#not really a warning when i put it in the tags like this

[wordsofwhimsy]

⚔ How to Slay a Dragon ⚔

Pairing: Main!Mark Grayson x f!Reader

Warnings: None

Tags: Fluff, slice of life

Word Count: 3,012

Synopsis: Reader has a little sister whose birthday is coming, and what she wants can be summed up in three words: princess, dragon, superhero.

a/n: okay this is cute as shit and everyone is entitled to their opinions but if you don’t agree with me you’re wrong

It was a sunny Saturday afternoon when your little sister, Lily, burst into the living room, practically vibrating with excitement. Her wide eyes were filled with a mix of hope and determination, the kind of look that only a kid could pull off.

“I want to be a princess!” she declared, her voice bright with the confidence of a five-year-old who thought she could have anything if she just wished hard enough. “And... and Invincible has to save me!”

You blinked, your heart skipping a beat. You were in the middle of making lunch, but Lily’s request was loud enough to catch your attention. You glanced over at Mark, who was lazily lounging on the couch with his phone in hand, only half-listening.

His eyes flicked to Lily, then to you. He froze, his gaze locking with yours for a split second. His lips parted, but before he could say anything, Lily was off again, talking a mile a minute.

“Because, like, Invincible always saves the day! And I wanna be a princess! Will he come? Can he come? Can I be a princess for my birthday?”

You swallowed, trying to keep your face from betraying the sudden panic bubbling in your chest. It wasn’t like you had never thought about the possibility of Lily putting two and two together. She adored Invincible—heck, she probably knew more about his heroic feats than you did. But hearing her make such a direct request hit you like a ton of bricks.

Mark, still trying to look casual, sighed deeply. "You know," he muttered under his breath, "I’m not sure Invincible will be able to make it. He’s, uh, super busy with saving the world and all that.”

Lily, however, wasn’t listening to him. She was too busy bouncing on the balls of her feet, her little hands clasped together as if pleading with the universe itself. “But... I really want Invincible to come! Please!” she begged.

You exchanged another glance with Mark. He gave you a subtle shrug, trying to act unbothered, though you could see the tension in his shoulders. You chuckled softly, hoping to defuse the moment before Lily noticed anything.

“That does sound really fun,” you started, crouching down to her level, “But I’m not sure if Invincible will be able to make it to the party. He’s really busy, and, well... saving the world comes first, right?”

Lily pouted, deflating just a little, but she didn’t give up. “But... I really want him to be here! He has to save me from a dragon, you know?” Her eyes glinted with determination again. “I can be the princess, but he has to be the hero!”

Mark’s lips twitched, clearly trying not to laugh at how serious she was. You could see his resolve softening, though he put on a mock-pensive face. “Well, I mean, being a superhero is tough work... but I’ve heard he’s a good guy. He might be able to stop by for a little bit,” he said, playing along.

Lily’s face lit up. “Oh, yay! I’m gonna be the princess! I’m gonna be just like one of those princesses in the books, and Invincible will save me from the dragon, and then we’ll have cake!”

You gave a small smile, grateful that she was still so young and innocent. “Of course, you’ll be the princess. And don’t worry,” you added, glancing at Mark, “we’ll make sure you have a super special day. You’ll be the star of the party.”

Lily twirled around in a circle, her dress flaring out behind her as she squealed in excitement. “I’m going to go play with my dolls now!” she declared, already running off to her room to plan out more of her royal adventures.

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Mark sat up fully now, looking at you with an amused, slightly worried expression.

“So, uh, you heard that, right?” he asked, voice a little tight as he ran a hand through his hair. “She wants me to save her from a dragon.”

You nodded, crossing your arms as you leaned against the kitchen counter. “I heard. And I’m not gonna lie—she’s totally obsessed with you. I’m pretty sure she thinks you actually live up the clouds. Just waiting to swoop in and save the day.”

Mark sighed, running his hand over his face. “Yeah, well, now I’m definitely gonna have to show up. I can’t just let her down like that...”

You gave him a sympathetic look. “You’re sweet. Just another reason I love you.” You brought your fingers together to make a heart, winking at him with a smile. A light blush dusted his cheeks. Placing your hands back onto the counter behind you, you continued, “But as for the dragon...”

“Rex?” Mark interrupted, already knowing where you were going.

You grinned. “Exactly. He owes me a favor.”

Mark laughed softly, though it was more nervous than anything else. “Okay, so... I show up, save the day, and maybe knock out a few dragons. Then what? I just... leave? She’ll probably think it’s some kind of dream or something.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine,” you said, waving it off. “We’ll make sure everything goes smoothly. I’ll keep it low-key, and I’ll handle the details. Just... try not to blow your cover. Can you imagine if she figured out you were actually him?”

Mark raised an eyebrow. “Not sure I want to...”

You breathed out a light laugh before turning back to the half-prepared meal. “Just be ready for a lot of pretending. This is gonna be one hell of a party.”

Mark gave a small, resigned chuckle. “I’m starting to realize that...”

You smiled, your heart glowing with affection for both him and Lily. “Thanks, Mark. She’s gonna love it.”

Mark smiled back, his eyes softening. “Anything for you... and for her.”

The next week, preparations were in full swing. You decorated your backyard with banners, balloons, and a massive cardboard castle you’d spent days putting together. Your little sister was bouncing around in her princess dress, completely unaware of the superhero shenanigans that were about to unfold.

“It’s perfect!” she shouted, grinning from ear to ear.

“We’re gonna have so much fun today!” You cheered along with her, adding the last streamer to the wooden fence. “Aren’t we Mark?” You tunned to your boyfriend who was lingering awkwardly by the snack table. Why did he look more nervous about this roleplaying than he ever did out in battle?

“Y-Yeah,” he stuttered, forcing a weird smile.

You quirked an eyebrow at him, for a second nervous that Lily would question his stiffness, but she simply twirled by him while humming a nameless tune.

Rex, ever the prankster, had thankfully agreed to be part of the party. He showed up wearing a makeshift dragon costume, looking absolutely ridiculous, but he was completely game for the idea. You had to admit, the dragon outfit was hilarious—bright green and covered in foam spikes—but it would do.

Finally, everything was set. The party guests had arrived, the kids were running around with cake smeared on their faces, and Lily was on her throne (aka, a fold-out chair with a plastic tiara), waiting eagerly for her hero to arrive.

“Invincible’s here!” one of the kids yelled excitedly as Mark arrived on the scene, striking a heroic pose. Lily gasped, her eyes wide in awe.

His arrival was anything but low-key. A streak of blue and yellow shot across the sky and in an instant, Mark descended from the clouds, lowering himself to the ground with his fists placed dramatically at his hips. The kids screamed in awe as he stood tall, a glowing presence of undeniable heroism.

“Invincible! You came!” she squealed, standing up and rushing to him.

Mark crouched down to her level, giving her a smile behind his mask. “I’m here to save the day, Princess.”

Lily giggled. “A dragon! It’s gonna eat me! You have to save me!”

At that moment, Rex, in his dragon costume, appeared from behind large oak tree, growling and stomping around like a child playing pretend. The other kids screamed and ran, but Lily, in her princess glory, stood tall, waiting for her hero to step in.

Without missing a beat, Mark sprang into action, launching himself toward the dragon. “Stay back, beast! You won’t hurt the princess on my watch!”

Rex growled playfully as Mark “fought” him off, throwing a few staged punches that sent Rex stumbling backward, dramatically toppling onto the grass with exaggerated “oofs.” The kids watched in rapt attention, some giggling, others gasping, caught up in the spectacle of it all.

Lily, standing like a true princess in her pink gown, clasped her hands together in awe. “Go, Invincible!” she cheered, her voice a mix of wonder and excitement. Her eyes sparkled with joy as she watched Mark fight off the “dragon.”

Things got a little wild as Rex—really getting into character—lunged at Mark with a loud roar. He was a little too enthusiastic in his movements and, with one miscalculated step, crashed into the play castle you’d spent so long putting together. You’d be lying if you said your heart didn’t ache at the sight. The entire structure wobbled and collapsed in a cascade of pink and purple cardboard towers.

The kids screamed in mock terror, laughing and running in all directions. One of the younger kids even shouted, “The castle’s gone!” as if the dragon had destroyed the very heart of their kingdom.

Lily, eyes wide with a mix of shock and pure excitement, gasped. “The castle!” she squealed. Then, just as quickly, her expression shifted to a beaming smile. “It’s okay! Invincible will fix it!”

But the dragon wasn’t done yet. With a mischievous glint in his eyes, he grabbed a plastic party cup from the snack table, holding it dramatically. The kids watched, intrigued, unsure of what was coming next.

Without warning, Rex tossed the cup into the air, and just as it reached its peak ascent, the plastic exploded with a loud pop! The kids screamed and laughed, some of them ducking in surprise at the burst of noise.

One of the younger kids screamed, “Ahh! The dragon’s breathing fire!” They scrambled back, terrified yet thrilled by the sudden explosion.

You froze for a moment, wide-eyed, before narrowing your eyes and glaring daggers at Rex, your stomach sinking. This was not part of the plan. You had been trying to keep things low-key, and Rex—of course—had to use his powers. You shot him an exasperated look, silently mouthing, Really?

Rex gave you an innocent shrug, clearly not understanding why you weren’t loving the “real” dragon fire. He mouthed back, What? They loved it!

But Mark, ever the hero, didn’t break character. He took one quick glance at Rex, then turned to Lily, his expression resolute. “Fear not, Princess!” he shouted, his voice booming with heroism. “I’ll protect you from any danger!”

Mark shot across the yard, zooming in Rex’s direction faster than a speeding bullet. Rex, seeing the intensity in Mark's gaze, let out a nervous growl and began backing away, slowly at first, then turning into a full retreat as Mark sped after him. The kids gasped as the two “fighters” flew across the yard, Mark grabbing Rex by the tail and lifting him off the ground. “Enough, dragon! You’ve caused enough chaos for one day!” Mark called out, his voice as commanding as ever. Rex let out a huff of defeat as Mark flew him high into the air, away from the party, until they were a tiny speck in the sky. The kids cheered, their excitement building. Mark returned to the ground with a soft landing, flashing a grin at the crowd. “The dragon’s been dealt with, Princess. The kingdom is safe again!” Lily squealed in delight, her eyes wide with amazement. “You really did it!” she beamed at Mark, who smiled back at her.

“Now to return you to your observation tower,” he said, doing his best to maintain a tone of bravado. Mark scooped her up in his arms, holding her securely against his chest as if she were the most precious thing in the world. “Hold on tight, Princess!”

Lily’s eyes widened as they slowly ascended up into the air, her small hands trying to grip onto his costume as she looked down at the ground below. “We’re flying!” she gasped, her voice full of wonder, but there was a hint of nervousness too.

“Don’t worry, Princess,” Mark reassured her, his tone soft. “I’ve got you. You’re safe.” He gave her a small smile, trying to ease her nerves. He made sure to keep the pace slow, not too fast, just enough to keep her comfortable as they gently floated up toward the second-floor balcony.

As they neared the balcony, Mark carefully adjusted his angle, ensuring that he landed softly, his feet touching the edge of the railing with expert precision. He moved slowly, making sure Lily felt the full security of his arms around her.

The backyard had gone completely quiet as the kids below watched, their mouths agape in awe. They’d never seen anything like it.

Mark landed softly, and when his feet touched the balcony, he stood still for a moment, making sure Lily felt secure before he even thought about letting go. He looked down at her, his eyes filled with reassurance. “We’re here, Princess,” he said gently. “Safe and sound.”

Lily, still wide-eyed but now completely at ease, looked up at him, her face lit with excitement. “That was so cool!” she said, her voice filled with joy, but there was no fear left in her expression. She had fully trusted him, and now, she was in complete awe.

Mark waved down at the kids below, who were staring up at him in wide-eyed wonder. They “ooo-ed” and ��aww-ed,” completely captivated by the sight of a real superhero—Invincible—actually flying.

“Take care, everyone!” Mark called down, his voice carrying with that heroic quality.

He gave the small crowd below a salute, placed a gentle kiss to the back of Lily’s hand, then with a burst of speed shot into the sky once more, this time rising higher and higher until he was a small figure in the sky, leaving the partygoers to watch in awe. The kids below cheered and clapped as they watched him soar away, vanishing into the distance.

A few moments later, Mark walked through the fence into the backyard. He was dressed back in his usual attire with an overly casual expression on his face, looking around in a way that was beyond suspicious.

A minute later Lily came running down the stairs and into the backyard again, her excitement almost palpable. As soon as she saw Mark standing there, her face lit up with pure joy. She jumped up and down, clapping her hands excitedly.

“You missed it, Mark!” she exclaimed, her voice practically bursting with enthusiasm. “Invincible came and saved me from the dragon! He really saved me! You should’ve seen it! He flew me up to the balcony! It was amazing!”

She bounced around in circles, her eyes wide with excitement as she couldn’t stop talking about the adventure. “And then the dragon exploded a cup! And Invincible caught me! It was the best birthday ever!”

Mark chuckled, a smile tugging at his lips as he watched her excitement. He bent down to her level and ruffled her hair playfully. “Wow, sounds like Invincible did an amazing job,” he said, his voice light with amusement. “Guess you’ll just have to tell me all about it.” She hummed a happy sound of agreeance before bounding off to join the other kids.

As the chaos of the party continued—kids laughing, running around, and playing—you quietly made your way over to Mark. You stood beside him for a moment, just watching the scene. He was still grinning, but there was a softness in his eyes as he watched Lily and the other kids play.

Finally, you turned to him, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. “You know, you’re really good with her,” you said, your voice quiet but full of warmth.

Mark glanced at you, a slight blush coloring his cheeks as he shrugged modestly. “I just wanted to make her birthday special, that’s all.”

You gave him a knowing look, tilting your head slightly as you crossed your arms. “Well, you did. And, honestly, you’re gonna make a great dad someday.”

Mark’s eyes widened, his face immediately turning crimson as he stammered, “A-a-are you serious? Y-you want to start a family?”

You laughed at his reaction, a light, playful sound that made his blush deepen. “Not quite yet,” you teased, the corner of your lips curling into a smile.

Without missing a beat, you grabbed his arm and gently rested your head on his bicep. You sighed contentedly, letting the peaceful moment take over. “But maybe someday.”

Mark, still flushed, looked down at you, a soft smile spreading across his face. The idea lingered in his mind, and he leaned down to kiss the top of your head, his lips brushing against your hair in a sweet gesture. He thought to himself, That'd be nice.

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, surrounded by the laughter of the kids in the background, the warmth of the sun making everything feel just right. You were both content, thinking about the future in that quiet, almost unspoken way, knowing that whatever came next—one step at a time—was a journey you could take together.

[paucubarsisimp]

reader taking really good care of Pedri while he has a flu, but then him feeling really guilty and taking even better care of her when she catches it from him?

flu

pairing: pedri x reader

summary: in which you and pedri get the flu

warnings: none, the flu?

tagged: @barcapix, @universefcb, @joaosnovia, @nngkay, lmk if you want to be added to the taglist

you sat on the couch, a bowl of warm soup in your hands, glancing at pedri who was curled up under a blanket, looking less like the fit footballer you knew and more like a sick little puppy. his cheeks were flushed, his eyes half-lidded from exhaustion, and he sniffled as he reached for the tissues on the table.

“come on, baby, you need to eat,” you said softly, nudging him gently with the spoon, trying to coax him into taking a bite.

he scrunched his nose, clearly not in the mood for soup. “but i just… i don’t want soup… i want cuddles,” he whined, his voice raspy, his bottom lip poking out like a child.

you raised an eyebrow, looking down at him with a slight smile despite his pout. “you need to get better first, pedri. a little soup, and then i promise i’ll cuddle you. okay?”

his eyes fluttered as he shifted, wrapping the blanket tighter around his shoulders and giving you that look—the one that melted your heart every time. “but i don’t feel good… i just want you,” he mumbled, reaching a hand out, weakly grasping for yours.

sighing, you put the spoon down and moved closer, your heart softening. “you’re lucky i love you,” you teased, as you sat beside him, adjusting the blanket around both of you.

pedri immediately snuggled into your side, his head resting on your shoulder, his breath warm against your neck. “i know… but… will you hold me, please?” he asked, his voice almost a whisper, so vulnerable.

you chuckled softly, rubbing his back gently. “always, pedri. but you still need to eat something,” you replied, lifting the bowl of soup in your hands.

he groaned, shifting slightly. “can’t you just feed me later? i really… i just want to be close to you.”

the way he said it made you smile, even though you knew you should probably make him eat. but how could you resist? you leaned down to kiss his forehead, smiling as you breathed in the scent of his shampoo mixed with the faint trace of sickness.

“okay, okay,” you whispered, carefully pulling the blanket tighter around him as he sighed in contentment. “you win this time, but only because you’re adorable when you whine like that.”

pedri’s eyes closed in bliss, a little grin forming on his face. “i’m glad you think so,” he mumbled, his voice growing quieter. “just… don’t go anywhere, okay?”

you chuckled, leaning your head against his. “i’m right here, always.”

and for the next few hours, you simply held him, the world outside fading away as you focused on taking care of him, one cuddle at a time.

pedri had fully recovered from the flu, and he was back to his usual energetic self—smiling, teasing, and doing what he did best. you, on the other hand, were now the one suffering.

it started off small: a scratchy throat, the slight twinge of a headache. but before long, you could feel the fever creeping up, your body aching in all the wrong places. and sure enough, a few hours later, you were tucked under a pile of blankets, curled up on the couch, feeling miserable.

pedri, who had been tidying up the apartment, walked into the living room and immediately stopped in his tracks when he saw you. your cheeks were flushed with fever, your nose red, and you looked as if you were barely holding on. his heart dropped.

“hey, hey, how are you feeling?” he asked gently, sitting down next to you. his eyes softened as he took in the sight of you, looking so fragile.

you sniffled, your voice raspy. “not great… definitely paying for all those cuddles,” you joked weakly, trying to lift his spirits.

pedri frowned, his expression immediately filled with guilt. “no… no, it’s not your fault,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper as he reached out to touch your forehead. “i’m so sorry, i didn’t want you to catch this… i should’ve stayed away from you.”

you smiled faintly, your heart warming at how concerned he was. “pedri, it was bound to happen. it’s fine, really.”

but he didn’t look convinced. “no, it’s not fine. i feel so bad. i just wanted to be close to you when i was sick, and now you’re sick because of me.”

you reached out to gently pull him closer, resting your head on his chest. “you were just being sweet. i wanted to take care of you, remember?” you murmured, your voice barely a whisper.

pedri’s heart ached as he wrapped his arms around you, cradling you carefully. “still… i should’ve kept my distance. i should’ve been more careful.” he kissed your forehead softly, his lips lingering there for a moment as if he could somehow transfer his warmth to you.

“you’ve been taking care of me, though,” you mumbled, your eyelids fluttering shut. “you’re doing it now, too.”

pedri smiled softly, brushing a lock of hair from your face. “well, that’s because you deserve all the love in the world,” he said, his voice full of adoration. “now, let me take care of you.”

he jumped up, his energy still a little too much for your sick state, and soon returned with a tray in hand—soup, tea, and a few tissues. “i know you’re probably not hungry, but you need to eat something,” he said, his eyes full of concern as he set everything down next to you.

you looked up at him, too tired to argue, and smiled. “you really don’t have to do all this, pedri.”

he sat beside you, taking a spoonful of soup and offering it to you. “i want to. just let me take care of you the way you took care of me.”

you reluctantly accepted the soup, savoring the warmth as it soothed your throat. pedri watched you with the softest gaze, clearly content just by being there. his hand rested on your back as you ate slowly, his fingers tracing small circles to calm your shivers.

“i love you,” he whispered softly, his voice full of affection. “just… just let me know if you need anything. i’ll be here, always.”

you smiled weakly, your eyes fluttering closed again as you leaned into his chest. “i’m already getting everything i need,” you murmured, your breath evening out. “just… stay with me?”

pedri kissed your forehead, wrapping his arms around you tighter, pulling you closer into his embrace. “i’m not going anywhere,” he promised. “i’ll be here until you feel better. always.”

and for the next few hours, as you drifted in and out of sleep, pedri stayed by your side—holding you, taking care of you, and showering you with all the love you needed. the world outside faded, and all that mattered was that he was there, making everything feel a little bit warmer, even on your sickest day.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 14 - Water Is Forever

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: I love writing chapters where Bobby comes in with a steel chair to once again prove he's father of the year.

Chapter title from Hurt Feelings by Halsey

Word Count: 17.5k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Dean, Sam, and Bobby go on a hunt, and you and Jo take a road trip. Usual warnings.

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

Chapter 13 - Chapter 15

Read on A03!

The day had been long. Long and slow and heavy, all howls in the wood and misshapen faces on trees, machetes in their hands and Dean staring at his phone, hoping She’d call.

She wouldn’t. She when they’d left Her at Bobby’s, She hadn’t even looked up for Her book. Bobby said he’d call Jo to make sure She didn’t burn down the house on accident.

They all knew She wouldn’t.

The house was where the books were. 

But She might burn down herself. Jo needed to be there, because Dean couldn’t be—not now, not as sand slowly slipped them by on the wind, and his time became thin—but She shouldn’t be alone right now. She’d spiral. Dean knew Her.

He knew that, before, he would’ve been worried he’d return to Her hand around her own neck and long, raised scratches on Her skin. And now, when he truly knew everything, he knew he’d return to that. To panic in Her eyes and strangled sounds from Her throat, Her back pressed to the wall and the Blade in her hands. 

Relief would sag in Her shoulders, when she saw he was in one piece. It always had, over these past two months, and he’d done all he could not to leave Her side. It was the damn least he could do, really, when She was still losing Her mind to save him. And She hadn’t wanted him to go on this hunt. She’d thought it was a bad idea, that they shouldn’t be letting Dean put himself in situations where he’d be in danger right now.

She was right. But Dean had insisted on this last, semi-normal hunt—he wasn’t allowed to call it a last hunt, because he had once, and She’d looked like she was about to punch him—and promised he wouldn’t come back with a single scratch.

She’d glared at him, and made him pinky promise, but he’d gotten away with it. They’d left two days ago, and—unless someone fucked up—they’d be back tomorrow.

And She was going to kill him.

Because his hands were covered in his own blood.

“Told ya’ not to run, boy.” Bobby said from above, leaning over Dean’s body to see the tear in his jeans. “We ain’t tryin’ to break you here.”

Sam hummed Her name from ahead, shooting Dean a smirk over his shoulder. “She’s gonna be mad at you-“

“Shut your face, Sammy.” Dean pushed himself on his palms, ignoring the splintering wood and mud from the dirt. “She won’t get pissed I fell. She’ll kick your ass, though-“

“For what, letting you fall-“

“For forgetting my fucking bubble wrap. Supposed to be watching me, bitch, making sure I don’t get hurt-“

“I can’t stop you from being stupid, jerk, Bobby told you not to run-“

“I wasn’t running-“

“We’re not blind, Dean, you were obviously fucking running, and she’s gonna kill you-“

“Not if I kill you first-“

“That doesn’t make any sense-“

“Hey!” Bobby blocked Dean’s path with an arm over his chest, running his free hand over his face with a sigh. “Both of ya’, shut the fuck up. Dean, stop runnin’, and I’ll look at that when we’re done to make sure it don’t get infected. Sam, stop teasin’ him, he’s sensitive.”

Dean scowled. “Hey-“

“And,” Bobby snapped Her name, completely ignoring Dean’s glare. “She’ll kill all three of us if we don’t deliver Prince Charming back by sunrise. So damn focus, or I’m callin’ this all off. And apologize to each other like men, instead of little fuckin’ babies.”

Dean rolled his eyes, and Sam kicked a rock with a frown, but they mumbled apologies, and kept moving through the woods.

It was just a vamp nest. Simple. In and out, take the edge off with the hunting and hopefully come out with their homework.

She’d found mention of an old lore book that this vamp nest should have a copy of, and could be another lead.

Likely an empty one.

They all knew better than to tell Her that.

Besides, this was pretty much just a normal hunt. They’d stopped doing normal hunts when Dean’s timer hit one month, it and had been taking a toll. Sam sat too tall and rigid in his chair, Bobby always had a beer on the table, and She-

Dean was really fucking worried about Her. She’d only remember to eat when food was put in front of Her, only go to the bathroom when Dean asked when she’d done it last. Every night She’d pass out over a book—Dean waiting across the table, pretending to do his own research, but mostly just staring at Her—and he’d carry Her to bed. It was eating at his gut every second, how She was doing this to herself for him, and She wouldn’t even entertain the idea of slowing down or resting.

That was the real reason he wanted Jo there. She couldn’t be alone, but She wouldn’t do this, so Dean needed to know She’d have someone to watch her while he was out. 

Mostly, he just wanted to know She’d have someone at all.For after. For when the timer ran out, and Dean was either there, or… Not. 

It was looking a little damn bleak.

“If we don’t get these pieces of shit tonight,” Bobby grunted, his machete resting over his shoulder. “We’re headin’ back. It’s- We don’t got the time to waste on a goose chase.”

Dean didn’t protest. It was the right call, because they didn’t. And he’d needed this, but not more than he needed Her, and he couldn’t have Her if he was goddamn-

He wasn’t allowed to think that word. 

So he thought of Her instead. Probably exactly where he left Her in the library, covered in a blanket because Jo wasn’t strong enough to carry Her to bed, maybe with bite marks on Her hand and too-hot coffee seared on Her tongue.

“Bobby, you get any calls-“

“She’s fine, Dean.” Bobby sighed, shooting him a flat look. “She’ll can handle herself.”

Dean frowned, because She could. She could spin a knife between Her hands and drive it into a monster or demons heart without breaking a sweat, looking beautiful when the blood splattered on Her face and glowing after She washed it away.

But Her handling herself wasn’t what Dean was worried about.

It was the fact that any blood She split might escalate to being Her own. It was that She could handle herself, but son of a bitch She couldn’t take care of Herself. Not in a way that counted, that didn’t make Dean’s skin itch and crawl with something bitter, because he should be there. She wasn’t sleeping to try and save him, and—even though a second didn’t pass where Dean wasn’t trying to talk Her into just a moment of rest—the least he could do in return was take care of Her.

He was, somehow, the only one who ever really seemed to know how to care for Her. 

“I tried to do your thing once, by the way,” Sammy had said last night, watching Dean from over the top of his computer. “Doesn’t look like it works when it’s no, you know, you.”

Dean had frowned, leaning back against the headboard of his bed, knowing he wouldn’t get much sleep tonight because it was too big, and there was an empty, dull spot to his right where She was supposed to be. “What are you talking about, my thing.”

“That thing you do. With- You know.” Sam had said Her name with a shrug, and Dean had glanced back to that empty spot with a frown. “Where you go like this, and she stops freaking out.” Sam ran his own thumb down his nose, giving Dean a pointed look. “It doesn’t work when it’s not you.”

“I-“ Dean had swallowed, shaking his head. “That’s not my thing-“

“Yeah, it is.” Sam had shrugged, as if what he was saying was nothing at all. “Only thing I’ve ever seen work, by the way. You should be careful with that.”

Dean had heard the underlying words. You should be careful with Her.

He was being careful with Her. He’d been more and more careful, since everything had fallen into place, and he finally fucking understood. It had been like he was staring at the most important photograph in the world, but a lense flare had been blocking half of it. But it had been a photo in the broad sunlight, of silver water in a lake, with flowers and life all around it and the flare placed so perfectly that it could just be a reflection. A part of the picture that was unknowable with purpose, that no one was supposed to see. And he’d wanted to. Dean had always wanted to mean more to Her than anyone, and see past that lense flare because he was an exception to Her, the only one allowed to see that too bright, secret, hidden spot.

And he hadn’t been. If anything, Dean had been the exception because every other damn person got to see but him.

He should hate Her for that. 

He was done trying to.

Because now he could see it. See Her. All of Her. And for the first time since he’d met Her, Dean almost fully understood Her. 

And son of a bitch, every single part of Her was bright and beautiful, and he didn’t goddamn deserve it at all.

It wasn’t a lense flare. It had never been a lense flare. It was a covered part of the lake, where everything was overgrown and tangled and colorful, almost more blinding within itself.

Dean wanted to live in it. He wanted to know everything about it, because it was part of Her and nothing that was Her could ever be wrong. If it was an ingrained, sensitive and angry organ, he'd tend to it. If it was a stained window that filtered all Her light, he'd worship it. If it was a sickness, he’d cure it.

He just had to know it first.

"So you've been- Just your whole life?" He'd frowned at Her in Bobby's kitchen, his words slow and careful. "Or was it like, a puberty thing?"

All of them gathered in the flat, hot and tight air to walk Dean through the situation. Sam leaning against the counter, Bobby in the doorway—braced slightly, as if she was going to make a break for it and he wanted to be ready—and Dean across from Her at the table.

He'd thought about sitting next to Her—feeling the heat from Her body, pressing his thigh to Her's to keep her steady and check that this wasn't a dream—but then he wouldn't be able to look at Her. Know what questions would cross a line from seeing it written all over Her face, figure out which words were lies as if it were a sixth sense. 

He wouldn't be able to catch Her hands and pry them apart when She picked her skin bloody and raw.

“I-“ She’d glanced at Bobby—as if She was unsure of her own answer—rubbing the scar on Her palm as she spoke. “It- I mean, it could’ve been a puberty thing-“

“Maybe. Dunno.” Bobby had shrugged, his voice barely a grunt. “Didn’t take you off the road splittin’ trees and causin’ creeks to vanish-“

“Creeks to-“ Dean had gaped at Her. “Oregon.”

She’d flinched slightly. Dean had forced himself to grip the edge of the table instead of reaching for Her. “Yeah.”

“I thought I was going crazy.” He’d muttered under his breath. “Whole thing just- Poof, dry-“

“What happened in Oregon?” Sam had asked, and She’d let out a long sigh.

“I- Dean freaked me out, and I lost control.”

Dean had frowned. “I was just pissing, sweetheart-“

“You were missing.” She’d snapped, something hot in Her eyes that had made Dean blink. “I couldn’t find you, Dean, I got scared-“

“And lost control.” Sam had finished, running a hand through his hair. “Did we- You never thought about being, I dunno- Like me?”

Dean had tensed, sitting up a little taller in his chair—he loved Sammy, he did, but two demon-blood kids who he couldn’t leave if he tried would drive him out of his mind—but She’d just shaken her head.

“No.” She’d whispered. “It’s- There’s no way it’s that. You told me about the blood, Sam, and that just sounded like-“ She’d let out a long slow breath, staring at her hands as she continued. “It never hurt you.”

“It killed me.” Sam had countered, raising his brows. “And I got, uh-“

“Migranes.” Dean had muttered, something his head spinning around the word hurt. This had hurt Her, and he’d never done anything to protect Her. To help Her. He’d never even noticed, he’d just thought it was another thing about Her that couldn’t be understood, he’d been a blinded fucking idiot and now She’d been hurt.

Sam had nodded. “Yeah, uh, that. So maybe like- You said you’re in pain a lot-“

She’d let out a dry laugh. “That’s because I’m not using it. It’s- I can use it. That’s not a problem. I just won’t, and it doesn’t like that.”

There had been a long silence, and Dean had felt something bubbling up his throat that he wasn’t able to stop.

“Why?”

She’d blinked at him, that furrow on Her brow a little tighter than usual. “Wha-“

“If it’s hurting you,” Dean had grunted. “Just- Fucking use it, Princess. You almost killed Lilith back there-“

“I didn’t mean to-“

“Do I sound like I’m against it?” Dean had said Her name, leaning forward to hold Her gaze, because this was so simple. Nothing should be allowed to hurt Her, and if the reason Dean had spent years keeping Her skin from being clawed apart and Her body from curling in on itself was because of this, it shouldn’t be a question that She should just goddamn stop. “If you can do half of what it sounds like, I’ll never get on your ass about hunting without a gun again, you just gotta use it-“

“No.” She’d snapped. “You don’t- I can’t. I won’t.”

Sam had said Her name slowly, and Bobby had sighed in the doorway. Like he’d known exactly where this was going. “Maybe Dean’s right. I mean, you’ve killed demons before-“

“I didn’t- No.” Her voice hadn’t been firm. There had been something desperate and fragile in it, almost like a plea. “I won’t. I won’t be that. I won’t. You don’t let Sam use the blood, and you hate witches, De, I won’t-“ She’d swallowed, cutting herself off with too soft words. “I won’t.”

Dean hadn’t had the words to tell Her that it wasn’t the same. She wasn’t the same. He didn’t want this to be the situation, but it’s what they goddamn had, and Dean had always been good at working with what he had. If She came with this whole complicated witch shit, then Dean would work with Her, because he had Her. 

He didn’t want Sam to use the blood because he’d promised Dad, and it had gotten him goddamn killed. He hated witches because they sucked, and She didn’t suck. She was awesome. Amazing. The warmest water in the shower and the best pie at that roadside diner in Texas and all the brighter stars he’d ever gotten to watch on the roof of the Impala. 

He couldn’t let Her just fucking hurt herself. 

And he never knew when to stop. 

“You don’t even know what that is, Princess.” He’d muttered, narrowing his eyes. “You said witch, but I’ve dealt with witches. Witches don’t make creeks freakin’ vanish.”

She’d shot him an exhausted glare. “It doesn’t matter what I am, Dean, it’s dangerous-“

“Maybe it’s not.” He’d snapped. “If not using it is what’s making you hurt, maybe you should use it. That’s feelin’ pretty logical to me, sweetheart, and if you’d told me sooner, I coulda helped.”

A shadow had eclipsed in Her eyes, and Dean’s gut had twisted slightly. “You said you weren’t mad at me.” She’d whispered, and there it was.

She sounded small.

He was the lowest piece of shit in the world.

“I’m not.” Dean didn’t know how he’d managed not to reach for Her. It took willpower he’d never had before. “I- Shit, I’m not, but-“ There was something so hot in his body. Louder than fury and purer than the sun, all for Her because She’d been hurting and nothing had saved Her. “You don’t have any idea, Princess, and it’s been happening for goddamn years-“

“Dean.” Bobby had grunted, his tone a low warning Dead really didn’t care about. “We’ve been tryin’, boy, but in case you didn’t notice, there’s been a lot of shit to deal with-“

“I coulda helped.” Dean had hissed, glaring between Sam and Bobby, almost shielding Her from their view, like that was worth anything at all. “You two couldn’t do shit, but I woulda fucking helped, and now there’s- Son of a bitch, we don’t have enough time-“

He’d apologized to Her. Later, after Bobby had made him take a walk and he’d ended up working on Her car for hours—his hands covered in grease and knees scraped with dirt—Dean had returned to Her side in the dark, muttered a low apology, and been forgiven. 

“Promise you’re not mad at me?” She’d whispered, and Dean had almost stomped downstairs to find a mirror Bobby didn’t care about that much, just so he could punch himself.

He’d hooked his pinky through Her’s, his voice barely a rasp. “Not mad. Promise. Just-“ He’d let out a long breath, shaking his head. “If I ask a question, and you wanna stab me, could I get a warning first?”

A small smile had tugged at Her lips. “Is it a stupid question?”

“Kinda. Not sure yet.”

“Then no.”

He’d raised his brows. “No, you won’t stab me-“

“No, you don’t get a warning.”

Dean had chuckled, shaking his head. “Guess I deserve that one. Was a bit of a douchebag.”

She’d only hummed, something flashing over Her face Dean hadn’t understood. “What’s the question, De?”

“What- Shit.” He’d let out a long breath, rolling onto his back as he ran a hand over his face. “What’s it feel like?”

There had been a long pause, and when Dean had turned his head, She’d been staring at him with a wide, open expression that had ached in his whole body. 

“What?”

Her voice had been so soft. So goddamn nervous and soft, and Dean had needed to swallow down a roar of something primal in his chest, just to the right of his heart, that had just wanted to grab Her and never let go. 

“What’s it feel like.” He’d repeated, unable to look away from the shining lighthouse of Her eyes, splitting right through him in the dark. “The- your witch thing.”

“I-“ She’d drawn Her lips into a tight line, watching Dean so intently he’d been worried Her gaze would carve him open. “I don’t-“

“If you don’t wanna tell me-“

“No.” She’d whispered, impossibly fast, and Dean had blinked. “I mean, I want to. I do. I just- I don’t know how.”

“Well, just tell me what you told Sam-“

“I didn’t tell Sam. He’s never asked.”

Dean had blinked at Her in obvious confusion—Sammy loved these weird things, Her having some sort of concrete and ocean-razing power would’ve been his freakin’ wet dream—and She’d let out a long breath.

“I- I’ve told him what I told Bobby and Jo.” She’d mumbled. “There’s something dark, and it’s power and makes me sick and I can’t control it, and there’s something glowing right here-“ She’d poked Dean’s chest, just to the right of his heart, and he was still a little sure She’d somehow branded him even deeper than before. “And it’s white, and it- It’s just there. It’s loud. Strong.”

“Alright.” Dean had held Her gaze. “And what’s it feel like?”

She’d stared at him for another long second—almost as if She was daring him to take it back—better mumbling, “Which part?”

He’d shrugged. “Whichever you want, sweetheart. How about the, uh, that dark thing? What’s it feel like when you do use it-“

“Big.” She’d whispered, before the question was even fully out of Dean’s mouth. “It’s- It all feels really big. It really doesn’t hurt to use, I promise, it’s just- It’s big.”

Dean had nodded, unable to swallow down his next grumble. “Hurts not to use, though.”

“Yeah.” She’d sighed. “But I told you-“

“I know. You won’t use it.” He’d scanned over Her cautious, beautiful features—he always could’ve fucking sworn that She was somehow shining with light from inside, and he’d been right the whole goddamn time—and chose his next words carefully. “What about that- The whole glowy thing, what’s up with that-“

“I don’t know.” She mumbled. “I don’t know any of it, De, it just happens-“

“Then what’s it feel like?”

It took a beat for Her to answer that one. “Big.”

He’d given Her a flat look. “Princess, that’s what you said about the-“

“They both feel big, Winchester.” She’d snapped, narrowing Her eyes. “I don’t know what else I’m supposed to tell you, they’re big and powerful and it’s- Sometimes I don’t know what to do with it, and I’ve never thought about this before-“

“Hey- It’s okay.” Dean had pulled Her into his chest as the furrow had deepened, and Her breaths had started to become short. “You’re good, I’m- You’re good.” He’d run his hands through Her hair, because he’d had two months left at the time, and he’d been really sick of not having Her in every way She’d let him. 

And She’d let him have that. She’d let Dean hold Her and touch Her, soothe Her tears and mutter that She didn’t have to answer now. She could think about it, and there would always be later.

They both knew that was a lie, and Dean had pretended not to hear the choked sound She’d made when he’d said it—although he hadn’t been able to stop his hands from holding Her a little tighter—because just then, he’d needed to pretend it was the truth. That he wasn’t being selfish, keeping Her here. That it was fine for Her to break down now—and it was, it always would be, and long as Dean was permitted to be there to pick Her up—as they’d just talk about it later.

And He’d felt it then. Something humming through the air that he’d somehow always missed, made of so much of Her he could drown in it. It had been forged from something stronger than starlight, every single bit of it, and he hadn’t been able to stop his last, low question.

“If they’re both big,” he’d muttered in Her ear, keeping her folded into his chest. “How have you been able to tell them apart?”

She’d sighed again, and buried Her face in Dean’s shoulder. He hadn’t let himself think about it too hard. “They- The white thing doesn’t like the dark thing, most of the time.”

“Most of the time?”

“Yeah.” She’d swallowed. “Sometimes they’re- they blend together. And it’s- That doesn’t feel bad.”

“When’s that happen?”

“When I’m somewhere good.”

When they’d drifted off to sleep, Dean had made a silent vow to himself. 

After they reached the end of this, he’d find somewhere good for Her. Anywhere she wanted to be, even if it was the middle of the woods without TV or air conditioning, or somewhere too hot or cold or dry or dirty, Dean would bring Her there. He’d learn to sail, so he didn’t have to fly, and if there were no other fucking options he’d down a bottle of Xanax and get Her on a plane. 

And he’d stay there, with Her, if she asked. If he dropped Her on pink-sand beaches—he’d seen some in a movie once, and he wasn’t sure if they were real, but they seemed like the type of thing that would make Her happy—and She took his hand and whispered stay here, De, he would. In a heartbeat that was held in Her hands, he’d say yes.

Until then, he just had to do this. Just had to get out.

It was simple, when he thought of it like that.

He just had to get out.

“She ain’t called.”

Dean blinked at Bobby with frown. “I didn’t ask-“

“Don’t try and fool me, boy, you got that fuckin’ look-“ Bobby sighed, running a hand over his face. “I know when you’re gonna ask about her. She ain’t called, Jo ain’t either, and I’m sure they’re fine. Probably just readin’.”

They probably were just reading. She was probably forming blisters on Her fingers from holding the pencil too long, Jo had hopefully gotten Her to at least go to the bathroom, and when Dean got back She’d have only moved an inch from where he left Her.

But there was a faded and burnt film reel—looping in Dean’s head and made of the past few months, plus countless nightmares where She burned on the ceiling—where they weren’t just reading. Where pushing herself to the edge was making Her flicker once more, and She was trying to strange that power in Her body down, and Dean wasn’t there to help. Where they came back and the pages had been ripped from books because She’d lost control—Bobby had mentioned that happening a few times, and he hadn’t managed to hide how She’d stuck her hand in ice water for two hours afterwards—and Dean wasn’t fast enough so calm Her down, from imploding on Herself and moving further and further into a shell.

“Bobby, are you sure the nest is in this direction?” Sam called from a few yards ahead, and Bobby rolled his eyes.

“Course I’m sure, Sam, you’re the one who found the damn leads-“

“Sorry, I just wanted to check, we should’ve been there by now-“

“Well, we’ve been walkin’ real slow thanks to someone’s fuckin’ moping-“

Dean scowled. “I’m dying in two weeks, Bobby.” He muttered, picking up his pace to walk at Sam’s side. “I’m allowed to mope or brood or do whatever the hell else I want.”

“You ain’t dyin’, Dean.” Bobby grunted, pushing his shotgun further up his shoulder. “Let’s find this nest and get the fuckin’ thing done.”

“Plus,” Sam drawled Her name, smirking slightly. “You know you’re not supposed to say that word, Deano-“

Dean’s jaw clenched, and Bobby sighed, running a hand over his face.

“Sam, he tries to punch you, and I ain’t gonna stop him.” Bobby paused, giving Dean another firm look. “But he’s right. You ain’t supposed to use that word.”

Dean knew that. He knew it better than anyone. But everything was so fucking dull and heavy, and he missed Her, and they were running out of time. It was starting to feel like iron around his chest, sinking into that pit in his body, how little time they had left.

“Hey, dude.” Sam gave him a cautious, soft look, his voice too low. Too worried. “I’m just messing with you, you know that? She’s- We’re gonna find a way-“

“Say the right thing, Sammy.” Dean muttered, glaring at the mud below his boots. “She’ll find the way.”

Sam sighed, and Bobby cut off any of his words with a grunt.

“I’ve known that girl my whole damn life, Dean. I didn’t train her at huntin’ cause I wanted to, I trained ‘er cause she started sneakin’ around and doin’ it herself after I said no, and she was already better then every damn asshole I’d met. Took her three days to finish a hunt that woulda taken the best I knew, your Daddy included, a damn week and a hundred bullets.” Bobby sighed, giving Dean an odd look he didn’t fully understand. “If anyone’s gettin’ this, it’s her. Then we can all lock ‘er in her room until she gets a month of proper damn rest.”

“And I do have ideas.” Sam cut in with a mumble. “I was thinking we could summon Lilith, do the Devil’s Trap-“

Bobby shook his head. “Won’t work. Lilith ain’t able to be summoned, not by anythin’ human.”

Dean frowned, because he’d heard Bobby say that before. In the kitchen, when She’d suggested the exact same thing, and he’d used to those same words on Her. But She hadn’t just slumped like Sammy was now. She’d frowned, looked at Her hands, and stood a little taller as something flashed over Her face.

Dean hadn’t understood that expression. He’d only known that it was dangerous. That it meant She was thinking something he couldn’t follow, that She was full of resolve and the best he’d ever be able to offer Her was continuing to be Her shadow.

At Her side in the dark. Across from Her on the couch. Always there, always for Her. 

He shouldn’t have goddamn left.

Dean knows he should’ve have left. There’s a rotten feeling knotting in his stomach, a knot pulling at him like a compass, and it’s telling him to turn back. That he has to turn back, go back to Her, go home, because he never should’ve left to begin with. 

It’s been there since they left, and only grown tighter. He’d gone through to motions of the case with it turning in his stomach, and he’d pushed on because if he told Sammy, he’d tease Dean about missing Her before reminding him that She could defend herself. She was a literal force of nature, and she was at Bobby’s with Jo—who allowed herself to use a gun—and She couldn’t be safer if they tried. 

But the knot twisted, when they’d started their climb through the woods. And Dean couldn’t tell Bobby either, because he was already on thin fucking ice when it came to conversations about Her. Bobby seemed to be starkly aware of how, when Dean stared at Her like she was the only thing in the world and still somehow more beautiful than anything else, because she was, there were… less than acceptable thoughts in his head.

He still hadn’t crossed that line. He wouldn’t. Not at least until this was over, and he could touch Her somewhere that was good. 

Bobby didn’t seem to admire Dean’s restraint as much as he should. So going up to him and saying something’s wrong, I shouldn’t have left Her, call the whole thing off cause I never shoulda fuckin’ left her, wouldn’t end how Dean wanted it to. 

To the knot kept tightening and turning—and Dean felt sick and he shouldn’t have left—as they found the nest, and he lost himself in the fight. 

Moving like this—on instinct and nothing more, letting his body do the thing it was best at and never flinching because Dean never damn flinched—usually cleared his head. Usually helped. 

It wasn’t now.

The knot only tightened until it was frayed, when they found the dusty, worn and yellow-paged book. They burned all the bodies, and it was straining and whining.

Then they were cleaning up back at the motel, and Dean’s phone rang like a blaring, horrible alarm. 

Sam raised his brows as Dean scanned over the caller ID. “Is it-“

“Hey, Jo.” Dean grunted into the speaker, and Sam scowled. “Is everything-“

“Dean- Thank fuckin’ Mary and Christ.” Jo’s voice was a little uneven. Dean felt really fucking sick. “Been tryin’ to reach you all day-“

“We were in the woods.” He muttered. “What’s-“

“They found us.” Jo mumbled, and Dean’s grip on the phone was starting to hurt. “The- uh- Hell’s Assassins-“

“Jo.” Dean said Her name, but every word was clipped. Pushed through his teeth. “I need you to put her on the phone-“

“I can’t-“

“What’d you mean, you can’t-“

“I mean she ain’t talkin’.” Jo whispered, a new, raw shake forming in Her voice. “She’s alright, but she ain’t moved in like, three hours, and I’ve been tryin’ everything, but she won’t even shower-“

“I’ll be home in two- hour and a half.” The drive was two hours. If Dean was smart—and about this, he would be—they be back by an hour. 

The extra thirty was mostly for safety. 

Dean hung up without another word, throwing shit in his bag with almost mechanical movements, because they had to fucking go, he never should’ve left—not without Her—so they had to go-

“Dean.” Sam snapped, still on the other side of the room and not moving damn near fast enough. “What was-“

“I got some beer.” Bobby pushed open the door, and Dean started to pull on his jacket. “I was thinkin’ we order, cause I ain’t gonna cook when there’s some good lookin’ Chinese right down the- the hell are you doin’, Dean?”

“Leaving.” Dean grunted, and Bobby snorted.

“This was your damn idea-“

“Jo called.” Sam cut in, and Dean wasn’t sure when he’d gotten up to block the door.

He didn’t really care. 

As long as the kid moved, Dean didn’t care at all. 

“Jo-“ Bobby’s head whipped to Dean, his gaze narrowed and tight. “What’d she say.”

There wasn’t fucking time for this. They never had enough time. 

“Move, Sammy, I gotta-“

“Dean.” Bobby grabbed him by the shoulders, his eyes narrowed. “Tell me Jo said that’s got you all fuckin’-“

Dean spat Her name, shrugging Bobby’s hand away. “She needs me, I gotta get back-“

Bobby didn’t bother to push further. He grabbed the keys, tossed them to Dean, and turned with only a shout over his shoulder.

“Get started on the book, Sam. We’ll come back for ya’ in a few days. Dean, haul fuckin’ ass, boy.”

“Come back-“ Sam gaped as Dean grabbed his bag. “You’re just leaving me-“

“You’re a big boy, Sammy, you’ll be fine.” 

Sam probably flipped Dean off as he jogged out the door. He didn’t care. 

All that mattered was getting back to Her.

He and Bobby didn’t talk for the first thirty minutes. There wasn’t really much to say. Only low music and the hum of Baby’s engine, working herself hard to get Dean to where he needed to be.

He should never have damn left. He knew better than to leave Her, because that had always been where he’d lost Her. And She was fine, but she’d had to fight alone, and he hadn’t been there. He was supposed to be there, that was the whole damn point, they were safer together. Sam and Bobby could’ve handled this themselves, and Jo still could’ve come over. Dean wouldn’t have gotten in the middle of whatever girl shit they got up to, he could’ve just sat in the corner with his gun and watched Her like a creep, defending Her when the demons arrived and being Her comfort whenever it all became too big.

She’d said it was always too big. During another too long—yet still not long enough—night, She’d said it was always too big. That She’d become everything, when it all got away from Her, and it hurt and She never knew who she was or where She started or stopped, but She was always everything and Dean knew who She was, so he could’ve been there. Been Her shadow. Run his thumb over the bridge of Her nose and muttered that She was okay, it would be okay, She was awesome and good at Her job, and it would all be okay if She just took deep breaths and listened to him and he’d stayed-

“Dean.”

Dean blinked over, and he’d almost missed Bobby’s words, lost into the drums of the song. “What’s up?”

Bobby was watching him with a firm, almost mournful grounded resolve Dean had never seen before. 

He’d seen Bobby be serious, and angry, and determined, and focused. He’d never seen this. He didn’t even have a name for it. 

It was a little worrying.

“Uh, Bobby-“

“I need you to be honest with me when I ask you somethin’.” Bobby grunted. “I wouldn’t be askin’ if it wasn’t important, and a lie ain’t gonna help us ‘ere.”

Dean blinked, glancing between Bobby and the road as the iron settled back over his shoulders. “I don’t-“

“Swear it.” Bobby wasn’t wavering. “Swear it on your mother you’re gonna tell me the truth.”

“On my-“ Dean swallowed, but nodded. “Alright. On my mom.”

Bobby sighed. “You ain’t allowed to repeat this to anyone, Dean. You understand? Not even Sam.”

“Bobby-“

“Yeah, I got it, but Bobby, you’re kinda freakin’ me out-“

“You been…” Bobby paused, saying every word as if they pained him. “Sleepin’ in her room. She still get nightmares?”

Dean blinked, shooting Bobby a frown. “Is- That’s your question?”

“No. Does she?”

“I- Sometimes-“

“She been gettin’ them since I found ‘er.” Bobby muttered, and it seemed to be mostly to himself. “Recognized some monsters too, before I even brought her on a hunt. And she’d wake up screamin’ and grab me with ler little hands, and I’d ask her what happened and she wouldn’t talk ‘till I asked ‘er what she was feelin’, and she tell me the walls were sad I ain’t painted them in a while, and there was a tree a few miles into the woods that was sick, ’n needed puttin’ down.”

Dean’s grip was white-knuckled, and he’d was all but holding his breath, frozen in his seat. If he moved an inch, Bobby might remember who he was talking to.

“I took ‘er with me, to chop that tree down. She pointed it out and told me it was happy I was puttin’ it down, cause I was green and most things ain’t green anymore. Most weeks were like that, when she was little, up ‘till she started losin’ control, and I wasn’t able to-“ Bobby cut himself off with a long sigh, shaking his head. “I know about how she’s been dealin’ with what it does to her. All that magic shit in her body that we don’t got a clue how to handle. She thinks I don’t, but I ain’t blind. I just know it could be worse-“

“Worse?” Dean cut Bobby off before he could stop himself. “I- Bobby, she burns her hands and chokes herself-“

“And she used to bash ‘er head on the wall until her forehead was always lumpy.” Bobby snapped. “I’ve seen ‘er better, and I’ve seen ‘er worse, and I know we ain’t headin’ towards the former. I know nobody ain’t told you yet, but you’re not stupid either, Dean. You worked out how she clued into your little demon deal?”

“Uh…” Dean swallowed, frowning at the road passing them in too quick a blur. “I don’t-“

“Remember what Sam told you? ‘Bout how she thinks she’s been seein’ souls?”

It clicked. In half a second, Dean nearly strangled on the air of the car as the Blade in Her hand, her expression frantic and desperate and filled with fear, and he own screams of what did you do echoed through his head.

“Son of a bitch.” He muttered, and Bobby grunted.

“It’s been gettin’ worse. You know it’s been gettin’ worse, and I don’t-“ Bobby leaned back on the bench running a hand over his face. “You got two weeks, Dean. And when the clock runs up, no matter what we got, how much faith we have, I don’t want her seein’ it.”

Dean couldn’t hide the shock on his face as he looked at Bobby, barely remembering to turn back to the road. Bobby’s face was solemn, serious and resolved and firm, and if She was in the car, she would’ve jumped over the front bench and strangled them both.

“Bobby, there’s not a damn way she’s gonna like that-“

“She doesn’t have to like it.” Bobby grunted. “I- I’m not a big fuckin’ fan of it either, and she can curse me and hate me for the rest of her damn life, but-“

“Don’t say it’s for her own good, she’d stab you-“

“Goddamnit, Dean I know that! And if stabbin’ me is what’s gotta happen to keep her from losin’ her fucking mind, watchin’ your soul, your fuckin’ soul, get beaten up and dragged off to hell, then I’ll hand her the knife myself.” Bobby let out a long, heavy breath. “It’s not for her own good. For her own good woulda been doin’ everythin’ in my power to keep her safe. Haulin’ and packin’ up and movin’ to fucking Mexico eight damn years ago. We’re past the good, and I’m making do with what I’ve fuckin’ got.”

Dean still shook his head. She’d never been a fan of just waiting. If they handcuffed Her, She’d break out. If they locked Her in a room she’d probably just ask the door to open, and it would. “Bobby, she’ll- What if I make it out? She’ll never fucking forgive us for that, what if we keep her in the dark and chain her to a chair or something, and I make it out, and she hates us for the rest of her fucking life-“

“Then you’ll have the rest of your life to make it up to her.” Bobby grunted. “You ready to hear my question?”

Dean shot him another look of shock, his vision almost feeling clouded with confusion. “None of that was the freakin’ question-“

“You ready or not, ya idjit?”

“I’m ready.” He muttered, looking back to the road to avoid Bobby’s glare. “What.”

“Do you really think it’ll be somethin’ she’ll survive. Ignorin’ all the self-pity I ain’t good enough shit, look me in the eyes and tell me my girl is gonna be alright if she watches you get ripped up by a bunch of fuckin’ hell hounds. Cause I know my answer. I known it since you told me, and I had to watch her curl up in my basement a few weeks later and act like nothin’ was wrong. She wasn’t holdin’ it together those two years, boy. I ain’t ready to- I’m not lookin’ to lose her, too.” 

“Bobby, I-“

“You don’t gotta answer now.” Bobby muttered, and Dean could feel his gaze, searing right into Dean’s bones. “You don’t ever even need to tell me it. But don’t lie about it, to yourself. If you’re hell-set on brinin’ her, I ain’t gonna be able to stop both of you. But, if you’re tellin’ the truth and you work out what that truth means, for her, then…”

Bobby didn’t finish his sentence. He didn’t have to.

Dean understood just fine. 

And he didn’t know his answer. He didn’t know anything but Her, and She’d never forgive him for that. 

But he’d sworn to himself that he’d do what he needed to, every time, for Her. If didn’t matter what She did, if She ripped Dean’s spine out of his body and used it for goddamn decoration, Dean would still be there. One step behind Her. Making sure She didn’t get herself killed, making sure she could always turn and see him there. Still there. Always there, as long as she allowed him to be.

He didn’t want to think about what that would mean, if none of this worked. 

If She ended up alone, Dean would need Her to know he’d wanted to stay. He’d always wanted to stay. Even that first time, when he’d been trying—and failing—to hate Her and Dad had told him to go, he’d left but he’d never wanted to. And it had never stuck. And every single goddamn time, he’d always thought he’d find Her again. Somehow, he’d stumble onto the right case, walk into the right diner, or just be wandering nowhere at all and She’d fall out of the sky into his arms.

This would stick. 

If everything went south, he’d be alone in the darkest pit available, and She’d be alone, and he hadn’t wanted to entertain the thought but he also knew his answer, and he’d never wanted to be something that hurt Her.

He always had. Dean had never touched Her and not found some new, fucked up way to break Her. 

But She’d come back anyway. And touched Dean every time, and shone brighter than before until he felt fucking seen. He was a shadow, he wasn’t supposed to be seen, but She looked anyway because she seemed to like making things as complicated as possible.

He’d always thought coming back was just how things were. No matter what, in the back of his head, he’d never stopped looking for Her on every street and through every window and in every room, because She might have been there, and they’d had more time.

Dean knew She’d never done the same for him. 

But it didn’t really matter. She was the whole world, and She’d still chosen to look at Dean, and he- 

He was fucking lost in his own pit. He was alone, and lost, and he wanted to crawl out to Her but he’d never had enough will, or strength, or worth.

He didn’t know if She’d cry for him.

All he’d ever been good at knowing was how to put glue on the things he’d broken, and that he was a weapon from the mud that shouldn’t touch nice things.

She let him touch Her.

He was losing his fucking mind. Stuck in a loop. He wasn’t goddamn smart enough to work out Bobby’s freakin’ riddle, didn’t have enough resolve to do something that could ever make Her hate him, was too pathetic to not care about Her and Her safety and happiness, but never good enough to be that fucking thing that made Her happy, and he didn’t know shit but She always did, and She’d said she liked that he was always there, that she could always trust him to let her fall apart and handle what she couldn’t, when she trusted no one else, but he didn’t want to be the thing that hurt Her but he’d always been so good at it-

He didn’t know when he pulled into the junkyard. But he was here now.

Jo was sitting on the steps, watching them will a pallid face and wide eyes.

And it didn’t matter what Dean knew. 

His girl needed him.

“I-“ Jo was talking before they were fully out of the car, her words borderline pleas. “She still hasn’t moved, and I don’t- It’s like she can’t even hear me-“

Dean just pushed past her. He’d apologize later, but there was nothing else to do. He needed to get to Her, explanations could goddamn wait-

She wasn’t where he’d left Her. He turned to Jo with wide eyes, and she pointed up the stairs. 

“In you- Uh- Her room-“

He grunted something that he hoped sounded like thanks, and flew up the stairs, half kicking the door open.

It had been unlocked, and let out a loud bang from the impact.

She didn’t even flinch.

And this had been why Dean felt sick the whole damn hunt. Why he’d known he shouldn’t have left.

She looked horrible. Beautiful—even with tangled and matted hair, slightly grayed skin, and bloodshot eyes that seemed a little unfocused and glazed—but horrible. Blood all over Her clothing, stuck to Her skin and under Her nails as she turned the page of a book. Her knife and the blade at Her feet as She held a stained notebook in slightly shaking hands.

There wasn’t a single light on in the room. Dean was pretty sure none of the blood was Hers, but he didn’t miss how She’d pressed herself to the wall, or the way Her palms were the only part of Her that was clean. Raw and blistered, but clean.

The plate on the floor was half covered in another sheet of notes. The was a glass of water pushed off to the side to make room for more books. 

The furrow in Her brow was deeper than he’d ever seen it.

When Dean crouched at Her feet, she didn’t even look up.

“Hey,” he muttered Her name, fisting his hand to stop himself from reaching for Her. “Demons, huh?”

She touched him first.

She’d always touched him first. 

And there was a strange look in Her eyes, when She scanned over him. That look he’d seen countless times before, where She was looking into him. Filling him with Silver light that made his breathing easier, even as the stench of blood threatened to suffocate him.

“I put the bodies out back.” She whispered. “Burned them.”

He gave Her a small smile. “Smart thinking, Princess. Don’t need any demon ghosts.”

Her lips twitched, but She back down to the book, curling back into Her own body, away from Dean-

“Uh,” he swallowed, scraping for some way to keep Her. Looking at him. Listening. At all. “How many?”

“Six.” She hummed, not looking up from Her book as she took another note. Her hand was still on Dean’s face. Her dominant hand. “Jo was helpful.”

“You’re training her well.”

“She’s just a good hunter. And I think she’d-” She paused, only for a second, still frowning at Her book. “I haven’t tried that yet. I’ll ask her tomorrow. Is Sam back?”

Dean shook his head, unable to look away from that little furrow on Her brow, and She sighed.

“That’s fine, it can just be Jo and I-“

Dean grunted Her name, squeezing Her hand against him. “You can’t do anything until you eat. Clean up.”

“No, I’m okay-“

“You’re covered in blood.”

“So?”

“It’s kinda fuckin’ gross-“

“I don’t care.” She muttered, taking another note. “I don’t have enough time-“

“You gotta make time to- Fuck, to eat and sleep.” He pushed back, and when She didn’t answer, his eyes narrowed. “When was the last time you slept.”

She didn’t answer again. Dean grunted Her name, but She still didn’t answer.

“C’mon.” He grunted, pulling Her forwards, and She shoved him back, still without looking up. “Goddamnit- You can’t just fucking waste away-“

“I’m not-“ Her words were slightly choked, and when She finally met Dean’s gaze, Her voice was pleading. “There’s not enough time, Dean, I don’t have enough time-“

“Maybe, but I’m not worth dying over-“ He cut himself off with a groan, dropping to fully rest on his knees before Her. “Please, I’m- Fuck, just one shower. Sammy’s got that book for you, but one shower, and eat some food, and I’ll clean everything up and go get it for you. I’ll even do all your reading while you take care of yourself, but- Son of a bitch, just eat.” He grabbed Her face between both his hand, forcing Her gaze to stay on his as his voice became hoarse. “I know we don’t have time, Princess. Please don’t just- One shower. All I’m asking.”

She swallowed, looking at him like that again as Her breathing became heavy, and She was going to say no. She was going to waste away for Dean, of all fucking people and he needed to- 

“Okay.” She whispered, and a little bit of the iron raised off Dean’s chest. “I- I don’t-“

“Ask Jo for help.” He muttered. “I’ll keep doing this.”

She nodded, but didn’t move.

And Dean’s thumb moved on its own. Petting down the bridge of Her nose even though Her breathing was even, and there was no hand around Her throat. As if there wasn’t a choice. That was just what he always had to do.

But he chose to lean forward. To press the gentle kiss to Her brow, and linger there until there was a knock at door, and She had to go let Jo pull Her into the bathroom. 

Dean grunted to Jo, before the door closed, to make sure She actually ate and cleaned, to maybe try and force in a nap as well. From the determined nod Jo had given him, there had been nothing to worry about in the first place.

And when he was left alone in Her room, it was still choked in the smell of blood, but under that, there was just Her. 

No matter how far down Dean went, it was always just Her.

The sugar smell was gone. 

The fruit smell never left. Dean could be a million miles away and he’d still smell that goddamn fruit. And it was strong that the blood, but it seemed to be the only thing surviving the war She’d been waging on herself, in Dean’s fucking name. All the books had been ripped off the shelves, every pencil was covered in bite marks and snapped in half, and the bed obviously hadn’t been touched since he left.

And Dean knew his answer, to the impossible thing Bobby was asking of him. 

He wouldn’t be something that hurt Her. If Dean didn’t make it out this, She had to. 

She needed to be somewhere good. Somewhere made for something like Her. Bright and brilliant and good.

Not near hell hounds.

And, if it came down to it, not near Dean.

——————

“What time is it?”

“Uh,” Jo leas forwards in the passenger’s seat, frowning at the blinking clock on the dashboard. “This is sayin’ five, but- It’s still dark out-“

“I don’t think this one is adjusted for daylight savings.” You mutter, frowning at the road ahead. “I should’ve taken Bobby’s pickup, it’s faster-“

Jo snorts. “That pickup ain’t fast-“

“It’s faster.” You shoot her a small, tight-lipped smile. “None of these cars are fast, they’re a million years old.”

There’s a pause, and Jo’s next words are soft in a way that makes the Darkness burst and hum in your body, unable to take being soothed when it knows where you’re headed. 

Of course it knows. You know. And it may take the Blade—tucked neatly into your jacket, just in case—pressing into your skin, but you can’t let the Darkness slip away from you. Not here. Not now. There’s too much on the line, and this is your last fucking shot.

You’ve spent the past two months doing everything. Coming up at every dead end and turning around without blinking, because sorrow and disappointment were luxuries you could not afford. You just had to turn around, keep going, and find another way. 

You’ve read every book on demons you could get your hands on, and looked for every weapon that might give you an edge over Lilith, searched for all her lore and if there was a single, small weakness you could exploit.

There wasn’t. And you still didn’t understand what she’d said to you in the diner. It had all been cryptic nonsense that made the Darkness roll and cry, made you sound important and could give you more clues into what you were, but right now that really didn’t fucking matter. Dean matters. Saving Dean matters, and you’ve got two weeks but that’s not nearly enough time, and everyone can tell you to take care of yourself all they want but they can’t fucking feel this like you can.

They can’t see the brand on Dean’s soul, pulsing and spreading and taunting you. They can’t see the Gold, stained all over Bobby’s books and cups and furniture, tangled in your sheets and sunken into your mattress and on your hands like blood, and they don’t have to wonder if it will fade. 

And they don’t have the spiderweb. It’s not iridescent and full of light that’s being cast around their bodies all the time, but only content and happy when Dean’s there, and they world for them isn’t just simply better when Dean is there, and they aren’t in fucking pain that’s only aided by Dean being there, if he’s not there you don’t know how to make the world Silver by yourself, and you’re supposed to be a good fucking hunter, but what’s the goddamn use if you can’t fucking save Dean-

“The Impala is fast.” Jo mumbles, and you can feel her watching you. Almost testing to see if you’ll shut down again, just at the mention of something in Dean’s proximity.

You won’t. You’re not that fucking pathetic. 

And you haven’t been shutting down. You’ve been focused. Working and working because you can still feel the numb, too big, hollow pain of grief, and you have to make sure that it’s temporary because you can’t lose Dean, and you have to get through this, you’ve always gotten through this, but you don’t know how to live with such a massive fucking pit in the cavity of your chest, with the spiderweb whining and absorbing all it can now before he’s gone, but he won’t be gone because you’ll find a way, because you can’t lose Dean-

You’re getting caught in the loop again. 

You don’t have time to entertain it.

“Of course the Impala is fast.” You mutter, flipping your blinker as you move off the highway, refusing to look over and meet Jo’s eyes, because you know they’ll be full of fucking pity, and it might make something up your spine snap. “Dean takes care of it more than anything.”

Jo just hums, and you lean your head back in your seat, unable to stop the next words from slipping out of your mouth.

“Do you think he’s-“ You swallow, catching yourself before you become too pathetic. “They’re gonna notice we’re gone?”

“I think Dean’ll notice you’re gone.” Jo offers, and you don’t appreciate her not entertaining your game. “Surprised he ain’t called us already, askin’ where you ran off to.”

“I left a note.” You mutter. “And I told Sam.”

“You tell Bobby too?”

You shoot Jo a glare, and she just holds it with raised brows.

“You didn’t, did ya.”

“No,” you scowl back to the road. “He’d work out where we’re going, and he’d try to stop us. Or come with us. Or send Sam with us.”

Jo frowns at that. “Not Dean?”

“He wouldn’t want Dean coming with us for this.” You mutter, slowing down to scan over the street name a little better.

You’re pretty sure you’ll remember where to turn. It’s been years, but you’ve got a good memory, and all these stupid roads look the same but-

There it is.

“You know,” Jo says your name carefully as you turn, leaning forward until she’s in your periphery. “You still ain’t told me where we’re goin’, and if it’s somethin’ Dean shouldn’t be doin’-“

“Technically I don’t think any of us should be doing this.” You give Jo an apologetic, grimacing smile. “Bobby just wouldn’t want Dean coming because he thinks we get reckless about each other.”

You’re paraphrasing. Bobby’s exact word had been you two idjits act like there ain’t nothin’ else in the world, and it’s not safe fuckin’ hunting to see who can get shot for the other first. You think he was being a little dramatic, and the way he’d snapped it implied things you know you felt through your whole body—like lifeblood in the spiderweb, and seeping deep into the Gold that Dean left everywhere, made of a word you couldn’t say aloud, not now, not when it was impossible and there wasn’t enough time—but you also know that, for this, he was right.

Dean can’t do this with you. He’ll get weird about it, and he’ll distract you but just dragging you down into his gravity and being handsome and stupid and amazing, and this needs to go well. 

And maybe this would hurt less, if Dean was here, but it hurts all the fucking time again and the Darkness has never been this loud and desperate in your life—never taken this much effort and pain to keep down, never been just a single crack in your body from exploding into the air, making everything far too big in a way you don’t know you’ll be able to drag back down alone—so if you lose control, Dean can’t be here to see it.

He’d accepted it. He’d looked at you, and stayed, and only been angry you hadn’t told him before you know he doesn’t understand. Doesn’t know the depth of it, doesn’t know how it’s not a tool or a weapon or gift, it’s a fucking cancer and it’s trying to spread into him, and you won’t let it.

You’d already failed at that once. The light was still flowing through him whenever the Blade was in your hand, and all you could see was the Gold. He doesn’t seem to have grown sick. You won’t risk it.

Won’t hurt him, not for anything in the world. It would be cruel and wrong and selfish, to save him like that, when there has to be another way.

And this was that other way. You fucking hated it. There’s no turning back—you’ve come this far, and turning back would make this whole thing a waste of fucking time—but you still feel sick, and the pain is still settling so deep in your body you’re shocked you’re still conscious. 

But you have to do this. 

For Dean.

“Y’all do get reckless about each other.” Jo mutters under her breath, and you roll your eyes, electing to not respond. “And you still ain’t told me what we’re doin’. Just like, two sentences will do, but I ain’t Dean-“

That makes you look at her, your brow furrowed tightly together. “What’s that supposed to mean-“

“Means I can’t look at you and know what you’re thinkin’,” Jo drawls your name, continuing before you can push back. “Gimme the plan, or I’m callin’ Bobby now and tellin’ him we’re in- Uh-“

She looks around the seemingly abandoned woods, and you sigh.

“Chicago. Well, near Chicago.”

“Alrigh-“ She pauses, shooting you a frown. “What?”

“You have to promise you won’t freak out.” 

Jo says your name in a cautious tone, shaking her head. “I don’t know-“

“Just- Promise.” You let out a long breath, dropping your head to the steering wheel and frowning at your knees. “Please.”

“I- Okay.” You can hear the nerves in Jo’s voice. When this is done, you’ll buy her a million bath bombs and apologize on your knees. But for now, nothing else is as important as doing this. “Promise. You gonna tell what’s goin’ on?"

You swallow, choosing your every world slowly. Carefully. “You know that book I made the guys get? From that vamp nest?”

Jo goes rigid at your side, a little more guilt eats at your gut. She’s thinking of the wrong part of that day, where the world had turned into the blur as you slashed and cut your way through the demons—they’d tried to taunt you, but you didn’t have enough time—and gone back to reading the moment it was over.

You’d make that choice again a million times. Even if Jo’s worried face kept haunting you is the easier nightmares, Dean had kissed your brow and held you close enough you could hear his heartbeat, and you’d made no progress into freeing him, but you could’ve. There had been a chance.

Most of this has been hinging on there being just a chance. That’s what you were doing here. 

So you’d fucking take it.

“Jo-“

“I remember.” She mutters. “Big fuckin’ tome, ended up bein’ in Turkish or somethin’-“

“Romanian.” You correct, sitting fully back up and folding your arms over your chest. “It’s Romanian. None of us fucking speak or read Romanian.”

“Sam said we could translate it-“

“Sam thinks our only option is Romanian.”

Jo pauses again. You’re worried that, by the end of the day, you’ll have sent her into a shock coma. “I- Ain’t it?”

“Nope.” You shrug, unbuckling from your seat. “I fucked up. Thought that the vamps would have an English copy, and I was wrong.”

“You-“ Jo scrambles out of the car behind you, watching you with wide eyes. “You know, you ain’t even told us how that books gonna help Dean-“

“It has a summoning ritual.”

“We already know summoning rituals-“

You shake your head, pulling your knife out of your jacket and spinning it in your hands. “Not this one.”

Jo snaps your name, glaring at you as she walks through the woods at your side. “What the hell’re you talkin’ about-“

“I’ve read that book before.” You mumble, swallowing down a little bile in your throat. “I remember it, there was- Lilith. The ritual that could summon Lilith, but I haven’t been able to fully remember it, and nothing else I could find has had it, so we need to go get the English copy.”

“And the English copy is…” Jo scans around you with a frown. “In the woods.”

“No. It’s-“ You sigh, running your free hand through your hair and coming to stop. “This is the part where you promised not to freak out.”

“I-“

“Look, I’ll take the lead. And I wouldn’t have brought you if I didn’t think you could do this, plus when Dean and Bobby find out, they’re gonna be really fucking pissed, and it will be better if I tell them I took backup-“

Jo snaps your name, her eyes wide with an almost frantic worry. “You gotta stop talkin’ in riddles, you know I never get what the hell you’re sayin’-“

“We’re breaking into my family’s house.”

Your words are blunt. Fast. They have to be. This has to be like ripping off a band-aid or jumping into ice water. You just have to do it, and then it’s done, and you can head home and never think about it again, outside of a memory of searing pain on your palm and a numbness rushing through your whole body.

“We’re- What?!”

You nod up through the woods, spinning your knife in your hand, just be doing something. “Up through there is the house. It’ll have security, but we’ll get around it just fine, and nobody should be home-“

Jo shakes her head. “You can’t be sure ‘bout that-“

“Yeah, I can. It’s summer, everyone will be on vacation. It’ll be in and out. We just have get the book from the library.” You sigh, giving Jo another apologetic look. “Look, I’m sorry, but this is the only thing we’ve got left. And you can wait in the car, if you want-“

Jo scoffs. “Stop bein’ dramatic, I ain’t lettin’ you go in there alone. But, uh-“ She swallows, nodding to your knife. “You think I’m gonna need to be armed?”

You shrug. “Probably not. I just- This makes me feel better.”

Jo understands. You don’t say it, but Jo knows you well enough to get that it’s not being armed that makes you feel better.

It’s this knife. The knife Dean gave you. The knife that makes the spiderweb shine a little brighter, because it means that some part of his is still grounding you and keeping all the Darkness a little softer in your body. 

And that’s so fucking pathetic. You know that. You’re a grown ass woman, you shouldn’t need a security blanket knife to hold yourself together. 

Knowing still really doesn’t matter. 

You’ll learn your lesson when this is over. When you have time to.

“You got a plan?” Jo asks, and you shake your head.

“Nope. We’ll be fine, though-“

“And you’re sure they still have the book? I know you ain’t been here in years, maybe they threw it out-“

You snort at that. “They’ll still have it. Trust me. You ready?”

Jo nods, following you as you start to move forwards, keeping her voice low, like the trees could hear.

It’s not a bad idea.

They might.

“What’s makin’ you so sure? I mean, I trust ya, but we don’t got a plan and you never talk about ‘em, so I dunno what to-“

“It’s- You’ll see.” You wish you could offer her more, but still don’t have the words to describe them to yourself. “It’s not too late to stay in the car-“

“Yeah, it is.”

You stop at the edge of the woods, the land splitting into an impossibly large, nearly kept clearing, and there it is.

High on the top of a hill, like some sort of fucking castle. Everyone else always liked it. They seemed to the think the clean brick and polished glass—always letting in too much sunlight, always forcing the heavy, velvet curtains to remind drawn—made them like modern royalty. More than modern royalty. Empirical. Privy to knowledge others weren’t permitted to have, knowledge that made them chosen.

You’d never really understood what they meant. The house had been lonely. It had hurt to try and run up the hill, and every room was too dark and cold, and it had always been so fucking easy to get lost. 

For you, it had been a prison. A slaughterhouse. 

You’d never been favored. You’d only been…

Alone. Shouted at and untouchable and carved open and alone. 

“Follow my lead.” You glance at Jo, and she nods, looking between you and the house with wide eyes. “Don’t split up, no matter what, and don’t touch anything.”

Jo swallows. “And you’re- You really fuckin’ positive no one’s home-“

“Yeah. I am.”

You’re not. The Darkness is building and coiling in your body because you’re really not sure. Someone could be. Just a staff worker would fuck this whole thing up, because it’s been almost eighteen years, but you don’t look that different, and if one person sees you that could cause a lot of problems you really can’t deal with right now.

But you need to do this, for Dean. You’re out of options, and you wouldn’t have even thought of this, entertained it in the slightest, if you didn’t think it was necessary. And Jo doesn’t need to be more worried. You’re already asking too much of her, adding to that by telling her that—should there be someone home—this could escalate into blood and mayhem so fast the blur with become more of a blink, won’t help anyone at all.

It helps that no one is home. In a rare, glorious stroke of unfamiliar luck, you get inside the house without dogs barking or biting at your heels, without alarms going off or the Darkness vaulting out of your body as it settles into your bones.

As it really clicks that you’re back here. You’d sworn to yourself that you’d never go back here. That there was never going to be a world where you stepped foot in this horrible fucking cage again, but you’re here.

Every part of you feels fragile. Too small. You can’t tell if the Darkness is trying to strangle the White, or hide inside of it. And the White is pounding at your rib cage, trying to pull you out, get out, this place is horrible and you can feel the stick of blood on your palm and see too many eyes watching you in awe and revolt and relief, and you think you did something wrong but nobody is screaming at you, they’re all staring but nobody is screaming, or touching you, you’re braced but nobody is touching you and why is the floor glowing like that and why won’t everyone stop looking at you, everything is too big and you can feel the whole universe but you’re still trapped in the center of the room-

Jo whispers your name, and you realize that you’d stopped walking. “Are you-“

“I’m okay.” Your words are shorter than you’d meant them as you twist a ring on your finger, and Jo doesn’t flinch at all. “I- Sorry, I can’t remember where we’re supposed to turn.”

Jo nods, glancing down the too long hallway. “Where are we headin’?”

“Library. I think it’s one- No, two floors up-“

Jo catches your arm as you start to walk forward, her mouth agape when you turn with a frown. “This place got a fuckin’ library?”

“Kind of, yeah. It’s not like Bobby’s though-“

“I guessed that-“

“No, it’s-“ You sigh, shaking your head. “It’s barely a library at all.”

Jo blinks as you start down the hall again, pulling her with you. “What’s that mean?”

“You’ll see.”

She should see. If you can find the fucking library, Jo will see.

But this place is just as much of a maze as it had been when you were eight. Maybe more, because when you were eight you knew what halls you weren’t allowed to wander down—you had anyway, and it had never ended well, but you’d known—and been able to do more than you let your feet move on instinct.

There’s too much instinct, still ingrained in your body after so many years. You’re going everywhere but the library, because you’d never been permitted to go there without supervision. 

You’d always touched too many things, and read too many of the books everyone said you shouldn’t be able to, and some part of your body doesn’t seem interested in going to the library, because it’s too close to that room.

You really don’t want to end up in that room. If just being in the house sets off that memory, you don’t think the Darkness will be able to handle being in the room. Looking at the floor and seeing that your blood is—maybe—still stained on the stone.

You’re already seeing too many things you’ve tried so hard to forget. Hearing voices screaming your name down the empty halls when the only other person here is Jo—braced and nervous at your side—and fighting the urge to vomit whenever you open to the wrong door.

The bathroom is the first one. It hasn’t changed since you were there last. 

None of this place has. 

It’s still too clean. Pure white everywhere—marble counter, porcelain bathtub and toilet, stainless tiles and untouched towels—with only a flash of red where no one else can see. Stuck in your head, a weak illusion where you’re small again and it all hurts, hurts more than you’d ever know before, and everything feels so strange but you can’t see anything but blood on your fingers, and you can’t stop crying because why does this hurt, and your mother is shouting that it’s normal, it’s good, you’re a woman, but you don’t want to be a woman, you just want it to stop fucking hurting-

Something shatters in your ears, and it’s just a ghost of the memory—they’ve fixed the crack in the walls, and you think your mother’s hand has likely healed over eighteen years—but you still flinch.

Jo asks if you’re okay. You nod, and keep moving.

Next, it’s your bedroom. 

You don’t linger there long, because you don’t want to throw up but nothing has changed. The furniture, the wallpaper, all the dolls and clothing are the exact fucking same as when you left. Even your sheets are the same.

The bed has been made. There’s no layer of dust over the room.

“Is this-“

“Yeah.” You mutter, closing the door and moving on, tugging Jo behind you. “Let’s keep going.”

You’re close. You keep walking—making sure is Jo stays right at your side, just in case—and you know you’re close because you can feel it, tugging somewhere deep in your gut, but you’re still not entirely sure where you’re going, and what if you’d gone the wrong way and just never fucking realized it-

This hall is a dead end. You don’t remember taking the turn, but your feet had carried you here, and it’s just a fucking dead end.

With two doors. Two identical doors.

“Which, uh-“ Jo glances at you, raising her brows with a weary expression. “Do you know which one we should-“

“No.” You mutter, spinning your knife in your hand as you glare between the doors.

“You think it’s one of them, though?”

“Yeah, but-  No!”

Your scream surprised you more than it seems to surprise Jo. She lurches back from the handle she’d been reaching for as you lunge to stop her, and suddenly the air is too thin.

You’re not allowed in that room. That’s the one room you’d never even dared to poke around into—even when you’d found yourself everywhere you shouldn’t be, all the fucking time—because it just wasn’t allowed. You can’t go in there because you can’t. That’s it, you can’t, there doesn’t need to be another reason because you’re never allowed to go in there-

“Shit-“ Jo snaps your name, and shaking her arm in your grip. “Are you- What was that-“

“Sorry, I-“ You glance down at where you’re still squeezing her, almost certainly too tight, and let go with a ragged breath. “I didn’t- Sorry.”

“It’s fine, I just wasn’t expectin’ it-“ She cuts herself off, tilting her head as you hug your body, your gaze still flicking to the door. “You good?”

“I-“

“And don’t lie.” Jo adds, giving you a pointed look when you glance at her with wide eyes. “I may not be Dean or Bobby, but I know when you ain’t doin’ well. You just lost it over a fuckin’ door-“

You cut off Jo drawl of your name with a shake of your head. “It’s not just- That’s not the door.” You nod to the opposite wall, taking a long breath to steady your voice. “It’s the other one.” 

“But you said you-“

“I know. I was-“ You swallow, letting one hand slide up to hold your throat. Lightly. Just enough to keep the Darkness locked down. “We’re not allowed in there. So it’s the other one.”

Jo blinks at you. “Not allowed?”

You nod, squeezing a little tighter. “That’s- It’s my grandfather’s room. His study. I’m not-“ You feel so fucking small. The walls almost seem to be getting taller, but that’s not possible, and the Darkness is begging to just be released—to be allowed to make your big again, to hurt this whole place the way it hurt you, to make it repent because you can—but you can’t. You won’t. “I’m not allowed in there.”

“You’re-“ Jo says your name with a long sigh, and it’s not sympathy in her voice. Her words are slow and careful, but it’s really not sympathy. “Look, if it’s somewhere you shouldn’t be, doesn’t that mean it’s exactly where we need to be?”

“Jo-“

“You don’t gotta, I won’t make you, but- Think about it.” Jo nods between the doors, crossing her arms as she continues. “As a hunter, what would you be doin’ on any other case? What would you tell me to do?”

You swallow. “Go in the- Fucking Christ, Jo, that’s really annoying.”

She just shrug, offering you a small grin in return. “I’ve been learnin’ from the best.”

“Shut up.” You take a long breath as you step forward, spinning your knife in your hands and glaring at the door. It won’t burn you. Logically, it won’t be able to do anything to you at all, because it’s a fucking door. 

That doesn't stop your skin from itching at the thought.

“Jo-“

“I got it.” You glance over your shoulder to find her right behind you, reaching for the door with one hand, the other holding a-

“I said you didn’t need a weapon.“

“I know, but-“ She holds your gaze, kicking the door open before you have chance to realize that she’d distracted you, and preventing another scream from leaving your chest. “Dean says to always bring a gun.”

You roll your eyes. “Dean’s a fucking idiot.”

“I’m gonna tell him you said that.” Jo hums, walking right past you into the room you’re still not strong enough to look at. “C’mon, I don’t know what I’m lookin’ for.”

You swallow, tucking your knife back into your jacket. You can’t think about what you’re about to do, because it will shut something in your down, and you won’t make it out without ripping into your skin to stay together.

You’ll think about Dean instead. You’re doing this for him. You’ll get through this not because you always do, but because you have to. For Dean.

“He knows I think that.” You mutter, bracing yourself as you turn to face the room. “And he knows better than to bring a gun when I specifically told him not to-“

Jo laughs at that, already scanning over the tall, polished wood bookshelves. “No, he doesn’t. You just always forgive ‘im cause he’s Dean.”

You scowl, walking into the study with uneven steps. You can’t think about it. “What’s that supposed to mean.”

“It means what it means.”

“That’s not an answer, Jo.”

“Don’t need to be, you know what the answer is anyway-“

“No, I don’t-“

“C’mon,” Jo drawls your name, shooting you a grin as you start to comb over the desk, your every touch of the wood too light. You aren’t allowed to do this. You have to. For Dean. “You can lie to yourself, and you can lie to Dean-“

“I can’t, actually.” You mutter, pulling open a drawer with too cautious fingers, and Jo frowns.

“What’d you mean, you can’t?”

“I mean what I mean.”

Jo rolls her eyes. “Oh, fuck off- Holy shit.”

You’re at her side in half a breath, grabbing the Blade and bracing yourself for a fight, to throttle the Darkness but still make it out alive, because Jo trusts you so you can’t let her get hurt-

“What-“

“Is that you?”

You follow Jo’s gaze up, over the impossible fancy and likely unusable fireplace to the perfectly clean mantle, to the-

“Fuck.”

That is you. A small, seven-year-old you wearing a neat little dress you remember leaving a rash on your skin, your hair done in an elaborate style you don’t think you could duplicate if you tried, a book open on your lap that you remember being taken away after an hour, because you’d kept trying to read it when you were supposed to be staying still. 

There’s joy in your eyes, in the painting. More ease over your features than you’ve maybe ever known, and a small smile that’s too soft to be yours. And maybe it’s just a trick of the light—somehow breaking through the curtains, casting over the painting but only really shining on you—but there’s more color in you than your family.

They all seem to be static. 

You could swear you could see silver, shifting around the oil paint, humming in your body.

But that’s not what caught your attention. What washed you with heavy relief and a white-hot dread all at once, and made your throat tighten as your grip on the Blade became impossibly tight.

There it was. Old and worn, not a single speck of dust, waiting for you.

Not the same way the blade had been waiting—forged for you, designed for you, better in your hand than anywhere else—but still waiting for what you were. 

Like Lilith. 

The thought makes you a little sick. You entertain that later.

Jo tugs at your arms, her voice filled with nerves once more. “You’re- uh- you were a cute kid-“

“Yeah. I know.” You glance over at Jo’s soft, easy, light blue, and let out a long breath. “Get ready to run.”

Jo’s blue widens and tenses, all at once. “What-“

“When I grab the book. Ready?”

“I-“

You don’t wait for the full answer. She’s ready. You can see it all over her soul, bright and tensed and ready to burst.

So you grab the book, and the blur begins.

Out. You have to get out. You have to go and only look back to make sure Jo is with you, you have to get to the car and take off without looking in the rearview mirror. 

And the blur should’ve ended there, but it doesn’t. It hasn’t been.

You haven’t told Dean. You haven’t told Jo, or Sam, or Bobby, or anyone that this has felt like fighting for something more than your life. That you get up in the morning and it’s like gliding and wading through a swamp, following the trails of light—hidden under the water, promising to deliver you home—until you’re more lost than you began, and Dean pulls you out.

It gets through the haze, when he’ll take your hand and move you to bed, or hold your hand and mutter that you have to eat. You’ll hear him and, more often than not, let him guide you to bed. Somewhere safe, until you get up the next day, remember that there’s a little less time today than there was yesterday—Dean asleep across the bed, Golden and peaceful and branded, in fucking danger—and the blur begins again.

So the blur doesn’t stop when you get out of Chicago safely. It doesn’t stop when Jo opens the book and her voice—too far away for you to properly respond to—tells you that this isn’t in English. If anything it picks up as you only glance over, see the words shifting around the page in a way you can read, and look back to the road. It becomes impossibly fast when the engine sputters out in Wisconsin, and doesn’t slow when you pull over for the night—the truck barely holding on until you park—and settle in a shitty, flea-bed motel. 

You think Jo is calling for backup, or a ride, or something. You still can’t really hear her, because the blur is too clouding over the world for you to do anything but focus.

It’s not clear down long you’ve been reading for when the door opens. All you know is that your eyes are heavy and every breath stings, but you can’t stop because you can’t lose Dean. Just another page might be the answer. Just another note might make something click and fall into place, might fix this, you can’t stop because there’s nothing else to do but this, and someone is saying your name but that won’t save Dean, so it doesn’t matter.

You whine like an animal when someone tries to pull the book away, but you can’t think to make another sound.

“How long has she been like this?”

“Since we got out of that place, I ain’t heard her say a word, but- Mom, it was so fuckin’ creepy-“

“I’ll bet it was, look at the state of her. You gotten her to eat anythin’?”

“No, I- It never works ‘less Dean asks her-“

“Dean ain’t here right now, is he? C’mon, get her in the car and we’ll get some food in her.”

They don’t pull you out—the two people guiding you to your feet and speaking so far away—but they aren’t hostile. They won’t hurt you or anything you love, so it’s okay to let them move you somewhere else, as long as they let you keep the book. 

And they do. It stays in your hands when you sit once more, the words still shifting off the pages and none of them leading you anywhere safe.

The world starts to sting with your breathing. Everything is so dark, and you can’t tell if it’s simply what’s around you—dimming out a light you can’t afford to not have—or what’s inside of you, leaking out and infecting the world.

“Should we be tryin’ to take that book away from her-“

“No, I’ve seen her tire herself out, and- She tried to bite me once.”

“Bite you-“

“Not really, but I thought she might. Mom, I- I’m real worried about her-“

“I know you are, baby, but there’s nothin’ we can do but- I don’t even know, prayin’ ain’t right, but Dean don’t got a lot time left-“

Dean. Dean doesn’t have enough time. 

You can’t let the weight and haze and sting wash over you and put you down because Dean doesn’t have enough time-

The sky is big.

It’s one of the first things you’d ever learned. That the sky was big, and he was watching, and if you were lucky, maybe, one day, he’d swallow you whole. 

Your mother calls him an important name. Says he’s got plan for your family, that you’ve been chosen by him more than the tribes in that old book you hate memorizing, that one day, hopefully, the sky will eat of one of your children.

You’d told her that the sky wanted to eat you. That sometimes he makes himself white where you can see it, and promises to take you up to somewhere he calls good, but doesn’t sound it. It sounds lonely. Cold and lonely and too clean, like the blank walls of the bathroom.

“He won’t want you, darling.” Your mother had sighed, tucking a little hair behind your ear. “You’re- It won’t be you.”

She always said that kinder than everyone else. She always tried a little, where everyone else has all given up. 

Because it doesn’t matter how many times you insist that you’ve met the sky, they all chalk it up to you, being you, and putting yourself where you don’t belong.

You’ll be lucky if they can pawn you off at all. If some fool of a man ever looks over to your corner of the field, and decides that they want the girl who won’t stop talking about the colors and the sky, or crying about how the spiders are all so afraid of the shoes, but the shoes feel disgusting, and the grass doesn’t want to be stepped on anymore. 

It’s why your corner of the field is so small. So the grass doesn’t have to keep hurting. 

You’re under the trees, because then it’s harder for the sky to see you.

And you’re alone because it’s easier to put you here, where you can’t ruin the party by telling your aunt that she’s incredibly dull and washed out, as is her husband, but he has the same stains of neon that make up the babysitter.

Someone says your name, and suddenly you're not small anymore. The sky is still too big, but he’s further away. Just watching. 

But the sky becomes nothing, when you turn to see who called you. 

“Dean?”

“Hey, Princess.” He grins at you, glancing around the field with raised brows. “I, uh, have we been here before?”

“You haven’t.” You shrug, glancing back out towards the ribbons and balloons of the party. “I have.”

“Oh.” He frowns. “What?”

“This is- It’s my cousin party, I think.”

“What, she have a birthday?”

“No, she-“ You pause, hugging your body as you stare at the people—all suddenly your size but weaker, moving between tables and laughing and worth nothing at all—and try to remember what you’d all been doing here.

You think something happened to her, and she was celebrating before they had another party, that you hadn’t been invited to.

She’d tell you, a few nights later, that she was certain it was going to be her. That she’d made a cup fly across the room, and the sky would want her more than anyone. 

You’d told her you saw her throw that cup, and the sky wouldn’t want her because she was the color of vomit and it was gross. 

That was why you hadn’t been invited to the other party. 

You really don’t remember what either of them were for.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Dean taps you on the nose, and you blink at him with a slight wide expression. “You still with me?”

He’s not the color of vomit. He’s golden and beautiful, and you don’t know why your cousin had ever bothered with the sky when Dean was real, and here. 

Maybe because he was yours, and your cousin ever popped up and tried to take him, you’d carve out her eyeballs with the knife he gave you.

You hadn’t been able to do that, during this party. You’d really like to do it now.

“Yeah, uh- I don’t think so. The party was for something else.”

“Huh.” Dean shrugs, looking back to the people running around the grass. “They got beer?”

“Yeah, it’s in the cooler. Tastes like shit.”

“It-“ He stares at you, eyes wide. “You drank it?”

“Today, yeah.” You rub your thumb over your palm, holding Dean’s gaze as you speak. “In ten minutes my uncle is going to give me a beer, and I’m going to drink it, then break it into my brother’s face because he was laughing at one of the housekeepers, and she always brought me new crayons.”

Dean chuckles, bumping his shoulder with yours. “So what I’m hearing is that you’ve always been this violent.”

You roll your eyes, wrinkling your nose at his smug, pretty face. “I am not violent.”

“Uh huh.”

“Don’t say ‘uh huh’ like that-“

“I didn’t say it like anything-“

“No, you said it like you do when you’re making fun of me-“

“Princess, I’ve never made fun of you, I happen to like life-“ He side-steps your shove with ease, his grin only growing. “And I like you even more. I’d never tease you. Not once.”

You scowl, raising your chin at him. “You’re full of shit, Winchester.”

Dean scoffs. “Just cause Sammy’s been saying I want to die doesn’t mean I want you to kill me, sweetheart.“

“No, that’s not-“ You swallow, his words sinking a little too deep under your skin, your voice becoming softer than it was before. “You want to die?”

“Not lately, nah.” 

“Lately?”

“About six months.” He mumbles, kicking a rock with his foot. “Since you got back, really.”

The air feels hot. You can’t really feel anything, not here, but the air is hot. “Me?” You whisper, your voice barely a breath, and Dean just shrugs, his voice a little lower than before.

“Course you, Princess. Never been anything else, has it?”

You swallow, and nod, because he’s right. It really hasn’t. And he holds your gaze until you’re looking into him, and he’s golden and shining and bigger than the sky. 

You’d trade the sky for him in a heartbeat. You’d trade the world for him even faster.

The sky rumbles at that. It doesn’t like that idea, you trading everything for Dean. And you don’t remember it raining during this party, but it’s beginning anyway. Heavy, cold rain that falls on your skin like bullets, swelling in the grass and turning into a flood in only seconds, splitting the sky with white before you can grab Dean, and he’s swept away and you can’t fucking breathe, and Dean, he was here and you lost him in half a fucking second, where’s Dean-

Your throat already hurts when your eyes open, as if you’ve been screaming for a while. 

“Hey, it’s okay, you’re safe-“

You’re not safe. Dean’s not safe. You don’t know where he is, but he’s not whoever is holding and speaking to you, and where’s Dean-

“He’s back at Bobby’s, kid, he’s alright.” The owner of the voice is stroking your hair, and their touch doesn’t wash through your body like Dean’s, but it’s not wrong. You don’t have the energy to fight it anyway. “We only got a few hours ‘till I drop you back, ’s okay. You’re gonna be okay.”

You don’t know why, but you don’t believe them. The Darkness is balking and rioting all at once, and the spiderweb is screaming for Dean, and you- 

It’s not going to be okay. You don’t know what to do, and you don’t feel well, and you can’t- 

“Dean.” You whisper, your voice hoarse as you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to drag a little control back into your body. “I- Where’s-“

“Bobby’s.” The voice repeats, smooth and controlled. “Sleepin’, probably, it’s well past midnight. And he’ll be glad you’re home,” the voice drawls your name, and that Ellen. Only she says your name like that. “He ain’t happy you ran off like that. Gonna be askin’ about where you were, so I suggest you and Jo start gettin’ your story straight.”

You blink your eyes open, still slightly blurred for the tears you know are still stained across your face, and you’re sitting at Ellen’s side, half-curled into her side like a child as you sit in the back of the car.

“Where’s-“

“She’s gettin’ you some food. Says you like the fruit gummies and those purple sodas.” Ellen raises her brows at you. “Anyone ever tell you that shit ain’t good for you?”

“Bobby has.” You mumble, picking at your fingernails. “I told him drinking wasn’t good for him.”

Ellen chuckles at that. “I’m takin’ you won that one.”

You nod, a small smile tugging at your lips, and Ellen mutters your name.

“He’s worried ‘bout you too, you know. Called me a few weeks back to say you won’t sleep ‘less Dean’s with you.”

You look up at her, swallowing it frantic, wired feeling over your skin. “I- Dean and I- Bobby-“

“He ain’t stupid. If he didn’t figure it out with his eyes, he’d put it together with his brain. He right?”

“Is he-“

“You not sleeping without Dean?”

You swallow again—you think you’re going to choke on nothing at all—and nod.

Ellen lets out a long, slow sigh. “You tell Bobby you went to Chicago?”

“No.” You whisper. You’re starting to bleed, a little under your nail. “He’d- he’d know what that meant. He’d try to stop me.”

Ellen hums. “Should he have?”

You shake your head. “Dean-“

“Honey, I don’t care about Dean right now.” Ellen squeezes her arm around your body, her eyes narrowed slightly. “Should you have headed back there?”

You shouldn’t have. It’s still like a noose around your throat, and now you have to worry about your family knowing you’re alive, and stealing their books, and had been in their house.

But you’d do it again. For Dean, you’d do it in a fucking heartbeat.

“I-“ You swallow, pulling your knees into your chest. “I- I don’t know what to do.”

Ellen mutters your name but you shake your head, your every word becoming rushed and frantic as it slams back into you.

There’s not enough time. You can’t eat or sleep and there’s not enough time, and Dean is- You can’t- He’s Dean and you-

“I can’t- I don’t know what to do- Please, I- I don’t know what to do and I can’t- what if- I need him, I can’t- If this doesn’t work then I can’t-“ Your voice becomes strangled. Weak. Almost fucking pleading. “Please, I- I don’t know what to do-“

“Oh, Jesus.” Ellen holds you a little tighter, muttering your name, “’S gonna be alright, sweetheart. You’re smart ’n strong, you’ll be alright.”

It’s a labor to hear her. Your nails are leaving little marks on your skin and you’re not really breathing, but the Darkness is howling in your body and you can’t use it, you can’t hurt anyone but it may be the only way and you don’t know what to do-

“I- The book-“

“In your bag.” Ellen mutters, squeezing you one last time before pulling back. “We’ll all take some time to look at it, once we get you home, alright?”

You don’t think they will. Jo had said she couldn’t read it. You nod anyway, and Ellen gives you a soft smile.

“You wanna talk to Bobby.”

You nod again, and you feel like a child. You don’t know if it was Chicago, or how you’re almost out of time, but you feel small again. The Darkness is going dormant not because you feel better, but because you’re simply too fucking small.

Sitting on the curb of the parking lot, rubbing your calves and biting the inside of your cheek until it bleeds as you dial Bobby’s number. Like a kid who had too much to drink at a party, or got kicked out of a sleepover, the air sticky and hot on your skin and every breath too wired in your lungs-

It’s past midnight, but Bobby still picks up after three rings. 

You don’t wait for his greeting before the words start to spill out of your mouth like vomit.

“Bobby, I- I’m sorry, I need- I didn’t want to, but I, I don’t feel that good-“

Bobby grunts your name. “You alright?”

“I- Yeah.”

“You comin’ home?”

You nod, rubbing your hand over your throat. “I- I’ll be home before dawn, I think.”

“Good.” There’s a long, static pause, and when Bobby speaks again his words sound careful through the phone. “If I ask ya’ somethin’, I don’t want the details, or the why, or to hear anythin’ about it again. Okay?”

“Ok- Bobby, what?”

“You wanna talk to Dean?”

The spiderweb bursts like a firework at the idea. 

You’re too tired to pretend it doesn’t. 

“Yes,” you whisper, your nails digging into the skin of your neck. “Please.”

It doesn’t take as long as you thought it would. Bobby grunts and shuffles around on the other end of the line, snapping and muttering low words you can’t really hear no matter how hard you strain, and then Dean’s voice is strong and clear through the speaker.

He says your name, as if he’s not sure you’re really there, and you have to take a long, slow breath before you answer.

“Dean.” You whisper, and he lets out a sigh you can hear through the phone.

He doesn’t ask you where you are, or why you left, or what the hell you’ve been doing for the past day, picking up and driving off without warning. 

He just asks if you got it—you’re not even sure he knows what it is—and moves on when you mumble a yes.

“That’s good.” There’s a pause, and when Dean keep talking, it’s far too casual for all of this. “You know, Sammy says you can see our souls or something.”

“Yeah, I-“ You swallow, frowning into the mostly abandoned parking lot. “I can.”

“That’s pretty fucking awesome, Princess.”

“Is it?”

“Yeah, I mean, it’s weird, but our whole damn lives are weird.” You can almost hear the frown on his face, picture his adorable look of confusion. “Are they like, bright?”

“Some of them, yeah.”

“Huh. Are they squiggly?”

You blink at the air. “Squiggly?”

“Yeah, like shapes and shit-“

“They’re souls, De, not playdo-“

“Would be cool if they were playdo. You know Sammy used to eat that stuff, I had to make dad stop buying it. And if they’re not squiggly, are they just, like, in us?”

You shake your head, even though he can’t see it. “They all have a core, but it’s in a different spot for everyone. Then they just kind of… spread. Like paint.”

“Alright.” Dean pauses, and you realize you’ve stopped choking yourself right before he speaks. “Where’s my core?”

“In your chest.” You answer without thought, because you might know Dean’s soul a little better than your own. “Near your heart.”

“Huh. And is it just like, over me? All they all just glowing- Nah, you said they weren’t all bright-“

“They’re all different colors.” You say, smiling into the air as you cut off his rambling. “And some of the colors are bright, or metallic, or neon. Depends.”

There’s another pause, and Dean’s voice is suddenly softer when he speaks again. “What color am I?”

“Yellow.” You mumble, and Dean hums.

“Okay, I can work with yellow. Am I-“

“You’re metallic.”

“So I’m like, gold?” You can hear the slight joy in his voice. 

And you know what he’s doing. You’re not forcing the Darkness down, and you don’t feel good but you’re not small anymore either. He’s distracted him.

You’re almost out of time.

You can’t lose him.

“Yeah. You’re gold.” Your voice drops to a whisper. “Dean?”

“Yeah-“

“Can you please tell me it’s going to be okay.”

He pauses, tone lowering slightly as he mutters your name. “I don’t-“

“Even if it’s a lie.” You draw your knees tighter to your chest, and he’s just a voice in a phone right now, but you can feel him all the way down and through the spiderweb, and it’s better than anything in the world. You need him. “Please, just say it will be okay. Please-“

“It’ll be alright. I pr- I know you’re gonna be okay, Princess.” Dean’s voice is a little hoarse. 

You really want to go home.

“You’re gonna be okay.” He repeats, and you should be.

You should get through this. You always get through this.

But you need Dean. 

And as you watch the lights of the gas station flicker, you don’t believe him.

End Note: do you guys think I qualify for witness protection for a fanfic.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Taglist (If you want to be added, please fill out the form!)

@brtodd @artemys-ackles @sthefferrete @lyarr24 @deansbbyx

@bakugotypecrashout @kittycain @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

@youdontknowe @nyrtopia @Zuberweirrd @iloveeveryoneyoureamazing @panicking-outside-the-disco

@ambiguous-avery @elle14-blog1 @impala67rollingthroughtown @dumb--blonde @heyimolive

@itsdearapril @speedypersonawhispers @apobangpo-0613 @alwaystiredandconfused @kamisobsessed

@arcticwisteria @youroldfashioned @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378

@godhelpthisbtch @ilovedeanwinchester4 @wecangetlostinthepurplerain @sleepykittycx

@immastealurkneecaps @star-yawnznn @maddie0101 @chi-raz @lori19

@wynnthewynnderful @redwinexsupernova @tiana-kh @woaheasytig3r @canibeyourghoulfriend

@lovelywebber @salemslostwitch @winchester-whiskey @and-i-wish @ghosth0ney

@funkenniffler @laurakirsten0502 @deans-yn

[just-my-latest-hyperfixation]

Ride them when they hit

Written for the Get Lucky bonus card of the @steddiebingo

Prompt: Cock Block

Rated: E

Tags: omegaverse; A!Steve; O!Eddie; Established relationship; Mates; Steddie dads; Sexually explicit content; Breeding kink; mpreg (mentioned)

Notes: Set in the same universe as Whatever you want it to be

Eddie stirs awake as Steve climbs back into bed, instinctively scooting closer to seek his warmth. The alarm clock on the bedside table tells him that it's just after two in the morning. 

“Lizzie again?” he mutters, burrowing his nose in the crook of Steve’s neck to inhale his pine-and-moss scent. Steve grunts in reply, pulling the blanket over both of them. 

“I don't get how you can just sleep through her crying. Aren't you supposed to have some sort of omegan instinct that wakes you at the first sign of distress?” 

Eddie jawns heartily. 

“Yeah, except she's not in distress, big boy. She just doesn't have any concept of day and night yet. She can't tell if it's sleep time or playtime.” 

Steve huffs, a warm tickle of air against Eddie’s scalp where his nose has burrowed into his hair. 

“I wonder where she gets that from. Last time I checked, it was close to midnight and you were still in the kitchen with that stupid guitar.”

Eddie squawks in mock-indignation. 

“Well, excuse me for feeling inspired.” He knows that Steve isn't really mad. After all, he was the one who suggested he get back into music, the one who pushed him into taking gigs when Eddie was still hesitant. “I haven't had a creative high like this since before Liz was born, and you gotta ride them when they hit.” 

Steve grumbles something into his hair - something that sounds suspiciously like rather have you ride something else. Eddie snorts and kisses his neck, rolling on top of him. 

“Aw. Is someone jealous?” 

“Someone's goddamn tired,” Steve mumbles into the ensuing kiss - a slow, lazy dance of lips and tongues. His hands travel up to cup Eddie’s ass under the covers. “My mate is riding creative highs all night long, and that little bundle of joy of ours can't stay asleep for more than two hours on end.” 

Eddie laughs against his mouth, soft and fond.

“Tired after one kid already?” he hums, rolling his hips and grinning when he feels Steve’s cock stir through both of their pajama pants. “I thought you wanted at least six?” 

Steve swears under his breath. The sharp, earthy spike in his scent is all the warning Eddie gets before the room flips and he finds himself pinned into the mattress, Steve's tongue licking past his lips, Steve’s hand fumbling for the waistband of his boxers. 

“When's your next heat?” he rumbles, nose searching the scent gland at the crook of Eddie’s neck and shoulder, teeth grazing the mating bite. The feeling is enough to make Eddie keen, high and needy. “You're due for one soon, right?” 

“Yeah,” Eddie breathes, lifting his hips so that Steve can pull the pants over his hips, moaning when his fingers dip into the slick, warm heat between his thighs. He's been getting better and better at telling when his heats are gonna hit, now that the pregnancy hormones are wearing off and he's no longer trying to repress them. “Any day, really.” 

Steve growls against his pulse, cock pressing hard and insistent into the soft flesh of his thighs, scent growing darker, wilder, deeper. His ruts have started coming closer and closer to Eddie’s heats, and it's only a matter of time now until they'll sync. 

“Good,” he rumbles, slipping his fingers deeper and curling them just so, smiling against the mating bite when Eddie gasps. “Gonna fuck you all the way through it. Gonna put my knot in you and keep you there for days. Gonna breed you until you're round and plump with my pups. Gonna-” 

Eddie never finds out what else exactly he's gonna do, because a high-pitched wail picks up from next door, and Steve’s forehead thunks into the pillow next to his head. Eddie suppresses a pitiful little whine as he rolls off him and pulls out his fingers. 

“Looks like your daughter has other plans.” 

Steve huffs. 

“Sure, when it's ass o'clock in the morning, she's my daughter,” he grumbles, but he still flaps the blanket aside and swings his legs over the edge of the mattress. Eddie wraps a hand around his wrist to stop him.

“I can go, if you wanna. You shouldn’t always have to-”

“Nah, I got it.” Steve gently pushes him back into the pillows. “You stay here.” 

He nips at Eddie’s neck as he says it, and Eddie’s content hum turns into a surprised gasp. 

“You're not planning on trying for round two, are you? Not that I wouldn't be very much on board with that, but Lizzie seems to be set on remaining an only child lately, so I don't think our chances are too high.”

“Don’t you worry about that. Robin has been pestering me about wanting to spend more time with her godchild for weeks, so first thing tomorrow, I’m gonna call her and ask her to take her off our hands for a few days,” Steve says. Then, already with one hand on the doorknob, he turns. In the darkness of the bedroom, his eyes glimmer - wild and golden and hungry. “Sleep now while you have the chance. You’ll need the energy once that heat hits, because I meant every word I just said.” 

Eddie lies and stares at the dark ceiling for a long time, listening to his mate coo and laugh at their infant daughter next door and trying to ignore the crippling horniness growing in his belly. 

More Steddie Bingo

[xmads-omensx]

if i may suggest... noah supporting neurodivergent!reader during a sensory overload? maybe after a show or if they're out in public together

Pairing: Noah Sebastian X Neurodivergent!reader

CW: mentions of being overwhelmed, mentions of feeling anxious, mentions of sensory overload

I hope you enjoy my love!

Tags: @shayeanna-ashlie @alwaysfightforwhoyouare @supersquirrel1996 @dontwantthemoney @tosoundlessdarkistare @bloody-spades @klutzy-kay24 @heyyoplayer @lacy1986 @collidewiththesav @kenjipepsi1 @follow-me-down-to-wonderland @chey-h @thisbicc @fadingangelwisp @dsireland86 @missduffsblog @overmydeadbodysblog @dominuslunae @littlebear423 @blade-dressed-in-red @rumoured-whispers @eclipseeetop @xxkittenkissesxx @theanarchymuse95 @blackveilomens @lilgarbitch @lil-garbitch @concretejunglefm @museonfilm @death-ofpeace-ofmind  @xxkatsatwatwafflexx @kissestomyomens @flowery-mess @athenexe

Noah understood that this sometimes happened to you as you had warned him about it very early on in your relationship, but he had never seen it happen in public.

You have had “episodes” like this a handful of times at home when music has been too loud, or a movie has been similarly too loud mixed in with flashing lights, but you always came around so to speak quickly.

This, however, was different.

A plan had been put in place a while ago.

Noah had even given you a broken down time sheet for the day at the festival.

Mayhem was one of, if not the biggest, show that Bad Omens had done.

Noah took extra measures to make sure that you felt comfortable and safe, this broken down time sheet being one of them.

You liked the structure of it, and it helped reduce any stress you had towards the day.

The show itself was enjoyable. Really enjoyable.

Noah had some protective headphones placed at the sound booth with Matt so that you could minimise some of the noise, which helped a lot, but there was nothing that could have been done about the lights.

Noah’s time sheet did help with the pyro and preparing for those bangs.

After the show, Noah knew not to rush over to you just in case he overwhelmed you, but you cuddled into his side, showing him that you were feeling good.

That changed, however, when you were at the hotel and bumped into some fans in the lobby.

You were already starting to become very overwhelmed with all the conversations you had to have that day, the show itself and the debriefing after.

Your choice in shoes didn’t help either as they were now rubbing very uncomfortably.

Noah stopped to talk to the fans, most of whom spoke in a high pitched, excitable voice (which you didn’t blame them for since it’s exciting meeting someone you’re a fan of), but it was all becoming too much.

The lights in the lobby were too bright.

The drilling on the street outside was too loud.

The elevator singing was irritating and was happening in an irregular order.

Safe to say that your senses were entirely overloaded.

Your mind felt like it was running a thousand miles an hour as you tried to focus on every single thing that was happening around you, making your breathing quicken.

Luckily, Noah noticed your breathing becoming more laboured as you looked around the space frantically and tried to guide you to the elevator without touching you.

Upon arriving in your hotel room, Noah ran you a shower, making sure it was warm.

Whilst you were in there, Noah tidied up the room as best he could and made the room as dark as he could.

You exited the shower a while later to find Noah sat on the bed in the darkness waiting for you.

“Do you need anything?” He asked.

You shrugged.

“Need a compression hug?” He asked.

You nodded and waddled over to him.

He stretched his arms out wide and pulled you close, locking your arms in and squeezing as tight as he could until your breathing regulated and your head flopped against his shoulder, signalling that you were ready for him to let go.

Those hugs were your saving grace in times like these.

It was like all the things that were overwhelming you drifted away as you focused on the man holding you tightly.

It was like he was filling your lungs with brand new air whenever he did this for you.

You didn’t speak for the rest of the night, Noah simply letting you take the lead as to not overstimulate you further.

You were feeling better in the morning, despite being non-verbal for the time being.

Noah didn’t mind.

He just wanted you to be okay.

Besides, the two of you had worked on communicating in times like these many times, so this wouldn’t be a challenge.

He was just happy that you weren’t suffering anymore.

[soupcafe]

I have written and rewritten this post so many times after taking time to really gather my thoughts and sit with everything that has transpired in the last two weeks. If I'm being honest.. what has transpired the last three years of running the FindRPs server. Under the cut if you want to read. Warning: it's really fucking long. Sorry about it.

God I don't even know where to start, okay.

I have always tried to do my best to remain neutral in most situations and show a face of calm collection when it came to matters in the server. As a leader there, I believed that being anything other than that would only show instability of myself and on the rest of the staff. I always tried to make it known that I was willing to hear people out, and ready to enact changes if it felt like the right thing to do for the collective.

I don't know if that was the right choice to make, but it certainly felt like it for me, so that's how I ran things.. that's how I encouraged the rest of staff to run things. I've already said this to the former staff, but I have nothing but the highest respect for the hard work they put into that server. All of us were running that place for free, but it felt like a full time job with the way people treated us both on the server and here on tumblr.

Our goal was to provide a space for various platforms to advertise their rp groups, post 1x1s, post their resources, ask for help from their community, and more. FindRPs all started because tumblr tags became notoriously unreliable, group rps weren't able to mass fill their queues, sideblogs were being shadowbanned and deleted left and right. Why not streamline it into one easy hub? Why not make a place for a community? I've seen it said a few times now that we should have learned our lesson and not had any general chat or allow conversation at all. How fucking sad is that? In a hobby where the whole purpose is writing a story together... collaborating.... and you all can't even handle or have the civility to have a general chat.

I don't claim to have made all the right decisions, or to have said the right thing in a moments time. But things could so very quickly go from zero to one hundred there. Within minutes people would be at each other's throats and god forbid anyone on staff have a real life and not take care of it within seconds. I can't count how many times I was at work, or a family function, or a doctors office, and I get the ping that something happened but I can't deal with it right then and there. The anxiety of knowing that it will be talked about in the tags, and that if I or another staff member isn't online to take care of it right that second, we will get shit for letting it happen.

Isn't that insane? That I couldn't go about my daily life and do normal things without thinking about you all having no decorum and going after one another like children?

I was getting anxiety from not looking at the server for more than an hour or two. I don't know how in the world I thought I was going to be able to handle having a newborn and focusing on something that is going to be one of the most amazing experiences of my life, knowing that all of this would be in the back of my mind. It wouldn't be fair to my kid... to my family. And yeah... maybe that's me taking it too seriously. But when you dedicate three years of your life to this, and have been in this community on tumblr for as long as I have.. you fear the loss of it.

Don't even get me started on the lack of communication. Any blog that decided to let anons and rumors come into play and pass judgement on us with lies or half the story over the course of the server's activity... you all are complicit. No one ever came to us with their opinions and issues — the first thing that was on anyone's mind was which rpt blog can I go to. So instead of handling things like adults, you all hid behind anon and let someone else post it for you.

Because why attempt to make an actual change by speaking to us when you can just judge and bully us instead? No one ever said maybe they need some help and I should offer to join the team. But why would you... when you could see how we were being treated. When you were the one treating us that way.

Anytime something happened in that server, my inbox would fill with anon messages of death threats or otherwise inflammatory and cruel statements against me. I always deleted them and gave them no merit because what is some fucking anon going to do to me in my real life? Nothing.

This time though.. I was simply done with it. I was looking at the server, at my own happiness, at my own life and where I was being led, and decided that it simply wasn't worth it to subject myself and the rest of the staff to it any longer. All of us were preparing major life changes and were having conversations about possibly stepping down and handing the server off. I'm sorry that a few people decided to ruin it for the rest of you who never did anything wrong. I would have loved to hand over the reins to someone else and let FindRPs live on as the needed resource it was, but you all can make your own servers as you've said many times that you want to do. You can spend three years growing it to nearly 3k members of all rp backgrounds and life backgrounds and you can make your rules exactly how you want them and to deal with things exactly how you want to deal with them... I sincerely hope it thrives for you.

I'm going to call out a few specific blogs from this situation because you are directly complicit in the spreading of this. JJ (galitzined), Nan (nanschman), Xan (jimiin), Jas (snoopdoggs), Veda (nosyrpt), and fluoresceins. All of you decided that it was okay to bully. Several of you decided to say that I was subjecting Hermie, a Palestinian mod, to coexisting with zionists knowingly.. when it has always been the case that if they made themselves known we would ban them and Hermie would be the one to do it. We realized too late that we missed one glaringly obvious one and Hermie got the satisfaction of banning them before FindRPs was deleted for good.

All of us in our real lives are putting in the work to make change, you know, where it matters the most. Personally for myself, I involve myself in local and state politics and actively ensure that I am voting for representatives that align with Palestine or at the very least is not interested in supporting Israel. I donate to fundraisers when I am able. Not that I ever owed any of you a list of what I am doing... but I have always stood with Palestine. I fucking hate JKR, and was a moderator who voted to ban it in the initial rule change. (Love that some of you are trying to say I've been extremely active in the HP RPC and have proof because.... bitch where?) But you know... you all will spin anything to fit your narrative.

I said it many times that everyone on staff, every single one of us, was part of a marginalized group one way or another. Half of us were trans, more than half were people of color, I think literally all of us are queer. So you all decided that the best thing to do was to hurt members of your own communities, hurt the people that you claim to stand up for... that's incredibly telling about the kind of people you are.

Mar made a post recently that I think all of you need to read and take to heart. Many of us are so disheartened by the lack of change that we are seeing in the real world that going hard within a small community like the one here is where you can get your satisfaction — because it seems simple in a smaller space where you can watch change happen in real time. Mar put it really well, better than I ever could, so here is a link for you to read it yourself.

We are actively driving people away from this community. Some of them are warranted, but a majority of it is over the most petty bullshit that could be solved if we weren't so catty and quick to jump to conclusions.

Shadow, I do want to apologize to you. You did not lead to the downfall of this server, it was a long time coming. And I agreed with all of the resources you gave, I agree with wanting to educate someone. What I failed to communicate effectively, and I do take responsibility for this, is that you didn't need to do it publicly. You could have DM'd Lumos and taken care of it outside of the server, which is really all we were trying to say in that statement we made: why in the world are we having these conversations in the general chat of a rp advertisement server when you can just... talk to the person directly. Or I don't know... use the block button. All of you need to learn how to use that more. And you did already apologize for necro-ing it... but I believe you knew what you were doing there. Even on a laptop you had to scroll up to see the interaction with Lumos and there was no way you missed the timestamps. It was not the first time you decided to use a public space in the server to be mean to someone, so, I don't believe that you didn't know what you were doing there. Regardless of being correct in the information you were spreading, you were an asshole. We gave you a warning that the behavior wouldn't be tolerated and yet you continued to harass Lumos so consequences of your actions were to be banned. Not because of what you said or how you went about it, but because you didn't know when to stop.

I don't think Lumos has tumblr to see all of this, and I literally deleted everything from the server — I have no logs of anything that happened anymore. But we did rail into them. We told them that what they were saying was fucked up and they should read into the resources. All of us were talking about banning them anyways, but we wanted to take the time to think things through, to step away and sit with it and decide. Once again, God Forbid we handle things like adults and have real lives and think before acting, especially with all of you shouting into the tags about how we were handling it. They were getting death threats, both in their dms and out in the open in the general chat. Like what the fuck. Who in their right mind thinks that's an okay thing to do?

Anyway, we tended to handle things there privately. We preferred it that way because no one needs their dirty laundry aired out in front of 3k people, and have them weigh in on it while we're trying to handle things. Just because you didn't see anything happening on your end, doesn't mean things weren't happening behind the scenes. And screenshots are always a thing; we have never feared someone taking them for their records. I sent the screenshots to JJ because Shadow left out an entire part of the conversation. I didn't send it to "make ourselves look better" as Nan so lovingly put it. I did it for transparency.

Maybe we could have been more transparent over certain things, I don't know. But also.. some situations are simply none of anyone's business.

Anyway. It's gone now. I mourn the loss of something that I truly put my heart, soul, and tears into. I helped to provide a resource for the community who does not deserve it for free for three years of my life. I met some of the most amazing writers in there that I never would have crossed paths with if not for the server.

It's time to move on from the greater rpc for me though. I don't know if I am going to continue to be on this blog. I really don't have a desire to at this time. I do know I will be writing with my rp group and continue keeping in touch with others on discord. That's really why I'm not afraid to post all of this and let you all pick it apart. I simply don't care anymore. I'm a week away from my due date, and ready to take the step into motherhood. I'm so excited for it. My blood pressure certainly thanks me.

I urge you all to take a good hard look at how you interact with this community. I want you all to take a look at the complaints that are made all the time and have been for years now — of groups not surviving, of no one writing, of people feeling hopeless, or judged. You actively create this space. You truly want to be the change? Do better for the rpc then. Be kind, and if you can't do that, block and move on. The people you don't like and you don't agree with are going to be around for as long as they want to be anyway.

Best, Maeve.

[scorpioriesling]

I (Really) Don't Believe You

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairings: Brennan x reader

Warnings: smut, mdni, 18+, nsfw

Summary: After a day with a million emotions and revelations, there's only one person you need to end your day right.

SR’s Note: This is a highly requested part two to I (Almost) Don't Believe You! Thank you for all the love on the first one, and my apologies for how long it's taken for me to finish this one. I hope it was well worth the wait!

Tags: @mellowmusings @rcarbo1 @lilah-asteria @kitsunetori @velarisdusk @nctsawrus @freakishfandomfiend @nothanksehh (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

It'd been hours since you'd seen him last -- and though you had gone without him for years, you were practically counting down the minutes until he would be out of his final meeting for the day.

You were grateful for the extra time to shower, however. The past few days were straight from Hell, and the way you looked surely proved that.

"Waiting for someone?"

You jumped at the sound of Violet's voice, light and lilty though you knew there was a hint of underlying suspicion. You craned your neck, continuing to wring out your hair as though your heart was not beating a million miles a minute.

"Oh, no," you mustered a half-chuckle, and she raised an accusatory eyebrow at you.

"Hmm, what a shame. The meeting that my brother and Xaden have been in should be over any time now," long gone was the airy tone, replaced by with sneaking suspicion. She was fishing -- you knew it, she knew it.

She continued on. "I know I'm just dying to see them again -- aren't you?"

You frowned at her, and her mouth tilted into a satisfied smile. Gotcha.

"What! No, why would I-"

"That's what I thought." She said plainly, pushing off the doorway as she twirled her braid around her finger. "I'll send him in when I'm done with him."

Her voice echoed down the open hallway and in through your doorway as she walked off, and you couldn't help but let your mind race. What was she incinuating? You'd just got Brennan back today -- it's not like the two of you were...

You shook your head, attempting to clear your thoughts. Reaching for a few undergarments, you slid them on before tugging on your shorts. Scanning the room for a spare shirt, you sighed when you didn't immediately spot one.

"Need a top to go with those shorts?"

You gasped, whipping around at the sound of Brennan's voice in the doorway. He grinned at you, and you instinctively covered your bare torso with your arms. Thank the Gods you'd put on a bra.

"Brennan! What -- oh my Gods, I-"

"Rule number one around this place; always, close your door." He said, releasing a small chuckle. "Even if the hallway sounds quiet, there are far too many people here to casually reveal your... private, space." His gaze dropped to your cleavage, and you scoffed.

"So what, you get to see me like this but no one else can?"

His eyes darkened at your words, and he slowly stepped through the doorframe, pushing the wooden barrier closed behind him with a soft click. He made it to you in two long strides, his hands bracing the small of your back.

"No one else can," he muttered, pulling you flush against him. "And no one else should."

Your breath caught as you gazed into those gorgeous brown eyes, his pupils so blown out they were nearly black. Your chest rose and fell heavily, and his gaze drifted to your breasts again.

Before the tension in the air got too thick, you pushed back from him, striding toward the edge of the bed.

"You said earlier we would talk," you said confidently, ignoring the heat blazing in your lower belly. "So talk."

He sighed, running a hand through the curly mass on his head. Sitting beside you on the tan sheets, he began to explain the last six years. By the time he neared the end of it, your empathetic heart clenched so tightly it almost burst.

"And that's how I ended up here," he finished, looking to you timidly. "So... do you still hate me?"

You sighed, your brow furrowing at the comment.

"Brennan, I could never hate you -- you know that."

His bottom lip sucked between his teeth as he stared at you, his gaze memorizing every inch of your face as though this was the first and last time he'd see you.

"I really have a hard time believing that."

His voice came out in a raw whisper, the admission so intimate that you wanted to wrap him in your arms and never let go.

Instead of finding a response good enough to convey every ounce of feeling you had inside, you kneeled on the mattress, crawling toward him. His eyes widened in surprise as you lifted a knee, swinging your leg across his lap and coming face-to face with one another.

"Y/N..." his warning tone came out as more of a groan when you sat down completely, your most sensitive spot pressing against his length. Slowly, you leaned in, allowing your lips to finally touch his again. He inhaled deeply, his hands bracing your hips as your lips slid against his. Excitement filled your veins as his cock hardened beneath you, straining against the fabric of his trousers.

Your fingers fisted his hair, tangling in the brown locks as his tongue slid between your lips. You opened to him, allowing him to devour you in a way so delicious, you'd only ever dreamt about it before.

A small moan escaped as his hands slid from your waist to your ass, cupping and squeezing the flesh there as he moved his hands beneath your sleep shorts. His kisses became more urgent, chasing the high you were finally able to provide him after all this time; a high you yourself were riding as well.

"Brennan," you pulled back in a breathless gasp, staring down at him through half-lidded eyes. His gaze was hazed, staring up at you with his glassy eyes that shone in the small mage light of the room. You didnt need to say another word as he lifted you up, balancing you on your knees while he worked his trousers off. Only when they were discarded to the floor did he pull you back onto his lap, his hands assisting in grinding you back and forth against his throbbing length.

"You sound so sweet when you say my name," he said, his voice coming out gravelly and delicious. He reached his arms under the hem of his shirt, pulling it free and exposing his toned chest to you at once. "I want to hear you say it, over, and over, and over again."

Your inner walls fluttered at the filthy words coming from his mouth, and combined with the sight before you; your jaw dropped. His left hand gathered your hair into a makeshift ponytail, and he gently tugged back on it as your head was tilted toward the ceiling. You unleashed a groan of delight when his mouth met the column of your neck, his teeth grazing the soft skin as he bit at it playfully.

"Brennan... please," you begged, and he immediately stopped. He tugged at your shorts, shimmying you out of both those and your undies. Your bottom lip caught between your teeth as he pulled down his own boxers, just enough to tug his long, thick member out of them.

He sucked in a sharp breath when you wrapped your fingers lightly around his shaft, preparing to warm him up before the inevitable happened. However, his hand closed around your wrist, and he looked to you with a pleading stare.

"Please, Y/N -- we have so much more time for this, tonight I just want to feel you." His wide-eyed gaze was so intense that you immediately obeyed. You'd waited far too long to be with the man you loved, and with the whirlwind of events from the day, this was exactly what the two of you needed.

You let go, opting to place both hands upon his structured shoulders. He'd packed on quite a bit of muscle over the past few years; gone was the younger boy you'd known before his fake-death, now replaced by a man.

He guided the tip of his cock to your entrance, a low rumble sounding in his chest when he felt just how wet you were. In a slow motion, he interted just the edge of his dick in, slowly pulling you closer and closer to his hips as his length disappeared inside of you.

"Oh... oh my Gods, Brennan-" You squeaked as you closed the gap between the two of you, fully seated on his lap as his thick cock stretched you out. His lips parted, and he watched your expression as he helped lift you up a few inches before pushing fully back in.

Your small whimpers only provoked him to keep going, and the faces you made were quite possibly the hottest thing he'd ever seen. You kept your hands on his shoulders, your nails biting into the smooth skin atop them as he increased his thrusts.

"Yes... yes Brennan, please," you whispered, taking more of an initiative to raise up on your knees and drop down against his hips, meeting him halfway with his thrusts. He let out a growl of content, his gaze lingering on your breasts and the way they bounced beneath the lacy fabric of your bralette.

He breathed deep, his fingertips beginning to dig into your hips. "Fuck, keep doing that, I won't last long."

His words were breathless, and so were you as you tossed your head back, closing your eyes as you focused on the feeling of him inside of you. The tip of his cock drove straight into your most sensitive spot, and you could feel the impending orgasm faster than any you'd felt before.

"Brennan... you feel so good," you whimpered, and he pulled you close to his chest once more. Every drive was becoming more and more desperate, the feeling of his twitching cock driving you wild as it rubbed against your deepest spots.

"I... oh Gods, I missed you so much," he said, the heartfelt tone shooting straight to your heart with how raw it was with emotion. You looked into his eyes again, tears stinging the backs of yours.

"Brennan... I love you."

He released with a gasp, ropes of warm cum shooting deep into your pussy. Your jaw hung open as your walls squeezed around him, the building orgasm finally breaking through and releasing all over his cock. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you against him as the two of you fought for air.

As the two of you came down from your highs, the emotion stabbed at you once more. The tears brimming your waterline began to fall, sliding down your cheeks and dripping onto his shoulder as his hand stroked the back of your head. You didn't care that you'd only just learned today that he was still alive, or that he'd kept his existence a secret for so long, or even that the two of you were mere minutes post-sex; it felt right. A feeling that'd always been there, no matter the circumstance or situation you were in.

His chest rose and fell as he pulled you to sit upright once more. When your eyes met his, he smiled at you, emotion shading his own eyes in a glossy sheen.

"I love you too Y/N," he said, the emotion thick in his throat. "I always have, and I fear I always will."

✧･ﾟ: *✧

[multiversefanfics]

Touch Starved

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader Warning: nothing but fluff Summary: Dean is touched starved, he needs you to keep him grounded. Word Count: 644

Dean Winchester — The man, the myth, the legend, the big scary hunter that wasn’t afraid of anything. Except losing you.

Dean loved being touch by you, even more than him touching you. Both sexually and romantically, this big, strong, man was a softie at heart. He hunted the worst or the worst yet the only thing that could make him fall apart was you.

Sure, Dean faced many many losses, but none of that matter when it came to you, you showed him love and kindness that he’s never experienced before, in the beginning he felt as though he didn’t deserve it, he still sometimes feels like that.

You’re the one that brings him back down to earth, the only one that could make him forget all about the turmoil that just occurred hours ago. Dean definitely wasn’t one to share either, so when Sam had all your attention one night during some lore research, he walked around the bunker library huffing and puffing until you finally asked him what was wrong.

“You’re giving Sammy all your attention, while i’m over here alone, withering away to nothing.” You rolled your eyes and continued to flip through the book Dean had enough, he wanted to cuddle, he wanted kissed, he wanted you to rub his back in that special way that he likes, he couldn’t take it anymore.

He slammed the book shut and picked you up, throwing you over his shoulder. You let out a yelp and smacked his butt, you looked up at Sam throwing him an apologetic look, he understood Dean was relentless.

“Dean! We have work to do.” He didn’t care, he wanted you all to himself, the lore can wait.

“Sorry, sweetheart, but I’m in need of some cuddles and. kisses.” He continued up the stairs to your shared room.

There was nothing you could do but lay on his shoulder patiently waiting for him to put you down, there was no use fighting it or trying to negotiate a deal, he was dead set on cuddling.

When the two of you finally reached the room, he pulled the blanket back and laid you on the bed, you shot him a glare as he crawled in bed beside you. You admit, he was very persuasive when he really wanted something.

He nuzzled his way into your arms, causing a giggle to leave your lips. “You’re really needy today.” He nodded against your chest, pulling you closer to him.

You loved when Dean got like this, it showed you that he truly needed you, even when he was angry or just in an all around bad mood, you were always there for him. He left soft kisses along your jawline, as you ran your fingertips up and down his spine, he shivered at your touch but ultimately relaxed under it as well.

“Y’know, you are the best thing that has ever happened to me, sweetheart.” Hearing him say those words made your heart flutter, you knew he was telling the truth too.

Dean wasn’t one to talk about his feelings, not even with Sam, but when it came to you, the words came out like vomit, half the time he didn’t even know he was saying them until he looks at you and you're staring back at him, adoringly.

He felt safe with you, he knew you wouldn’t make fun of him for feeling the way that he did, maybe a little playful teasing when he was super mushy, but you loved him regardless and he knew that.

You started to rub his back in that special way that he liked and only you knew how to do. His breath got slower and light snores began to escape his lips, you smiled softly and allowed yourself to relax, falling asleep along with him.

Everything was perfect and you couldn’t be happier.

A/N: This came out of nowhere and was written in less than 20 minutes, I hope you guys like this if you want to be tagged in future fics comment here or send me a message. Likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. 🥰

Main Masterlist - Dean Winchester Masterlist

Taglist: @iwudbutnah @littlesoulshine @miss-marmalade

[layraket]

@uniquevoidflowers

its been a while since i did smth whumpy.

ok so at first yes this was just going to be the drawing but some kind of ghost possessed me and now there are also words. so. enjoy the whump. (check the tags for warnings. not that graphic. i think. i wrote this in like 30 min. there's spoilers tho.)

‘Let’s go explore a little!’ he said. ‘It will be fun!’ he said.

This was far from fun. In fact, Legend was having zero fun.

Hyrule, sweet and friendly and kind of a dick but still his dear brother, wanted to explore a little around while the others prepared camp and invited him. Sure, letting the others to do all the work sounds good, but the veteran put the condition that they first will help around and then they could go for a walk.

Wild wanted to come with them too, but he was stopped by the rancher reminding him that they were out of pre-cooked food and needed to make dinner. Next time will it be Champion, sorry.

With that established both heroes leaved with Time telling them to be careful. The sound of chatter faded when they went deeper into the forest, and their own conversation went freely.

“Believe me! Octoroks are really annoying, they’re the worst” Hyrule complained, laughing lightly and bringing his hands up to exaggerate his frustration.

“Just a good shield and you can deflect their attacks? They’re not that thought” Legend counters, octoroks were just some silly octopus looking monsters, he was sure that they were food for some zora.

They kept bickering about this for a while, the calm ambient of the forest interrupted just by their presence and chatter.

Until there was a growl, and chaos started.

Legend was angry. Not at Hyrule, never him, he just wanted to walk and satisfy his instincts. He was angry at the moblin that decided to come pay a visit together with some bokos. They already finished with that camp! Why are there still monsters in this part of the forest?!

Never mind the implications of that, one of Hyrule’s moblins and Wild’s bokoblins were more important to deal with right now.

The bokoblins weren’t that big of a problem, two were black blooded, but they already were able to deal with them with ease now that they were used to their strength. The moblin is another story.

This one was faster, not like the one that was Time’s who was just overpowered. There was clearly more intelligence behind those eyes.

Its spears were precise, leaving Legend with some cuts on his face and one on his side.

“We need backup!” They couldn’t keep this for long, Legend’s joints were already aching from the little rest that he got after clearing that camp earlier.

He saw a fireball hit the moblin’s back, making it turn towards Hyrule with a snarl.

An idea came to his mind “Hyrule! Go to camp and call for the others, I’ll distract it! Fast!”

When a soft green light appeared in the traveler’s eyes gave Legend the confirmation that Hyrule knew what he was suggesting.

The veteran shot an arrow to the moblin making it turn back to him, giving Hyrule time to turn to his faerie form.

He saw the flicker of green light go behind the moblin, a soft bell-like sound being a contrast with the snarls of the monster.

Legend moved with his ice rod towards the moblin, ready to freeze it so they could have time so the others could arrive.

When he was about to use the magic item, a so-painfully-familiar sound of a bell was heard, loud and sudden.

The moblin obviously had noticed the bright green ball of light getting away, the one that just by mere bad luck was too close.

Two small wings, still small and young for a fairy, were coming out from the moblin’s fist, a green-ish blue liquid mixed with red dripping out of it to the floor.

There was a scream, if Legend wasn’t alone there he would have said that it came from someone else. His hand reached for his collar, grabbing one of the medallions and directing all his magic to it.

The ether medallion did its work, the moblin being hit with a powerful blast of electricity, the smell of burnt meat filling the area.

When the bastard didn’t move anymore he walked towards it, the wound on his side soaking his tunic and turning it a deeper shade of red, the color slowly spreading.

Legend looked at the hand of the monster, a little looser and letting see a little of what it had inside.

He wanted to throw up.

Bile didn’t come up his throat, the only thing coming out of it was a scream.

He shouldn’t have suggested this. He killed him.

[urlocalmultigroupfan]

ꜰᴏʟʟᴏᴡ ʏᴏᴜ ✦✩ (이용복)

pairing: lee felix x bsf!reader

summary: based off of follow you by imagine dragons

tags/warnings: mentions of another idol (heeseung) non!idol situation, felix is reader's best friend, he doesn't tell her how he feels, probably more, im so tired i most likely missed smth

a/n: second day in a row that i haven't slept, im sleep deprived atp....i js want to finish this up and get it ready <3 also, im thinking of making oneshots based off of u and also ex??? idk its kinda angstyyy....

also credits to @hyuneskkami for dividers!!

masterlist!

The weight of the day bears down on you, and it feels like your chest is too tight to breathe. Another fight with Heeseung. Another argument that made you feel small and unimportant. The love that was once vibrant has faded into something colder, something that no longer feels like home. No matter how many times you try, he never seems to listen. You find yourself asking, Why does it feel like I’m speaking a different language? It’s as though the things that once connected you two now only serve to push you further apart.

Your phone buzzes, and you don’t even need to look at it to know it’s Heeseung. You don’t have the energy to read his message. All it ever is is an empty apology, a quick fix to shut you up, to put a bandage on a wound that’s deeper than words could heal. “Sorry” it says. “I don’t know what’s wrong.” And it hurts, more than anything, that he’s never honest with you. That he never really tries.

You try not to let it overwhelm you.

Instead, you unlock your phone and scroll, searching for someone you can rely on. Felix.

You’ve never told him about your issues with Heeseung, not in full. You’ve never wanted to burden him with it. But Felix has always known when something was wrong. You’re not sure how he does it, but he always knows. His message pops up immediately: “Hey, you okay?”

It’s a simple text, but you know what it means. He cares.

“Yeah. Just tired.”

You close your eyes for a moment, wondering if that’s enough of an answer. It isn’t. But it’ll have to do. Felix knows when you’re lying. So you wait. Seconds later, your phone buzzes again.

“Come outside. I’m in the park.”

You blink, surprised. It’s late, but you know Felix well enough to understand that when he’s insistent, you don’t argue. You grab your jacket and head out the door. Fresh air, a walk in the park—maybe it’s exactly what you need to clear your mind, even if just for a little while.

The park feels quiet and peaceful, with the sound of distant traffic blending with the soft rustling of the trees. You can already see him in the distance, leaning casually against a tree. His blonde hair glows under the streetlight, and his familiar smile lights up his face as soon as he spots you.

“Hey,” Felix greets you, his voice warm. “You look like you could use some fresh air.”

You force a smile, but it’s weak. “You could say that.”

Felix studies you for a moment, his gaze intense but gentle, as if he’s reading you in a way that others can’t. “Come sit,” he says, patting the spot next to him on the park bench. “Tell me what’s going on.”

You hesitate for a moment before sitting next to him. The bench is cold, the metal biting into your legs, but his presence is like a soft, warm blanket. Felix always knew how to make you feel safe, how to calm the storm in your mind.

“You’ve always been there for me, Felix,” you start, your voice quiet, almost hesitant. “But I don’t know what to do anymore. It’s Heeseung. Every time we try to talk, it feels like I’m speaking a different language. He’s so distant, and I don’t know if I’m asking too much, or if he just doesn’t care anymore.”

Felix’s eyes soften, and you can tell that hearing this hurts him too. “You’re not asking for too much,” he says, his voice calm but firm. “You deserve someone who listens to you. Someone who sees you, who values you.��

You blink, your throat tightening at his words. Felix always had a way of making you feel like you were worth something, like you were more than just the sum of your worries. “But… I don’t know if I can fix it anymore. I don’t know if I even want to. But it’s so hard to let go.”

You feel the tears starting to well up again, but you swallow hard, fighting to keep them at bay. Felix doesn’t pressure you. He simply reaches out and brushes his hand against yours. It’s gentle, comforting, like a silent promise.

“You don’t have to let go all at once,” he says softly. “One step at a time. And you’re not alone. I’m here for you. Always.”

The sincerity in his voice cracks something inside you. Before you can stop yourself, you lean your head on his shoulder. His warmth soothes the tension in your body, and you finally let the tears fall, quiet sobs racking through you.

Felix doesn’t say a word. He just holds you, his arm gently around your shoulders. He doesn’t ask questions or try to fix everything. He just lets you be.

Felix watches you closely, his heart aching as you struggle with the weight of your emotions. He’s known you for so long—long enough to see the cracks in your smile, to hear the quiet pain in your voice when you pretend to be okay. He hates seeing you like this, especially when he knows it’s because of someone who doesn’t see you the way you deserve.

But it’s more than that, too. Felix has always been there for you, always done his best to support you. And even though he’s never said it, he’s always cared for you… more than just a friend.

There’s a part of him that wishes he could be the one to fix everything. He wishes he could be the one to hold you close, to make you feel safe in a way that Heeseung bastard never could.

“I’d follow you no matter what,” he thinks, his mind repeating the words from the song that had been stuck in his head all night. It’s a promise he’s always made, silently, in his heart. He would follow you through anything, even if it meant staying in the background, supporting you from the sidelines.

But right now, all he can do is be the friend you need. And if that’s enough, then he’ll take it.

Eventually, your tears begin to subside, and you pull away, sniffling and wiping your face. Felix looks at you, his gaze softer than you’ve ever seen it. His hand is still on yours, and you can feel his warmth, his steady presence.

“You deserve to be happy,” he says quietly, the sincerity in his voice almost too much to bear. “You don’t have to carry all of this by yourself.”

You nod, your chest feeling a little lighter. “I just don’t know what to do. I’ve been trying so hard to make it work with Heeseung, but…”

Felix squeezes your hand. “You don’t have to fix everything right now. It’s okay to take a step back and just breathe. And if you ever need to talk or need someone to listen… I’m always here.”

You look up at him then, really look at him. His eyes are filled with something deeper than just friendship, but he’s hiding it, like always. Felix is always there, always putting you first, always making sure you’re okay. You realize, in that moment, that he’s been more than just a friend to you for a long time. He’s been the one constant, the one person who always has your back.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough for now.

You smile at him, the first real smile you’ve had in days. “Thanks, Felix. You’re… you’re the best.”

He smiles back at you, a little softer this time, his eyes lingering on yours for a moment longer than usual. "I’ll follow you, no matter what. You know that, right?"

You nod, the weight in your chest finally starting to lift. “I know.”

As you stand up to leave, you feel lighter, like maybe you don’t have to carry the burden of everything on your own anymore. Felix will follow you, wherever you go, and for now, that’s enough.

hope yall enjoyed <3

todays playlist....

truman by han and felix, cinema by lee know and seungmin, giant (korean ver) by stray kids, burnin tires by changbin and i.n, escape by bangchan and hyunjin, sweet dreams by j-hope ft. miguel, my pace stray kids, airplane by stray kids, blueprint by stray kids, mixtape: gone days by stray kids, moonlight sunrise by twice, off the record by ive, do not touch by misamo, my friend ranting while we played roblox for a bit, wow by 3racha, 3racha (song), love me back by fromis_9, tiktok by 3racha, u by stray kids ft. tablo, case 143 by stray kids, goodness gracious by bbno$ and yung gravy, night dancer by imase, as we are by seungmin, gods menu by stray kids, fever by enhypen, sheesh by babymonster, ggum by yeonjun, matsuri by fujii kaze, only by leehi, real man by beabadoobee, from the start by laufey, fly me to the moon by frank sinatra, can't take my eyes off you by boys town gang, bounce back by stray kids, thank u by ive (my gf likes it so i do too) like him by tyler, the creator

taglist: @rockstarkkami @sirloncelot-of-bananas @jisunggy

taglist is open! please comment if you would like to be added <3

[wordsofwhimsy]

˚｡⋆ ೀ ༘˚ Out of My Mind ˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

Pairing: Mohawk!Mark Grayson x f!Reader

Warnings: Death, mild gore, very mild 18+ topics

Tags: Obsession, reader matches his freak

Word Count: 1,723

Synopsis: Based on this anon request! Shout out to you anon really brightened my day with that message

a/n: i was going to wait until I finished the “Shattered Affections” series but that shit’s got my ass in a stranglehold right now, so i hope y’all enjoy this in the meantime :’-)

Mark Grayson sat on the rooftop of his childhood home, legs dangling over the edge as he stared up at the stars. His usual swagger was gone, replaced with an awkward, almost pouty expression. He didn't even notice the alien ships circling above the city yet. He wasn't thinking about that. No, he was thinking about you.

He had been obsessed with you for months. Ever since the first time he saw you — no, it wasn’t a "love at first sight" thing, but you were different. Cool. Not impressed by his superhero antics, which, let’s face it, was the kind of thing that made him weak in the knees. You didn’t swoon. You didn’t chase him around for autographs. And that, that was something he couldn’t get enough of.

But of course, like any tragic, brooding superhero, life had to throw a curveball. It came in the form of a full-on alien invasion. Mark was still getting the hang of his powers, and though his aim was getting better, he was still far from perfect. And just when he thought he was on top of things, the alien ships attacked your neighborhood. They weren’t here for small talk or to stroke his ego. No, they came to destroy, and in the chaos, you didn’t make it.

Dead. Gone. Kaput. No longer breathing. In a rather brutal way, really. And what’s worse, he didn’t even get a chance to actually do anything cool like saving you in a dramatic moment. He imagined himself swooping in and you looking at him like you had just realized you were both meant to be. Instead? Aliens ripped through the city, and by the time Mark had taken care of them, your lifeless body was all that remained.

He stared at your bloodstained hoodie and the smudged dirt on your face. His gut twisted in frustration. I never even got to talk to you. I never even asked for your number, he thought as he crushed the last alien's skull with a single punch, snapping the neck of the last invader like it was a cheap action figure. It was all over. But you were already gone.

“Yeah... I’m sure you’re really impressed now, huh?” he mumbled to himself, flying away in a huff, heart heavy with disappointment.

He stayed on the move, fighting crime, but there was a new hole in his chest that he couldn’t fill. Every time he saw someone who reminded him of you, it hurt. Even when it was just the way someone chewed gum or how they wore a jacket with that same red on it.

If Mark had to pinpoint when he started making the change of following in his father’s footsteps, it would’ve been that day.

If I want to keep people safe, I should control them. Make them listen. That’s what Dad did. He got it.

The lines between right and wrong blurred as Mark, once the hopeful and idealistic hero, slowly embraced the brutal, domineering approach of his father, Omni-Man. The streets, the cities — all of it felt like chaos, and the only way to fix it was with an iron fist. They need a leader, not a protector.

He went on a rampage, taking control of his world. Villains, heroes, civilians — all bent to his will. Any resistance was met with force. He became the tyrant he once hated, convinced that this was the only way to keep people safe.

But then, just as quickly as he'd risen through the ranks, Mark was pulled into an alternate universe by Angstrom Levy, given some directions he didn’t pay too close attention to wreak havoc in the name of destroying Invincible’s reputation.

Mark didn’t put up much of a protest outside of a few snide remarks. The promise of other universes to conquer wasn’t such a bad idea.

And even though he understood in theory that the universe he was being sent to would be nearly identical to his, it still struck him dumbly when arriving through the portal. The same skyline, the same vague something in the air that made him go, “Wait... no way.”

This is Earth, but it’s... not the same.

And then, like a gift from the universe, he saw you.

Except, well... you were different. Better. Way better.

You were standing there in a leather jacket with spikes on the shoulders, holding a bag of snacks and looking like you were about to turn up at some cosmic nightclub. Your hair? Perfectly messy in a way that made Mark wonder if you were secretly a rebellious antihero in this timeline. Maybe a vampire? Maybe some sort of badass alien yourself?

“Whoa,” Mark said, landing with a thud in front of you.

You blinked. “Can I help you?”

Mark grinned like a goofy schoolboy. “Yeah, actually... are you... are you... you?” he stammered, gesturing vaguely to the universe around him. “I mean, you’re alive, right?”

You raised an eyebrow, the corners of your mouth curling into a smile. “Pretty sure I’m breathing?” you responded sarcastically. “What’s your deal, man?”

"Deal? Oh, you know, I'm just Invincible,” he said, giving a quick flex of his arm as if that was supposed to clear everything up. "And I’m pretty sure you’re my type.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn't hide the smirk. “Uh, okay? And what’s your type? Young women in spandex?”

Mark rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. “I mean, technically, yeah. But more like... you. I mean, you are definitely passing the vibe check.”

You chuckled. “Okay weirdo.”

Mark smirked, a glint of something darker flashing in his eyes. He stepped closer, his voice dropping into a low, almost menacing tone. “Trust me, babe, if I really wanted to, I could make your wildest nightmares come true. But you might actually enjoy it.”

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed. “Don't threaten me with a good time.”

Mark grinned, eyes twinkling with a mix of challenge and excitement. “Oh, I’m not threatening you. I’m offering you a chance to have a little fun.”

You crossed your arms and smirked back. “And what did you have in mind, Invincible?”

Mark took a final step forward, completely closing the distance between you with his gaze never leaving yours. He reached up and gently ran his fingers along the side of your face, the touch light, almost teasing. But then, in a flash, he gripped your hair tightly, giving it a sharp yank, pulling your head back slightly.

You froze, stunned for a moment, the suddenness catching you off guard. But then, he saw it — a flicker of excitement in your eyes, a thrill he had only dreamed of seeing on your face.

Mark leaned in, his breath warm against your skin. The weight of his grip on your hair made your pulse quicken, but the excitement building in your chest was undeniable.

"Trust me," he whispered, his voice hushed but intense, "I’ve got a long list of things I want to do with you."

You smirked, tilting your head slightly, your lips curling into a mischievous smile. "Well, what are you waiting for, then?" you taunted, your heart beating a little faster now. You were no stranger to danger — and something about Mark’s dark, chaotic energy was drawing you in like a moth to a flame.

He let out a low chuckle, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. "Oh, I can’t wait to make you regret asking that," he murmured, before his lips suddenly crashed against yours. The kiss was rough, intense, and it caught you off guard at first, but the heat of it made your heart race. You hesitated for only a moment before responding, your body instinctively leaning into his.

Your hands found their way to his chest, fingers curling against the fabric of his suit – too tight to actually get any sort of grip on it – as you kissed him back with the same urgency. His lips moved against yours, hungry and insistent, and you matched him, your own passion igniting. Every brush of his lips, every soft tug at your hair, sent a thrill racing through you, and soon, you were lost in it, no longer thinking, just feeling.

The kiss deepened, becoming more desperate, as if neither of you wanted to pull away. His hands roamed to your back, pulling you even closer, while yours slid around his neck, fingers tangling in his streak of hair.

You hadn’t even realized at first that you were no longer standing on solid ground. The only thing that existed was the kiss, the feeling of his hands on you, the way your bodies fit together. But then, Mark broke away just slightly, his lips lingering above yours, and suddenly you noticed the change. The weightlessness of the air hit you all at once, your heart skipping a beat as you pulled away, blinking in confusion. You were floating high above the city, the skyline below now a mere speck of lights, the ground far out of reach.

Before you could even gather your thoughts, Mark’s hands shifted, guiding you as he gently laid himself horizontally in the air, positioning you to sit on his hips as he floated effortlessly. You gasped, a flicker of panic rising in your chest at the height, but the fear only seemed to heighten the thrill running through your veins.

Mark’s smirk widened as he glanced up at you, his eyes gleaming with dark amusement. “What’s wrong?” he teased, his voice low and seductive. “I thought you were ready for this.”

You swallowed, the mix of fear and exhilaration twisting inside you. But you weren’t about to back down. “I am,” you said, your voice confident, a sly grin tugging at your lips. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

[sleepyjackets]

let's get you that milkshake🥤

summary: rafe and you hate eachother but one late night in your dads diner something shifts (or so you thought)

pairings: season 1 rafe cameron x reader

warnings/tags: enemies to lovers, public sex, swearing, fem!reader, edging (kinda???)

you and rafe loathe each other to no end. ever since that prick and all his kook friends trashed your dads restaurant you couldn't keep the idea of socking a punch into his pretty face outta your mind. you assumed this beef of yours was one sided but apparently not. everytime you and rafe are anywhere near eachother you catch him staring. rather those are hateful stares or something more you can't quite tell.

you're cleaning up around the golf corses him and his squad of pricks frequent when you hear something all too familiar.

"come clean up this shit pogue!" one of his friends yells across the field with not an ounce of shame in his voice. you look down to find a milkshake spilled all over grass and sidewalk with a sticky golf ball meeting it's halt in the mess

typically, you’d ignore this kinda thing but you've grown all too irritated lately for other reasons so you make your way over. but your pursuit is stopped when you hear

"come on are you guys 8 clean up your goddamn mess." rafe says lifting his hand over his eyes to shield his face from the suns harsh rays.

"when you do stupid shit like this it makes me look bad" he puts his hand on his friends shoulder and laughs.

rafe must've saw you staring in disbelief because scoffs "you want a picture or something little miss pogue?"

little miss pogue

you hated that name almost as much as you hated rafe. him and his friends made that name for you after your dad started hanging up your old pagent photos in his restaurant.

"in your goddamn dreams prick" you bite back starting to walk away.

"more like nightmares."

you hear it. you say not one word.

about a week later you're closing up the restaurant when rafe walks in alone and spots you. his eyes stay on you for longer than necessary before he walks up to the counter.

"can i just have a milkshake?" rafe asks very obviously trying not to look at you.

small detail. that day you were wearing a low cut shirt and you purposely left your hair up too just for emphasis. you didn't really love attention but it felt good to look good. you also sure as hell didn't expect to have rafe cameron tripping over himself at the sight of your cleavage. god did it feel intoxicating.

"we're actually closed i just didn't lock the door. what are you doing on this side of town anyways don't you have a maid who could just make you a milkshake?" you add in a little lip bite in between your sentences and lean forward a little. it's not like you really knew how to flirt but you know you were doing *something* and it was working on him. again it was so intoxicating watching the guy who's been terrorizing you for months finally stutter over his words at the sight of you. you had power and god were you into this way more than you should be.

"so you can't even do your goddamn job" he snaps back but it's obvious he was just compensating for the fact that he knew you knew he was tripping over himself

"instead of being an ass why don't you come to the back i can get you something else." again absolutely intoxicating.

"in your fucking dreams little miss pogue." he stuttered

i smirk crossed across your face and you forward a little. "oh really?"

"yeah really." he says crossing his arms.

you grab a cup from the side of your counter and mutter.

"let's get you that milkshake then?"

when he meets you in the back you quickly grab his perfectly ironed shirt and pull him in for a sloppy kiss. his hands grip onto your waist like a goddamn lifeline and you let out a small moan into his mouth. rafe sits you up on the counter and keep kissing you while one of his hands roams up to cup your tit.

"bathroom." he says in between kissing your lips.

as you move to pull away rafe grips onto you harder and you're able to wrap your legs around his hips.

you barely make it to that bathroom before you're both clawing at the tight fabrics restricting you from skin on skin contact.

when you're both stripped down rafe props your beautiful body up on the wall and starts trusting. which each movement a moan creeps out of your mouth and you just instinctively quiet down a little.

"your noises are so goddamn pretty" he says in between latching his lips onto your neck and upper chest. his fingers gently curl around your nipple and you let out another moan. "yeah tell me when you're cumming baby"

you start to feel a warm rise in your stomach and mumble out

"fuck rafe i'm coming!"

then he stops.

it takes you a bit to even register what this asshole just did but once you fully open you eyes and look around you come to the realization and just look up to see rafe gently setting you on your feet and smiling like that nothing. rafe starts walking out once his clothes are back on but stops. you think your getting an apology maybe even a second round but your fantasy is broken when he says all smug

"i still want that milkshake little miss pogue"

[jetii]

Event Horizon

Chapter Thirty-Three: The Waiting

Chapter WC: 8,545

Chapter Tags/Warnings: none, maybe some happy tears

A/N: We are crawling towards...certain events, and I feel compelled to once again put out a PSA that canon divergence can and will happen at any time. In like a squiggly line kind of way.

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter | Join the Taglist | Masterlist

Nadiem, 20 BBY

When you wake, it's morning, and the first rays of pink light are shining through the boarded up windows. Your head is still throbbing, and the nausea is still there, but the pain has receded, and you find yourself able to breathe and sit up without much difficulty. The room is quiet, the only noises the hum of the medical equipment and the steady breathing of the men and civilians sleeping around you.

You look over at the bed beside yours, expecting to see the child. But instead, there's only an empty space. The sheets are rumpled, and there's a hint of blood, but the child himself is nowhere to be found. Your chest tightens, a stab of panic lancing through you, and you start to scramble out of bed, only to stop, a hand pressed to your temple as the room spins.

"Where—"

"He's with the others," Wise interrupts.

You look up to find him sitting at a nearby desk, his feet propped up and a datapad in his hand. He's wearing a pair of glasses, his brow furrowed as he scans the screen, and he doesn't bother looking up as he continues speaking.

"He woke up about an hour ago. Did a couple scans, and everything came back fine. I wanted him to stay here for a while, but he was having none of it," he explains, his eyes flitting to you and his mouth twisting into a wry smile. "I tried to tell him that there's a war going on, and that he can't just wander around a bombed out city, but he wasn't having it."

"And what, you let him?" you ask, incredulous.

"I don't think anyone has ever accused me of being a pushover before, sir," Wise replies, his tone dry. "He's fine. Snap and his little fan club are with him. He's probably showing them how to hotwire a speeder bike."

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose.

"I guess I'm not surprised," you mumble. You rub your face, wincing at the ache in your jaw, and Wise hums, his eyes returning to the screen.

"How are you feeling?" he asks, his tone casual.

"Like shit," you admit, and his lips quirk up slightly. "My head hurts, and I feel like I got trampled by a herd of bantha."

"Sounds about right," he shrugs. He finally looks up at you, his eyebrow arching over the rim of his glasses, and his lips press into a thin line. "You should really eat something."

You hesitate, a sudden queasiness rising in your stomach, and the idea of eating anything is repulsive. But you know that Wise is right. It's been a long time since you've had a proper meal, and the exertion from earlier certainly hasn't helped matters.

"I will," you say.

He hums again, a knowing look on his face, and he pushes the glasses onto his head, setting the datapad aside. He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and his eyes narrow.

"Look," Wise starts. He pauses, his gaze drifting over to the bed where the boy was sleeping. He seems to be searching for the words, his eyes flitting to the ceiling and the floor and anywhere but you. "What happened last night was...I can't even describe it."

"I know," you say quietly.

"You saved his life," he says, his voice barely above a whisper.

"We both did."

"No," he counters. His hands clasp in front of him, and his brow furrows. "It was you. All you."

"Well, the bacta helped, too," you offer, and he rolls his eyes.

"Don't do that," he says, and there's a sharp edge to his tone. "Don't act like it was nothing. Don't make light of it."

You open your mouth, a retort on the tip of your tongue, but you bite it back. He's right, of course. And, if you're honest with yourself, a small part of you is proud. Proud that you were able to use the Force to heal someone. That you were able to do something good, something useful, for once.

And, more importantly, that it worked. Not just that the kid survived, but that you finally managed to do what you had never been able to do before. What Yaddle had tried to teach you and failed.

It's a victory.

A small victory, perhaps, but a victory nonetheless.

"Sorry," you mumble. Wise lets out a soft snort, and he shakes his head.

"I'm serious," he continues. "That was...that was something else. And I don't mean to be insubordinate or anything, but you scared the hell out of me."

"I know," you repeat.

"No," he argues, and his voice rises, his frustration seeping through. "I don't think you do."

Wise stops, his jaw clenching, and his fingers drum against his thigh. He takes a deep breath and squeezes his eyes shut, and his head dips, his gaze returning to his clasped hands.

"You're amazing," he tells you, his eyes flicking up. "And you're terrifying."

"That's what I hear," you joke, and he sighs.

"No," he says again. "No jokes. Not now. I'm serious."

"Wise," you begin, and he cuts you off.

"Let me finish," he interrupts, his voice stern. "Just listen, okay? Because I need to say this."

You nod, your lips pressing into a thin line. He takes another breath, his eyes closing again, and his shoulders slump.

"I've seen a lot of shit. Too much, really. But, this...I've never seen anything like this. What you did...what you did was nothing short of miraculous. It was fucking impossible."

You open your mouth to protest, but Wise holds a hand up, silencing you.

"Don't. I don't need a speech. Or a pep talk. Or whatever bullshit the Jedi like to spout."

His eyes open, and they're filled with an emotion that you can't quite place.

"I've spent my entire life watching my brothers die, and I've learned to accept it. I've made my peace with the fact that there's not much I can do, except try to make them comfortable and help them pass on peacefully," he says. "And you just...you just walked into that and changed everything. You did the impossible, and you saved a life. You gave a kid a chance. And it's..."

Wise trails off, his gaze shifting, and a sad, crooked smile appears.

 "I just want you to know that...that I do trust you. And that I believe in you. Even if I can't say the same about the rest of your kind," he finishes.

The silence settles between the two of you, and you can't help but stare. Wise has always been a man of little words, and this is probably the most you've ever heard him speak. It's an unexpected declaration, and it's hard not to feel moved by it. Especially coming from a man like him. A man who's seen so much, who's witnessed the worst the galaxy has to offer, who's watched his brothers die and had to move on.

You've always known that he cares about you, in his own way. But this is something else. This is trust. This is a level of respect and faith that you've never been given before. Not from the Republic, not from the Jedi Council, and certainly not from the Senate. And it's an honor to be on the receiving end of such an unshakable belief.

But at the same time, the burden of responsibility weighs heavily, and you know that you don't deserve it. That, even if you can't say it aloud, the truth is, he shouldn't trust you. Not after everything that has come to pass, and is still to come.

"I appreciate the sentiment," you finally manage, and the ghost of a smile flickers across his face. "But I'm not sure if I'm worthy of such praise."

Wise laughs, and the harshness in his eyes is gone.

"Well, that's just the problem with you Jedi types, isn't it?" he says, his voice light and teasing. "You're all so humble and self-sacrificing. It's almost painful."

"Don't forget wise and mysterious," you add, and he snorts.

"I'd hardly call you mysterious, General," he retorts. "As for the wise part, well, I'll reserve judgement on that until I see some evidence."

"I suppose you would be the expert on that," you counter, and he grins.

"You're damn right I am."

Seemingly satisfied, Wise turns away, moving through the rows of cots and checking on the wounded men. You watch him for a moment, a warm feeling blooming in your chest. 

The boy's survival is a miracle, and the knowledge that the Force can bring about such a thing even in dark times is a comfort. It's the kind of hope you desperately need. The kind that reminds you of what the Jedi Order stands for, and what you stand for.

It's the kind of hope that's been missing from your life for a very long time.

As your eyes fall closed again, drifting in and out of sleep, you think of the meadow and Rex. The feeling of being safe and secure, the warmth and the love. And the possibility.

You know it's dangerous to want, but you can't help yourself. You've never been able to, and it's the same now. It's foolish, and reckless, and stupid, but you can't stop the thoughts from crossing your mind.

A life with him. A simple, happy life, far away from the war and the chaos. Just the two of you, together. It's the future you want, and the thought that it might actually be possible is overwhelming.

Your eyes open as footsteps approach your cot, and the shadow of an armored figure blocks out the light.

"Congratulations, sir,” Booker announces as he looms over you. “You finally made Wise crack."

Booker's expression is neutral, his features calm and composed, but there's a gleam of worry in his eyes, and his hands are clenched into fists at his side. When you sit up and swing your legs over the side of the cot, his body tenses, and his gaze darts to Wise's back.

"Are you alright?" he asks quietly.

You nod, and the lines around his eyes deepen.

"Are you sure?" he presses, his hands hovering as if unsure what to do with them. "Wise said—"

"I'm fine," you interrupt. "It was...complicated. But I'm fine now. Promise."

Booker's shoulders relax, his face breaking into a relieved smile. His arms come up and wrap around your shoulders, and he pulls you in, squeezing tight. You laugh, patting his arm and trying to pull away, but he doesn't let go, his embrace almost crushing.

"You scared the hell out of me," he says, his voice muffled against your shoulder.

"Sorry," you reply, and he snorts.

"I don't even want to imagine what would happen to me if you died," he grumbles, and you sigh, your arms wrapping around his waist. "I'd probably end up in a medical facility. Or a psych ward."

"Oh, come on," you tease. "You'd survive without me."

Booker pulls back, his hands gripping your shoulders.

"Just...please don't do it again," he says quietly. "I know that's probably a lot to ask, considering the circumstances, but..."

"I'll try," you tell him. He sighs, releasing you, and his hand lingers on your shoulder, giving it a squeeze. "So, are you going to tell me how the kid is?"

"Oh, he can tell you himself," Booker replies with a laugh, and he backs away, heading for the door. "He's been waiting."

You can't help the grin that spreads across your face as Snap enters, the boy perched on his hip. His arms are wrapped around Snap's neck, his legs dangling, and his eyes are wide and bright. The bruises have faded, no bandages in sight. He's awake, alert, and full of energy, a far cry from the injured child from the night before.

"Hi, General," the boy chirps, and you smile, gesturing for Snap to approach.

"Hi," you greet with a wave. "Glad to see you're feeling better."

"Yep," he replies. He squirms until Snap sets him down, the boy immediately moving to the bed. He climbs up, and Wise is quick to react, sliding a pillow between his head and the wall.

"How are you feeling?" Wise asks as he runs a medscanner the child, checking his vitals. The boy shrugs, fiddling with his blanket.

"Good," the boy answers. His eyes widen, and his gaze darts to you. "Oh! Thank you for saving me."

"Of course," you reply. You gesture to the medscanner, raising an eyebrow. "What does the scan say?"

"Nothing to be worried about," Wise says, turning the scanner so you can see the screen. "All vitals are within normal range, and there's no sign of injury or trauma."

"That's great," you murmur, relieved. "I'm glad to hear it."

The boy smiles, his eyes shining with excitement. He wriggles his way closer to you and reaches into the pocket of his borrowed trousers, sitting up on his knees to face you.

"This is for you," he declares proudly.

In his hand is a small flower, yellow petals curled at the edges and a green stem, the color a duller shade of what it once was. It's a little crushed, a few petals missing, but it's beautiful nonetheless.

"Wow," you gasp. "Thank you."

The boy beams, and he places the flower in your hand, his fingers lingering. You turn the flower in your palm, marveling at its beauty before tucking it behind your ear.

"There," you say. "What do you think?"

"It's pretty," he declares.

"Yeah, it is," you agree, and the boy giggles.

You can't help the smile that forms on your face, the sight of his happiness a joy in itself. After everything he's been through, everything he's endured, the fact that he's able to be so positive, so carefree, is inspiring.

It's the kind of innocence that's rare, the kind that's lost all too quickly in the galaxy, and it's precious. A reminder of the beauty and the wonder of life, of what the Force is truly meant for. Not for death and destruction, not for violence and chaos, but for light and love and hope. For creation and new life, and for the future.

You look up, finding Snap watching you, and he gives you a knowing smile. The expression on his face is familiar, and you realize with a start that it's pride. A warmth settles in your chest, and your throat constricts.

You've always believed in the good in the galaxy, in the strength and resilience of its people, but the past decade has worn away at that hope, and you've found yourself struggling to maintain it. Seeing the boy's resilience, the way he's overcome his trauma and is now able to smile and laugh and give others joy, is a testament to that strength.

It's a testament to the goodness and the compassion that exists in the universe, and it's a reminder that, even in the midst of darkness, there is light.

You swallow thickly, blinking a couple times and looking away, trying to gather yourself.

"Come on, kid. Let's go get some breakfast," Snap says. "I think there's still some of those sweet rolls left."

The boy perks up, his eyes widening, and he scrambles down from the bed. He reaches up, grabbing Wise's hand, and tugs, trying to pull him towards the door.

"Come on, come on."

Wise rolls his eyes, but he doesn't fight the pull. He allows himself to be led away, and the boy skips out of the room, his hand still holding onto Wise's. Snap follows, giving you a final nod before disappearing from sight.

Booker waits until the two of them are gone before turning to face you, letting out a sigh.

"The Council wants to speak to you," he informs you, his voice low. "I tried to hold them off as long as I could, but apparently they're eager to hear your report."

"Wonderful," you mutter. 

You can't imagine why the Council would want an immediate debrief. Usually they're happy enough to read your reports. Or not read them. You've learned to accept that most of the Council rarely pays any attention to anything you say or do. Unless they think you're doing something wrong. Which you frequently are. 

In this case, though, you've done nothing out of the ordinary, at least as far as they're concerned. It doesn't make any sense.

Then again, it's the Council.

They could be having a meeting to discuss the weather, and it would still feel important.

"Any idea what this is about?" you ask, and Booker shakes his head.

"They didn't say," he answers. "But I'm gonna guess it's not about that vacation to Zeltron I've been asking about."

You snort, rubbing your temples. Your head is still pounding, and you can feel the fatigue weighing on you, but you're not going to get a break. Not anytime soon. You glance at the door, debating whether or not you should just run, and Booker chuckles, seemingly reading your mind.

"They're not going to like that," he warns.

"What else is new," you grumble. You sigh, pushing yourself upright and swinging your legs over the side of the bed. "Alright. I guess we should get this over with.”

"Don't worry," he starts, offering you a hand. You accept it, and he helps pull you to your feet, placing a steadying hand on your arm. "Whatever it is, I'm sure you'll handle it with your usual grace and charm."

"I'll do my best," you mumble, and Booker chuckles. His grip tightens as the world tilts, and he takes a step closer, his free hand moving to your back.

"Easy there," he says. He pauses, his expression sobering. "You sure you're up for this?"

"No choice," you answer, and his brow furrows.

"There's always a choice."

"Yeah, well, I made mine about thirty years ago," you mutter. You shake your head, trying to dispel the dizziness. It's slow to abate, and you close your eyes, taking a deep breath.

"Do you want me to get Wise?"

"Please don't," you groan. You know he would come, but you also know he'd give you an earful. And more than likely try to force feed you some of the vile liquid he insists on calling soup. "I've had enough lectures from him for now."

"That bad, huh?"

You breathe through the pain, and after a while, the sensation subsides. You open your eyes, and the room comes back into focus.

"Worse," you say. You straighten, pulling away from him, and give him a weak smile. "Thanks."

"No problem," he replies, and you step away, taking a moment to center yourself. The headache is still there, and your limbs feel heavy, but it could be worse. "Dash has some caf waiting for you at the command tent."

"Great, thanks," you murmur. You're about to ask if you have time for a shower, but Booker's commlink beeps.

"Commander, the Council is waiting," Dash's voice says, and you sigh. Of course they are.

"Copy that," Booker answers, and he gives you an apologetic smile. "Looks like they're not in the mood for excuses."

"Of course not," you grumble. You roll your eyes and start to head towards the door, but Booker stops you, his hand resting on your arm.

"You don't have to do this," he says. "We can just pretend the connection was bad, and—"

"No, it's fine," you cut him off. "I'll deal with them. I always do."

"You're a brave woman," he jokes, and you chuckle, shaking your head.

"No, I'm just used to it," you correct. You reach up and touch the flower in your hair, the memory of the boy's smile warming your heart. "There are worse things."

"I'll take your word for it," he mutters, and the two of you leave the medbay, heading towards the command station. The streets are quiet, the morning still too young for much activity, and you use the time to compose yourself. It's a peaceful silence, the first rays of dawn lighting the sky, and you can't help but enjoy the stillness.

But, like all things, it doesn't last long.

The Council is already connected when you enter, and you're greeted by the holographic forms of Master Mace, Master Mundi, Master Plo, and Obi-Wan. You bow, greeting each member in turn, and they acknowledge you with a nod.

Master Mace is as stern as ever, his expression blank and his gaze assessing. Master Plo's mouth is hidden behind his mask, but the creases around his eyes betray his concern. Master Mundi is stoic, as usual, but you can tell he's not happy. Out of the four of them, Obi-Wan's expression is the most telling. He's trying to hide it, but the worry is written all over his face, and his hands are clasped together tightly, his fingers entwined.

You give him a smile, trying to reassure him, but it only seems to make him more uneasy. You're sure you look a mess, with a fresh bacta patch on your forehead and bloodshot eyes. You can feel the dried blood on your nose, and your hair is sticking up at odd angles, but it's the least of your worries.

"General," Mace says. His tone is flat, and you can't help but notice the tightness of his expression. Something's wrong. "It's good to see you’re alive and well."

"Thank you, Master," you reply, bowing your head respectfully. "It's good to be seen."

Obi-Wan's frown cracks, and a smile twitches at the corner of his mouth. Booker looks away and disguises a laugh as a cough. Mace gives the two of you a hard stare, and you resist the urge to smirk. It's a bad habit, but sometimes it's impossible to resist. Especially around Obi-Wan.

Mace's eyes narrow, and he gives you a pointed look.

"You should have checked in earlier," he chides. "Your mission report was due twelve hours ago."

"My apologies, Masters," you answer. "The situation here was...complicated."

"So we've heard," Plo interjects, his tone grave. "We'd like to hear your account."

"Of course," you respond. You step forward, clasping your hands behind your back, and the weight of the four pairs of eyes resting on you is almost stifling. You take a moment to collect your thoughts, trying to organize your memories of the battle. 

Dash steps into the tent, a mug of caf in hand. He's not wearing his helmet, and he gives you a quick salute, placing the mug on the table. The two of you share a look, the brief eye contact conveying all that needs to be said.

You've got this.

Dash offers you a small, reassuring smile and exits the tent. You watch him go, and you find yourself feeling oddly emboldened. Whatever the Council wants, whatever they're going to say, you can handle it.

"Would you like me to rehash what Luminara has already told you?" you ask, and the Councilors exchange a glance. "Or would you like me to skip ahead to the part where the droid forces employed droids armed with cortosis?"

"We have read her report," Mace says, his tone clipped.

"But we'd like to hear it from your perspective," Plo adds, his gaze softening. "Please."

"Very well," you agree.

You spend the next hour relaying the details of the battle, describing the initial landing and the subsequent deployment. You talk about the engagement, the tactics, and the losses, and you're careful to note any mistakes and shortcomings. There are plenty to choose from, and you can't help but cringe as you recount them.

You're no fool. You know that the Council doesn't need a detailed recitation. They've already read the reports, and the intel from the battle, and the aftermath. You're not telling them anything they don't already know. But the way they watch you, as if they're waiting for you to slip up, or miss something, or fail to meet some unspoken standard, it's unnerving. And, as always, it's exhausting.

"It was an impressive victory," Obi-Wan offers. "Despite the unexpected complications."

"Thank you," you murmur, giving him a slight smile. You can't bring yourself to look at Mace. "But we could have done better. I could have done better."

"It was a difficult battle," Master Plo points out, and you shake your head.

"It doesn't matter," you counter. "In the end, the Republic suffered great losses. And the civilians here suffered most of all. Their lives were disrupted, and their homes were destroyed. There were thousands of casualties, and many more wounded."

The Council members fall silent, and you can't help but glance at Mace, who meets your gaze with a cool, indifferent expression.

"The Separatists are not the only ones who have failed here," you continue. "We have, too. And the people of Nadiem will have to live with the consequences."

You look at the holograms of the Councilors, their images flickering in and out. They're staring at you, their faces impassive, and you can't tell what they're thinking. Not that you ever can, really, but it's even more frustrating now, and the anger begins to build, a low simmering heat.

"Your compassion does you credit, General," Master Mundi says, and it takes everything in you not to roll your eyes. He may as well have called you naïve. Or stupid. "But the war effort must take precedence."

You open your mouth to protest, but Obi-Wan steps in, his voice calm and reassuring.

"With all due respect, Master, I believe the General's point is valid," he interjects. He's addressing Mundi, but his eyes are fixed on you, his expression gentle. "These are people's lives we are discussing, and their safety and security are our responsibility. The fact that the Separatists attacked here is troubling, and we must consider why."

"I agree," Mace cuts in. He gives Obi-Wan a pointed look. "But there is another matter we must discuss."

You look at him, waiting for him to elaborate. He's clearly holding something back, and your mind races, trying to figure out what it could be. There's an odd energy in the air, a strange sense of anticipation, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. 

You'd managed to keep yourself contained throughout the battle, pushing aside your emotions and focusing on the task at hand. You'd managed to ignore the anger and the frustration and the fear. But now, in the silence of the tent, surrounded by the familiar faces of the Council, the walls you'd erected begin to crumble.

They can't possibly know. There's no way they could. You'd been careful. Extremely careful. You'd kept everything under control. Obi-Wan had agreed to keep your vision to himself, and as tentative as your bond was, you trusted him to keep his word. He would not betray you again, of that you were certain.

The Council wasn't wholly unaware of your fragile mental state, either. The events of the last several months had made that abundantly, and unfortunately, apparent. It wasn't something you were proud of, but it was a truth that couldn't be ignored. But there was an unspoken agreement that as long as you continued to function, continue to fight, and continue to do your job, it wouldn't become a problem.

It was a fragile balance, and a thin line to walk, but you'd managed to do it so far. So why should they worry about you now?

As Mace's eyes bore into yours, his mouth pressed into a thin line, you suddenly wonder if that assumption had been incorrect. If the Council knew more than they let on. If the Force had shown them what it had shown you. Your fall.

Finally, Mace sighs, his hands folding in front of him.

"We have a task for you, General.”

You blink, taken aback. The relief is immediate, and you breathe a silent sigh. They didn't know about the vision. They had no idea. It was just another mission.

"A task?"

"General Skywalker and the 501st have been deployed to Duro. We would like you to join him," Mace informs you, and you blink, taken aback. It's not what you expected, and the Council seems to be just as surprised. Master Mundi, in particular, doesn't seem pleased by the idea.

"Me?" you question. "Why me? Shouldn't Obi-Wan accompany him?"

"Obi-Wan has other responsibilities," Mace replies, his voice flat. “And your brigade is the closest, both in terms of location and skill set. General Krell's brigade has recently suffered a devastating loss, and they are in no condition to provide the assistance required. You are the best suited for the task."

You open your mouth to argue, to protest, but the words die on your tongue. You're tired. And injured. And, honestly, a little confused. And frankly, you want nothing more than to finish the conversation, get some breakfast, and take a nap. But despite all of that, there's a hopeful flutter in your stomach, a spark of excitement that you can't deny.

You haven't seen Rex in months. If the Force was going to be kind and finally grant you this wish, well, who were you to argue?

Obi-Wan's eyes narrow, his brow furrowing as he studies you, and a small, knowing smile crosses his lips. You wrinkle your nose at him, and he gives you a wink.

You can't help but smirk, and you're about to make a retort, something about how he has no business being smug, but Mace clears his throat, and you turn your attention back to him. His eyes are boring into yours, his face still neutral, and his voice is sharp.

"Do you accept?"

You're not sure if there's a right answer. You're not sure if there's an acceptable answer.

It doesn't really matter.

"I accept," you say, and the words seem to echo in the room. “But may I ask, what exactly is the purpose of this mission?“

"The Separatists have established a foothold on Duro's flotilla of orbiting cities," Master Plo answers, his tone grave. "The Republic has managed to maintain control of the planet itself, but we have reason to suspect Grievous is planning to invade the surface and secure their resources in order to force the Chancellor's hand."

"What would be the point?" Booker asks. He's leaning against the desk, his arms crossed, and his expression is thoughtful. "Grievous knows that the planet is of little strategic value. So what’s his play?"

"The Duros' loyalty to the Republic is shaky at best," you answer, and Mace nods. "If they were to see the Chancellor unable to protect them, they could very well side with the Separatists."

"So this is about politics, not resources," Booker murmurs, and you nod.

"It seems so."

"You and the 419th are to join Skywalker's forces at these coordinates," Mace tells you. He leans forward and taps a button, sending a set of numbers to your datapad. You open the file and study the data, committing it to memory.

"The 501st is already en route," Obi-Wan adds. "They'll set up a perimeter around the planetary shield generators and begin preparations for the inevitable attack."

"How long will we have before that happens?" you ask.

"Hard to say," he admits. "But Grievous' forces were spotted in the system a little over a week ago, and it's only a matter of time before he gets his claws into something. The Chancellor is anxious to put a stop to this, and I don't blame him."

"Understood," you say, nodding. At your side, Booker shifts, leaning over to whisper in your ear.

"This place is still a mess. We can't just leave these people," he argues, and you give him a look.

"I'm aware," you hiss back. "But we're going."

"They're already in rough shape as it is. If we're not here, the Separatists could—"

"I said, I'm aware," you repeat, elbowing him in the ribs. He winces, rubbing his side, and shoots you an annoyed look. "I'm getting to that."

You turn back to the holograms and square your shoulders, giving the Council your most confident, charming smile.

"If I may, Masters," you start, and they wait, watching you with wary curiosity, "the 419th would like to extend our assistance here on Nadiem. While the city has been liberated, there are still many civilians in need of food, shelter, and medical attention. The local hospitals are overwhelmed, and the remaining infrastructure is not capable of providing the aid they need."

"And you would like us to send additional medical teams," Master Plo finishes, and you nod.

"Yes, Masters. And engineers. And perhaps even some troops, in case the Separatists return," you explain. You look at each of the Council members, searching their faces for any sign of approval, but you find nothing. Just the same, indifferent expressions. "Please. These people have been through so much, and all they have left is our compassion. To deny them that would be a cruelty beyond measure."

The Council is silent, each member considering your proposal with the impassivity you’ve come to expect from them. You can't read their expressions, can't tell if they're agreeing or disagreeing, and it's a struggle to keep the frustration at bay. It's always like this, always a fight, and it never gets easier. But you won't give up. You can't.

The holograms flicker and shimmer, and the weight of their decision hangs heavy in the air. You resist the urge to fidget, your fingers tapping against your leg, and Booker shifts, his foot kicking the edge of the table. His eyes meet yours, and you share a look, a silent conversation passing between the two of you.

It's a lot to ask. Especially given the current state of the war and the Chancellor's demands for speed and efficiency.

The Jedi Code preaches compassion, but it's rarely an easy thing to adhere to. There are always conflicts, always compromises, and it's rarely the most effective solution. You're asking them to risk more lives, more resources, and more time. For a planet of farmers and tradesmen. It's a difficult sell, and you can't help but brace for the inevitable rejection.

But, surprisingly, it doesn't come.

Mace's eyes close, and he inhales slowly, his shoulders rising and falling. When his eyes open, his gaze meets yours, and there's a hint of approval, a flash of pride.

"Very well, General," he agrees. "We will see what we can do."

Your chest swells, and you can't help but smile.

"Thank you, Masters," you say, and Obi-Wan laughs, a short, quiet chuckle. You shoot him a glare, and his smile widens, his eyes dancing with mischief. "I assure you, you will not regret it."

"See that we don't," Master Mundi grumbles, and his hologram disappears. Master Plo follows suit, leaving only Obi-Wan and Mace.

Obi-Wan steps closer, his hands folded behind his back, and his face breaks into a bright, joyful grin.

"I can't believe I'm going to say this, but...I've missed that," he confesses, and you can't help but return his smile. He shakes his head, chuckling softly, and you roll your eyes, trying to keep from laughing. "You were very impressive, my dear."

"Well, someone had to speak up," you reply, and he chuckles.

"Indeed. And thank you for that," he says, and you can tell from his tone and his expression that he means it. He glances over at Mace, who shakes his head, the barest hint of a smile tugging at his lips. "We can't forget where our true priorities lie."

"No, we can't," Mace agrees. "Even if the Chancellor seems to."

There's a note of bitterness in his voice that makes your eyebrows raise. It's a rare occurrence, but it's not entirely surprising. Chancellor Palpatine has been pushing the war effort, his demands and requests for more soldiers and more weapons becoming increasingly aggressive and impossible to ignore. The Jedi Council has not taken kindly to his actions, and the conflict between the Order and the Senate has only increased over the last several months. But no one can deny that it’s needed. The war is only escalating, as is the Jedi’s role in it, and the casualties are mounting. The entire galaxy is at risk, and something has to be done. Even if the Council doesn't agree.

The two men exchange a knowing glance, and Obi-Wan sighs, shaking his head.

"We will see to it," Obi-Wan promises, and the hologram cuts out.

You're left alone with Mace, and the silence settles, the only noise the muffled voices outside and the distant roar of ships taking off. You can feel his eyes on you, and you brace yourself for the inevitable lecture, your hands fisting behind your back. It's always the same. A mixture of concern and disappointment, wrapped in stern, unyielding authority. But it's not like you've never heard it before.

"You are doing good work here," he finally says, and your eyes snap up, surprised.

"Thank you, Master," you murmur. You pause, hesitating, before adding, "I do my best."

"I know.”

Mace's gaze softens, a flicker of understanding in his dark eyes. The two of you stand there, watching each other, and the moment stretches, the air heavy with things unsaid. But you can't find the words. You've never been able to, really, and this isn't the first time.

You’re about to end the transmission, your hand hovering over the console, but his voice stops you. He says your name, and the familiarity is startling, catching you off guard. His tone is low, almost gentle, and there's an emotion in his eyes you can't quite identify.

It's a calculating expression, a weighing and measuring, but not unfriendly or unkind. There's something about it that reminds you of the look Master Yaddle used to give you, a mixture of fondness and worry, and it takes everything in you not to break under the pressure of his gaze.

"This is a difficult time," he starts, his tone carefully neutral. "It takes a strong, steady hand, and a steady heart, to see the way forward."

You bite back a sigh. A lecture, then. You should have known better.

"The war has tested all of us," Mace continues. "But some more than others. And, at times, even the strongest among us can lose their way."

You nod, a lump forming in your throat. You're not sure if he knows. You're not sure how he would know. But the way he's looking at you, the way his eyes are searching your face, it's as if he does.

And yet, the words you're waiting for don't come.

"You have shown remarkable courage and strength," he says. "And while your actions do not go unnoticed, and certainly not without criticism, the fact remains that you are doing important work. Important, necessary work. And I am...grateful, for your efforts."

Your breath catches, and you blink, shocked. You can't remember the last time Mace has ever praised you. Or even spoken to you without a hint of judgment or exasperation. But there's a softness in his expression, a gentleness, and you're not sure how to process it.

You stare at him, not quite believing what you're hearing, and the corner of his mouth twitches, almost smiling. After a long moment, you snort and shake your head.

"Careful, Master," you tease, "that sounded almost like a compliment."

He lets out a chuckle, and the corners of his eyes crinkle.

"I assure you, it is," he assures you. "In truth, I had my doubts about this mission. About you. But you've proven me wrong."

"Again," you mutter, and his smile widens.

"Yes, again," he concedes. "As you are so fond of reminding me."

You can't help the smile that spreads across your face. The expression is rare, and a little bittersweet, but the warmth and the pride radiating off of him is unmistakable. It's a feeling you've missed, a sensation you've yearned for, and the realization that Mace, of all people, would be the source of it is surprising, to say the least.

He studies your face, his gaze thoughtful, and his expression sobers.

"It's a shame things turned out the way they did," he murmurs, and you nod. You both know exactly what he means. Dooku. Yaddle. The war. Your failure. It's a long list, and it's not getting any shorter.

"It's not too late," you reply. You don't elaborate. He doesn't need to ask.

"Perhaps not," Mace concedes.

The two of you regard each other, a silent understanding passing between the two of you. You've always respected him, even though he's rarely shown you the same courtesy. But in this moment, the feeling is mutual. You're both struggling to hold the galaxy together, and neither of you can afford to lose sight of the path.

The silence stretches, and you sigh, rubbing your eyes. It's late, and the fatigue is creeping up, and Mace gives you a sympathetic look.

"Get some rest, General," he orders. "You'll need it for what's to come."

"Yes, Master. May the Force be with you," you say. Mace bows his head, returning the gesture.

"And with you," he replies, and the transmission ends.

You stand in silence for a moment, staring at the empty space where the hologram once was, before letting out a long sigh. The sigh turns into a laugh as the reality of what just happened sets in, and you lean against the table, your arms braced on the cool metal surface. Your head hangs low, your hair falling around your face, and you chuckle, shaking your head.

"I'll never understand how you Jedi can switch moods so fast," Booker remarks, and you snort, lifting your head. "I feel like I've got whiplash. One second, they're interrogating you, the next they're giving you pep talks. It's exhausting."

"Welcome to my life," you retort, and he rolls his eyes, crossing his arms.

"I'm serious," he says, and he gives you a look, his brow furrowing. "I don't get why they're always so..."

"Contradictory?" you finish, and he nods.

"Exactly."

You shrug, leaning back and stretching your arms above your head. It's not like you haven't wondered the same thing. The Council's mood swings are a mystery, and often a source of frustration, but there's a reason behind them. You're just not sure what that reason is. At least, not in this case.

"They're just trying to do their job," you offer. "And so am I."

"By giving you the run around," he mutters. He shakes his head, scoffing, and pushes himself off the desk, turning to face you. "And still, they ask you to jump, and you keep asking how high."

"Sometimes the answer is 'further than you thought,'" you point out. "And, in this case, it was. They agreed to send reinforcements. That's a win, Commander."

Booker frowns, and his eyes search yours, looking for some sign that you're upset. You're not. Not really. Sure, you're a little annoyed, and a little confused, and a little suspicious, but that's normal. If you didn't leave a meeting with the Council feeling that way, something would be seriously wrong.

"I still think you should've said no," he argues. "We need to be here. These people need us. You can't keep going back and forth, running from planet to planet and putting out fires. It's not sustainable."

"And let the Separatists have their way? No, thank you."

"We've got other troops. Other Jedi," he insists. "Let someone else handle it."

"There's no such thing as 'someone else,'" you retort. You sigh, rubbing your temples. "Look, I get it. You're worried. But we're doing the best we can. It's just..."

"Politics," he finishes, and you nod. He runs a hand over his face, groaning. "Duro is a dump. A literal dump. It's a planet-sized trash heap with enough factories to poison the entire galaxy. The Separatists would be doing the galaxy a favor by blowing the whole place up."

You frown, crossing your arms over your chest and glaring at him. You know that his words are mostly born of frustration and exhaustion, but you can't help but be annoyed by the sentiment.

"Don't tell the Duros that," you reply. "They might not take kindly to it."

“They would agree with me,” he retorts, and you can't help but roll your eyes. “They’re the ones who ruined their own homeworld. Why should they expect the Republic to save theirs now? Especially since they don’t even want our help? We're already stretched thin. Why are we wasting resources on a lost cause? We should be focusing on the planets and people who actually want us."

You open your mouth to argue, but he holds up his hands, a weary look on his face. His shoulders slump, and his gaze is pleading. He doesn't want a fight. You know he doesn't. And, honestly, neither do you. You're both too tired for this.

"Alright, alright. I get it. The needs of the many, etcetera,” Booker grumbles. He folds his arms across his chest and fixes you with a look. "What's the real reason you're so eager to go?"

"Eager is a strong word," you correct, your brows pulling together.

"It's an accurate one."

You look away from him, your mouth twitching, and a warmth blooms in your chest. You haven't seen Rex in so long, and you can't deny the excitement of finally being able to spend time together. The thought of seeing him again, after all this time, it's...nice. It's a feeling that has become more and more rare, and it's a sensation you want to hold onto. Even if it's only for a little while.

You may be about to enter another active war zone together, but maybe, just maybe, the two of you will be able to spend a little time together. Alone. And talk.

About...everything.

Booker's eyes narrow, and a smirk curls his lips. He watches you for a moment, and you can't help but fidget. After a beat, his smirk turns into a wide, knowing smile.

"I knew it," he exclaims, pointing at you. "This is about Rex."

"This is not about Rex," you deny, and Booker scoffs.

"Yeah, sure it's not," he teases. He leans closer, his grin widening. "So you're telling me you've got absolutely no ulterior motives? No desire to see a certain handsome captain?"

You groan, pinching the bridge of your nose.

"Booker..."

He grins, and you roll your eyes, but you're unable to stop the flutter of anticipation rising in your stomach. You've been so busy the past several months, and the only contact you've had with Rex has been over the comm. Seeing him again, being with him, it's going to be wonderful. And exciting. And terrifying.

The reality is that there's so much that needs to be said, so much left unspoken, and it's a daunting prospect. You have no idea how the conversation will go, or if you'll ever find the right time to have it. But the possibility is there, the seed planted, and it's impossible to ignore.

"Of course it's Rex," you finally admit with a huff. "Why else would I want to go? The weather? The scenery?"

"Well, you could have just said that," he replies. He gives you a playful shove, and you laugh. "You know, if you miss him so much, why don't you just tell him?"

"I have," you point out. You lean against the desk, and his expression softens, a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. He crosses his arms, mirroring your pose, and the two of you share a knowing look.

"Have you ever considered that maybe you're overthinking this?" he asks, and you sigh.

"Maybe," you concede, chewing the inside of your cheek. You shake your head, trying to dispel the doubt and uncertainty that's plagued you for months. "But what if he doesn't—"

"He does," Booker cuts in. His expression is firm, and his eyes are earnest. He puts his hand on your shoulder, giving it a gentle squeeze. "He cares about you. And if he doesn't make a move soon, I'll fight him myself."

You snort, shaking your head.

"Please, don't," you beg. "That's the last thing I need."

"I'll do what I have to do," he threatens as he raises his fists, a playful glint in his eyes. "For my General."

You roll your eyes and shove him away. He chuckles, catching himself, and straightens.

"You gonna let him know you're coming, or are you just going to show up unannounced and give him a heart attack?" he asks.

You shrug, giving him a playful grin. "What, and spoil the surprise?"

Booker barks a laugh, throwing his head back. You laugh with him, and the two of you stand there for a moment, sharing a laugh and enjoying the moment. It's been so long since either of you have had anything to be happy about, and the feeling is refreshing.

"I'll tell him. But first I need to have Dash contact the fleet and arrange transport," you inform him. You push yourself off the table, turning to face him, and give him a small, encouraging smile. "And you'll have to—"

"Take over while you're gone, yeah, I know," he finishes. He crosses his arms, a smug smile tugging at his lips. "Don't worry, I won't let the place fall apart while you're away."

"I'm not too sure about that," you tease. "But I do appreciate it."

"No problem," he shrugs, and he gives you a wink. "Just promise me that if you're gonna run off and elope with Rex, you'll invite me to the wedding."

"If you keep Nadiem in one piece while I'm gone, you can be my maid of honor," you shoot back, and his smile widens.

"Deal."

With a quick salute, he turns and exits the tent, leaving you alone. You breathe a sigh, leaning against the table, and stare at the open doorway, a small smile on your lips. It's a strange feeling, being excited about a mission, but there's no denying the anticipation in your chest, the fluttering of nerves.

You've missed Rex. And not just his company, but him. His voice, his laugh, the way he smiles. The way his hand feels in yours. The way his arms wrap around you, the warmth of his embrace.

It's been too long since you've seen him, and the distance between the two of you has been a source of pain. It's an ache that you can't quite soothe, and it's hard not to wish for more. To imagine a world where you don't have to fight, where you can be together. A world where the two of you can live in peace.

Your brief glimpse into a possible future, a vision of a life together, had only made the longing stronger, the desire sharper. A future together, a life together, it's not something either of you can have, but you can't stop yourself from hoping. From wishing.

And in the meantime, there's only the war. And the battles. And the fighting. And the waiting.

You've become well acquainted with the waiting.

But now, at least, you'll have him.

You reach into your pocket and pull out your comm, opening your last conversation with Rex and starting to type, a smile on your face.

You’re not going to believe this…

taglist: @baddest-batchers @kindalonleystars @totallyunidentified @lovelytech9902 @frozenreptile @etod @puppetscenario @umekohiganbana @resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano @burningnerdchild @ihatesaaand @lolwey @chocolatewastelandtriumph @hobbititties @mere-bear @thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @ayyyy-le-simp @mali-777 @schrodingersraven @megmegalodondon @dangraccoon @heavenseed76 @dreamie411 @sukithebean @bunny7567 @lostqueenofegypt @anything-forourmoony @9902sgirl @jedi-dreea @salaminus @heidnspeak @gottalovehistory @mrcaptainrex @maniacalbooper @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay @julli-bee @moonychicky @sonicrainbooms @captn-trex @webslinger-holland @marchingviolist @deerspringdreams @cw80831

[altruistic-meme]

skk ficrec time! pt2 electric bugaloo

It’s finally time for more skk fic recs from yours truly. I have more than doubled the number of bookmarked BSD fics since my last rec list HAHA WHOOPS so now the total is 351. Surely this says nothing about anything and simply means everything is fine–

Anyway, we had 29 recs on the last list so lets round it out to a lovely 30 this time :) on to the recs!

i'm not putting warnings with the fics, but bc this is BSD please do take note of tags and warnings that are given! i read a lot of fics with darker material so do be cautious!

One-Shots:

The One with the Confession by fortunatelypancakes @fortunately-pancakes (Teen and Up, 8k)

Chuuya snorts. “Do ya always get so fuckin’ philosophical on first dates?” “Usually they end as soon as I propose a lover’s suicide,” Dazai says, breezy yet suddenly dark, giving Chuuya the jarring feeling of having wandered into the woods only to realize night has fallen and he’s lost. “To the waitress or the date?” he asks dryly. Dazai looks up from his mess on the table and smirks. "Sometimes both.” (about an hour later) From its place on the coffee table, Yosano’s phone vibrates and lights up with three new notifications. Dazai: helloooo~ Dazai: I’m sure your valentines is going ~wonderfully~ 😘😘😘 but pls spare a moment for your tragically single best friend and send me Chuuya’s number???? Dazai: I seem to have misplaced him 😵 “Uh oh. One of the boys texted me,” she calls out to Kouyou. Yosano’s phone buzzes again. Chuuya: I am NEVER going on a date ever again Chuuya: What the fuck made you think I’d get along with him??? Chuuya: He’s the worst person I’ve ever met Chuuya: No offense. I know he’s your friend

Stupidly, Tragically, I Really Do Love You by timeflowpetals (Teen and Up, 5k)

Chuuya and Dazai are married. But why is Chuuya currently smashing his husband’s head against a doorframe? And… is that Dazai poisoning his tea? Worried about his mentor’s love life, Atsushi launches Operation: PTDODB (Prevent the Divorce of Double Black) and drags a reluctant Akutagawa along for the ride. Their mission? Convince Chuuya that Dazai isn’t that bad of a catch. If only they had realized before spending an absurd amount of money that Double Black’s true love language is sheer, unfiltered chaos.

I Won’t Leave You (Again) by deviance @ao3-deviance (Teen and Up, 15k)

"Executive Kouyou, we've been informed that you are planning a coup." Before the signal could be given, there was a large explosion and many men were blown from their feet as something like a black hole went tearing through them all. Kouyou could recognize the gravitons of her own pupil; she just wished it hadn't come to this. The men scattered, but Corruption was beyond anything a human could defeat. Kouyou watched from afar as Chuuya's body cackled while taking down men he'd mostly likely led in missions recently, taken to bars, worried over. "I hope you're worth it." Kouyou didn't startle at the voice behind her. "Isn't that for the lad to decide?" "You know how this will affect him," Dazai accused her, and she couldn't see a glimpse of the light in his eyes. "He didn't want to be conscious when he fought them." "Not going to leave him again?" "There is no leaving him again," Dazai denied. ….. (Chuuya leaves the PM to save Kouyou, then joins the ADA so he can stay in Yokohama)

Hold Me Close This Dreary Night by ay_masakali @ay-masakali (General, 5k)

“I’m not singin’ for the likes of you,” Chuuya answers anyway, “And settle down, you’re gonna aggravate your injuries.” “You’re gonna aggravate your injuries,” Dazai mocks, with the poorest imitation of his accent he’s ever heard. “How ‘bout I aggravate you.” mafioso has to bite his lips to prevent more laughter, “You really don’t hear a word you’re saying, do you?” A mission with Dazai is always bound to be an eventful one, so it’s no surprise when the man ends up injured and unconscious on a rookie level job. Now it’s Chuuya’s responsibility to look after him until backup arrives, and strangely, he doesn’t want to punch Dazai’s brains out.

That’s One Way To Start Your Morning by Chaos_Ensues (Explicit, 3k)

Dazai takes a moment to appreciate the muscles in Chuuya’s back and shoulders—it’s not as big as Dazai’s, Chuuya is more on the lean side—but they’re still noticeable. He can watch them contract with every small breath that Chuuya makes, his freckles covering the expanse of his back. There are many ways Dazai can go about this—the different positions to put Chuuya in— But that requires moving the omega around. And Dazai doesn’t want to wake Chuuya up. Not yet. Or: Dazai fucks Chuuya while he sleeps (with previously established consent of course) and wakes Chuuya up with a knot.

A Claim On Your Name by Nyx_xy (Teen and Up, 4k)

Chuuya raises an eyebrow, before offering a hapless shrug. "Very well. Then, how about operation Mouse and Stampede?" Kunikida blinks. Chuuya blinks back. "What?" "…what?" The detective frowns. "What did you just say?" "Mouse and Stampede? You know?" Or Chuuya and Kunikida end up on a mission together, and Chuuya decides to make Kunikida a guide on being Dazai's partner. Dazai doesn't approve.

Stay by the_most_happy (Mature, 23k)

“Oi, Dazai, what are they saying, anyway? Too many people. It gets confusing.” The detective smirks. “They are just discussing the budget for the next mission. Kunikida insists he wants an ice cream, a drone, and a goat.” From the Port Mafia dungeon to the depths of Meursault, Dazai and Chuuya keep finding each other. They fall in love all over again — or, maybe, they never stopped. That’s all.

Confessions of Inconvenience by chuuyasporkie @chuuyasporkie (Mature, 8k)

Dazai swallows hard. “You think I’m beautiful?” Chuuya smiles, nonchalant. But really, he’s very chalant—give him a break, he needs to maintain his reputation. “I think you’re one of the most beautiful people in the world.” Dazai is avoiding his eyes. “You don’t know what you’re saying.” “You are,” Chuuya reiterates softly. “Very beautiful.” Dazai looks up at him. “I hate to interrupt,” he says blandly. “But have you maybe ever looked into a mirror?” Chuuya blinks, more than a little confused for a moment, but when it finally clicks, he bursts into loud laughter. “Shut up,” he says. Four times Chuuya drunkenly confesses to Dazai and forgets all about it, and one time he’s too sober to run from it. Or: Chuuya keeps confessing and forgetting. Dazai is sick of pretending like nothing’s been happening. A sweet fic—may cause cavities.

Multi-Chapter:

Home is where You are by carlynagisa @carlynagisa (Mature, 13/13, 60k)

On the day Dazai Osamu was supposed to die, his attempt to finally end it all was harshly interrupted by a call of his former best friend who he had not spoken to in years. A former best friend with a son Dazai had not known of. And he had a request that might derail Dazai's plans more than he had initially thought. Or: the fic where Dazai learns the hard way that family is what you make it.

picking a flower that blooms on the heart for you by burgundytshirt (Mature, 9/9, 44k)

The question is obvious at this point. To die, or to ask Dazai for help? Chuuya is so choked by this question that his breakfast is lodged in his throat, unable to be swallowed. (Or, Chuuya would much rather die than let Dazai find out he has hanahaki disease.)

I threw away this human form of mine by love_island (Mature, 22/22, 118k)

Dazai was facing away from the door, so he couldn’t see his new roommate, but Ango could, and his face went pale. That, coupled with the excessively aggressive entrance, told Dazai enough to know who it was. Dazai sighed loftily and turned around slowly. “Hey there, shrimp,” he drawled. “You lost, or am I actually stuck with you?” Motorcycle Guy dropped the two duffel bags he was holding. Dazai watched his face as it morphed from confusion, to recognition, and finally to anger. “You!”

i’ll follow the line that connects us two by lunarumbra (Teen and Up, 3/3, 23k)

Dazai learns a total of three things about Chuuya when they unexpectedly bump into each other after years of radio silence. One, his hair has grown considerably longer. Two, he moved here to Yokohama because of his new job. And three, his kid is an absolute menace.

Conscious Uncoupling by zinniapetals (Mature, 6/6, 66k)

“I’ll only say this once, so listen up,” Chuuya announced, stepping closer until his chest pressed against the box in Dazai’s hands. He tilted his head to meet Dazai’s eyes, his lips firm with determination. “This…saving people thing? It suits you. I don’t hate the fact that you made it out alive.” Dazai blinked in response, blinking again when the spots in his eyes didn’t disappear and neither did Chuuya. He stared silently, unsure of what to say, whether he was allowed to joke, be angry, feel hurt, or assume this was the end of an era.

Easy in Theory by the_most_happy (Mature, 14/14, 126k)

"When we're older, I'm going to marry 'Samu. I promise. I swear." If someone had told Dazai he would be fake dating the sister of one Nakahara Chuuya - his childhood best friend, current housemate and first love - he would have called them crazy. There's just no way. Alas, that’s exactly what he’s doing. Or: Chuuya's unofficial guide on how to stay (almost) sane when your childhood crush is dating your sister.

Shades of Red by Kirb8_woo (Mature, 42/45, 416k)

Nakahara Chuuya, an Omega with a bad temper, finds a job as the assistant for Dazai Osamu, the CEO of the Mori Corporation. Chuuya wants to start on a good foot but the alpha’s cold exterior and rumored dislike for Omegas is definitely not helping…

No Cock-Ups, Only Happy Accidents by Fenriel (Explicit, 10/10, 60k)

Going out and getting drunk with friends is all great and fun - until you wake up in a foreign bed with no memory of how you got there. And if a question pesters your mind, you want answers. What better method is there, than to try and see if the memories come back? Which is exactly what happens to Chuuya, who wakes up next to the most insufferable guy alive; Dazai. But what makes it worse is that neither can recall what happened last night, evidence speaking for and against the fact that they've had sex.

If you kiss me (I might let it happen) by encsiimomo (Explicit, 7/7, 52k)

“Hey, shitty Dazai, let’s go out.” Dazai, who started to walk again after composing himself from their almost crash, stumbled a bit on his next step while his head snapped in Chuuya’s direction with an alarming crack. He regarded Chuuya with one curious eye, then he chuckled. “Don’t be silly chibi, we are already outside. Your tacky hat is clearly eating your bra–” Chuuya’s irritation flared anew. From the corner of his eye, he could clearly see the two figures coming closer and closer, and he knew he had only mere seconds until the inevitable would happen. “No, you fucker. I meant, go out with me,” Chuuya pressed on, throwing all his pride and dignity out of the window, then he gulped around the dry cotton suddenly clogging up his throat before he uttered his next words. “As in, date me for the week.” Or: DarkEra!Skk and their seven days of dating, mixed with Chuuya's obliviousness, idiots in love, and a fair amount of smut. Oh, and Odasaku ships skk in this one.

I’d Adore You (With Your Hands Around My Neck) by chuuyasporkie @chuuyasporkie (Teen and Up, 16/16, 123k)

In which Chuuya loved too early and longer, and Dazai loved too late but deeper. Or, Dazai and Chuuya find out they’re mates, Dazai is bad at feelings, Chuuya has had enough, and somewhere in the middle they fall in love, but not necessarily in that order.

Touch by borntoshine (Explicit, 13/13, 68k)

Omega!Chuuya lies for over a year about his second gender, but when he stupidly forgets to order his suppressants, things start to get out of hand, and sharing a room with Dazai, his Alpha roommate, gets a very unexpected twist.

If I had a world of my own (everything would be nonsense) by encsiimomo (Explicit, 2/2, 17k)

Chuuya felt divine in his arms. The memory of his captivating scent made his mouth water and his still semi-hard dick fill with arousal, and even more than that, his ex-partner tasted like– Dazai’s eyes widened comically as his brain finally caught up to what just transpired between them only minutes ago. He turned around sharply, gaze settling onto Chuuya as if the redhead’s pull of gravity suddenly gained ownership of his every move, but his mind just couldn’t process the sight in front of him. “Chuuya?” Dazai asked in such a low voice it came out as nothing but a mere whisper, and Chuuya let out a whimper at hearing his name roll off of Dazai's tongue like that. The tiny sound tasted like distress in the thick air separating them. Or: a mission goes wrong and Dazai finds out the hard way that his ex-partner presented as omega after he defected from the PM.

No Long Human by Wolf___Spirit (Mature, 21/21, 130k)

“Jesus Christ, Chuuya is going to kill this idiot for worrying him like this, for being a suicidal maniac who decided to put himself in the damn trajectory of a machine that they don't even know all the effects of yet.” When a stranger starts stealing people's abilities, the ADA and the Port Mafia team up to figure it out. However, something goes wrong and Dazai loses his ability in the process. The big problem? His ability not only nullified the abilities of others, but also his own emotions. And now, for the first time in his life, Dazai has emotions, chaotic and in turmoil. In the midst of this identity crisis, Dazai sets out to explore the world with Chuuya as his grumpy bodyguard, only to discover that he has never felt so...alive. And then they find out that if they don't find a way to give him back his ability, Dazai will die within two weeks. In a race against time, chaos ensues.

memories fade (fears don’t) by DeviBlue (Mature, 2/2, 13k)

“You refused to take the mandatory swim test,” Mori said suddenly. Chuuya lifted his head up at the sudden topic change. “Are you afraid of water, Chuuya-kun?” Chuuya didn’t like where this was going. “No, sir.” A small ‘ah’ of understanding left Mori’s mouth. “So just afraid of being submerged then?” His heart skipped a beat. “N-no, Mori-san.” Mori chuckled. It felt like a death sentence. “Don’t lie to me, Chuuya-kun.” OR Mori knows Chuuya's worst fears and uses them as punishment.

don’t you ever tame your demons by writingfromtheshadows (Mature, 18/18, 108k)

Every year, a handful of children are born with the ability to command supernatural powers. Thousands of dollars and dozens of trained specialists are tasked with identifying, tracking down, and labeling each one as Deviant. Once identified, they have no rights other than those that are permitted to them, and disobedience is a crime punishable by death. Chuuya has never known a life outside of the routine he's forced to follow, but when the boss of Yokohama's Port Mafia offers him a chance of freedom, Chuuya is not prepared for the rebellion he's stumbling into.

centrifugal/centripetal by TopHat69 (Explicit, 31/31, 204k)

[There is no description, but trust <3]

Incorruptible by Decadee (Mature, 10/10, 82k)

After the fight with Lovecraft, Dazai had left Chuuya behind. He didn't expect Chuuya to go missing. He didn't expect his entire world would shift once the redhead did. In the meantime, stuck in a place he thought he would never return to, Chuuya is just trying to stay alive. --- This is a canon-divergent take not only on what happened after the fight against Lovecraft, but as I have only seen the anime, this is a very canon-divergent take on Chuuya's past.

The (Un)Lucky Ones by songofthesheep (Mature, 31/31, 114k)

“Who knew children were so strong these days?” Dazai grumbled, but that sucked Chuuya back into reality. Okay. Yeah, hell no. No one made fun of his height. “Who the hell are you calling a child, asshole?” Chuuya bit back, furrowing his eyebrows and crossing his arms. “I’m twenty-two, for your information.” “Ah, I didn’t think a grown man could be so short! The more you know!” he smiled brightly, but Chuuya felt the tease in it. Who did this guy think he was? “Fuck off,” Chuuya glared at him for a second but then decided to walk away before he picked a fight with someone at a callback. That wouldn’t look very good to the director. But if there is a god out there, it must hate Chuuya because the freakishly tall actor decided to follow behind Chuuya, chatting as if he wasn’t just cussed at, “You know, I’m sure it’s not too late for a growth spurt! If you drink more milk, you never know what could-” The ‘I’m not gonna punch someone’ plan failed. --- Nakahara Chuuya auditions for a movie. Dazai Osamu is a world famous actor. What could possibly go wrong?

cracking locks by clustersorrow (Mature, 10/10, 59k)

Chuuya isn’t allowed to step outside unless it’s for work, and much less to spend time with anyone who isn’t his boyfriend. It’s a monotonous routine, but he doesn’t mind it. Until he meets Dazai, and suddenly his cage isn’t as comfortable anymore.

Nfwmb by persimmonsandcats @persimmonsandcats (Explicit, 3/4, 46k)

“What do I think?” He asks lightly. “Yeah,” Dazai leans back a bit and presses a socked foot into Chuuya’s hip. “Don’t you wanna fuck me, Chuuya?” It’s asked innocently. It feels like jabbing a finger into an open wound. Chuuya blows his smoke to the ceiling despite Dazai tilting forward and opening his mouth. Dazai makes a little tcht sound at him. “You want to fuck me?” Chuuya asks. Dazai doesn’t drop his eyes. “I trust you.” He repeats. Chuuya had asked Dazai once how many times he thought you could break a person before they stopped trying to put themselves back together, stopped trying to pick up the pieces and left themselves shattered. Depends how cruel you are, Dazai had answered after a long moment, you can still break pieces. Chuuya is pieces and his edges are sharp.

Five times Double Black make a bet, and the one time neither of them lose by nyxi-pixie @nyxi-pixie (Explicit, 3/6, 17k)

And then, expression betraying how far well too pleased with himself he is, “You feeling like you’re losing, shitty Dazai?” “I’m not losing anything,” Dazai responds, a little more sharp than he means. He’s supposed to be sounding unbothered because Chuuya’s arguments aren’t worth attending to. Annoying little slug. “You’re the one wearing my collar.” “And who’s the one desperately barking for my attention? Didn’t think this one through at all, did ya?” “We’ll see.” Or, a bet is a sacred sort of thing within the Double Black partnership, and worth following through all its many varying contexts, stupid and ridiculous or otherwise.

Series:

fame-covered love by haleysdiary, reigned (Teen and Up, 3 works, 17k total)

A collection of works all in the same timeline, in chronological order. Soukoku streamer AU, with Twitch streamers Chuuya and Dazai, and their shenanigans with being a famous couple.

[ author's tumblrs are tagged when i could find them! if you know one who wasn't tagged or if you're an author and would like to be untagged, let me know! ]

[distracteddream]

Seven-ish Sentence Sunday

Thank you for the tags, @elodiah and @lokimobius!

I tapped out a couple sentences this morning so I’m just gonna toss them here. More of the President Loki/Mobius AU.

He’d let himself lose focus. And now…

Loki had agreed to the stupid mortal idea easier than he would have when he’d seen Mobius’ face alight with excitement. A good press opportunity, visiting a new bakery within the city to enjoy a slice of their social media famous pie. It’d tasted awful to him but Mobius had hummed in pleasure at his piece and so Loki put on his best fake smile and offered effusive praise for the establishment.

And he’d lost focus because all his focus had been on the sparkle in Mobius’ blue eyes and the whipped cream clinging to his moustache.

They’d been on the sidewalk, the Beast awaiting their return trip, and Loki was turned to Mobius to wipe the mess on his facial hair away before the cameras caught it.

He never heard the gunshots.

Tagging @loki-is-my-kink-awakening @hauntedcoyote @in-my-loki-feels @andthekitchensinkao3 @wolfpup026 @thosegayoldmen @lgwilt

[babychosen]

save a horse (ride a cowboy)

8pm, Friday. Red dress. Booth near the end of the bar, by the dart board.

She forgot how demanding the text felt, but it had only encouraged her to want to show up even more.