dark streets of New Orleans blurred past them.

It wasn’t until they were nearly halfway home that Jey finally broke the silence.

“Man, that shit crazy,” he muttered. “They got a whole lot goin’ on in that house. They ain’t say nothin’,” Jey continued, his voice low, laced with frustration. “Not ‘cause they didn’t know—but ‘cause they scared.”

Jey understood that fear now. It wasn’t just about loyalty. It was survival.

Neither his brother nor his cousin responded.

Jey exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his head. “I mean, I get it. Black people do what they gotta do to survive. They look out for their own. I respect that. But…” He shook his head again, his voice quieter now. “To always have to look over your shoulder? To always be waitin’ for the next hit, the next punishment? That’s a different kinda life, Uce. I don’t even know how they do it.”

Jimmy scoffed. “Ain’t much of a choice, is it?”

Jey didn’t answer.

They both knew the truth—there was no choice.

Not for them.

Not for Evangeline.

But Roman?

Roman didn’t hear a single word they were saying.

Because Roman was stuck in his own head.

Was she really spoken for? Maybe.

Did he give a fuck? No.

But the thought of Seth Rollins—that pathetic excuse of a man—putting his hands on Evangeline?

That didn’t sit right with him.

It wasn’t just about the bruises.

It wasn’t just about the injustice of it all.

It was about principle.

He wanted even.

Because even though she wasn’t his yet…

She would be.

And he’d be damned if anyone thought they could get away with touching what was his.

—

Roman didn’t go to bed that night.

Instead, he sat in his study, learning everything he could about Seth Rollins.

He had his people gather every detail, every dirty secret, every weakness that the Rollins’ son thought was hidden.

And what he found?

Seth wasn’t as untouchable as he liked to pretend.

A gambling problem.

A mistress in Baton Rouge.

A nasty habit of losing his temper in public.

And—most importantly—he was desperate for his father’s approval.

Roman smirked to himself.

That was all he needed to know.

He would catch Seth exactly when he least expected it.

—

Solo found him before sunrise.

Roman didn’t even look up when his younger cousin stepped into the room.

Solo was quiet, as always.

But his presence was heavy.

He stood by the doorway, watching Roman go through the files one last time before finally speaking.

“Make sure she’s strong enough to stand by your side, Uce.”

Roman finally glanced up, one eyebrow raising slightly.

Solo continued. “’Cause if she’s not? All this might be in vain.”

His tone wasn’t mocking.

It wasn’t even critical.

It was a warning.

A simple truth.

Roman leaned back in his chair, considering his words.

Then, after a moment, he simply nodded.

Solo left without another word.

He was right, of course.

Roman had spent all night thinking about Seth—but what about Evangeline?

What about her?

Because whether she knew it yet or not, she was already in this.

The moment he acknowledged her in front of Kevin Rollins, the moment he showed her any kind of favor—she became a target. And if she wasn’t strong enough to withstand it?

She wouldn’t survive it.

Roman exhaled slowly.

He had to be smart about this.

He had to come up with another plan.

Because one thing was clear:

He needed to get Evangeline alone.

Two months had passed.

Two months of silence.

Two months of avoiding glances, of forcing herself to be invisible again, of pushing every single thought of him to the deepest part of her mind.

And yet—

Roman Reigns stayed in her head like a tattoo she couldn’t remove.

She told herself it was foolish.

She told herself it was wrong.

She told herself it didn’t matter.

But that was a lie.

Because it did matter.

Everything about him haunted her—his height, his power, the way the entire room shifted when he entered.

But the worst of all?

His voice.

The way he said her name, slow and deep like he was savoring it, like it meant something.

It gave her butterflies, ones she didn’t dare admit to anyone—not even herself.

No one had spoken his name since that night.

Not Kevin Rollins.

Not Seth.

Not even the other maids who had once whispered about the small, fleeting moment when Roman Reigns acknowledged her.

They all moved on.

But Evangeline never did.

Because late at night, when she lay on the stiff mattress of her cot, staring at the wooden beams of the ceiling above her, she thought about him.

She wondered if he still remembered her.

And even worse—

She hoped that he did.

It wasn’t until Solo arrived at the estate that things changed.

The Bloodline had come calling.

Evangeline had been sweeping the front parlor when she heard the front doors swing open, the heavy thud of boots against the polished wood.

She knew who it was before she even looked up.

They walked differently than any other men she had seen.

Kevin Rollins stood stiffly in front of them, his face strained but controlled as he crossed his arms over his chest.

“What can I do for you?” he asked, forcing a polite smile.

Solo didn’t smile back.

Instead, his dark eyes cut through the room like a blade, scanning the maids who had frozen in their places, before landing back on Kevin.

“Roman’s father,” Solo said simply, voice low and deep, “is hosting an event. He needs all the maids for 48 hours.”

Evangeline felt her breath catch in her throat.

Kevin’s eye twitched—just barely—but he didn’t argue.

He wouldn’t.

Because no one refused the Bloodline.

Not even a man like Kevin Rollins.

He nodded stiffly. “Fine,” he muttered. “Take them.”

It all happened quickly.

The maids were rounded up, some whispering amongst themselves, others too nervous to say a word.

Evangeline packed a small bag with whatever little belongings she had.

Lena was silent beside her, her fingers shaking as she folded a simple dress into Evangeline’s hands.

“Please, Line,” her mother finally whispered.

Evangeline looked up, meeting her mother’s tired, worried eyes.

“I know he might seek you out,” Lena continued, voice barely above a breath. “But leave that man be, okay?”

She didn’t have to ask who she meant.

She already knew.

The buses came. Big. Black. Tinted windows that made it impossible to see inside.

Evangeline stood by the steps, gripping her bag, heart hammering in her chest.

She told herself she wasn’t hoping to see him. She told herself she didn’t care.

But as she took those steps forward, the heavy doors closing behind her—

She couldn’t stop herself from wondering.

Would he be there?

It’s not as long yall but I have so much homework to do. I hope you enjoy it, the real tea happens in the next chapter….. maybe I’ll post it tomorrow along with the next chapter of the secretary.

VIP TAGLIST : @wrestlingprincess80 @whatdoeseverybodywant @pr0tost4r @paigereeder @alyyaanna @raya-hunter01 @mzv11 @trippinsorrows @partypoison00 @isabella-2025 @jstarr86 @chrisevanswife0405 @fearlesschimera @cyberdejos2 @whowrotethenote @potatosackk @ajaxcleaningsupplies @sayyestoheav3nn @chasssssworld @christinabae @glittergirl7 @itskii01 @fame-ass-ers @li-da-savage @ashykneee @kianaleani @holisticcoach @pittieprincess22 @sabrina-carpenter-stan-account @amandairene88 @luvrsluxe @venusesworld @norababora @generousjudgeuniversity @callmekayd @keyera-jackson @chrissyxcxox

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#empressdede #empresswriting #wwe #black reader #roman reigns #roman reigns x black oc #roman reigns x oc #roman reigns x black reader #whispers of magnolia

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honeypiehotchner · 6 hours ago

Text

The Gambit (Hotch x Fem!Reader) -- part sixteen

Y'all. I swore this fic wasn't going to be novel-length, but *gestures to the current WC in progress* I fear I've done it again. There's still so much to happen, so it's likely that this will be another 30ish chapter fic😭 That being said, we've reached our turning point for these two...maybe things will start looking up soon 👀

Warnings: angst :( the truth comes out :(

You wake to a missed call from Penelope and an ache in your bones. The day comes back to you in fits and starts: speaking to Richard Monroe again, arguing with Hotch again, the car chase, the hospital— Hotch knows the truth.

A wave of nausea overtakes you when you remember. Hotch knows. Hotch knows and not because you told him, but because he went behind your back.

God, and he probably told the entire team, so now they all know, and they probably hate you for keeping it a secret from them.

Your phone buzzes again with a text and you pick it up, seeing that it’s just Pen asking if you’d like some company for dinner. Just you, her, and some Chinese takeout.

You tell her Of course because you’ll never turn down time with Pen, especially not including food. And because…maybe this will be good. Hotch said he looked at your file, and there’s only one person capable of pulling it and unsealing it for him.

You can’t be mad at Pen, though. Not ever. Because Hotch is her superior just like he is yours, so you can’t blame her for doing what she was told. You just wonder if she read it and kept it a secret, or if she didn’t glance at it at all.

Pen answers that question for you the second she gets to your apartment with the food. As soon as everything is set out on the coffee table in your living room, she blurts it all out.

“I didn’t read your file,” she starts to ramble. ��And for the record, I told Hotch that what he was doing was stupid and a betrayal of your trust and that I didn’t agree with it at all. I gave him your file because he asked and he’s my boss, but I made sure to give him a piece of my mind when I did. You don’t just go around digging into people’s pasts like that! He should’ve just asked you! And now he’s got the whole team on high alert being all cryptic and—”

“Pen. Pen, slow down.”

She does, pausing to suck in a deep breath. She takes both of your hands in hers. “I just wanted you to know I’d never do that to you.”

You smile softly, squeezing her hands. “I know.”

“And that if you need anything, anything at all, I don’t care what it is, I’m here,” she continues. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you assure her. “A little sore, but I’m okay.”

“No, I mean,” she pauses, chewing on the inside of her cheek. “Are you in any kind of trouble?”

Your eyebrows furrow. “What makes you say that?” Did Hotch seriously spill your secret?

“Hotch had me bring out everything from the last few cases, and dig up everything on Richard Monroe. I know you were speaking to him because he kept asking for you, and Hotch sounded really worried, but he wouldn’t tell any of us what this is all about, so I’m just…I’m scared.”

You frown. “Don’t be scared, Pen, I’m okay.” You pause, wondering if you should let her in. It seems like Hotch hasn’t told anyone, so only he and Rossi are in the know on why he’d want Garcia to dig all of this stuff up. And if he asked for everything from the last few cases, his suspicions might be the same as yours. “You really didn’t look at my file when you unsealed it?”

She shakes her head vigorously. “I didn’t. Shut my eyes and everything. You should’ve seen the sticky note I put on it— I don’t even remember what I wrote but I know it was scathing. I kind of hoped it would make Hotch have second thoughts about digging through your past like that.”

Oh, Penelope. “Well,” you let out a strained laugh, “I appreciate that. He— Pen, what I had sealed was about my biological father.”

She stares at you, eyes wide and expectant.

“My father is The Strangler,” you say, searching her eyes for any recognition. “Carson Adkins. My mom had her and my last name changed back to her maiden name when I was fourteen, and she moved us all the way to Washington to escape from all that he had done. We started over then, and I thought I’d never have to deal with any of it again, but working at the FBI, obviously I had to disclose any other names I had for a background check, and, well…”

“Oh,” Pen breathes. “Oh my god.”

You nod. “Strauss agreed to let me seal that portion of my file since it was twenty years ago now, and my father is dead, so it’s not like any of it is truly relevant — or so I thought, I guess.”

“Wait, but if he’s dead, then…”

You know what she’s asking, and you don’t have an answer. “I know. And I have no idea. I don’t know what’s going on.”

“Okay,” she exhales, squeezing your hands again. “We’ll figure it out. I’ll…I’ll turn over every piece of information that I have to, I’ll hack into anything, I’ll—”

“Pen,” you laugh, pulling her toward you to wrap your arms around her in a hug. “Thank you.”

She holds you tight. “Thank you for telling me.”

You shrug as you pull away. “Figured it was time, I guess.”

She shakes her head. “It’s yours to tell, so whenever you were ready would’ve been the perfect time.”

You smile sadly. “I was getting ready, I was going to talk to Hotch about it soon. But then Richard brought it up, and…” You sigh. “It all went downhill from there.”

Pen frowns. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine,” you deflect, starting to feel that you’ve had enough of talking about this. “What should we watch while we eat?”

Pen takes the bait with ease, immediately launching into an eager retelling of some movie she just heard of that she has to show you. It’s a welcome distraction.

+++

You return to the BAU the next day with your head held high, arriving much earlier than usual on purpose. You’d rather be settled in when the rest of the team arrives than walking in with their eyes all glued to you.

It works in your favor, except for the fact that Rossi is already there and stirring his coffee when you walk through the doors.

“Back already?” he muses, but you can see the concern in his face.

“Yep,” you nod, setting your stuff down on your desk. “Why are you here so early?”

He raises an eyebrow. “I could ask you the same thing.”

“Well, don’t,” you huff. “Move over.”

You grab a mug from the cabinet, pouring the coffee nearly to the brim. You can feel Rossi watching you, but he doesn’t say anything.

You decide to beat him to it. “Yes, I’m fine, no broken bones, no concussion, just badly bruised and got some scrapes everywhere,” you gesture to your arms and your forehead. “I’m fine.”

“Glad to hear it,” Rossi replies, still watching you with a certain look you can’t place.

You sip the coffee, watching him just as intensely. “So,” you pause. “How much did Hotch spill yesterday while I wasn’t here?”

“He didn’t say anything.”

“Sure,” you scoff. “Did he tell you what he did? How long he’s known?”

Rossi looks down at his own coffee. Guilty.

“Of course he did,” you roll your eyes, turning to head back to your desk. You pause halfway, spinning back around. “Why didn’t you tell me he knew?”

“I wanted him to tell you that himself,” Rossi replies. “Because he was out of line doing what he did, and I’ve told him that. He should’ve asked you, and believe me, I’ve told him what he should’ve done.”

You pause, gripping your mug. “Right.”

“I knew you would be upset,” Rossi says. “And you have every right to be.”

“Thank you,” you say, startled by his validation. “He didn’t tell the team?”

“No,” Rossi shakes his head. “He told everyone to go home early.”

You furrow your eyebrows. “But—” The words die in your throat when you see Hotch come through the glass doors, pausing just inside when he spots you here so early, coffee already in hand.

“Agent L/N,” Hotch says, shock all over his face.

“Hotch,” you reply with a curt nod.

He doesn’t bother with anything else, walking past you to head up to his office in silence. You watch him go.

You hate this. The silence between you two, the clipped words, the averted eyes. You’re used to the heat, the arguing, the glares. You don’t know why, but you want that back.

But you’re tired. You’re so tired of this. Keeping this secret from the team, hiding behind a new name, pretending like there’s nothing deeper underneath the anger you and Hotch share.

Your feet move before you know what they’re doing, and you’re standing in Hotch’s office before you realize it.

Hotch freezes where he’s standing behind his desk, unpacking his briefcase. He stands up straight, waiting for you to break the silence.

“I’m going to tell the team the truth today,” you say firmly. “Garcia and I had dinner last night, and she told me you had her bring up everything from the last few cases. Do you think they’re connected?”

Hotch hesitates, choosing his words carefully. “Do you?”

Your fingers tighten around the mug as you nod slowly. “Yes.”

“For how long?”

“Since we found the body outside the elementary school,” you murmur, focusing on the spine of a random book on Hotch’s shelf. “That’s where my dad— where Adkins usually dumped bodies.” You pause, swallowing thickly and dragging your eyes back to Hotch’s. “I thought I was just on edge from Richard somehow recognizing me, and that I was forcing connections that weren’t there, so I pushed it down. But after yesterday…” I’m scared. Don’t make me say it. But I’m terrified.

Hotch nods slowly, looking down at his desk for a moment. “Alright. When everyone gets here, we can meet in the conference room.”

“Okay,” you reply. You turn to leave, pausing in the doorway when Hotch calls out your name. You don’t turn to look at him.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I should’ve let you come to me.”

You shake your head as you leave, heading back down to your desk.

Slowly, the team begins to trickle in. Reid first, nose shoved in a book like always. JJ and Prentiss next, coffees in hand. Garcia and Morgan next, coffees also in hand, except there’s a third one with your name on it that Derek hands off to you. You take it easily, having already finished the mug you filled earlier.

Once you take stock of everyone being here, you nod toward the conference room. “Let’s head up. I’ve got something I need to talk to you guys about.”

Morgan’s eyebrows furrow immediately. “Oh…‘kay.”

You head up the stairs, passing by Hotch’s office to knock softly. He’s on the phone. “Everyone’s here.”

Hotch nods once. “I’ll call you back.” He hangs up and follows you.

Rossi peers out of his office, following behind Hotch as you all file into the conference room.

You don’t bother sitting down, standing up front by the screen, though nothing is on it, and there won’t be. At least not for now. Everyone sits around the table, eyes expectantly watching you, Derek most of all. So Hotch must’ve hinted at something, but not given anything away.

This feels like a reverse intervention. You push past that feeling.

You purposefully don’t look at Hotch as you begin speaking, though you do glance at Rossi.

“Well,” you pause, adjusting your grip on the takeaway coffee cup. “I haven’t been exactly honest with you all, but not out of any malicious intent. I didn’t think this was relevant, but the past few weeks have started to convince me otherwise. So.” You take a deep breath. “My real surname is Adkins. My father was Carson Adkins, The Strangler.”

Silence echoes all around you in the conference room.

You clear your throat, moving forward, because unfortunately, that isn’t the biggest bomb you have to drop on them. “I believe the last few cases we’ve gone on have been connected somehow. Lila’s kidnapping mirrored mine almost exactly, down to her father turning himself in to help find her. Richard Monroe somehow recognized me — that I still don’t understand, but after what happened yesterday when we finished speaking to him, I believe he’s connected to the unsub we’re looking for.”

“Um, what unsub are we looking for?” Reid pipes up.

“The one who left us the note,” you answer. “Gambit. I’d find it hard to believe if it wasn’t him who chased Hotch and I in the car yesterday, given that the car he drove was a victim’s from the last case. He had to know somehow that we were leaving the prison, he had to get her car somehow. The way he disposed of the bodies was almost exactly the same as my father, not to mention strangling them.”

“So this guy’s a copycat?” Morgan asks.

“Not exactly,” Reid says.

“It’s almost like he’s doing a Greatest Hits tour,” Prentiss says.

“But why?” JJ asks.

“He’s playing a game,” Hotch says. “He’s taunting us.”

“Or taunting me,” you add. “And I don’t know why. Maybe he knew my dad, I don’t know. But it’s getting out of hand, and…” You pause, looking around at everyone, even daring to glance at Hotch. “I need your help.”

“Whatever you need,” Prentiss says.

“We’ve got you,” Morgan says firmly. “What do you need?”

“That’s the problem,” you laugh shakily. “I don’t know. I don’t know who we’re looking for, I don’t know why he’s coming after me twenty years later, I don’t know anything.”

“Then we’ll figure it out together,” Morgan says. “Where do we start?”

You’re at a loss for words again.

Thankfully, Garcia fills the silence for you. “I’ve pulled everything from the other cases, and everything on Richard Monroe. I’ll send it to all of you.” She starts gathering her things.

“Dig up anything you can on Carson Adkins,” you add. “Nothing is too small. And I’ll fill in the blanks with what I can remember.”

Garcia nods slowly, squeezing your shoulder as she passes by you.

Rossi pulls the empty chair next to him out for you, gesturing for you to sit. You take it, your legs shaking, and not from the coffee.

“I’m proud of you, kiddo,” Rossi murmurs, giving you a fond look.

“Thanks,” you sigh. You look up at everyone around the table, their eyes all watching you with mixes of sympathy, sadness, pity, and whatever else. “Alright guys. I’m an open book, so. What do you wanna know?”

JJ leans forward onto her elbows. “Are you okay?”

You nod, though you’re not so sure of your answer. “Yeah, I just— I really wanna find this guy.”

“We will,” Rossi says quietly. “Why don’t we start with the conversation with Richard? What did he say to you?”

You see Hotch tense, just barely. Probably imperceptibly to the rest of the team, but you see the change — the clench of his jaw, the way he goes as still as a statue.

“Nothing important, seriously,” you say. “He wasted our time for most of it, but then he said I know who’s doing this, just that I don’t want to admit it to myself.” You pause, looking around the table. “But I don’t know who’s doing this. Richard thinks it’s someone who was close with my dad, but I don’t know anyone who was.”

You’re careful not to mention Richard’s taunting about Hotch being your guard dog and all the implications that comes with. Or that the car chase involved you sitting in Hotch’s lap. Which you still haven’t forgotten about, and will be bringing up to him one day — in private at least.

“Is there someone we can ask?” JJ asks tentatively. “Someone who knew your dad?”

You shake your head. “My mom passed away last year,” you answer. “And I don’t have contact with any of his family. They didn’t like that my mom moved us away and changed our name.”

Silence coats the room.

“If he had friends, I didn’t know about them,” you continue. “Mom and I never really talked about him once we moved away.”

“I’ll have Garcia look into it,” Hotch says. Then, almost regretfully, he adds, “Unfortunately, this won’t be the only thing on our plate today. Use of Force Reports are due again soon, and Strauss doesn’t want any delays this time. So, while we wait for some information to come in, I need you all to work on those, please.”

Everyone nods, standing from their chairs to return to their desks to tackle the paperwork. The sooner those reports get done, the sooner all their attention can be devoted to figuring this gambit out.

As you’re about to walk around Hotch to leave, he stops you with the briefest of touches on your arm. Barely there, you’re almost unsure of if he actually touched you.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” he says quietly. “Please let me know if there’s anything I can do to make this easier for you.”

You nod slowly, despite knowing there is absolutely nothing he can do — or anyone, for that matter — to make this any easier. “Thank you,” you say anyway. “I appreciate it.”

He nods once and leaves you alone, returning to his office. As you pass by, you hear him returning the phone call he was on earlier.

He leaves his door and blinds open, clearly sending the same message in his actions as he did with his words. If there’s anything I can do.

You’re not sure what to do with that.

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