#sam does not have the authority to put him there. it doesn't help that sam is literally pleading as the victim within his scene

[aliusfrater]

similar cinematographic choices to portray the same imagery with insanely different circumstantial contexts

[trippinsorrows]

ltye: in your hands

authors note: welp. here i am, once again. we're back with yet another 'what if' scenario, prompted by you lovely people in an ask that i can't seem to find to link right now. smh.

words: 3.3k

warnings: none. just sam being sam.

song inspo: in your hands by halle

Roman should have stuck with his first mind. Stayed home. Texted her some excuse about being caught up with work. She would have never found out the truth, and even if she did, he wouldn’t have given two fucks. 

Because this shit doesn’t seem to be getting any better. 

This dating thing. 

It’s gotta be at least the fifth or sixth one he’s taken her on, and each one has been just as miserable up until the point where he gets her on her knees, gagging or bouncing on his dick the minute they get back to his penthouse. Anything before that has been irksome, borderline miserable. 

Samantha is stunning. Has been since they were kids, and her body is the most desirable of the women he has on his roster. She leans on the thinner side of what he prefers, but the tits and ass are decent, regardless. She’s also just as kinky as him, which is why they’ve worked all these years.

But, the more “dates” Roman forces himself to power through, the more he’s starting to feel like bedroom activities is where it stops for them. 

Technically, he’s always known this. Even if he did have some level of desire to be in a real relationship with someone, which he doesn't, it would never be her. She’s vain, condescending, and seems to think she’s somehow better than the other women he fucks with.

If only she realized he views her just like he views the rest of the women. A warm body with a wet cunt to help him get his dick wet. 

“Roman!” Her voice cuts through his inner dialogue as he focuses on her cleavage. The dress she wore, short and tight, doesn’t help his desire to skip to the fucking part of this evening. “Did you hear what I said?”

“No.” Roman sees no sense in lying to her. “I probably don’t care either.”

She rolls her eyes and proceeds to continue like he literally didn’t just tell her he doesn’t care. “I was saying we should go somewhere.”

He’s partially intrigued now. Mostly because he’ll probably need to set her ass straight. “Where?”

She smiles and shrugs. “I don’t know. I was thinking Bora Bora.”

He shakes his head. “So go.”

She frowns, clarifying. “I said we should go, Roman.”

He scoffs, looking off at the ice sculpture in the middle of the upscale restaurant. A waste of money, in his opinion. “What the hell makes you think I have time to go to fucking Bora Bora with you?” He really wants to ask her what makes her think he would want to in the first place, but he’s trying to be somewhat less of an asshole to see if maybe this could work.

His Wise Man’s nervous voice balanced out with sage wisdom returning to the front of his mind.

“If the Elders are to force you into a marriage, why not with someone you already know? Especially someone who you know would have no issue in giving you an heir.”

If only Samantha wasn’t so fucking annoying.

She leans back in the chair. “You make time for these dates.”

Out of obligation. But, he won’t say that. “Yeah, but I can get my nut and send your ass packing in the same night. Can't do that if we're out of the fucking country.”

“You’re suck a di—”

“I’m so sorry.”

Soft. It’s the first thing that comes to mind hearing her voice. Light, almost. Kind. Even with just three words being spoken. And that’s just based off audio. Visually, Roman’s thoughts take an entirely different direction.

Stunning. 

Roman’s seen, entertained, and done a lot more with some beautiful women in his time, but the one standing at their table seems to have something more than all of them put together. She’s beautiful, easily one of the most gorgeous women he’s ever laid eyes on. And her smile, small but genuine makes him pause. As does her body.

She’s wearing the same uniform he’s noticed on the other waitresses, but none of them fill them out like she does. The white, long sleeved shirt that’s tucked into the knee length black pencil skirt can’t hide the curves he can practically see through the bland outfit. Nice, heavy breast. Curvy hips, thick thighs and an ass he can partially see from the front. 

This. This is his preferred body type. A woman who has something he can grab onto when he’s fucking her from behind. And Roman can only imagine what it would be like to be holding onto those luscious hips of hers while he—

“Oh my god, are you stupid?” Samantha’s annoying voice once again pulls him from his carnal fantasies. She gestures between herself and him. “Can you not see we’re in the middle of something?”

The girl, who Roman would guess is in her late twenties, early thirties at most, immediately looks repentant. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—I was just going to apologize for your wa—”

“Whatever.” Samantha lifts her hand, silencing the girl who’s now looking down at her shoes, clearly embarrassed. “What’s the special for this evening?”

“What’s your name?” Roman’s question comes out at the same time as Samantha’s inquiry. However, his voice clearly presents with more of a commanding nature. 

She swallows. “S–Solana.”

Pretty. Just like her. 

Samantha notices the way Roman is looking at her and is fully confused as to why he’s asking this fat troll for her name. She cuts in again, in that same nasty tone. “Hello? I asked you a question.” 

Solana is clearly struggling with Samantha’s aggressiveness, Roman wondering why this bitch is directing whatever unresolved feelings she has onto this innocent girl. “Umm, I think—”

Samantha scoffs, nose turned up. “You’re our waitress, and you don’t even know what the evening special is?”

“No ma’am, I do. I’m sorry. It’s just—it’s been a long day.” There’s a weight to her words, a sadness in her voice and in her pretty brown eyes. Roman notices all of these things and finds himself wondering what the story is. Everyone has one, and hers is suddenly of interest to him. For reasons he cannot understand. 

“Pretty unprofessional to bring up your personal life, don’t you think?”

Solana closes her eyes, pausing before answering. She looks exhausted. Mentally and physically. “It’s Squab. That’s the main co—”

“I’m a vegetarian. I don’t eat meat.” Roman rolls his eyes. This hoe has been saying that since they were in high school, yet every so often she goes back to having a normal fucking diet only to switch back to that salad shit. “What’s on your—”

“I’ll do us both a favor and get her to shut the fuck up.” Roman has had enough, both of Samantha’s grating voice but mostly her being a bitch to this girl for no reason. He’s a dick on the regular. He knows this. But, never has he come across someone like this Solana woman who, with just her presence alone, exudes such softness. Like, she doesn’t have a mean bone in her fine ass body. And she clearly doesn’t because anyone else would have probably lost their job by cussing Samantha out. Not that it wouldn’t be deserved.

Roman catches the faintest hint of a smile on Solana’s face as she redirects her attention to him. “Give her the salmon. I’ll take your best steak. For wine, you carry Madeira?” 

She’s pulled out her notepad and finishes taking down the order before answering with a nod. “Yes, sir.”

Roman’s jaw clenches at that sir bit. He could ruin this girl. “What do you recommend?”

She’s visibly taken back by his question, probably by the fact that he’s asking her for her opinion. “Umm—”

“Roman, I can rec—”

“I didn’t ask you,” he cuts that bitch off with the quickness, eyes never leaving the pretty girl before him. “I asked Solana.”

Her smiles widens as she answers in a more confident tone. “Julio Barros…..1950.”

Roman smirks. 

Exactly what he was going to order.

“I’ll take it.”

Their gazes linger on each other a second too long for Samantha’s liking as she cuts in once once more. “You can go now.”

Solana’s smile drops again, Roman suddenly finding himself all annoyed. Her smile is something pretty that he wouldn’t mind seeing more of, though that irritation is waned as he’s granted the view of her nice, round ass and curvy hips swaying as she walks to the back to turn in their order.

Samantha reaches over and touches his hand, Roman snatching it back and sneering at her. “What?”

She sighs. “Baby, I’m trying to talk about us.”

And just like that, he’s annoyed all over again. “There is no us.”

Samantha looks sad only for a brief second. “Roman, I’m not stupid. I know what these dates have been for. You’re trying to see if it could work.”

“If what could work?”

“Us.” She goes on to share. “There’s rumors that the Elders have been putting more pressure on you to settle down and make an heir.” Sam leans over the table, intentionally trying to emphasize her cleavage. It’s nice. He’ll give her that. But, he’s certain it’s nothing compared to Solana though and those big breast of her hers. “I can do that for you. Be that for you. Be your wife. The mother of your children.”

Not a damn thing she’s saying sounds even the least bit desirable. At all. 

“I mean, we’ve been fucking around since we were kids. Why not make it official?”

For a lot of reasons. All the reasons. The main one being Roman don’t like this bitch unless she’s choking on or riding his dick. 

What he does like, however, and finds solace in is the interactions with Ms. Solana as the evening goes on. They’re not very often outside of her bringing the bottle of wine and their food when it’s ready as well as a check-in here or there on how they’re doing.

Each time Samantha sending her the dirtiest look or just being an ol’e nasty bitch, to which Roman shuts down, cutting her off and even telling her to shut the fuck up.

The girl is just trying to do her damn job. And as his eyes locate and land on her on several different occasions, he can see that she works hard. Moving from table to table, almost saddened facial expression indicates she’s on the receiving end of more verbal lashings from people like Samantha.

That actually pisses him off, Roman having to control and stop himself from doing some out of pocket shit. 

Again, for what reason, he hasn’t the slightest clue. He just knows those brief glimpses of her actually smiling, usually when she’s chatting with a coworker, do something for him. 

Maybe even to him. 

And unbeknownst to him, the intrigue goes both ways, because as shitty a day Solana Miller was having, the handsome stranger with the rude girlfriend or wife or whatever has somehow, someway made this day just a little bit better.

It’s been some time, if ever, Solana has come across someone with such a presence about them. Him dining at this uppity restaurant she was able to score a job at tells her that he’s wealthy. His disposition and the fact that he somehow secured it to where the surrounding tables of where he sits have been marked as unavailable tells her that he has pull. But, the way he interacts with her, a literal nobody, she’s not sure what that means.

Especially with the beautiful woman he’s with, because while Solana thinks she’s every bit a bitch as most of the women who come into this place, she’s a stunning bitch. 

Which is why Solana can’t allow herself to believe that that equally beautiful looking man is looking at her in any sort of capacity. 

There’s no way in he—

“Solana.”

And just like that, she's frowning again. “Mami?”

The last thing she expected to see this evening was the sight of her mother, already dressed in her scrubs, baby in her arms. 

Solana’s baby. 

Her 11-month–old daughter, Soraya. 

The shock wears off as Nina gets closer, Solana shaking her head, “what are you—”

Nina shakes her head, face apologetic and tone contrite. “I’m so sorry, baby, but I got called into work. I can’t watch Raya.”

Shit

It's inconvenient, but Solana understands it. She remembers the countless times Nina had no other option but to leave her with a neighbor after being called into work at all kinds of hours. She’s always worked so hard to take care of the two of them when Solana was growing up. 

“It’s okay, mama.” Solana easily reaches for her daughter, a wave of relief and happiness washing over her as she holds and kisses her baby. The source of all her joy. All of the struggle, every bit of it, is worth it as long as she has her daughter. She’d do anything for her. “How was she?”

Nina gives a small chuckle. “She’s like you were and still are. An easy child.” Solana kisses Soraya’s temple. “Sol…..” And just like that, Solana already knows she’s probably not going to like what she’s about to hear. “I know you’ve said you don’t want to go after him for child support, but it’s not fair for you to be out here working two jobs while putting yourself through school to take care of his child.”

Solana holds Soraya just a smidge tighter. “She’s my baby, mami.” 

Nina counters. “She’s his biological child.” Solana looks away, hopeful her manager, Aldis, doesn’t come out and scold her for this little interaction. She’s scheduled to clock out in another half hour anyway. “He should be paying you child support.”

Her mom is right. Solana knows this, knows that it’s not fair for her to have to be the sole provider for her baby girl, while Cruz lives his best life as an absentee, deadbeat dad. And she’s considered on several occasions going to the courthouse to see what she needs to do to get that ball rolling. 

But, every time, she’s haunted by something he said the last time they spoke, not even a month after her daughter was born. 

“Don’t you get it? We were fine before she came in the picture! We could be fine again if she wasn’t.”

Solana’s never been more disturbed than she was to hear those words leave his mouth. That’s why she’s glad he’s gone, that he wants nothing to do with her or his child. Because she would never trust to leave her baby girl with him in the first place.

And if that means she does it without him contributing financially, that’s exactly what she’ll do. 

Solana shifts Soraya from one hip to the other. “I don’t need him, mami.” And she doesn’t. Because if Solana had to resort to sex work to take care of herself and her daughter, it’s exactly what she’d do.

Nina gives a heavy sigh. “Mija, you know I help you when I can.”

“I know.” Because she does. But, the same way that times are hard for her. They’re hard for her mom, too. Everyone’s struggling these days, it seems. Everyone except the rich people who wine and dine without a care in the world around them. “I’ll be okay.”

Always will be.

Nina gives a knowing nod, hugging her daughter and gently taking her granddaughter’s hand, kissing it, speaking in Spanish. “I’ll see you later, okay? Abuela loves you.”

Solana smiles. “Thanks, mama.”

“Always, baby.” 

Nina reaches Solana the diaper bag, Solana placing it on the bar stool, knowing it’s bound to be left alone. These rich ass people would never bother with the Ross purchase. With a final parting smile, Nina is off to the hospital, leaving Solana with her daughter who’s just now waking up.

“Hi, baby girl,” Solana giggles at the almost cranky expression on her baby’s face. Raya is definitely not the happiest camper when being woken up. 

A glance at the time reminds Solana that she technically is still on the clock and really shouldn’t have her child with her. But, with no other option, she accepts she’ll just have to clock out early and take whatever those consequences are.

But before that, the least she can do is grab the bill from the table where the handsome stranger and his girlfriend sat. She’s briefly disappointed to see the table empty, even if she remembers his deep voice thanking her for her assistance this evening as she brought them that same check earlier. 

It’s a silly thing, really. And she tries to push away the disappointment at not properly telling him goodbye. A stranger. 

Silly.

Soraya grasps at the collar of her shirt while Solana walks over to the table, pausing as she gets close enough to see that there’s more than just a bill with a signature. There’s cash. A stack of it. Money in hand, she’s confused, because this man paid with a black card, so what—

“Good.” 

Solana gaps and spins around, her eyes widening as she looks up. He’s a lot taller than she realized, burly body nearly eclipsing her view of anything else, silky black hair in such a neat, perfect bun. “Wanted to make sure you got it.”

Brows furrowed, it’s hard for her to speak for a lot of reasons. One of which is the fact that this man cannot be real. A man cannot be this handsome. But, he is real, and he’s looking at her.

And Soraya. 

“I—” She shakes her head, clearing her throat. “Is this—you already paid—”

“That’s not for the bill,” his voice is so velvety, smooth, and deep. “It’s your tip.”

Eyes widening, her gaze snaps to the wad of cash as Soraya continues to grasp and squeeze her shirt. She doesn’t even need to count to know that this is a nice amount of money. 

Too much.

“I can’t—it’s too much.” 

He chuckles, “do I look like I can’t afford it?” Her eyes roam over his big, muscular build dressed in fine, expensive looking clothes. He just oozes wealth. 

And power. 

“N–no.”

“Dealing with Samantha, trust me, you earned it.” Solana looks down, wanting to hide her small smile. His gaze redirects to the child in her arm. “Who is this?”

And just like that, Solana’s proud smile returns. “My daughter, Soraya.” It’s like Soraya knows she’s being discussed, lifting her little head to look at Roman. A big grin on her face before she buries her face into Solana’s neck. 

Roman makes a sound, and she can almost swear she sees the smallest smile on his handsome face. “She looks like you.”

That creates such a warm, fuzzy feeling in her stomach, “thank you…..”

He looks at her a bit confused, like her unspoken question surprises him, before answering. “Roman.” Roman. “Roman Reigns.”

Roman Reigns. Even his name is powerful.

It fits him.

Solana shifts Soraya around as she starts to get wiggly in her arms. “Well, thank you, Mr. Reigns.” She’s certain the shock of just how much money this random, rich stranger has given her hasn’t truly set in. Because if it had, she’d have a much more visceral response. 

A lot more.

“Roman,” he corrects. “Call me Roman.” 

“Roman….” 

Something indecipherable flashes in his eyes, something that makes her feel a bit unnerved under his intense stare. It’s broken, however, by her now irritated daughter.

“Mama.” Soraya makes her dissatisfaction at being still for too long known by punching her tiny fist against Solana’s chest. “Mama!”

“Shhhhh,” Solana kisses her temple, trying to quiet her down before someone makes Aldis aware of her presence. She looks at Roman, eyes softening, “thank you again.”

Truly. Honestly. He hasn’t the slightest clue how much this will help her. It’s why she can stand here without anxiety and concern about making it to the bus stop on time. Tonight.....tonight she’ll treat herself and her baby with calling an Uber instead. 

Might even stop and pick up dinner.

Roman nods, eyes briefly glancing at her daughter again, the smallest smile on his face. “I’ll see you later, Solana.” His head dips a bit in acknowledgment towards her baby. “Soraya.”

The smile is plastered on her face even as he walks off without another word. And it’s only a good two minutes later that she catches onto what he said. A certain word in particular standing out the most. 

What did he mean by later?

[scariusaquarius]

rehab. 29.

Avenger! Bucky Barnes x Winter Soldier! Fem! Reader

Summary: While on a mission to find any more possible super soldiers that were a part of the Winter Soldier program, Steve and Bucky make a discovery in an abandoned HYDRA base that was cleared out a few years prior to their mission. They discover the Reader, a long-forgotten soldier that was still asleep within a functioning cryostasis pod; still awaiting orders. While Bucky isn't happy about it, he is put up to the challenge of helping to rehabilitate the soldier in Wakanda where she may be able to become a person again.

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A/n: So how did we all feel about the absolute heartwrenching shit that just happened last chapter lmfao also btw, (Y/n)'s healing journey DOES have a soundtrack, and it's "I Don't Remember Me (Before You) by Brothers Osborne and "This Bitter Earth/On the Nature of Daylight" by Dinah Washington ;) Also, if you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee! If you would prefer to read Rehab on Archive, you may do so right HERE!

This is an au where Bucky joined the avengers but still rehabilitated in Wakanda (sometime before Infinity War [canon divergent cause NOPE]). I am NOT fluent in Russian, so I did use google translate cause I couldn't find a good translator that I trusted. If anything is wrong, PLEASE let me know!! Also, I tried to list as many warnings as possible so you know what the story will contain as chapters are posted. Stay safe!

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Genre: Slowburn, Enemies to Lovers/Friends to Lovers, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Humor, Drama, Dark Content Rated: Explicit Warning: Angst, Dark Content: Graphic Depictions of Sexual Assault, Blood and Gore, Mentions of Manipulation, Kidnapping, Canon-Typical Violence, Body Horror, Nonconsensual Body Modification/Scarring, Emotional and Physical Abuse, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Suicidal Thoughts/Ideation, Graphic Depictions of Human Remains, Mentions of Sexual Coercion/Manipulation, Death, Misuse of Drugs/Forced Drugging, Self-Harm (Graphic Depictions and Mentions), Nightmares

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Author: ScariusAquarius

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rehab masterlist. chapter 26 / chapter 27 / chapter 28

The ride back to Wakanda had been a breeze filled with anxious anticipation, nerves, and bottled feelings that Bucky didn't know how to really work through. His mind hadn't stopped reeling since he had left Mavis' cute little house, since the corn and soybean fields of Indiana were a distant memory in his side mirrors, and the familiar smell of upstate New York became a slap of reality.

When Bucky had gotten back and packed his bike back up into the garage, Sam was waiting for him, leaning against his car with his arms crossed and an inquisitive look on his face. Bucky instantly squinted at him, pursing his lips as he looked at the man while locking up the garage door.

"What?"

"How did it go?"

Bucky huffed, running a hand through his wind-swept hair and grabbed the crochet bag filled with (Y/n)'s journals, Rebecca's letters, and the tin of pictures that Bucky didn't dare to open, out of his saddlebag. Sam whistled, laughing gently.

"Didn't know you were into crochet, Buck. That old age of yours really catches up, doesn't it?"

Bucky felt tempted to launch the bag at Sam's head, but elected to clutch the bag close to his chest instead. He quipped back, his brows furrowing.

"Like I said: you don't get to call me that, and if you have to know, it was (Y/n)'s from a long time ago. And old men need hobbies too, jackass. I hear pinochle's the craze of today."

Sam snorted, and Bucky began to walk away, Sam following after him and inquiring about the contents of the bag.

"What's in there?"

Bucky felt strangely protective of the information, glancing at Sam before replying.

"It's got (Y/n)'s old journals, some....letters from a friend, and some pictures."

Sam looked surprised before he asked, raising his brow.

"Mavis really kept all of that after all this time?"

"She kept them in hopes that (Y/n) would come home to get them."

The air became almost sullen between the two, and Sam looked at Bucky, asking him after a moment of silence.

"Are you gonna take (Y/n) to see her?"

Bucky shook his head, muttering as they both stepped inside of the Avengers compound, the building no longer buzzing as much as it had when the team had arrived yesterday.

"It's too early. Seeing (Y/n) the way that she is right now...it'd probably send Mavis right into the ground."

Sam pursed his lips a bit before he stopped Bucky, a gentle hand on the man's arm. Bucky's steps were frozen, his head whipping over to Sam as the man looked at him with a serious yet kind expression.

"You're doing a really great thing, Bucky. Really."

Bucky nodded before he resumed his steps, stating with a determined gait.

"I know."

From there, Bucky had avoided the rest of the team and got on the first quinjet back to Wakanda. There was a part of him that felt bad about avoiding Steve, but Bucky couldn't help but feel eager.

He was actually excited to get back to (Y/n), to show her the journals and to tell her all about Rebecca and her Aunt Mavis. He hadn't let go of the bag the whole time, wanting so badly to keep looking at the journals and to open the letters and the tin, but Bucky resisted.

He wanted to go through it with (Y/n). Together. Two soldiers healing in separate ways.

Eat shit, Raynor, and your notebook too.

When Bucky had arrived back to Wakanda, it was Shuri who had run out to greet him with a large smile on her face. Bucky was perturbed for a moment, his head tilting slightly as Shuri exclaimed to him while grabbing his hand.

"Come, White Wolf, you are missing the livestock therapy session!"

Bucky was astounded, confusion instantly moving through him as he sputtered and asked Shuri as he allowed the woman to tug him along the pathways down to the fields.

"W-What? What are you talking about?"

"Just come!"

When Bucky and Shuri made it down to the familiar hut that he had once stayed in, Bucky was utterly surprised to see (Y/n) outside and feeding the goats. T'Challa was standing a respectable distance away-keeping a close eye on her while making sure to give her the space she needed. Okoye was standing near, her facial expression soft but guarded.

T'Challa glanced at Shuri and Bucky, nodding his head before glancing at (Y/n) as she gasped and flung her hand back when the goat began to suddenly lick at her hand furiously for more feed.

His hand covered his mouth as he tried to cover his chuckle. At the sound of footsteps, (Y/n) turned her wide gaze to Bucky before dropping the feed from her hand and approaching him.

"Ваша миссия была успешной?" (was your mission successful)

Bucky couldn't help the smile that came over his face, nodding as he clutched the crochet bag close; her eyes searching his face and eyes as she profiled him. Bucky simply replied.

"Yes, it was."

(Y/n) looked satisfied before she pointed to the goats.

"I'm feeding them."

Bucky was stunned for a moment before glancing down at the sudden interruption just a few feet below. A brown colored goat came walking up, nudging (Y/n's) leg, and she froze for a moment before reaching for the bag of feed she had strapped to her thigh like a gun holster, dropping more feed wordlessly, and Bucky glanced at the King before responding to (Y/n).

"I can see that. They seem to like you."

(Y/n)'s eyes widened just the slightest before she carefully pet the brown goat on his head.

"They are...soft...but slimy."

She made a slight face as the goat made a noise and stuck its tongue out at her, and Bucky chuckled.

"Well, they're great judges of character, I hear."

(Y/n)'s eyes lit up slightly, and she began to feed the goat again, becoming distracted in her own little world as her bare feet pattered against the lush ground. Stepping closer to the King, T'Challa nodded his head towards Bucky respectfully.

"I took the liberty of working within your stead and took (Y/n) to see the goats. She seems to be enjoying herself."

Bucky chuckled softly before murmuring.

"I can see that."

Okoye joked subtly, raising her brow slightly.

"She has taken to them so much that I am afraid we will have one or many roaming the kingdom beyond the fields."

Shuri and T'Challa smirked, and Bucky immediately shook his head, waving his hand in front of him in silent protest.

"We are not naming one of them after me; just putting that out there before anybody gets any ideas."

Shuri smirked before tugging her brother along to allow Bucky and (Y/n) some privacy.

"We shall see, White Wolf! I think it would be a great change in scenery to have a White Goat within the kingdom!"

Bucky gave Shuri an annoyed look, and the woman cackled as Okoye snorted. T'Challa just shook his head before following after his sister, and Bucky huffed before turning back to (Y/n). She was glancing at him, her eyes eyeing the crochet bag within his hands, and Bucky gestured with a flick of his head.

"I brought something for you. A gift, if you will."

(Y/n) eyes widened, and the goats were completely forgotten as she turned to him. Her eyes were filled with wonder and hesitation, asking softly.

"Подарок?" (present/gift)

Bucky nodded, and they settled down within the hut, Bucky placing the bag in between them once (Y/n) settled onto the ground in front of him. Bucky glanced at her, a gentle gravity to his blue eyes that drew (Y/n) in immediately, and he stated softly.

"I brought you something that is going to help us complete your mission. Do you remember your Aunt Mavis?"

(Y/n) slowly shook her head, and though Bucky was a bit disappointed, he didn't let it stop him nor discourage him. Carefully, Bucky thumbed at the bag for a moment, a feeling of anxiety coming over him before he took out the journals first. (Y/n)'s gaze became interested, leaning in slightly with a hesitant and almost suspicious expression.

"That's alright. I found her in Shelbyville, and she gave me a way for you to remember your life and Rebecca more."

"The pretty woman in the sunlight?"

Bucky nodded, and he handed the journals over to (Y/n), who looked unsure as she stared down at the leather-bound journals. Her hand looked hesitant, trembling slightly as it hovered over the book, and she whispered as her eyes became distant slightly.

"They didn't like it when I would write things..."

Bucky's voice became gentle as he asked her.

"Who, HYDRA or your mom and dad?"

(Y/n) pursed her lips, her brow furrowing slightly before she murmured.

"The man..."

Her answer was vague, and Bucky wasn't entirely sure who she was speaking about. If he had to take a gander, however, Bucky assumed that she was talking about her father, Robert. Bucky then said gently, reassuring her.

"Well, you can write whatever you want at any time. When I was starting to remember things, I wrote in my own journal. I kept a log of all the memories that began to come back as they did...and if I began to forget again, I would look at my journal."

(Y/n) blinked at Bucky, a feeling of surprise and wonder coming over her before her hand finally came down to touch the first journal. Her voice was soft, almost child-like as she asked.

"This...is mine?"

"Yes. It's completely yours."

(Y/n) had never received such mundane gifts before. HYDRA never allowed for rewards of possessions. In HYDRA's eyes, being alive and working for HYDRA was a gift in itself. The things that happened, the missions that they would assign, the privileges that occurred for the best behavior...those were gifts.

In a way, (Y/n) didn't really trust Bucky, her worry and fear beginning to plague her again, and she pursed her lips before opening up the book. Her eyes immediately widened at the very first page where the ownership was listed.

'(Y/n) (L/n)'s Journal of Adventures!'

A different handwriting was below it, (Y/n)'s eyes staring down at the words with awe.

'With Anecdotes from Rebecca Barnes-Proctor and Some!'

Dated: 1965

The ramblings of the 15 year-old mind of (Y/n) (L/n) were chaotic and, for lack of better term, distracted. While the journal entries were somewhat coherent, the numerous lists of brainstormed novel ideas were difficult to navigate. Incomplete sentences, scribbled out ideas, and simple words like 'England' and 'automatons' made it difficult to understand just how the young woman's mind worked.

Was this truly her mind?

(Y/n) carefully sifted through the pages slowly, skimming and admiring the doodles in the margins before an entry caught her attention.

Summer, '66 Today, Rebecca invited me to go hiking with her after I was finished tending to the garden with Aunt Mavis. It's been raining ALL week, and it just started to clear up finally. I agreed, and it was the best trip ever. Nate and Bev were little menaces the whole time, but after wrangling them into shape, Rebecca told me a little bit about her older brother, James. She got sad though, so I changed the topic and asked her everything I could about Meltzer Woods. She really loves the Campanula rotundifolia flower (which is the common harebell!). We're going to have a picnic here soon since her 46th birthday is coming up soon, and I can't wait.

P.S. What if there was a superhero that could grow flowers like Harebells?

The words that (Y/n) absorbed immediately began to trigger the memory of the woods much clearer, and (Y/n) began to remember just a bit more; what Rebecca had worn that day in the woods, the laughter of the children that always accompanied her, and the sadness in her voice as she talked about James. (Y/n) pointed to the page, whispering.

"The woods....I remember Rebecca in the woods..."

Bucky leaned forward a bit, his blue eyes flicking to the journal before asking.

"What else do you remember?"

(Y/n) frowned, pursing her lips as her head began to hurt, and she clutched it for a moment. Bucky was taken back by the gesture, but he slowly and carefully placed his hand on (Y/n)'s knee, saying softly.

"It's okay. You don't have to remember if you can't. You'll hurt yourself trying to force it."

(Y/n) became nervous, her voice soft as she replied.

"I don't want to fail."

Bucky shook his head, saying steadily as he looked at (Y/n) with an open and comforting look.

"It's okay if you do...it just means that we can try again."

(Y/n) pursed her lips again before glancing down and picking up the letters with a new face of interest, tilting her head as her fingers brushed against the yellowed paper.

"Those are letters that Rebecca tried to send you when you went back to (hometown). HYDRA wouldn't have let them reach you, so your Aunt Mavis kept them for you...in hopes that...one day you might come back."

Come back? (Y/n)'s eyes then caught the tin container, and she gingerly picked it up. Carefully, she pulled the lid of the container off, and her eyes immediately widened as her breathing stopped. There were countless photos in the tin, some black and white, some color, and she was in every single one.

Bucky couldn't help but to be nosy, moving in closer to get a look, and (Y/n) grabbed the first photo. It was a black and white photo of her sitting in front of a Christmas tree.

A woman that she didn't recognize was sitting on a recliner beside her, smiling down widely at her as a dish-towel that read 'Merry Christmas! - 1957' was folded neatly within her lap. A man was sitting next to her, hair cropped in a traditional military style, a very neat mustache sitting atop his lips while his bright eyes were on the camera. While he was wearing a smile, the soldier couldn't help but to notice a strange look within the mans eyes...as if he was uncomfortable.

(Y/n) was 5 years old in the photo, wearing a belted pajama set that the man and woman in the photo were matching with. She was in the process of ripping open a big present, the biggest smile on her face as (Y/n) looked at the camera. Her eyes were bright and happy, and the older woman closer her eyes as the distant sound of Christmas music echoed in her ears.

The scent of pine and holly, the heat of a the fire in the fireplace, the brightly-colored lights of the Christmas tree, a woman's voice that she had never heard before cheering her on to open her presents.

"Go on, now, (Y/n)! Don't leave your Aunt Mavis and Uncle Bobby waiting!"

A man, presumably Bobby, began to speak; a gentle timber to his authoritative voice.

“You’ve been good this year, sugar. Santa checked with me himself!"

A child's voice then began to speak, one that the soldier recognized as her own that was laced with such joy and laughter that the soldier almost didn't believe that it was truly her.

"Really?! Santa came to see you?"

"In the flesh! And let me tell you, he was somethin’ else. Big ol’ fella, beard down to here, and full of stories. He was unlike anything you could ever imagine and was singing your praises! Said he ain’t seen a kid tackle chores and her books like you since the war.”

(Y/n)'s chest was tight, and she was surprised to find that she was crying. Her fingers dropped the photo, and she began to wipe at her eyes in a way that was almost akin to confusion. Bucky was patient, a concerned look in his eyes, and (Y/n) cried softly.

"I don't understand what this feeling is...I...feel as though I am...yearning."

Bucky's voice was low and gentle as if he didn't want to disturb the memory nor her moment of vulnerability.

"I think what you're describing is 'missing'. You're missing them, (Y/n)."

"Missing? But how can I miss what...what I don't know?"

Bucky was at a loss for words then, not sure how to respond. He pursed his lips, frowning and looking away as he tried to figure out a way to explain what it meant to miss something or someone when you couldn't even remember who or why. Then, T'Challa's earlier words echoed into him like a sudden brush of wisdom.

"Perhaps the soul remembers more than the mind."

Bucky let the words flow from his lips, and (Y/n) gazed at Bucky with a stunned look before she looked back down at the photo, more tears dripping down her cheeks and landing on her thighs despite no sobs leaving her scarred lips. Her confusion was apparent, her hands wringing together, and Bucky leaned in slightly, patting her knee gently.

"We'll piece it together...even if it's just fragments. You're doing great already."

(Y/n) swallowed thickly before nodding, and she placed the photo back into the tin. The next photo was in color, and Bucky instantly recognized the background. It was on the porch of Mavis' home, (Y/n) sitting on the steps with her journal in her lap. She wore a wide open-mouth smile, seemingly in the middle of a laugh.

And beside her sat his sister, Rebecca Barnes.

It was the first photo that Bucky had ever seen of his sister; the first glimpse of her since he had gone to war and was captured by HYDRA, and he couldn't help but to cover his mouth in awe and bittersweet pain.

Rebecca was smiling just as wide, her own journal within her hands, and she was sitting next to (Y/n) with her head tilted towards her. In the back, hanging around the porch, were his niece and nephew, both too in their own world to notice the picture was being taken.

He had to be proud: his sister made some beautiful kids.

Tears filled his eyes, and he had to swallow thickly to keep the sob that had bubbled up from deep within his chest from coming out. (Y/n) was in a similar boat, but for a different reason. She whispered in a small voice.

"The...the pretty woman from the woods...it's her...It's her, солдат." (soldier)

She pointed to the woman, and Bucky nodded, becoming slightly uncomfortable from the way (Y/n) had addressed him, and he turned to her.

"(Y/n), I'd like for you to do something for me. Is that alright?"

(Y/n) immediately looked up at him, her shoulders squaring as she became ready to receive her orders. Bucky swallowed again before he asked her in an almost pleading voice.

"Please...call me Bucky."

(Y/n) looked at him for a moment, her gaze present despite the presence of a distant glaze that he knew all-too-well, and she finally nodded.

"Okay, Bucky."

Bucky felt an intense weight lift from his shoulders, and he glanced outside at the sound of the goats and children giggling. Bucky then smiled and looked over at (Y/n) as relief settled into his bones. (Y/n) was still looking at him, suddenly observant, and he felt weirdly on the spot.

"What is it?"

"You look like her."

Bucky felt his heart drop into his stomach, and (Y/n) tilted her head a little as she blinked owlishly.

"What do you mean?"

"Rebecca. You look like her."

Bucky swallowed thickly, and he realized that now he was at a crossroads...and a very dangerous one.

-

STORY NOTES: The scene opens with Bucky arriving back to the Avengers compound. Sam has been waiting for him to arrive, and when Bucky packs his bike away into the garage, Sam instantly begins to ask him how the trip went. Bucky explains that Aunt Mavis had kept journals, letters, and pictures of (Y/n) in hopes that she would come home, but purposefully leaves out that Mavis knew about Project Achilles as well. When Sam asks if Bucky will take (Y/n) to see Mavis, Bucky refuses, pointing out that it's too early and it would break Mavis to see (Y/n) the way that she is right now. Bucky then quickly gets back to Wakanda as soon as he can. When Bucky arrives, he is greeted by an excited Shuri, who tells him that he is missing a 'livestock therapy session'.

When Bucky arrives to the fields with Shuri, he is shocked to find (Y/n) outside and feeding the goats. T'Challa and Okoye are standing by to watch over her, and T'Challa reveals that he decided to take (Y/n) outside while Bucky was gone. When (Y/n) sees Bucky, she stops feeding the goats to ask him how his mission went. Bucky tells her that it was successful, and after a few jokes from Shuri, the Royals leave to allow Bucky and (Y/n) to have some privacy. Bucky reveals to (Y/n) that he has brought a 'gift' for her. (Y/n) is surprised by this, and Bucky hands over the journals to her first.

(Y/n) is hit with a sudden thought of how 'they' didn't like it when she would write, but when Bucky asks her about it, (Y/n) is only able to give him a single vague answer. As (Y/n) begins to skim the pages, she is surprised by how chaotic the young girls mind was, and questions if this was the same mind as her own. She comes across a journal entry that describes and solidifies her memory of the woods with Rebecca. She informs Bucky that she remembers Rebecca, but when Bucky presses her for more, (Y/n) isn't able to remember. Bucky comforts her, but (Y/n) reveals that she is afraid of failing. Bucky reassures her that it was okay if she did, and (Y/n) moves on to the tin of pictures.

The first picture was of Christmas in 1957, Mavis and Bobby in the photo and watching as a 5-year-old (Y/n) is opening a present. (Y/n) immediately has a flashback, hearing her Aunt Mavis and Uncle Bobby cheer her on to open her presents, and when the flashback ends, (Y/n) is startled to find that she is crying. When she tells Bucky that she doesn't understand why she is feeling a sense of yearning, Bucky tells her that she is 'missing' her family.

(Y/n) becomes confused, but decides to move on and grabs the next picture. This time, Bucky is the one that becomes sad as the picture is of (Y/n) and Rebecca. It is the first time Bucky has seen a picture of Rebecca since joining the army and being captured by HYDRA, and he is astounded and proud of how beautiful his niece and nephew are within the photo. (Y/n) is floored at the photo of Rebecca, and she tells Bucky that the woman in the photo is the same one from her memory. She slips and calls Bucky 'soldier,' which makes Bucky uncomfortable.

Bucky asks (Y/n) to call him by his name, and when she agrees, Bucky is relieved. A moment of distraction makes Bucky look outside, and when he looks back, he is surprised to see (Y/n) observing him with a serious expression on her face. When Bucky inquires about this, (Y/n) points out that he looks like Rebecca, and Bucky is immediately thrust into a dilemma and a crossroads. End scene.

TRANSLATIONS:

Ваша миссия была успешной? - Was your mission successful?

Подарок? - Gift/Present?

солдат - soldier

TAGLIST: @seemsxsketchy @tilldeathripsusapart @vicmc624 @mgchaser @aash3 @samfunko @seventeen-x @valckenaux @babybeeelle @sc4rrc @cjand10 @bane-y-zane @notsostrangerthing @thenameswinter99 @bumblebeebutter

[ghoastixx]

what about spn boys with an S/o who pranks them with the ‘monthly shed’ thing? How would they react to that?

SPN boys being pranked with the monthly shed

synopsis above

notes: I hope you know, whoever you are, I love you for this. This.. this is amazing.

Author's notes: Gender Neutral Reader, but AFAB body. Mentions of menstrual cycle.

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

Dean Winchester

Freaks the hell out.

Brother does NOT understand, he hardly understands makeup as a whole so he would never even think of it as an option.

"Is it like your period?? Is it a side affect??" "Baby, what do you mean? It's my monthly shed." "I THOUGHT THAT WAS YOUR PERIOD."

He is stressing.

He would 100% ask if you need anything. Tries to tell you that you look amazing, though he does wonder if you're a monster.

Will ignore you once he finds out you were joking. You scared him, he's petty.

Will ask you how you did it.. he wants to try it on Sam.

Sam Winchester

Now, Sammy is a smart boy. He's lived with a girl before, I feel like he'd know better. He knows how makeup works.

..but you're so persuasive.

He shakes himself out of it, he knows very quickly you're bullshitting.

He's mostly just interested on what exactly you had on to make it look like you could peel your skin off. He wants to know how it works, how you put it on, what it is.

This is what you get for loving a smart boy.

Castiel

He's confused

genuinely so confused.

"Does this have to do with a humans menstrual cycle..I was not aware..the human body could do that.."

Asks if there is a way he can help..what you do with the skin..how to treat this..how long you've been dealing with it.

Genuinely if you were to go further with the joke and use the siren-esc route I've seen on tiktok where they mention that "To keep our beauty we have to drain it from men" he will actually tweak a little bit.

He doesn't remember Eve having to do that?? When was this update??

Please reassure him you're joking, he might have a crisis.

Gabriel

Even if he knew that you were joking, he would soo play into it

"Sugar, what are you doing?" "My monthly shed," "Your monthly shed?" "Yes, why is something wrong?" "I've never seen something like this before, sugar. What is it that you do for this again?" "Ah, I have to drain a man to keep my beauty before I wilt." "OH. SO THAT'S WHY YOU'RE WITH ME."

It literally goes exactly like that. Nothing else.

He does ask you how you do it though, sure he could do the same thing if he wanted, for real, but he wants to see you do it.

Lucifer

He is slightly intrigued.

"My dear, whatever are you doing?" You mention you're peeling your skin off?

"Darling, you're shedding?"

Immediately (Ironically) compares it to a snake in his mind. Wonders if his father punished humanity finally.

"My darling, I was around. I do not remember this being..necessary."

He sniffs it out so fast.

Would act unphased but he sort of does want to know about your odd illusions you can do with the odd..face paint you insist on wearing.

Crowley

Only a tad bit concerned.

Humans don't normally..do that.. do they.

I think he would be confused but would want to act like he knew what was going on.

Like..yes this is totally normal! oh- a joke- psh yeah I knew that, I was only humoring you, angel.

What a charmer.

[sjsmith56]

A Better Man, Part 1 - Preparation

Summary: Bucky Barnes, a shy general contractor with a shady background, offers to help a single mother get her inherited house renovated. It should be simple.

Length: 4.9 K

Characters: Bucky Barnes, named OFC, named OCC, Steve Rogers, Sam Wilson.

Warnings: Bucky’s awkwardness, trust issues, teasing, practical jokes, association with criminals.

Author notes: This is primarily a romance between two people who have been hurt in the past. There will be moments of angst and even some darker memories and events but this Bucky is a soft and sweet guy.

Part 1

All three of the men stood outside the building, waiting, just like they did every Tuesday for the past month.  Bucky Barnes, the man who owned the building, where his general contracting business was located, pulled out a package of cigarettes, offering one to the other two, Steve Rogers and Sam Wilson.  Both declined. 

"She doesn't like cigarettes," said Steve, pulling out a package of gum instead, offering one to Sam, who took a stick, sliding it out of the foil paper before inserting it in his mouth.  "Says it's not good for the baby."

Bucky put his cigarette back in the package, then stuck his hand out for a piece of gum instead, making Steve and Sam grin.  He had it bad if he was willing to chew gum for her.  To be fair, the other two gave up smoking around her themselves, after meeting her for the first time 5 weeks before.

"Here she comes," said Sam, nodding his head towards the end of the block.  "Best part of the week, right there."

The "she" they referred to was Andrea Hart, a single mother who moved into the neighbourhood over a year before but only started walking past their building in the past month and a bit.  They watched as she pushed the baby stroller towards them, her long hair softly bouncing in the light breeze, smiling at other people who saw her walk this way every Tuesday at 3 pm, enjoying the way she radiated something good in every step that brought her closer. 

"Good afternoon," she called out, as she approached the three men.  "Were you all waiting for me to walk by?"

"Yes," said Sam and Steve simultaneously, just as Bucky said the opposite.

Bucky glared at the two men, but he smiled back at Andrea.  "We were taking a break and enjoying the sunshine when we saw you coming so we decided to wait."

"How's baby girl this afternoon?" asked Sam, peeking into the stroller.

"Wide awake for once," answered her mother.  "Would you like to hold Lily?"

Sam grinned.  "Yes ma'am.  I've held a baby before.  My sister has two boys, and I looked after them when they were little."

She reached into the stroller, then lifted out the cutest doll of a baby girl, dressed in a bright yellow romper.  Sam expertly cradled Lily in his arms, smiling down at the baby with a look that the other two men had never seen before.  It obviously worked as Lily gurgled happily at him.  Steve leaned over and poked his finger into Lily's chubby little hand, grinning when she grasped it tight.

"I think she's adorable," he said, in an admiring voice.  "She must bring you such joy."

"She does," smiled Andrea.  "I just wish her dad thought the same way."

"He still not helping you?" asked Bucky.  "We know people who could talk to him.  Just give us his name."

"No, please leave him alone," she answered, the light within her dimming a little.  "I appreciate the offer but he's a lost cause.  Just as well, because then he would have to be part of our lives, and I don't want that.  We're better off on our own."  With a shrug, she smiled again.  "Well, we better be going.  I have to pick some things up at the grocery store."

Sam reluctantly gave Lily back to her mother.  Bucky watched Andrea's face as she laid the baby back inside the stroller, her face soft and full of love for her little girl.  The guy who got her pregnant must be a real asshole for not wanting to be part of their lives.  What he wouldn't give for someone like her to be waiting for him at the end of a workday.  With another smile and a quick wave Andrea left and they watched her walk away until she was out of sight.

"It's not right," said Sam.  "That lovely lady and that sweet baby deserve the best."  He looked at Bucky.  "We are going to talk to the father, aren't we?  He needs to at least be financially responsible."

"You heard her," replied Bucky, taking the gum out of his mouth, and dropping it into the bucket of sand outside the door of his building.  He pulled a cigarette out and lit it, taking several long drags and blowing the smoke out forcefully.  "Find out who and where he is and whether he can afford to support that baby.  Don't do anything to him.  I just want information."

Two days later they met in Bucky's office.  Sam turned on the Smart TV and sent the photos he had on his phone to the big screen.  It was obvious with the first one who the baby's father was.  The first picture of him handing off a shipment to a local drug dealer was all that the three men needed to know that he was bad news.

"Shit," muttered Bucky.  "Brock Rumlow."

"Hydra Contracting," said Sam.  "He doesn't usually handle deliveries but their usual guy, Walker, got himself arrested for beating someone up.  The new ADA is making an example of him, although Pierce is trying to get the charges dropped or reduced."

"How the hell did she get mixed up with him?" asked Bucky, his frown threatening to leave a permanent crease between his eyebrows. 

"Flat tire," said Steve.  "Right in front of one of their chop shops.  He changed it for her, asked her out then swept her off her feet.  When he got tired of her, he left her high and dry."  He looked at Sam, who shrugged.  "Bucky, Hydra has been associated with a baby trafficking ring.  I'm not saying Rumlow would do that to his own daughter but ...."

"If he's not willing to acknowledge her as his daughter then he might not care," stated the dark-haired man.  "Do we have anyone in their organization who can keep an eye on him?"

"Yeah, Quill has been working as security at the strip club.  Rumlow's there most nights.  Do you want someone watching her during the day?"

There was no answer for Sam for a long time, then Bucky sighed.  "She's not working, is she?"

"No, she's on leave.  She seems to have a bit of money from an inheritance, but she'll likely have to go back to work before Lily is a year old.  She was a teacher."

He stubbed the cigarette out and rubbed his face with his hands.  Of all the men to become involved with, Rumlow was one of the worst.

"Do we have anyone on the city payroll who can be doing work near her place?"

Steve flipped through a list on his phone.

"Mrs. Parker's nephew," he said.  "He's in the general landscaping department as a labourer.  Could be trimming some trees that are on public property near her place."

"Arrange it," said Bucky, glancing through the door where May Parker, his receptionist, was on the phone.  "I want to know her other walking routes as well.  Might as well get people staked out on them."

Sam and Steve glanced at each other.  "That might leave us a bit thin," said Steve.  "Unless I spring for more who are on the city payroll."

"Do it," ordered his boss.  "I don't want her to walk anywhere without eyes on her."  He looked up at them.  "Yes, I like her.  I just want her and her little girl to be safe.  It's not like I have plans to ask her out."

With a grin at each other, the two men left, and Bucky sat back, resting his head on the back of his chair, then closing his eyes.  Unable to help it, he thought of Andrea, like he had every day since he first wondered why Sam and Steve waited outside the office at the same time on Tuesdays, starting five weeks ago.  It was two weeks later when he joined them and saw her for the first time.  Sam, who had always been friendly to the ladies, greeted her; commenting on what a fine day it was for a walk.  Then he asked about the baby as if they had known each other for some time.  The jerk had even inquired about the baby's first tooth coming in then shared what his sister used for teething issues.  Andrea had been so grateful for the advice.  Bucky tried to remain indifferent but since that day he couldn't help but wonder if someone like her would ever be interested in someone like him.  With a sigh, he opened his eyes and stood up.  It was no use hoping for someone like Andrea.  Considering the type of work he had to take on, no decent woman should come within 20 feet of him.  He grabbed his jacket and told Mrs. Parker he was going for lunch. 

Half an hour later, he found himself in line at a hot dog vendor, ordering a chili dog and coffee.  Taking it with him, he sat on a bench in a nearby park, taking the first bite.  Watching the people milling about he didn't notice that someone was approaching him until the woman spoke.

"Chili dogs, huh?  I didn't see you for a hot dog guy."

He looked to his right, surprised to see Andrea, by herself.  His first reaction was to stand up, with his chili dog still in his hand, which made her grin, then he gestured to the bench, waiting for her to sit down before he did. 

"Where's Lily?" he asked, after he finished chewing the bite he was in the middle of.

"My friend is watching her," she said.  "I had an appointment with the bank."  He raised his eyebrows.  "Just some things to do with my house.  I inherited it and it needs some work, so I have to get a loan to pay for the renovations."  She looked away for a moment.  When she turned back, he noticed her eyes were glassy.  "They turned me down, so I might have to sell it."

"Why did they turn you down?" asked Bucky.

"Because I'm on maternity leave, and technically not working," she sighed.  "I'm living on the money I inherited but it's not considered income.  It's enough for me and Lily but not enough to pay for the improvements."

"I'm sorry," he frowned, noticing that he was still holding his partially eaten chili dog.  Standing up, he tossed it into a nearby garbage can, then sat back down with her.  "Maybe I can help."

She smiled wanly then looked away.  "That's nice of you but we barely know each other and only to say hi."

It came out of his mouth before he even had a chance to think about what he was saying.

"Go out with me," he said.  "We can become better acquainted."

Andrea seemed amused by that.

"You're not serious.  I have a six-month-old baby that I'm nursing.  I can only go out for a few hours."

"Then have me over for dinner," he said.  "I can look at your place and see for myself what you need doing.  I know lots of tradespeople who would give you a good rate on any necessary renovations if I asked."

It seemed to take forever for Andrea to answer and for a moment, Bucky thought she was going to turn him down.  Then she breathed out noticeably and looked at him.

"Alright," she said.  "Tomorrow, 6:30.  Let me give you my address and phone number.  Don't dress up and don't bring alcohol as I can't drink while I'm nursing."

He grinned, handing her his unlocked phone for her to put her information into his contacts.  Before she handed it back, she called herself and answered the call on her phone, saving his information in her contacts.  Then she stood up and walked backwards away from him.

"Don't be late," she said, before she turned forward as he watched her until she was out of sight, followed discreetly by one of his men.

By the time he got back to the office, Sam and Steve already knew he was seen with her.  Then he told them about getting an invitation to her place for dinner.

"You did what?" asked Steve, while Sam looked at Bucky, not believing what he just told them.

"I asked her out, but it's hard with a baby so I invited myself for dinner at her place instead," he replied.  "She needs work done on her house and I said I could look at what needs to be done and recommend tradespeople who could do it for a good rate."

"I hope you're not thinking of some questionable tradespeople," said Sam, "who sometimes use stolen materials or cut corners."

"Not for this job.  I would insist on quality work."  They still looked askance at him.  "I can assess her security situation as well.  It was a spur of the moment thing.  It's not like I'm going to ask her to be my girlfriend, or anything."

"Bucky, she's a single mother," said Sam.  "You don't want to mess with her heart.  That would be cruel.  Considering your track record ...."

He sighed.  What did they think he was?  He wasn't a slimy lothario preying on a lonely woman.  He was a slightly shady businessman, who was doing something kind for a nice lady who had been taken advantage of by an asshole.  Dinner with her was just being friendly, nothing more.  He sent the pair of them off, telling them to make themselves busy and leave him alone.  They did, but not without making jokes about him getting soft and gooey inside. 

They were even worse the next day, asking him every hour if he was psyched up about dinner with Andrea.  He finally had enough before lunch time and left, heading out in his car.  He didn't even know where he was going then was shocked when he found himself parking outside his mother's condo building.  Taking it as a sign he headed inside, going up in the elevator as it went up to the 27th floor.  The elevator doors opened, and he walked down the hallway towards her door, slowing down as he got closer.  Just as he decided to turn around the door opened and his mother, Winnifred Barnes, gestured to him.

"You made it this far," she said.  "You might as well come all the way in.  Mrs. Parker said you left the office."

With a sigh, he stepped in, following her to where she had lunch already set up for the two of them.  Whenever he needed to talk seriously about something he often showed up at her place for lunch.  He sat at one of the empty chairs, taking the napkin and spreading it across his lap, as Winnifred had raised him with manners.  Then he waited while she served herself first.  Placing some food on his plate, he took a bite, chewed it well, and looked at her.

"So, tell me about her," said Winnifred.  "She must be something if she's got you this bothered."

"How do you even know about her?" he asked.

"Darling, I'm your mother," she smiled.  "Plus, Sam and Steve report to me on any woman who draws your attention.  Don't even try to get them to stop.  I have dirt on them."

"She's a single mother of a six-month-old baby girl," he answered.  "Teacher, living off an inheritance while she's on maternity leave.  The baby's father is a douchebag."  She frowned at him.  "Sorry, he's an associate of one of our rivals.  Swept her off her feet then abandoned her when he found out she was pregnant."

"I already know that."  She took a bite of her salad, then a drink of water.  "What is she like?"

"I hardly know her, but she makes me want to be a better man."  He took another bite of food.  "Her parents basically threw her out and even though she has every right to be angry at her situation, she's so full of light and joy.  The look she has for her baby is a look ... it's a look I want to feel on me.  I would give it all up for her if she felt for me what I feel for her.  I would go legit."  He looked his mother in the eye.  "Is that what you wanted to know?"

She put her cutlery down and placed her hand on his.  "That's what I wanted to know.  Does she know what you really do?" 

"I think she suspects but no, I haven't said anything to her.  I'm having dinner at her house tonight.  She needs some renovations done on her home and I offered to assess them.  Figured I could point some of my more honest subcontractors towards her and give her a good deal."

She sighed.  "You know, I was in your shoes when I met George.  My father didn't have any sons, so I took control of the business after he died, then I met your dad, and he was drawn into my world."  She smiled.  "He could handle it, being a veteran.  Could she handle it if you stayed in?"

For a long interval Bucky didn't answer, then he shook his head.  "I don't want her involved in it.  It would dim her inner light.  Plus, it would make her and her daughter targets.  She doesn't deserve that."  He sighed.  "I don't even know if she thinks of me in the same way."

"Well," she smiled and patted his hand.  "Until you find that out, it's something that you don't really have to worry about, is it?  No matter how it turns out, just make sure that she's protected.  Even just showing up at her place for dinner can make some of your rivals take notice of her."

He nodded.  "I know.  I've already put people on watching her.  I won't let anyone hurt her."

She smiled indulgently at him, then changed the subject to something more trivial.  By the time Bucky left he felt more confident about the dinner.  His mother must have phoned Sam and Steve because when he went back to the office, they didn't make any jokes about him and Andrea.  That lasted until he was ready to go home and change.  He grabbed his jacket, reaching inside a pocket for his car keys, but pulling out several condom packages instead.  Coming out of his office he heard them both snickering and just shook his head at them, before storming out of the main door without a word.  He didn't see the disapproving look Mrs. Parker gave the pair.

When he got to his condo, he showered, shaved, applied some cologne, brushed his teeth well, and put on some dark wash jeans, a button up shirt and a sports jacket.  He looked at the small pile of condoms on his dresser and shook his head again.  Animals: those two were so crude.  It only took 20 minutes to get to Andrea's place which would make him early, so he kept driving until he found a florist, and bought some flowers for her.  She said not to bring alcohol but didn't say anything about flowers.  It wasn't until he was almost at her place again before he wondered if they were appropriate.  When he parked, he looked up lavender roses and groaned at the symbolism behind them; love at first sight.  If he went to get different flowers, he would be late, and she distinctly said not to be late.  With a shake of his head, he grabbed the bouquet and walked up the steps of the three-story brownstone to the door, pressing the doorbell.  Andrea appeared moments later, opening the door.  She looked great, wearing a top and jeans that hugged her in all the right places. 

"Right on time.  Come on in."

He followed her to the kitchen, handing her the flowers.

"These are for you."

She smiled a full smile that made her face light up in a way that made Bucky dizzy.

"They're lovely, thank you!" 

Putting them on the counter she reached for a vase but even on her tiptoes she couldn't grasp one, so Bucky reached over her and put it on the counter.  Quickly, she filled the vase with water, then cut the bottoms of the stems.

"You didn't have to buy me flowers, you know."

"I didn't want to come empty-handed," he answered.  "Where's Lily?"

"I fed her and put her down.  She should be out for several hours.  How have you been?"

Bucky shrugged.  "Honestly?  Nervous about coming over.  I don't go out much."

"A handsome man like you?  I don't believe that."  She arranged the flowers.  "I was nervous, too.  I think I've changed my clothes about three times.  Mind you, the first time was because I leaked."

He frowned at her in confusion, then she pointed to her chest.  It couldn't be helped, as her gesture made him look right there, at a pair of beautiful, full breasts.  Swallowing hard, he forced himself to look in her eyes instead.

"Ah, right.  That must be embarrassing if it happens at the wrong time."

"Tell me about it."  She grimaced, then placed the flowers on the table, which was nicely set for two.  It reminded him of how his mother always set the table for them to eat together.  "Can I ask you something?"  He nodded.  "What exactly do you do?  I noticed your building doesn't have a sign."

"Shit," he thought, then he breathed.  "I can do this." He smiled at her.  "I'm a general contractor.  That's why I know a lot of tradespeople.  What about you?  You said you're on maternity leave."

"Teacher," she replied.  "Elementary school.  They weren't exactly happy that a single teacher got pregnant.  Not the best role model."  Bucky tried to look sympathetic.  "Anyways, why don't you stay here, and I'll bring supper out."

"I can help," he offered.

"It's okay.  I've got it."

She brought lasagna, then went back for salad and garlic bread.  For him, she offered soda but poured herself some milk.  Deferring to her to serve herself first, Bucky waited to help himself.  The first bite of lasagna was good; more than good.  It was really good, and he told her so.  That brilliant smile displaying her inner light came out again and he felt his heart beating against his chest wall, wanting to see it more.  They talked about all sorts of things, laughing and joking about people they worked with.  He shared some funny stories about Sam and Steve, while she told him about her grandmother, who lived alone in the house, then invited her to live there after she found out she was pregnant.

"She died when Lily was just a month old but at least she saw her only great grandchild.  Excuse me."

He could hear her crying in the kitchen and got up from his chair, approaching her, then gently pulling her into his arms. 

"You must miss her a lot," he murmured, as he rubbed her back, not believing how good it felt to hold her, but wondering what else he could do to comfort her.

Andrea nodded, then pulled away and reached for a tissue.  "Sorry to lose it like that," she sniffed.  "My parents weren't happy with me, but she just took me in, no questions asked.  I think my parents are also angry that she left me the house.  I got the feeling they were counting on it to fund their retirement dreams."

"Why don't I help you clean up and you can show me what needs to be done," he suggested. 

She agreed and they cleaned up the dishes together, then she took him to the third floor, showing him the water stains on the ceiling, an indication that the roof needed replacing.  From there, they walked down to the next level, and she showed him a bedroom with water damage around the windows, which looked original.  He took a good look at them, reluctantly noting that they needed replacing.  The main floor, where the living room, kitchen and dining room were, seemed to be in good shape but she pointed out that there were water stains on the ceiling in the living room.

"The bathroom is right above this corner, so there must be a leak," she said.

"Might be that," he stated.  "I would have to open that ceiling up to be sure.  There might be an opening in the brick façade there that's letting water in.  Not the easiest thing to fix without tearing something apart."

She stopped in front of a door.  "This is the worst part," she said, as she opened it, then turned on the light that lit up the stair well.  He followed her into the bottom floor, where she turned on another light then showed him the electrical panel.  "This isn't good, is it?"

He looked at the mass of different wiring that snaked out of the panel, giving out a long, ominous breath.

"No, it's not.  You have aluminum and copper wiring mixed together in there and that's dangerous.  It's a fire hazard.  Fixing this would be a priority and it won't be cheap because they'll have to rewire the entire house.  That means they have to open walls and ceilings up, replace the junction boxes.  It's a big job, will cost a lot of money, and will take a while.  You wouldn't be able to live here while it's being done."

"Shit," she swore, then she started crying again.  "I knew it.  I had another contractor in here and he said none of it was a big deal.  I went to the bank for the money based on what he quoted me.  I should have known he was stringing me along."

"May I ask who you talked to?" asked Bucky, concerned it was one of his guys.

"Sitwell Renovations," she said.  He felt relieved that it wasn't one of his.  "Do you know them?"

"Yeah, they're sleazy," he replied.  "Do you have someone you can live with?"

She shook her head.  "No.  My closest friend is in a one-bedroom flat, and my parents won't even answer my calls.  There's no one else I know well enough to ask."

Just then the overhead light went out and they were caught in darkness.  Bucky felt her hands on his chest and placed his on her arms to steady her.  As their vision adjusted to the darkness, he could make out her face in the faint glow from the light in the stairwell.  She was so beautiful in the dim light.  Her pupils were dilated, and she looked up at him in a way that made him feel like a teenager again.  He really wanted to kiss her but instead he pulled his cell phone out and turned on the flashlight, aiming it at the floor.

"Smart idea," she said.  "I should get a new light bulb in there."

He shook his head.  "Honestly, you need to move out of here until you get the wiring redone.  I'm serious about it being dangerous.  The longer that mess is channeling electricity the bigger the risk of an electrical fire."

"I have nowhere to go." 

Her hands were still on his chest, and she was looking at him in a way that made him feel something he never felt before.  There was a rushing sound in his ears, but he felt like he could hear both of their heartbeats at that moment.

"Move in with me," he offered.  "I have a three-bedroom apartment.  It's in a secure building, with in-suite laundry.  You can take Lily's furniture with you, but it's fully furnished so you don't need to bring anything else.  I'm working everyday but I can be the general contractor for this job, get it all done the way you want, with all the proper permits and qualified tradespeople.  We can work something out for payment because I'm doing alright so I don't need it up front or all at once."

She stepped away from him.  "Why would you do that?  You hardly know me."

He swallowed and looked down before looking at her again.  Tell her the truth.

"I like you, a lot.  You've been dealt a bad hand, and I can help you.  I don't expect anything from you ... you know, nothing like that."  He ran his one hand through his hair.  "I think you need a break and maybe a friend."

While he spoke, she moved away a little bit more.  Her face had changed, become harder and less trusting.  No, I'm not being a creep here.  Please, let me help you.

"I think you should go," she said, in a voice that was barely more than a whisper.  "Please, just go."

It felt like he had just been doused with a bucket of cold water.  Reluctantly, he nodded his head and moved forward, waiting while she stepped aside to let him pass.  Without a word, he went up the stairs then to the front door, looking back at where she stood at the doorway to the basement.

"I'm sorry if I offended you.  My offer is genuine.  If you change your mind, you know where to find me."

He opened the door and stepped out into the night air, taking a deep breath.  Then he unlocked his car with his remote and got inside, looking at her brownstone for several moments before starting his car up and driving away.

Part 2>>

Series Masterlist

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[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

I’m back with the dear Mr Stabby to request the lesser seen Skeleton’s reactions to the beloved Roomba!

(Ie, The mafias, Horrorswap, HorrorFell, ink, error, the Dances, Farmtale, ECT! Whoever you want, I’m just begging for more Mr Stabby ^^!!!!)

Your work is lovely still! 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻

The first part of this ask is right here!

Horrorswap Sans - He watches the robot pass by, completely confused. Then just shrugs and goes on with his day. That's probably another human cultural thing he can't understand.

Horrorswap Papyrus - He's stuck in a corner, and that horrible thing is slowly coming for him. Pumpkin is more and more nervous, trying to push it back with his foot to make it go away. He doesn't like it, and he swears it's following him around. Get rid of it, he's scared.

Horrorfell Sans - He stares in silence as the robot keeps bonking his leg. Uh. Is that the best you can do to attack him? Well, that's pitiful. He kicks it, turning it on it's back like a turtle. Now that it's buzzing pitifully, Copper is laughing at it. He's clearly stronger!

Horrorfell Papyrus - He was sitting on the couch, watching TV, when suddenly he noticed his wheelchair was nowhere to be found. The Roomba kinda pushed it to the other side of the room. Chief gasps, angry. How dare this thing attack him? He doesn't care if he has to crawl on the floor, he's going to get his revenge. He's not scared of that knife!

Outertale Sans - You call that a menace? He gives the ability to fly to Mr Stabby. Now that's actually a menace as the Roomba flies back to you, his knife pointing at your face.

Outertale Papyrus - You hear a loud "WHO PUT A FREAKING KNIFE ON THE FREAKING ROBOT?! THERE ARE CHILDREN HERE YOU IRRESPONSIBLE FREAKS!" Uh oh. It seems Sun is not too happy with Mr Stabby.

Dancetale Sans - He tries to keep his serious as Mr. Stabby is cleaning the dance room in front of all of his students, who are clearly trying not to laugh. He swears he's on the verge of laughing too, but he's working and it's already hard enough for him to have authority, it's definitely not helping.

Dancetale Papyrus - Oh come on! Not in the middle of his grand finale! He was about to show his special moves when that stupid robot casually passed by on the stage, making the crowd laugh. You ruined his grand finale. He's so mad! Why does it always happen to him? First that annoying dog! Now the Roomba! Is he a joke for the universe?!

Dancefell Sans - He trips on it, stabbing himself. The knife is stuck between two of his ribs and he can't take it out. So he gave up. When you come home, poor Rumba is dragged by the Roomba around the house, looking depressed. He's not amused.

Dancefell Papyrus - Well, it's obviously free Tik Tok content and he immediately grabs his phone to film an epic chase in the house against the evil Roomba. Mr Stabby is now famous worldwide and everyone wants one.

Farmtale Sans - Why would you clean the house if it's already clean? Sam picks up the Roomba and sets it loose inside the farm to clean the dirt on the floor. Not only he didn't notice the knife, but now Mr Stabby is dead after trying to clean the dirt outside, which killed its engine. Sam is no fun.

Farmtale Papyrus - He uses it to scare the chicken so they enter their henhouse faster. It's like his new border collie, except it's a Roomba. Ben is very proud of his idea though. Maybe he got a new concept for a robot actually.

Mafiatale Sans - He takes Mr Stabby on a mission and uses it as a diversion to confuse the rival mafia members, before attacking them in the back. Mr. Stabby is a lifesaver, you're never seeing it again as Asgore decides he's an official member of the mafia now.

Mafiatale Papyrus - Oh thanks, he needed a knife. He grabs Mr Stabby's knife and stabs his opponent several times with it. He pats the Roomba on the way out to thank it for his services. He's keeping the knife though.

Mafiafell Sans - You're living in a concerto of constant barks. Fang's dogs really like Mr Stabby. To the point they're all chasing it around the house, barking like crazy and trying to catch him. Fang thinks it's cute, but you regret the time when you could do anything in silence honestly.

Mafiafell Papyrus - He watches in disbelief as Mr Stabby ruins his very important meeting by casually passing by in the background, knocking several times against Asgore's legs who seems less and less happy every passing second. He ends up discreetly stabbing Mr Stabby so it stops moving for good and so he can continue the meeting in silence.

Ink - He wanted to see if Mr Stabby could visit other universes, so he opened a portal under it. Let's just say a random Sans will have the scare of his life when he receives Mr Stabby on the head out of nowhere.

Error - He tries to keep his cool, but he's getting madder by the second. That stupid robot is cleaning the antivoid, with its stupid knife taped above it. There's nothing to clean in the antivoid. There's literally nothing in the antivoid. Why did you put that horrible thing in his perfect antivoid? Fortunately, after an hour or so, Mr Stabby gets lost somewhere in that huge blank space. The legend says he's still vacuuming the place to that day.

Disbelief Papyrus - Mr Stabby vacuumed his long scarf and now Delta is on the floor, trying to get it back while avoiding the sharp knife that threatens to stab one of his eye sockets. Once the scarf is saved, he picks it up and sends it back to you. He blocks his door so Mr Stabby doesn't come back :(

Killer Sans - That's his new pet, they're matching! Killer tapes several other stabbies on Mr Stabby so he can stab from every angle he's turning into. The only victim of Mr Stabby stabby stabs is the wall, as the knives are actually very sharp and make huge holes in the wallpaper.

Dustale Sans - You told him Killer transformed into Mr Stabby and now Dune is devastated, desperately shaking the Roomba to ask Killer to come back and to not give up on him too. Killer enters the room half an hour later and is just very confused when he sees Dune cry, screaming his name, hugging Mr Stabby against him lol.

[dr-spencer-reids-queen]

Compromising Positions: Part One

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~1.7k

Warnings: canon violence, canon language, canon talk of death, methods of kill

Summary: An unsub is targeting and killing married couples, and you and Spencer go undercover in hopes of drawing out the unsub. Not only does it not work, but it opens a can of worms you don't think Spencer is ready to open.

Season Six Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Criminal Minds. All credit goes to their respective owners. If there are any warnings that exceed the normal death/kills from the show, I will list them.

x

"Whatever you are, be a good one." – Abraham Lincoln

You're typing on your computer just minding your own business when you feel eyes on you. You look above your computer to see Spencer staring at you from over his. He quickly looks away and goes back to doing what he's doing, and you do the same. Two minutes pass and you feel eyes on you yet again. 

This time, you don't look at him.

"Spencer, you're staring," you sing. You look up and see a blush darkening his cheeks, and he quickly looks away. "What is it? Do I have something on my face?"

Spencer grabs his coffee and locks his computer since the briefing meeting starts in one minute. He passes by your desk to get to the stairs leading up to the small second-story and stops right behind you. You look up at him and he leans down to kiss you.

"You're just beautiful."

It's your turn to blush. You two walk to the briefing room together and take your seats while everyone else shuffles in.

"Hey, good news. Ellie just got placed with a foster family, so fingers crossed."

"Oh, that's great. I'm happy for her," Emily smiles.

"We got a case in Akron, Ohio," Hotch says when he walks in. "Two couples were killed in two weeks."

"One a week? That's not much of a cooling-off period."

Hotch puts up pictures of one couple.

"Scott and Kathy Hartway were found in their car in an isolated spot."

"The Son of Sam had a short cooling-off period. He also attacked couples in cars," Spencer says.

"Yeah, but the first couple was killed in their house. Robert and Allison Keppler." Hotch puts their pictures on the screen. "In both cases, the husbands were killed with a silenced nine-millimeter, and the wife was stabbed multiple times. He's crossed not only racial lines but socio-economic ones. The Kepplers lived in an upscale neighborhood and the Hartways were blue-collar."

"That's a big change in crime scenes--car versus house. Two radically different MOs, not to mention he subdues two people. That takes a lot of skill," Rossi comments.

"There's no indication of how he overwhelms them. There's no antemortem bruising. He doesn't use a blitz attack."

"He's got a nine-millimeter. He doesn't need to."

"How about signs of forced entry to the car or the house?" Derek asks.

"Nothing, but Akron PD did find this." Hotch puts pictures of both deceased males with bruising around their wrists. "Handcuffs. He restrains the men and saves the real savaging for the wife."

"Is this right?" Rossi flips through the paper file. "They found a used condom on both the husbands?"

"Yes, plus both had Viagra in their systems while neither had a prescription."

"So, the unsub gives the men Viagra and then forces them to have sex before he kills them?"

"Given the timetable, he's gonna strike again soon. We fly to Akron tonight. Wheels up in three hours."

Since you have three hours to kill, you decide to go to Hotch's office to talk to him about JJ. It's none of your business who he hires next or the process of getting someone else hired, but you feel like he might want some help to make the process easier.

"Hey, got a second?" you ask and knock on the door.

"Yes. Come in."

You walk into his office but keep the door open.

"So, without JJ, it's going to be tough."

"We'll manage."

"Have you thought about training someone new for the position?"

"Not right this minute."

You say it before even thinking about it. You just want to help out and think this is the best way you can.

"I could do it. I might not have her training but I read people well. I could--"

"Garcia, what is that?"

You turn to see Penelope rolling a suitcase behind her. You take a step back and allow her to walk into the office.

"My go bags."

"Where are you going?"

"With you, hopefully. Sir, I think we're all still reeling since JJ left, and we are a man down so you need a communications liaison." Hotch's mouth opens to respond but she is quick to speak again. "Sir, please hear me out. My job overlapped with JJ's the most. I created the program that she used to present cases. When you guys were out in the field, she coordinated your needs through me. It makes sense."

Hotch looks at you over her shoulder and you shrug as an answer to his silent question.

"Garcia, there are aspects of the job for which you have no training."

"You're totally right but I'm willing to learn. I'll learn how to interact with families, local law enforcement, and the media. Sir, I'm willing to tone down my wardrobe choices. I'm ready to make that sacrifice if you just please give me a chance."

"You know she's serious if she offers to change what she wears," you comment.

After a moment, Hotch nods. "Alright. We could explore this on a trial basis. We'll see how things go. Are you up to speed on the case?"

"Yes."

"Can you be ready in three hours?"

"I'm ready now."

"See you on the plane."

Penelope grins and leaves his office, and you step back to where you were before.

"You understand why she's a better fit."

"Yeah, she'll do good. I just wanted to help you out."

"You can by being out in the field. You're much better out there."

You leave his office and head back down to your desk to get some more paperwork done before the flight. Three hours later, you and the rest of the team are inside the plane but still on the ground. You're sitting next to Spencer but across from Hotch and Emily while Rossi is on the couch next to you. Derek is making himself a coffee knowing he won't sleep on the plane.

"I'm just waiting on a few last-minute details. Let's go ahead and get started," Hotch says.

"I keep thinking about the fact that he makes a married couple have sex before he kills them. What is he accomplishing with that?" Rossi asks.

"You know, the stabbing of the wives is almost certainly like piquerism. The unsub gets sexual gratification from penetration with a knife. Most piquerists are impotent. Men like Albert Fish, Iain Scoular, and Andrei Chikatilo. For him, it could be a substitute for sex."

"The unsub could also be playing a mind game. Neither shot to the husband is clean, so they have to watch what he's doing to their wives as they're dying," Emily adds to Spencer's thought.

"So, this guy challenges their manhood by forcing them to have sex and then mocks them with the overkill. That kind of psychological torture makes him a sexual sadist. It would explain the amount of control he exhibits over the crime scene--the handcuffs, the condoms, and the silenced weapon. He plans out every detail."

"If he's that precise, he would be just as precise in his victimology, but he's all over the map in terms of class and race."

"There must be something else about the couples that attracts him. Something that he couldn't learn by stalking them anonymously. Maybe the couples met the unsub before," you say.

"Rossi and Reid, will you handle the family interviews? Morgan, Prentiss, and Y/N, go to the latest crime scene. We need to learn as much as we can about him so let's really pin down the MO."

Hotch looks past Spencer's shoulder to the front of the plane once someone else walks on board. You look behind you to see Penelope dressed in a gray knee-length dress with a small black blazer. Her hair is straightened and she doesn't have her glasses on which means she is wearing contacts. This is nothing like what she normally wears.

"Well, look at you," Derek smirks.

"Meet your new communications liaison. Trial communications liaison," she corrects.

"Garcia, I don't get to say this often, but I had no idea there was this side of you."

"I figure since I'm going to have to interact with the mass populace, I should dress in the traditional costume of a mere mortal." She squints her eyes as if she is in pain. "Ow. Ow."

"What's wrong?" Derek asks.

"Oh, it's my contact. It keeps getting weird." She pulls down the bottom lid of her eye and rolls it to try and fix her contact. "Huh. There it goes. No. Yes. No. Ow."

You can't help but giggle at her theatrics. Now that the last member is on the plane, the pilot is given the green light to take off. You hook your arm through Spencer's and lean your head on his shoulder, and he rests his head on yours. You mindlessly run your hand up and down his arm as you close your eyes for a bit of rest. Hotch watches you two in thought, ideas already swimming in his head on how you can help him out with this case.

Since the flight is only an hour and a half, you arrive in Akron late at night. Hotch checked everyone into the hotel and allowed everyone to get proper sleep before getting to work in the morning. As soon as the sun is up, you head to the recent crime scene with Derek and Emily, and the rest head to the Akron Police Department.

"Detective Crowley?"

"Miss Garcia. Thanks for coming." He shakes her hand. "She emailed pictures of you guys. Agents Hotchner, Rossi, and Dr. Reid, right? It's doctor, not agent. She was specific about that."

Spencer smiles proudly at Penelope.

"What else was she specific about?" Rossi asks.

"Everything your team needs. I sent her a list of family members who'd be willing to talk, and your boards are over there, all ready for you to set them up. I even got the push pins you asked for."

A distraught man walks into the station and approaches the group.

"Excuse me. Are you miss Garcia?"

"Mr. Keppler. Hi. This is Detective Crowley. He'll show you to the interview room."

Both men leave and Penelope addresses Hotch.

"He is such a sweet man," she sighs.

"You contacted the family members already?"

"Yes. Only two responded back immediately. That is Robert Keppler's dad, and Scott Hartway's mom will be here in about an hour. Is that enough time?"

"Yes, perfect."

"Okay. I'm gonna set up the boards unless you need something else."

"No, we're good. Thank you."

Penelope leaves and Rossi turns to Hotch.

"And you were worried."

"Y/N came to me and asked if she could do it."

"What did you tell her?"

"That she's better off in the field."

"I agree," Rossi nods.

x

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[siravalondulac]

like a glacier in april, the ice melts off my soul | j. snow x fem!oc

part 3 of the modern!holiday au

summary: jon has fallen in love with the president's daughter and heir to the lannister name. that she seems to like him just as much and invites him on several dates certainly puts a few delusions in his mind. if only their surroundings could be as accommodating...

contents: modern au, lent and easter, relationship progression, anti ygritte, smut (dry humping, p in v, oral)

warnings: sexual assault (written in detail and discussed later on; not between the main pairing)

words: 14.590

author's note: do not. talk to me about the word count

tag list: @sunraysoverthevalley @idohknow

masterlist | additional works masterlist

previous | next

Jon knows something has to be wrong with him. Because there is no way he can be this obsessed with a woman after having only seen her twice.

And yet he is. And he hates himself for it.

The nine days until their first official date - he hopes he is allowed to call it that - pass by at a snail’s pace. He feels every second of every minute of every hour of every day, constantly checking the time, his phone, the bloody clock in the bus.

Coming into work on Monday, he wants to turn around and run away before he even enters. That the colleagues he took with him to the Red Palace have already told the rest of the shop is a given, and something he knew would happen as soon as he first mentioned the Fastnacht party. That doesn't mean he has to like it though.

Luckily, Mormont keeps him busy and away from the rest of the shop for three days, allowing him to evade the stares and questions. Until half an hour before closing on Thursday.

Matthar suddenly stands above him. “I heard what happened at the party.”

“You and everyone else, I assume.”

“Are you really in a relationship with Cerelle Baratheon?”

Jon sighs. “I am not. We are just friends.”

“Just friends don’t disappear into the back rooms at a party!” Pip shouts from the other side of the room.

He is close to screaming. Like, really close.

“I hope you know she is just using you,” Matthar says.

“What?”

“Come on, you can't be that dense. Cerelle Baratheon is whatever the female version of a playboy is. She has a new lover every month, jumps from one party to the next, and simply listing off every scandal she was involved in would take a week.”

“She also killed someone once!” Albett shouts from somewhere.

“You still believe that? She was pronounced innocent,” Pip threw in.

“Yeah, after her grandfather conveniently donated a lot of money to the charity of the judge presiding over the case,” Grenn responds.

“Everyone knows he despises her. Why would he spend a single cent on her?”

“Where do you think she gets all the money she flaunts at every possible moment?”

“Enough!” Jon shouts. “I don't care about that. Cerelle is my friend, and that's all there is to it.”

“Not just poor but also dumb and oblivious,” Albett says with a laugh. “She'll have a field day with you.”

“You're a toy to her. Someone she can play around with until she grows bored and tosses you away again. It's what she always does.” Mat then turns around, and walks away.

They’re wrong.

They have to be. Cerelle would never treat him that way, he knows it. She is good and kind and helpful and cares about him the way no one else ever has. This strange person they are talking about would have never pretended to be his date to save him from embarrassment, would have never invited a poor no-name to a party at the Red Palace.

Whoever this woman is they see, she is not his Cerelle.

She would never do that to him.

As soon as the clock strikes six, he is out of that place. Barely even stopping to say goodbye to Sam or Mormont, everything inside him screams to start running, to bolt down the street, to jump up and down in excitement. But he reminds himself to stay calm. He will make it in time, he has checked the bus times often enough to be sure of it.

The Art History Museum is not really a place he thought he would ever set foot in. The building is beautiful, even he can see that, but to stare at a few centuries old pictures still seems less than enticing. Except that once he spots Cerelle standing in the shadow of a pillar, and a smile bright enough to light the entire world spreads on her face the moment she lays eyes on him, he never wants to be anywhere else.

She takes his hand and quickly draws him towards a well-hidden side entrance. A man greets them, they share a few words, then he leaves with a light threat not to damage anything.

The building is grand, the paintings similar yet beautiful all the same. But no matter how hard he tries to appreciate them, to read the explanations as they pass through the different rooms, to enjoy the empty museum, his attention always shifts back to Cerelle.

She seemingly has something to say about every piece they look at. Her excited voice echoes off the marble walls, the smile on her face addicting and the sparkling in her eyes enchanting. He has no choice but to watch her.

Sometimes, she looks at him, and when she notices his eyes on her she blushes, and he has to try very hard not to giggle.

Cerelle is… Fuck, she is so wonderful. If his colleagues could simply meet her they would see this, too.

The museum visit passes without any incidents. Which, he supposes, he is glad about, but also something he has not expected based on the way they ended up the previous two times they were together. Cerelle merely lays a kiss on the back of his hand, and asks where he wants to go on their next date.

And that she actually uses the word date allows his mind to recover from the short circuiting her kiss sent it into.

“The aquarium.”

They pass through three more museums the following week, meeting every two days right after his shift has finished. She never initiates anything more, seemingly quite content with holding his hand for hours on end.

Besides the aquarium, they also visit the Natural History Museum and the Science and Tech Museum. All after-hours, all by passing through a side entrance, all while being left completely alone in the buildings.

He never asks, but sometimes he does wonder how they actually get into all these places. Maybe Cerelle actually knows this many people, more likely is, however, that she is simply rich and people recognise her last name. Maybe one day, when she trusts him more, he will try to test the limits of this.

For now, he simply enjoys what she gives him. Precious hours walking in comfortable silence, fawning over the animals and paintings and exhibits, and perhaps, if he dares to think that far, even over each other.

“Where do you want to go next?”

They stand in the shadows of the Science Museum's back entrance, the pouring rain only narrowly passing by them. Cerelle had refused to let him step outside until she had thoroughly inspected their surroundings and deemed them safe from any onlookers.

He has only fully started understanding her paranoia earlier in the evening, when a man with a mic jumped into his path and asked if he was headed towards the museum, if he knew Cerelle, if he was her new lover. And nothing Jon did or said managed to deter the man. Only when two more showed up, one with a camera, the other with a smartphone in hand, and all three had started arguing over whose spot this actually was, did he manage to slip away.

To be forced to live one's life always on the lookout, never to be able to simply enjoy a moment…

Cerelle looks at him expectantly, and he cannot help but feel sad for her.

“How about we meet at my place again?” he says. “I could cook something for us, and we'll watch a movie afterwards. If- If that is something you’d like.”

The smile that spreads on her face is addicting. “I think I'd like that very much. There's just…” She hesitates for a moment. “I'm vegan, so-”

“Yeah, I know.” Seeing her confused stare, he quickly adds, “At the restaurant on Valentine’s, you ordered the only vegan things on the menu.”

“Oh.” Her fingers pull at the sleeves of her jacket. “I didn't think you would notice.”

“Of course I would. It's you.”

She hugs him, then, so tightly and with such insistence he realises he might not be the only one with a terrible ex-partner.

Finding a vegan recipe that he, one, can afford, two, can cook, and three, will actually eat himself is no small task, but he refuses to give up. After everything Cerelle has done for him, she deserves something nice as well for once.

On Friday, he manages to get off an hour earlier than usual and therefore has time to spare when he is done preparing everything. Which may be a curse instead of a blessing, he realises, because now he once again has time to get anxious.

Will she actually come, will she find his efforts ridiculous, will she laugh seeing his outfit, will she hate the food, will she leave right after-

The knock on the door is what finally breaks him out of his misery. He hastily goes to open it - and his heart stops.

Cerelle looks devastatingly beautiful. Even more so than on Valentine's and Fastnacht. Her hair looks impossibly soft and golden, the wild curls now falling in gentle cascades over her shoulders and down her back. No butterflies decorate her eyes tonight, instead it’s her cheeks that glitter like the night sky and make her eyes look even more like stars than they already do. Yet the crowning piece of it all is her red dress - off the shoulders, stopping right above her knees, wide sleeves that are fixed with golden ringlets to her wrists. So bright, so intense, a colour he has never seen before.

He stares, and continues to stare even when every voice in his head screams at him to say something.

A small part of him wants to drag her inside, rip the dress off her, and feast upon her beautiful body until dawn. But he knows he could never muster the courage to initiate something like that. Especially with her.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“I hope I'm not overdressed.”

Besides him in his crappy black dress shirt and pants she definitely is, but how could he ever tell her that?

“You look wonderful.”

She smiles, and seemingly only narrowly defeats the urge to gnaw on her brightly coloured lip. “Thank you.”

He leads her inside, then, where she takes off her shoes and puts down her small handbag, and lets herself be guided to her seat at the small table. She plays along with everything he does - pulling out her chair for her, thoroughly tasting the cheap wine he fills into her glass - and even subtly encourages him to continue with this charade by spreading the paper napkin on her lap like a proper lady and calling him Sir, accompanied by a slight giggle.

Ygritte would have never participated in something like this. Would have laughed at him for even attempting-

He forces himself to banish his ex from his mind. This evening is about Cerelle.

They eat, they laugh, they talk, and he almost feels like a real human again - one who has a social life and isn't constantly being crushed by the fear of eviction or unemployment.

Afterwards, they huddle up on his bed as Jon opens the only streaming platform Sam has given him the password to. All while desperately trying to ignore Cerelle's soft body pressing against his.

He clears his throat. “So… Uh, what do you want to watch?”

“I am open for everything. You decide.”

Her face is likely being graced by that one specific smile that always makes him blush, so he is quite glad he cannot physically look at her.

He stammers a bit. “We could, uh, watch the new Star Trek movie. Though I don't know if it's any good.”

She is silent for a moment before quietly saying, “I've never seen it.”

“You've never seen Star Trek? Never? Not a single episode?”

“I know, I know.” She groans and hides her face in the crook of his neck. “I'm an embarrassment.”

“No, no, it's ok.” He laughs and gently urges her upward again. “I wanna be able to show you something new as well for a change.”

They only manage one episode before a glance towards the clock tells Jon he should probably stop this before he cannot even make it out of bed tomorrow. Cerelle doesn't seem to mind.

“Thank you for this evening,” she says as he lays his laptop on the floor beside the bed. “No one's ever done something like this for me.”

He turns to her, confused. “But… You're a Lannister, and a Baratheon. Shouldn't people be begging on their knees to worship you?”

She laughs, yet it sounds so terribly sad. “The people I associate with aren't the kind to value small moments like these. It's about spectacle, and showing off. You don't really make others envious with a quiet dinner and a movie.”

“Well…” He tries to find fitting words, anything to make her smile again. “I really enjoyed it as well. It was the best birthday I've had in a long time.”

Cerelle jolts upwards. “What? It's your birthday? Why didn’t you say anything? I should have been the one pampering you today, making you dinner, inviting you to my home. I don't even have a gift for you-”

“Hey, it's alright.” He lays his hands on the sides of her neck. “I wanted to do all that for you. Being able to provide for you for once is everything I could have ever wished for.”

“It doesn't work like that, Jon. You already have such stress during the day, you could have at least let me make dinner.”

“I'm sure you'll have plenty of opportunities for that in the future.”

It was a gamble, saying that, but based on the smile that spreads on her face she has at least accepted that last part of his argument.

“But I still need a gift for you. Especially after everything you have done for me this past month.”

And whatever strange power takes hold of him in that moment makes him say what he has been wanting to for days. “How about a kiss?”

Her lips crash onto his with such fierceness he almost falls off the bed. She catches him just in time, burying her fingers into the collar of his shirt and pressing him so close he barely has space to breathe.

After a lot of shuffling and pulling and dragging, she sits astride his lap as he leans against the wall. One of her arms snakes around his neck to press her mouth ever closer to his, their lips interlocking, wet and hot and so intense he loses all ability to think.

His hands, luckily, find their way to her hips all by themselves. He traces her sides, glides across her chest, presses against her back, upper and lower, urging her to move against him.

She doesn’t - not truly, at least. Her tongue enters his mouth and her fingers card through his hair, but she stays seated quite firmly directly on his cock.

He tries not to let it bother him, he really does. And if she could only lift herself up on her knees to remove herself from his lap-

Suddenly, she whines when he bites down on her lip, but before he can apologise she moves across the bulge in his pants, and he answers with a moan of his own.

How much time passes he cannot say, only that he is out of breath and sweaty and his cock aches under the constant pressure, confined into the pants that are already a size too small. Their chests press together with every gasp, every shattered breath they desperately try to take in. How Cerelle has not collapsed under the constant, never-ceasing movements is a mystery to him, and he is about to let his lips move away from her mouth to explore her throat when she moves, his zipper rubs along his tip, and he-

The moan that passes his lips is far too loud, far too real, and so, so embarrassing. Cerelle's breath fans across his cheek, her hand still buried in his hair.

He cannot look at her.

Fuck, he just came in his pants like an inexperienced virgin, all because of some grinding and a (far too intense) make-out session.

If the earth could open up and swallow him whole- No, even that wouldn’t get rid of this embarrassment.

He lets his fingers glide down Cerelle's side, desperate to distract her, to at least repay her for this, but her hand stops his before it can reach the hem of her skirt.

“It's alright. It was an accident.”

As she removes herself from his lap and stands up, he remembers they are still in the fasting time before Maiden's Day, and supposes he has learned something new about her again.

He quickly cleans himself up in his bathroom, throwing on a clean pair of sweatpants and splashing his face with ice cold water in an attempt to return his face to a normal colour.

Cerelle stands by the window, her form illuminated by the bright lamppost. She turns to him as he approaches.

“My uncle will be here in a few minutes to pick me up.”

He nods.

“I don't- This doesn't mean you should be embarrassed, or that I think you are pathetic. Trust me, I've done way worse. It's all my fault, anyways, I should have never let it get this far-”

“Hey.” He lays a hand on her cheek, and she almost instinctively leans into his palm. “It's alright. As you said, accidents happen. And maybe we can continue where we left off once you are ready.”

She tries to reciprocate his smile, yet seems far too tired. “Soon. I promise I'll be ready soon, it's just a really difficult time right now.”

“Don't stress yourself, I would understand if you are never ready as well. And even then I would still want to be with you.”

She presses herself against him, arms around his body and hands buried in his shirt, holding on so tightly he thinks she wants to melt into him. And somehow, he is alright with that. Especially when he hugs her back, burying his face in her hair, and he feels a tear escape her eye and roll down his cheek.

They simply stand there for minutes, hours even, until motion in front of his window tears them apart.

“That's my ride.” Cerelle takes a deep breath, only to attempt to suppress a smile. “You have glitter on your face.”

He chuckles. 

Their hands remain interlocked until he opens the door and she steps out into the hallway.

She looks at him one last time and whispers, “Happy Birthday, Jon,” before she disappears into the night.

He expects Cerelle to remain M.I.A. for a few days, yet is quite glad she doesn't.

Two days after his birthday and their dinner date at his apartment, they meet in the supposedly closed for renovations wildlife zoo on the outskirts of the city, where Jon has way too much fun searching for the wolves hiding amongst the trees. Cerelle fawns over the foxes and hawks so much, he fears she will kidnap one to keep as a pet.

Their interactions aren't strange or weird or awkward. Even though they never talk about that night, it also doesn't weigh on them like a well-kept secret. It's just something that happened, just another one of their wonderful dates he keeps tucked away in his heart.

One day after work - a terrible and rainy affair where he had to carry so much stuff in the freezing cold every muscle in his body hurts to even think about - he arrives home to find a small package in front of his door.

Jon does not have the money to order things, so his first thought is that it belongs to a neighbour. But no. That is his name on the address.

Opening it reveals two things: an even smaller carton, and a piece of paper.

Its handwriting isn’t messy, per se, but difficult to read in the way only his grandmother's letters are. After a shamefully long time, he finally decodes what it's supposed to say.

I know you didn't want a gift, so you can see this more as a common good for us both.

Yours, Cerelle

He traces her name on the paper, before he catches himself and quickly lays it to the side.

The smaller carton, the common good as Cerelle has called it, is a small, portable projector, one he could easily plug into his laptop.

Seven hells.

It's not just that she liked the date, it's not just that she isn't embarrassed by how it ended, it's not just that she maybe would want to repeat it. No, she has gone out of her way to gift him something that would actively enhance the experience the next time they watch a movie at his place.

She wants to spend more time with him.

He places the projector on top of his cupboard and tapes Cerelle's note next to the family photos above his desk.

Jon does invite Cerelle to his place again.

It happens during one of their museum visits - this one being dedicated to the composer of Westeros’ national anthem. The entrance is tucked away in a side street and so unrecognisable that they don’t even have to search for a back door, a change he is quite happy with.

The museum itself is not very interesting, but some of the rooms they pass through play music of the composer; quick marches and deep arias and sweeping waltzes. In one of them - a sparsely furnished room that plays a slow piece he swears he has heard before - Cerelle takes his hands, lays one of them around her waist and interlaces the other with her fingers, and starts to dance.

It’s a quiet and idle one, and technically nothing more than simply moving around in each other’s arms, but gods does he like it. She snakes her free hand around his neck and lays her head on his shoulder and then, even if quietly, hums along to the music, and he thinks he will die on the spot.

He stumbles and steps on her shoes, but she just smiles. And when the music stops for a moment and she lifts her head up again, he cannot help but kiss her. It’s so terribly short but sweet and full of longing, and when they part again he asks, “Would you like to come to my place again to try out the projector?”

She smiles brightly and agrees, and that leaves Jon two days to clean up his apartment and figure out a way to prepare an actual proper movie night this time.

He is late coming home from work that evening, so he decides to take a shortcut through a small alley. It’s theoretically the fastest way from the bus stop to his apartment, yet it smells and is dark and has a general off-putting vibe to it, so he tends to avoid it. Not tonight, though. He has to be home in time before Cerelle comes.

Halfway down the alley someone calls out his name, and even hearing the voice sends a shiver down his back.

The past few weeks had been so beautiful, he had been almost able to ignore the cause of them. Who it was that had brought Cerelle and him together.

He should have expected something to happen, yet when the texts had slowly ceased and the calls had stopped coming, he hoped she had finally realised there was no future for them, that he had well and truly broken up with her. Yet as he turns around and sees that mop of red hair running towards him, he feels so terribly stupid.

“Ygritte-”

“Do you have any idea how difficult it was to find you? I had to search almost the entirety of Flea Bottom to even catch a hint as to where you live.”

He takes a step back as she draws ever closer to him. “What are you doing here?”

Ygritte laughs. “To get you back, of course.”

“I don’t want you back.”

She stares at him in disbelief, and he cannot believe he told her that either.

“Don’t be silly,” she says, walking further towards him. “You love me. We belong to each other.”

He stumbles over some scraps lying on the ground in an effort to bring distance between them. “We hadn’t been on a date in months. In six years of dating you never wanted to know where I live. You told me I should move to King’s Landing, but never helped me get settled in.”

“Gods, you sound so whiny. I helped you grow into the man you are today, and you should be thankful for that. Without me, you would probably still be living with your mum in that crappy town up north.”

“Maybe I liked it up there.”

She laughs. “You’re so ridiculous. It’s honestly why I fell for you in the first place.”

“Please, just… Just leave me alone.”

He tries to turn around and walk away, to leave Ygritte and everything connected to her far, far behind him, but before he has even taken three steps, she closes her hand around his arm and throws him against the wall. The back of his head hits something sharp and in the time it takes him to regain his breath, she has pressed her lips to his.

He tries to move back, move away, push her off, but she forces her body tighter against his, crowding him against the bricks behind him as her hands start roaming across his stomach and chest, her fingers playing with the zipper, starting to open his jacket.

“W- Wait-”

“You don’t have to play coy, I know you want this.” She presses her thigh between his legs, grinding it against his dick, which starts to rise against his best efforts. “There, I know you can feel it.” She kisses him again and grabs his collar to keep his face close to hers. “You just wanted a bit of excitement in our relationship. Don’t worry, I can give that to you.”

Cerelle will arrive any moment now. He needs to be up in his apartment, preparing for their date. She cannot see him like this, she will think he’s cheating on her and run away and not give him time to explain and he will lose her forever-

“Please, Ygritte. Let’s talk another time, there is someone waiting-”

Her arm suddenly presses against his throat. “You’re cheating on me, is that what you're saying? Found yourself some pretty little slut that moans really loudly when you fuck her?”

“No, it’s- I broke up with you, it’s not cheating-”

“So there is someone else!”

He tries to respond, yet she quickly swallows any protest he had on his tongue in another burning kiss. She lavishes his mouth, bites and tears at his lips, buries her fingers into his hair and pulls at the strands, grinds her hips against his dick.

“You want me, can’t you feel it? You can try to deny it but your body knows the truth.” Another kiss. “Do you really think you'll ever find someone else? Who would ever want a broke, pathetic dropout like you?” Another kiss. “But I do. I don’t care that you’re damaged goods.” Another kiss. “You belong to me, and we will stay with each other forever.” Another kiss. “You need me, just admit it.”

Perhaps… Perhaps he should just give in. Perhaps what Ygritte says is right. Why would anyone want him, as a friend or a partner, anyways? He has nothing to offer - no money, no house, no safety, no fame, no nothing. Just a shitty job that pays for his shitty place, one he will get evicted from if they raise the rent again.

Staying with Ygritte would not be a very happy life, but has he ever truly done anything that would make him deserve something good? He dropped out of school, ran away from home, hasn’t spoken to a single member of his family in years, and when given the opportunity to study something that would secure his future, he turned it down. Because of Ygritte, yes, but even that he listened to her speaks for itself.

He should simply go with her. Give into her demands, and return to what they had. Fuck her as if he means it, kiss her as if he loves her, and never again make a fuss about being left out.

Ygritte has gone out of her way to find him again after he tried to ghost her. For anyone else, he would always be a second choice. No one else cares about him.

She is lifting up his shirt and he is about to resign himself to his fate when, all of a sudden, she is gone.

The breath he takes bites in his throat and his lung as if the air itself is poison, and the immense amount of oxygen that enters him makes him dizzy. He opens his eyes slowly, expecting Ygritte to have run away, to have decided she does not actually want him back-

Cerelle lays a gentle hand on his cheek, her eyes wide, her lip trembling.

“Jon?”

He almost lets out a sob at seeing her, yet brings no sound across his lips. And no matter how desperately he wants to fall into her arms, he is still frozen to the wall behind him.

Someone beside them screams out every curse word under the sun. Jon, almost mechanically, turns towards Ygritte, who is lying on the dirty ground and desperately trying to get her clothes clean. Then her gaze lands on them.

First her eyes widen in shock, before she lets out a laugh, only to contort her face in anger.

“You’re cheating on me with that fucking whore?”

He wants to defend Cerelle, to tell Ygritte she shouldn't call her that, but his limbs still refuse to obey him.

So instead it is Cerelle that moves herself in front of him, standing there like a protective shield against the vindictive force that used to be his girlfriend but that he doesn't recognise anymore.

“Were those proper, upper-class boys not giving it to you hard enough anymore, or why did you have to scrape around Flea Bottom for your next victim? He is, what, number five or six this year?”

It takes him a few moments to fully grasp what Ygritte is saying. And even though he despises every single one of her words, knows them not to be true, he cannot open his mouth.

Cerelle does not dignify Ygritte with a response, merely saying in a tone so low and threatening a chill runs down Jon's spine, “He told you to leave.”

Ygritte jumps at her, then, but before he can even properly react, Cerelle has already punched his ex across the face with such force it sends her tumbling into some crates.

“Make sure you never tell another soul what happened today, or so the gods help me, I will make what I did to Ramsay Bolton look like child's play in comparison.”

He half expects Ygritte to attack again, even if only verbally. But after staring at them - staring at Cerelle - for a while, she stands up and quickly hurries down the alley.

It is silent around them. No car, no bus, no dog, no pedestrian bothers them. The alley lays alone and forgotten.

Cerelle turns towards him, and he can do little but stay just as he was - pressed against the wall, frozen in place, confused as to what just happened.

“Are you alright?”

Her voice is so, so quiet and careful, as if she fears he will shatter with a single sudden movement. He wants to answer but can't, and so merely reaches out for her and buries his hands into her jacket.

This did not just happen, he did not just stand there frozen in fear, unable to do anything. What would anyone think of him if they found out he was such a weak coward? What will Cerelle think of him now, when he didn't defend her, didn't do everything in his power not to cheat on her?

He only notices he is trembling when Cerelle lays a hand on top of his, and squeezes it comfortingly. With the other, she takes out her phone.

“No police.”

It's the first thing he says to her. His voice is hoarse and shaking, and he immediately wants to crawl into himself.

“It's alright,” she whispers. “I won't call the police, just someone to pick us up.”

His apartment is right around the corner, they could… Then he thinks about it for a moment longer, and realises he cannot return there tonight. Not ever, perhaps. Ygritte knows where he lives now, he will never be safe again.

Cerelle talks to someone on the phone, but the words flow past him without ever registering in his mind.

Then they stand there.

Eventually, she gently lays a hand on his arm and urges him down the street. He follows her, stops when she stops, hurries after her into a black car with tinted windows. Once they have slipped into the backseat and the car has started driving, he curls up in her lap, and cries.

How long he does he cannot say. How long the drive takes he cannot say. Perhaps forever. Perhaps a minute.

He sobs violently, his body shaking with every breath he fails to take. The shirt he cries into is wet from his tears, and if he had been capable of rational thought, he would feel terrible about it.

There are hands combing through his hair, gently playing with the strands, curling them around fingers. They run down his back in soothing strokes, flatten across the wrinkles in his clothing, press him closer against her.

When the car stops, the tears have as well, yet it takes Cerelle a few tries to get him to move and leave the car. She holds his hand as she leads him up an unknown staircase, draws her keys to open a door, urges him to mirror her as they remove their jackets and shoes, and eventually takes him into a corner of the dark room and lays him down on a bed.

It's soft, and he sinks into the mattress as soon as he lies down. Cerelle moves, and he hastily tightens the grip on her hand.

“Please don't leave.”

“I won't. I'll stay right with you.”

He likes to think that she smiles, but through the darkness he barely sees anything, least of all her face, so he has to rely on his other senses to feel her lying down beside him and wrapping an arm around him. He presses his body against hers, buries his face into her chest, and eventually falls asleep.

It takes him a few moments to figure out where he is.

The ceiling rises high above him, the red brick walls carefully painted with animals and flowers and trees, each more detailed than the last, while enormous windows stretch out across an entire side of the room, flooding everything in warm sunlight. A purple curtain is tied to the side, and could, if opened, separate the alcove with the bed he currently lies in from the rest of the space.

Cerelle has brought him here. She considers this place safe, something to escape to when she has nowhere else to go.

This is not the Red Palace. Nor the presidential villa. Meaning it is her own, personal apartment, hidden somewhere deep within the city.

The bed he lies in is even larger than he previously assumed, decorated with pillows and blankets in all shapes and sizes, and so incredibly soft he never wants to leave it. But the space beside him is empty.

Cerelle had held him in her arms last night until he had fallen asleep, but she must have left afterwards. Perhaps to lie on the couch, perhaps in a second bedroom. She likely wanted to give him space after what happened yesterday, and he supposes he is grateful for that, yet a part of him still wishes to wake up beside her again one day.

He slowly sits up.

His clothing has gotten wrinkled during his sleep, and he feels terrible for dirtying the beautiful sheets.

Everything around him is beautiful. He doesn't belong here, he should leave, he should-

Something moves in the corner of his eyes, and when he turns towards it, Cerelle stands there. Dressed in a simple, long-sleeved white shirt and a blue skirt with a wooden tray in her hands, while her hair is kept out of her face with blue clips decorated with butterflies.

(It’s not the first time he wonders why she likes these animals so much.)

“Morning,” she says quietly. Then she lifts up the tray. “I made breakfast.”

Once again, he doesn’t know whether he should be in awe or deeply uncomfortable over how much effort Cerelle puts up for him. When someone says breakfast, he thinks of a cup of coffee and a piece of toast (with a slice of ham if he has the money). She, however, has prepared a whole five course menu - porridge and grilled cheese sandwiches and pita bread with some carrot dip and homemade cookies and glasses with fruits and vegetables. He gets his coffee, she drinks some tea. Never in his wildest dreams could he ever afford something even slightly similar.

“Do you…” she says slowly after a while. “Do you want to talk about yesterday?”

He should, he knows that. Burying the events of the previous night will not turn out well for him, but it is far easier than facing the truth.

“I- I don’t even know where to begin.”

He expects her to ask him to recount everything in order to work through this experience. But she doesn’t.

What she says instead is, “Do you want to press charges?”

Perhaps he should have recounted everything first because-

Oh gods. He could press charges. What happened yesterday- Ygritte tried to rape him. Forcibly take him in some dirty alley like he was in a bad movie. Had Cerelle not appeared-

“I- I don’t know if I could,” he whispers.

“That’s okay. I won’t force you to do anything. I just want you to know you have the option.”

He nods carefully, and takes another bite of the bread.

Then he blinks and properly stares out into the bright sun for the first time.

“Shit, what’s the time? I’ll be late for work-”

Cerelle lays a hand on his, and when he looks at her, she has her eyes averted in what he can only describe as shame.

“I- I already took care of that.”

“What?”

“You told me where you work a few weeks ago, and when you were still sleeping this morning I- I called them and told them you were sick.”

He is lost for words. “And they believed you?”

“I told them I was your cousin.” She cocks her head. “Though the guy on the phone seemed a bit confused. He said that for as long as he has worked there, no one has ever called in sick, and he didn’t even know the correct protocols for that. But he assured me he would take care of everything.”

Sam. As the shop’s secretary, he would have been the one to take her call. Jon himself doesn’t even know if he is allowed to stay away for a day - even with a heart attack or something - but Sam would make sure he’s not punished for it.

He should bring his friend a cake when he comes back.

“For how long did you excuse me?”

“Just the weekend. I said you’d be back by Monday. I thought you might need the time.”

Does this count as an invasion of privacy? He supposes it does, and perhaps had she not previously proven he could trust her he would admonish her now. But she saved him last night, and perhaps he should allow her this once.

A free weekend sounds like a dream.

“I thank you,” he says carefully. “But I would prefer if, going forward, you ask me before making such a decision.”

“Of course,” she answers quickly. “I already feel terrible for doing it now.”

He hopes he never loses her.

They finish breakfast and he helps her clean up and store away the dishes in silence.

Her kitchen is as pretty as the rest of her apartment, the cabinet doors painted with dark blue and green backgrounds while flowers and vines sneak their way up before them. Everything is neatly sorted, everything seems to have its place.

“Do you think Ygritte will tell anyone?”

Cerelle turns towards him. “What do you mean?”

“She recognised you. And the way we parted… She will want to get back at us, at you, what better way than to make our story public?

She taps her fingers against the counter, her well-manicured nails hitting the marble in a gentle clack, clack, clack.

“Ygritte has no proof. Sure, some publication could attempt to snap a picture of us, but that would take time and effort. And her story doesn't fit with what the people know about me.” She bites her lip. “I had lunch with an old flame of mine earlier in the day anyways, any talk of an alleged new lover will get drowned in the pics that were surely taken during that.”

Jon doesn't want to ask, doesn't want to sound desperate or jealous, constantly hears Ygritte's voice in his head, and yet he still says quietly, “An old flame?”

Cerelle's eyes widen. “I'm sorry, I should have asked you for permission beforehand, it's just… She is nothing special to me, I just slept with her a handful of times last year. And I thought that- I haven’t been seen with anyone for weeks, someone would have gotten suspicious, and I didn't want them to find out about us. So I invited her for lunch, and chose as public a spot as possible. Nothing happened and I probably will never see her again, at least not intentionally-”

“It's alright, I understand.”

He shouldn’t get upset about this. They aren't together or exclusive, have never talked about what they want out of a relationship, haven't even had sex in weeks.

(Not that he cares about that, he could survive an entire life in her arms without, it's just… He misses hearing those pretty sounds she makes. The ones he is responsible for.)

“What will you do now?” Cerelle asks.

He takes a breath, opens his mouth, ready to answer, yet stops. A minute passes, then he quietly says, “I don't know.”

She cocks her head, and something strange lies in her gaze, something he can't quite place. “How about a day on the beach? Or- Perhaps the entire weekend? It's a good way to clear your head.”

“With what money?”

He doesn't mean to sound harsh, but cannot help himself the small amount of bitterness swinging in his voice.

She might have cleared him the weekend, but he has not left King's Landing in years. What should change now?

“My family has a small hut by the beach,” she says carefully. “If you want, I could bring you there. And stay with you, if you need it.”

He needs someone close, that is for sure. He cannot be alone now, not after what happened the last time he was alone, not after- Cerelle saved him last night. She could take care of him.

The drive passes in silence. Only the sound of the engine and the quiet, melodic voices of the radio fill the car as his gaze wanders across the scenery outside the window. He clears his mind, takes deep, conscious breaths, and almost falls asleep.

Three hours after their departure, they finally arrive at what Cerelle has called a small hut by the beach and what Jon considers a house for a family of five with a private section of the beach.

Being rich must be nice.

It's already dark by that time, and even though he notices Cerelle preparing to say something, even though he wants nothing more than to spend time with her, she shows him his bedroom and he closes the door after she has left.

His dreams are haunted by Ygritte. She claws at his skin, rips out his flesh, consumes him whole. Every time he wakes in a sweat, he thinks this nightmare cannot possibly continue, yet whenever he falls asleep once more afterwards, it returns more detailed and vicious than before.

A sliver of light passes through the window when he opens his eyes again, and he decides he has had enough. If needed, he will never sleep again.

His legs almost buckle when he stands up, and only quickly grabbing the headboard keeps him from falling to the ground.

Step by step, he makes his way out of his room.

Cerelle sits on the porch, book in hand, as a gentle breeze wafts through her hair and across the blanket wrapped around her shoulders. She looks up as he sits down, smiles, hands him a blanket. Jon takes a breath, and starts talking.

He talks of Ygritte, and himself. How he met her when he was sixteen and she nineteen, how he instantly fell head over heels for her, how his mother disapproved of the relationship. How he let himself get convinced to drop out of school, leave home without another word, and move to King's Landing with Ygritte, hoping to finally make some friends and live. How he was fired from job after job for reasons that always boiled down to no degree. How Ygritte, always lovingly, of course, refused to help him, saying he will only learn if he manages to make it through life himself. How they had gradually started to drift apart.

Then he tells her of Valentine's Day, why he was in that restaurant, and how desperately he had tried to make things work with Ygritte. How he was about to leave when she showed up, and how she flipped his world around. He tells her of Ygritte’s desperate attempts to reach him throughout the weeks until she showed up in that alley. He doesn't stop at the assault, telling her of every word he remembers being said, every moan he regrets letting past his lips, every bruise he garnered at being thrown against the wall. He tells her everything up until the moment he fell asleep in her bed.

Sometime during it all, he starts crying. He feels terrible, seeing all his dumb mistakes listed off like this, as if there couldn't possibly exist a bigger failure in Westeros. But afterwards, in the silence that follows his last word, he feels strangely free.

Cerelle doesn't say anything for a long, long time. He doesn’t mind, for some reason.

Her fingers trace the rough patterns of her blanket.

He looks out towards the sea.

The clouds part to let the sun shine through for a moment.

“Thank you.” Cerelle's words are barely above a whisper. “Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me.”

“Do you think I'll ever forget her?”

“No. You will heal, you will grow beyond her, you will no longer be defined by your trauma. But you will never forget her.”

It’s a terrible thought, but one he thinks he will manage to live with.

“May I-” He stops himself, then continues. “May I ask you something?”

“Of course. Anything.”

He presses his lips together, scared of what her reaction might be.

“In that alley,” he begins carefully, “Ygritte called you… She called you a whore.” He whispers the word, not being able to say it out loud despite him merely quoting someone else. “She seemed to have recognised you. Then she suggested you had other lovers just this year, and at work, Mat said the same. That you are a playboy.”

Cerelle stares at the table before her, her blanket wrapped like a shield around her body, and he feels terrible.

“You don’t have to answer, I understand if-”

“No, you deserve the truth.” She takes a deep breath. “If- If there is something- If we ever intend to become something more, I should not keep secrets from you. You'll find out sooner than later, and I'd rather you hear it from me.”

Cerelle wants to stay with him.

“How much do you know about me?” she asks.

“Just what you told me.”

She cocks her head. “Are you not on social media? Do you never browse any gossip sites?”

“Uh, not really. I don’t have time for that.”

Perhaps the look on her face is relief, perhaps disbelief, he cannot quite say. It doesn’t matter when Cerelle starts talking.

She talks about every single one of her lovers. How she doesn’t remember the way it started, just that when she turned nineteen, she had long lost sight of her body count. How she was so desperate to break free of her family’s plans, she actively sought out their worst enemies to sleep with. How people started falling into her bed all on their own, no seduction or convincing necessary, because she had garnered such a reputation. How barely any of them cared about her - all they wanted was the ability to brag they had fucked Cerelle Baratheon-Lannister. How she still pretends they love her. How it’s the only thing she’s good at.

How she killed someone because of her recklessness. How she murdered someone in cold blood, and then got away with it.

She tells him names. Arianne. Helena. Florian. Harry. Zima. Henrix. Dahlia. Ramsay. Jayna. Alyn, whom her grandfather had wanted her to marry. Benjiamin, who had prayed with her for forgiveness afterwards. Humfrey, who had used her to get access to her cousin. And Balon, her bodyguard. The only one that would have genuinely wanted her in return, and the only one she could never bring herself to ruin the life of.

How she thinks of stopping, sometimes, but then is left with nothing to do otherwise. People expect her to whore herself out, they actively pursue her because they heard it was easy. How she makes it easy for them.

The press loves her, she says. The rogue daughter of the Lannister clan, the one stain on Robert Baratheon’s election campaign, the bane of the existence of Tywin Lannister. How she could have never turned out different with a mother like hers. Yet no matter what she does, her family does not care.

“I sometimes wonder what it would take to have my grandfather disown me.” She wipes away a tear from her cheek. “If it’s not the sex and not being queer and not funding his political opponents… There might not be anything I could do.”

“Why do you want your family to hate you? Shouldn’t you want them to love you instead?” It’s what he wants, oh so desperately above all else.

“I tried to make them love me, believe me. It did not work. And hate is better than indifference, because if they hate me they at least acknowledge that I am real.”

He doesn’t know what to say, because what was one to say to such a thing? A confession he never thought to hear from someone that appeared so perfect on the outside.

Terrified, still, that she might run away, he slowly stands up from his chair, takes the step towards her, and sits down beside her on the couch. Taking her cold hands in his, his eyes meet hers. Blue, endless, ever-changing.

“I don’t care how many people you’ve slept with. I don’t care who your parents or grandparents are. And I certainly don’t care how much money you have. What matters is that I get to be by your side for as long as you want me there. I want to be the one to make you smile and dry your tears and hold you tight in my arms whenever life gets tough. If you want the glitz and glamour of high society then I will accompany you there, but never believe that  I want anything less than the Cerelle behind the pictures.” He brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, and cups her cheek in the palm of his hand afterwards. “You are real to me.”

She kisses him, pulling his body so close to hers he thinks they are about to melt into one another. In her embrace lies every fear and anxiety, in her tears every moment of doubt and hatred, and in her lips the love she has always tried to hide. He keeps her close, for her sake and his own.

When they part, she lays her hands on the side of his face, smiling so brightly at him the sun pales in comparison.

“You deserve so much love. And perhaps, over time, I will be able to give you all of it and more.” She lays a kiss on his knuckles. “You may think that your mistakes define you, that you'll never be able to grow beyond what they made you. But merely looking upon what you have already achieved when the entire deck is stacked against you should show you none of it's true. You will reach any goal you set yourself, and I will accompany you to it all, if you let me.”

He moves underneath her blanket and presses himself against her warmth. She only lays a gentle kiss on the top of his head in response, before looking out towards the sea.

Cerelle does not believe him when he tells her this is his first time seeing the sea. Then she takes his hand and forces him into every activity one can do on a beach.

Perhaps forces is too dramatic. He likes collecting shells with her, walking barefoot in the sand, playing frisbee and catch, chasing after the seagulls. But she doesn't give him any choice in the matter either.

Cerelle promises to take him here again once it is warmer, perhaps during July or August, so they can go swimming. She looks at him from the side after saying that, and he laughs as he quickly tells her he does know how to swim.

They continue talking as they walk along the waves. And amongst other things, he finally manages to ask why she was at that restaurant on Valentine's.

“I worked there years ago. Nothing long or serious, I was trying to figure out what to do with my life. Most of my colleagues from that time are still there, and so I visit them on the odd evening. Valentine's was such a day. I sat in the kitchen, chatting with the staff, wondering if I should call up one of my old flings, when one of the waiters comes in and talks of a man sitting alone at a table. Happens every year, he said. Some poor fellow always has his date ditch on him.

“I looked through the door into the restaurant area and saw you on the other side of the room. So beautiful, so lovely, a wrapped gift on the table, yet staring down into your lap. I don't know what took ahold of me at that moment, but before I could react I had grabbed my things, walked through the main entrance, and pretended to be your date.”

An act of pure kindness had saved him that night, and had landed him on the beach he is currently standing on.

If only his colleagues- If only the whole world could see what Cerelle is truly like, she would have no need to disguise herself anymore. No one would hunt her to get an unflattering picture, no newspaper spreading new gossip on who she's dating.

She called him beautiful.

“What if I had denied your offer?” he asks, not quite knowing himself why he does so.

Her fingers trace his own. “I don't know. I never think that far.”

They talk about the assault again. And Cerelle tells him what she saw.

(Does he want to know? He needs it, that is for certain at least.)

It is nothing new, for the most part, and things he has already suspected. But then…

“I saw her kissing you and immediately thought the worst of it. I feel terrible now, considering what actually happened, but I was about to leave, to leave you alone with her, when I heard what she said. Do you really think you'll ever find someone else? You're damaged goods. Your body betrays you. I'm all you deserve. Someone said that to me once, and I… I just did what I wished someone did for me back then.”

He doesn't know what to say.

To hear her say this, just like that, without any warning-

He wraps her in his arms. “I'm sorry.”

“Jon, I- This should be about you, not-”

But she hugs him back anyways. Buries her hands in his jacket and her face in his neck.

When asked about it she says she will tell him more some day, but that she doesn't want to burden him with that right now. When the time is right.

During one of their chases of the local winged fauna, Cerelle stumbles over something and crashes headfirst into the water. He wants to run to her, see if she's hurt, but then she throws back her wet hair and lets out a string of curses so decrepit and vile, the only response he can muster is laughter.

She looks at him angrily, but it seems more pouty than truly threatening, and so he breaks out in another giggle.

When he finally regains control over his own body, he quickly steps towards her. “Wait, let me help you up.”

He extends a hand, she grabs it, and moments later he finds himself in the water next to her.

Now it is her turn to laugh, one that does not even end when he sprays her with a wave. Instead, she responds in kind, and they end up in what can only be described as a water fight entirely inappropriate for their age.

She sits above him eventually, his body pressed into the sand as the sea plays with his curls. Her lips meet his, but before he has time to fully enjoy their weight against his, a wave crashes over them and they are coughing and retching to get the water out of their lungs.

“I think we both need a good shower after this.”

Jon has heard some of Ygritte's friends - and his colleagues once - talk about taking a shower with their partner, and how great it is, and how it always ends in amazing sex. That was certainly true the few times he did it with his ex.

(He needs to call her that in his mind from time to time, otherwise he threatens to go mad with fear.)

And while he desperately wants to shower with Cerelle for that exact reason, he moreso wishes to do it simply to… well, shower. He wants to wash her hair and soap up her body and giggle as he shows her a silly scar on his thigh he got as a child. Afterwards he wants them to dress each other and cuddle up in bed and fall asleep in each others arms.

He wants to be intimate with someone without it ending in sex.

But he also respects Cerelle's religion, and as long as Maiden's Day has not passed, he will not bring up the topic.

They sleep in separate rooms again that night, and even though the nightmares of Ygritte return, he does not mind. Because when he wakes he simply lists off every beautiful thing he has done with Cerelle in his mind, and knows he is taken care of.

Returning to his crappy apartment is much less daunting now that he has talked about what got him into this mess in the first place. He has someone he can rely on now, someone that will protect and save him, or simply listen when needed.

Mormont admonishes him for calling in sick so late, and tells him he wants such calls to happen at least a day before. But then he asks if he is feeling better and gives him easier work for the day.

Jon sometimes wonders what the old man sees in him.

On Wednesday, Cerelle shows up in the shop.

They talked on the phone the day prior (for an hour!) without making any plans to meet up again, so to see her now, sitting in the office, deep into conversation with Sam, makes his mind short-circuit.

At least that explains the weird looks the others gave him on his way inside.

Sam spots him first, flushes beet-red, and quickly turns back to the PC. The confusion on Cerelle's face quickly fades as she looks at him, and she jumps from her chair with a grin - only to freeze a moment later.

Right. No hugging or kissing where others could see them.

She shouldn't be here at all.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

“I needed to have the accreditation for my bike renewed, and I heard this place does a thorough job with it.”

He nods.

Then Mormont enters the office. “All finished, Miss Baratheon-Lannister. Your motorcycle is in impeccable condition.”

“Great.” She smiles and steps towards Jon. “I assume he is finished for today?”

“Of course.”

Then she hands him a helmet and tells him to follow her.

Sitting behind Cerelle on a motorcycle again is certainly the last thing he wants to do right now, especially while the entire shop is watching them. But he refuses to complain in the fear she will never again let him ride behind her again. And there is truly nothing he loves more than being pressed up behind her, having to grip her waist, feel her body against his-

She takes him to the Red Palace.

They drive past the imposing building and its countless windows, down gravelled pathways and across sprawling fields until they reach what looks like some sort of farm.

“I think I've been far too easy on you,” Cerelle says with a smile as she takes off her helmet. “It's time we do something fun.”

“Were our previous dates not fun?”

She takes his hand and presses it to her lips. “Of course. But this, my love, is something different.”

And simply her calling him my love is enough to make him follow her without another question. Then they stand inside the stables, and he regrets everything that led him to this point.

“I don't suppose you ever learned to ride a horse, did you?”

He stares at the animal in the first pen. “Uh, no, not really.”

“It's actually really easy once you get the hang of it.” She drags him past the rows. “For today, I'll allow you to ride Starlight. She is my horse and the most well-behaved out of the lot.”

The animal she forces him onto has fur white as snow, and is at least tame enough not to throw Jon off the moment he climbs on.

What he does cannot be called riding in the slightest - he isn't even able to tell the horse where to go or when to stop. Both of them merely follow Cerelle on her brown mare as she leads them onto an open field.

They spend the better part of two hours on the horses. Sometimes Cerelle actually tries to teach him how to control the animal, how to stay on, how to make it move faster, yet mostly she simply gallops around the paddock, a wide smile on her face, her open hair waving in the wind behind her as Jon watches from the side.

One day, he thinks, I want to be the one to make her this happy.

They meet again on Sunday, and once again she takes him to her family's estate, yet this time she seemingly decides to be nice and instead takes him biking around the forest. They talk, they laugh, and he almost crashes into a tree.

Then they agree on another date - Wednesday, a dinner in the dark. He is excited the whole three days in the lead-up, but when he leaves work at 6 p.m. ready to hop on the bus, he receives a notification.

Cerelle: sorry, can't make it today. something came up with my family.

Nothing more, just that.

He waits for another message, an explanation, something, anything, but nothing comes.

This is how it started with Ygritte as well. Sorrowful, last-minute cancellations, that left him standing alone, confused and angry.

No, stop that! Cerelle is nothing like his ex - when she cancels she is sure to have a valid reason, he is certain. Her text is only so short because she is stressed, because the thing with her family she mentioned is actually serious. She would not simply leave him hanging like this.

He doesn't sleep that night.

Tossing and turning in his bed, he cannot help the doubt the fear the anxiety the disappointment the hatred welling up in him, eating him up from the inside and threatening to consume him whole. It doesn't help that Cerelle remains silent the following day. And the day after that. And the one after that.

On Sunday, he has even more time to think, because a client demands their car to be taken to him immediately, and the only one Mormont has for this job is Jon. An eight hour car journey to Riverrun, followed by an eight hour train journey back to King's Landing leaves him with nothing but time to think. To worry. To spiral further and further until the only reasons he can come up with for Cerelle's silence is that she’s either broken up with him or that she's dead.

He doesn't know which option he prefers.

It's past midnight when he finally steps off the bus. The rain beats down on his umbrella as he makes the miserable trek towards his apartment, and every time he steps into a puddle the water seeps through to his socks.

He has not seen Cerelle in a week. They have not called each other for far longer. The last time he received a text from her was that cursed message on Wednesday.

He decides to make his peace with it. Their- Whatever they have been has only lasted two months, it is not such an enormous loss all things considered. He experienced things he never would have thought - snuck into museums past closing, went horse riding, finally saw the sea - and for that he will always be grateful.

The heir to the Lannister name can add him to her endless list of conquests and forget about him in a month. He will cherish their shared memories, while laying what they were to rest.

At least, that was the plan. But sadly, no plan of his has ever worked.

Because when he nears his apartment building, a person stands in the dimly lit area in front of the door. Soaked from head to toe, wet hair sticking to her head, clothes almost see-through.

“Cerelle?”

Every bone in his body yearns to run towards her and fall into her arms, to forget everything that happened this week, and to go back right to where they were before.

But he cannot let himself be used, not again. They cannot fall into the same cycle as he and Ygritte had, he will not allow it. Not again, and certainly not with Cerelle.

She smiled when she spotted him, yet as she takes a step forward and opens her mouth, Jon has already said, “What are you doing here?”

Perhaps he is harsher than necessary, but it is past midnight, it rains, and he is so terribly tired.

Cerelle stops. She takes a shaky breath. “I came to apologise.”

“Yeah? What for?”

He needs to hear it from her, needs her to admit out loud what she did wrong. He cannot be as lenient as with Ygritte, he simply cannot.

“I cancelled our date,” she says quietly. “And disappeared for four days. That wasn't right of me, especially after what you just went through with your ex. I should have kept you notified, or at least let you know I was alright and that I would call you when I was back. I am sorry, and I am willing to do whatever it takes to make it right.”

He doesn't know how to react. He had anticipated every single excuse Cerelle would bring, and had prepared appropriate responses for them all. That she would actually take responsibility had not even occurred to him in his wildest imaginations.

She would be willing to make it right. She clearly expects him to demand extraordinarily difficult things, ones that will take her years to achieve. And she would do them all.

“Where were you?”

“My family's private server was almost hacked.” She doesn't even hesitate with the answer. “Every message and email, all our banking information and every single address was under threat of being leaked to the public. We all had to come to Casterly Rock to have our electronics quarantined, audited, and wiped clean.”

Casterly Rock. The legendary home of the Lannister family, so old and ancient no one knows the true age of it. The castle is hidden deep, deep in the mountains of the west, and only the family and most trusted of servants know its location.

“I wasn't even supposed to send you that message on Wednesday,” Cerelle continues. She tries to wipe the water from her forehead, yet her efforts are quickly rendered useless thanks to the continuing downpour. “The moment the leak became known, we had to instantly take every phone and laptop offline and turn them off, in fear of worsening the situation. Had my grandfather known I texted you…”

He wants to feel glee at being the first thing Cerelle thinks of during a time of crisis, but forces himself to suppress those emotions.

“Do you-” He clears his throat. “Do you know who it was?”

She shakes her head. “Part of that impromptu family meeting was to find out whether any of us were at fault, but nothing came of it.”

The rain hammers down on his umbrella, rivulets flowing down beside him, the puddles by his feet growing in size with every minute that passes.

Cerelle still stands there, only clad in simple pants, a shirt, and a cardigan. All of it sticks relentlessly to her skin, yet the only sign she might be uncomfortable is how she never stops tugging down her sleeves.

She still looks at him. Full of expectation, full of fear.

“How long have you been waiting here?”

“A minute or two. I rang the doorbell and waited for you to answer.”

“I would not have heard you anyways. The building hasn't had electricity since yesterday.”

“Oh.”

He hates these moments of silence between them, but struggles to find ways to break them.

“Anything else?”

Cerelle has looked at him the entire time, yet now she lowers her gaze. Her shoulders almost unnoticeably draw inward, and no matter what happened the last few days, he feels terrible.

“No,” she says quietly. “I thought- I thought if I came here, I could try to make things right. Because I really like you, Jon. Gods, I've never liked anyone this much in my entire life. You are fun and kind and polite and sweet and wonderful, and you brighten my world simply by being in it. I know I don't deserve you but I thought I could make it up to you - that you could tell me how. But I see when I am not wanted. I apologise for wasting your time.”

She turns to leave, and Jon knows he is about to commit the biggest mistake of his life.

He cannot allow her to disappear, cannot allow her to walk out of his life, cannot allow her to leave him alone. He has made so many mistakes in his life, he refuses to add her to that endless list.

“Wait!”

He runs the few steps towards her. She turns towards him, her eyes illuminated by nothing but pure hope. He pushes a wet strand of hair out of her face, lays his hand on her cheek, and seals their lips in a kiss.

Cerelle exhales and melts into him, grabbing onto his jacket to press them closer together, as if it is the only way she could get him to stay. Her lips taste of rain and tears, of love and desperation, of every promise and vow she intends to keep.

He still has his hand pressed against her lower back as she breaks the kiss a long, long time later, refusing to give her the opportunity to run away.

Her fingers trace the lines of his jaw. “You don’t want me gone?”

“I never want you to leave ever again. I want you to stay with me, forever and always, until we are old and wrinkled and sick of the sight of each other.”

“I’ll never grow sick of seeing you.”

He kisses her again, hot and intense, and had it not rained he would have probably never stopped. Yet every time they move against each other he feels the rain against his skin and her wet clothes underneath his hands, and so he quickly separates himself from her and starts dragging her towards the building.

Cerelle is pressed against his body as he fumbles with the keys, and it feels as if it takes him so much longer than normal to get inside the building. But then they suddenly are and are running up the stairs, hands interlocked even as they reach his apartment and he once again struggles with the lock. He finally manages to wrench the door open, is pushed inside not a moment later, and then Cerelle is everywhere.

Her lips are on his and her tongue is in his mouth and her hands roam his body, push him against the wall, crawl underneath his shirt, and start unzipping his jacket. He doesn’t allow her to do all the work herself, quickly slipping out of his wet shoes and pushing Cerelle’s cardigan off her shoulders.

Then, suddenly, his shirt is off and her nails trace the lines of his chest and stomach. All the while her mouth moves away from his and her tongue starts exploring his neck, and when she suddenly sucks a bruise into the skin above his throat, he moans and his hips buck forward.

They have not even been going at it for long, yet he is already so hard. Cerelle grinds against the bulge in his pants over and over again, the zipper catching onto his tip and threatening to make him spill early.

He scoops her up in his arms and stumbles the few steps towards his bed. She giggles as he drops her onto the mattress, yet his mouth quickly engulfs her own and silences them both.

A minute later, and the rest of their clothes are gone. They are rutting against each other like clueless teens, yet he doesn't mind, especially once his dick glides through her wetness, and they moan against each other.

He tries to move down, to connect his mouth with her core, to finally taste her again after such a long time, yet Cerelle tightens her hold on his hair.

“No, please,” she gasps out. “I need you inside me.”

“But your religion-”

“It's past midnight. Maiden’s Day is over.”

How desperately he wishes to see her face in that moment, how much he yearns to be faced with her beautiful smile and her deep blue eyes. But his apartment still has no electricity, and what little enters through the window will never be enough.

Curse this broken building.

He would get out of this place. For her.

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. I swear you can eat me out later but for now-” She lifts her head and places her lips beside his ear- “I really need you to fuck me.”

He groans and his hips buck forward almost on instinct, his tip brushing against her still damp stomach.

She traces her mouth along his neck again as his hand starts rummaging around the drawer of his nightstand.

“Mmh, looking for something?”

Her thumb draws lazy circles around his nipple, and no matter how much he loves it, it also serves to distract him quite effortlessly.

“Yea- Yeah. Condom.”

Then his fingers finally close around the plastic packaging and he quickly returns fully to his bed, and to Cerelle.

She kisses him, and he cannot even complain how difficult that makes slipping on the rubber because it simply feels too good. With her hands in his hair and their bare chests pressing together, he thinks he has entered one of the seven heavens.

As soon as he is finished, Cerelle’s hand is suddenly around his aching dick and starts beating him off lazily.

He grunts. “Thought you wanted me to fuck you.”

“Just making sure you're ready.”

Of course. He had almost forgotten.

His own fingers find her cunt and start rubbing circles across her clit, before he slowly enters one, then two fingers into her wet heat. He curls and scissors them as his lips move across her jaw.

“I think-” she breathes out. “I think that's enough.”

His hand replaces her own on his dick as he positions it at her entrance. Her hands are in his hair and on his back, her mouth mere heartbeats away from his.

“Ready?”

“Yes.”

He enters her slowly, though he is unsure whether for his sake or hers. She is so wonderfully warm and tight around him, enveloping his tip and clenching down on him, and then her mouth is on his again and her leg around his waist to press him further. He obliges her - gods how could he not - yet with every move he makes inside her, he threatens to come on the spot.

Her hips slowly start to roll against his when he is half-way inside. Carefully, he draws back a little before thrusting inside ever so slightly, and when she lets out a whine, he does it again. And again and again, moving ever forward, until their hips are flushed against each other.

He breaks their kiss and lays his forehead on hers. She is tight and warm and wonderful around him, her walls gripping him like a vice, threatening to never let him go.

Her nails bury themselves into his skin. “Move, please.”

He moans when she tightens around him, and the small thrust his hips do in response happens almost automatically. She gasps, and he finally locks their mouths into a kiss again.

Slowly, he continues his movements, planting his arms beside her head to provide him with a better angle to thrust into her. The sole of her foot buries into his lower back to urge him on, to quicken his thrusts, to move harder. He doesn't want to listen to her, wants to savour her for as long as possible, but his control over himself is slipping.

Suddenly, his hips snap forward in a particularly mean thrust, and Cerelle moans out his name. He does it again, and she pulls on his hair so tightly his entire head is drawn back to reveal his throat to her - upon which she quickly latches her lips.

The moments flow into each other. He cannot say when exactly he has started sucking on her breast, or when both her legs have found their way around his body, or when their hands have gotten interlaced. Just that it happened.

He wants to be closer to her, always closer, but he never manages. Even when he presses his body against hers and buries his face in the crook of his neck and thrusts quicker and harder, it's never enough.

Not that it bothers his dick - the one that is throbbing and weeping and so close to emptying itself inside of her.

He whines as he removes himself from her heat, gripping the condom so it doesn't slip off and tightening his fist around the base.

“Are you alright?”

Cerelle's hands trace his face as she removes her legs from around his body and lays them on the bed beside his hips. He leans his cheek further into her palms.

“Yeah, I just-” His cock pulses. “I don't want to come yet. At least not alone.”

She smiles as she lays a kiss on his temple. “This doesn't have to end at just one orgasm, my love.”

He cannot help the way his hips buck forward.

Her lips vibrate against his skin as she laughs. “You like when I call you that? My love?”

A moan spills across his lips, and he has to tighten the hold around his dick.

“Y- Yeah.”

She hums. “Well then, my love. I have an idea if you're up for it.”

“Anything.”

“Sit back.”

He does as he is told in an instance, kneeling on the bed, hands beside his body. Waiting.

Then Cerelle straddles his lap, and immediately swallows up the moan that escapes him as her wetness presses against his dick.

She makes out with him for a while, moving her hips in slow and unhurried circles across him. His hands bury themselves into her sides, holding tightly onto her in a desperate attempt to centre himself and prevent himself from coming outside of her, when her wet heat is so close.

He whines as she bites down on his lip, and in revenge he presses his thumb to her clit.

Cerelle seems to fight against the need to move further into the touch, her nails scratching along the skin of his back, her damp hair falling into her face as she lays their foreheads together.

“You're mean.”

“Then put it in.”

He expects her to react affronted, yet she just laughs quietly.

“I like when you're demanding.” She runs her teeth along his jaw. “It's really hot.”

“Yeah?” He forces her to lift herself off his lap, grabs his dick, and positions it at her entrance. “Do you want me to fuck you this way as well?”

“If you can manage.”

She sits down on his cock in one move, and why he doesn't come right at that moment is a mystery to him.

They set a quick and brutal pace, chasing their releases, never allowing the other to take control, yet still pressed so closely together, as if they could not live without the other.

She twists her hips, and suddenly moans so loudly he knows he found her g-spot. He thrusts against it, again and again, sneaks his hand between their bodies to start rubbing her clit once more, and tries so desperately not to come.

He doesn't make it very long.

Cerelle gasps out, her walls clamp down so tightly around him he loses the ability to move, and then her juices spill out around him and into his lap. And that feeling makes him slam himself deep into her, and release as well.

They sit there for a long, long time. Their arms are wrapped around each other, faces buried in each other's necks, hearts beating in tandem. He plays with her hair, she plays with his.

“I think-” she whispers. “I think that was definitely worth the wait. Not that I ever want to go this long without feeling you again, it's just-”

“I get it.” He kisses her neck softly. “But now I need to try out everything with you.”

“Everything? Are you sure you know what you are demanding?”

“I hope it will take an eternity.”

Before they seperate, she kisses him again, and even if it's not in his top three - those places belong to the one on his birthday, the one during the music museum, and the one in the rain outside just now - it is still so incredibly sweet he wants to lose himself inside of it.

She goes to shower, and he truly does want to wait and give her time for herself. Yet he lasts barely a minute before he slips into the bathroom, falls down on his knees before her, and latches his mouth onto her clit.

Somewhere in the haze he notices her turning off the water, but he doesn't care. Can't care. His senses are flooded by her, and nothing but her, he physically cannot focus on anything else.

She tastes just as divine as the last time, and he vows never to let so much time pass again. He sucks on her clit and fucks her hole with his tongue, feasting on the juices spilling out of her. Her moans echo off the bathroom walls, and he is sure everyone in the building hears her.

He doesn't care.

She comes without him ever needing to finger her, and he knows he shouldn't be as proud of himself as he is.

Cerelle draws him to his feet and smashes their mouths together, likely tasting herself on his tongue.

“What was that for?”

Her fingers run along the skin of his back.

“You promised I could do it.” He kisses her nose, then her cheek. “Besides, we're even now.”

She is silent for a moment, then asks, “The thing from your birthday?” He nods. “I didn't know we were keeping count.”

“Does it bother you?”

“Not at all. But be warned - I am a very competitive person.”

“I'm betting on it.”

They decide to shower together, luckily without any other incidents, and she borrows the same long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants as she did on their first night together.

He prepares the bed for them, Cerelle picks up their clothes, folds his together and hangs hers up to dry.

Then she stands there in the darkness, looking at him.

“Is everything alright?”

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

He stops.

He blinks. Once. Twice.

She doesn't move either.

He quickly lurches for the table, and the phone that lays there, but he crashes into the chair and goes tumbling to the ground.

“Oh my gods, Jon!”

Cerelle falls down beside him, hands reaching out for him, but he just fumbles with his phone until the weak flashlight illuminates the space between them.

“Say it again.”

Her cheeks are still tinted slightly pink, her wet hair sticking to her skin, her blue eyes glowing as brightly as the night they first met.

She studies his face.

“Say it again,” he repeats. “Please.”

Her lips are so beautiful, so inviting he has trouble holding himself back.

“Do you want to be my boyfriend?”

“Yes. A thousand times, yes.”

He surges forward, the phone dropping to the ground as he presses their faces together, but he doesn't care.

All that matters right now is having his girlfriend's lips on his.

previous | next

author's note: i just want to say that i do not actually hate ygritte. i know this is a very controversial opinion amongst jon snow x oc creators but i do not think she is as terrible as certain sections of the fandom make her seem (but she is also not as great as certain other people say). i understand her place in the story and why she was important to jon's arc. i am still tagging this post as anti ygritte just to be safe.

i want to thank everyone who has supported this au so far. i would have never even continued this story had it not been for a random anon asking about the future of jon and cerelle's relationship in this world, so to have now written the longest chapter in my life so far for the au is kind of amazing.

you might think i want to take a break after creating such a monstrosity, but i am insane and so the next chapter will release on labour day (may 1st). it will hopefully be a lot shorter than this one.

please tell me what you think of the story and if you have any wishes for scenes or holidays in the future. see you next week ^^

[scoobydoodean]

losing my entire marbles at deancrits saying he's abusive bc he was parentified like????? a) do you know what parentification IS and b) tell me you dont have real problems without telling me

anw heres a pretty pic of dean w glasses that im obsessed with to help cope w all the anons

DEAN IN GLASSES!!!!

Someone just put it very very plainly in Courtney's inbox, but we all knew Dean's parentification was the force underlying the take that Dean has power over Sam... didn't we? ...I mean. I guess I can't speak for anyone else exactly, but I've written about how Dean's parentification is the driving force behind the narrative that Dean is abusive several times this year alone. In fact, before that anon clarified their meaning, I'd already done it for them.

Hardcore samgirls and others with this take on Dean seem to think Deangirls just "don't understand" the "power imbalance" in play. They think we've just never thought about their perspective, but... they actually just don't understand ours? They don't understand that what is absolutely vile and repulsive about their view is that it begins and ends with the perpetuation of Dean's childhood abuse.

One of the greatest horrors of parentification as a form of abuse is that it involves the illusion of power. It ascribes "power" to a child that that child does not actually have, and then judges that child for mishandling that "power".

"Something Wicked" is a great example of this. John blames Dean for Sam getting hurt, based on a lie that Dean had the power to stop the shtriga. In reality, Dean couldn't have done anything even if he'd been there, because the idea that he had power was nothing more than an illusion. He was far too young and inexperienced to be expected to carry through with a seasoned soldier's battle temperament when faced with a terrifying monster, but that isn't even the most direct expression of the illusion of Dean's power. His shotgun is. To harm a shtriga, you have to have iron-consecrated bullets. Dean did not have a weapon that could have harmed the shtriga. The gun only provides an illusion of power. When John blamed him, and Dean blamed himself—both did so because of a lie that Dean had power in a situation where Dean had absolutely none.

John blames Dean because he doesn't want to take responsibility for his own power and authority. He doesn't want to live with the fact that he had the knowledge, temperament, experience, role of protector, and consecrated bullets... but just wasn't there when Sam and Dean needed him. So he assigns all of the power and authority to Dean. Dean had the power. Dean made the wrong choices. Dean got Sam hurt. It wasn't John's choices or John's absence that nearly got Sam killed. John was helpless.

Every single time that samgirls claim Dean holds power over Sam through parentification, they refer to an illusion used to scapegoat a child for the actions of another. They assign Dean "power" over Sam that Dean does not actually have and then judge him for mishandling that "power".

The idea that Dean has authority over Sam through his childhood parentification is a lie. It is an illusion born from abuse. And when Sam occasionally decides he is unhappy with the outcome of the choices he made and doesn't want to face his own culpability, he does exactly what John did to Dean, because the poison drips down. Sam watched John treat Dean as if he possessed authority and power Dean didn't have for 18 years and some change. He learned how to assign Dean the same false authority and power and he learned Dean would absorb it, and now Samgirls want Dean to "curb that shit", while Sam blames Dean for his own choices in episodes like 1.10, 1.22, 5.04. In reality, there is no power imbalance.

Even if we want to argue that the false perception of Dean's power created the potential for an extremely toxic relationship regardless of whether the power is real or not, Dean would hardly be guaranteed the handle side of the knife. Sam has more than proven he can put that blade to Dean's throat.

[queen-of-deans-booty]

The Bad Seed: Final Part

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader

Word Count: ~2.4k

Warnings: canon angst and violence, extra angst, feeling broken and utterly helpless to the point of depression, wanting to die

Summary: You're on the hunt for Rowena for her to fix whatever she did to Castiel. The kids are back home where they belong, but you're not sure if you're fully home yet. If you're going to start to fully heal, you're going to need outside help.

Season Eleven Masterlist

Author’s Note: I do not own anything from Supernatural. All credit goes to their respective owners. I love seeing any and all comments <3

x

She stays in the backseat of the Impala while you and Dean are up front. Castiel can't fly with broken wings, so he must not have gotten far. Without a car, there are only so many places he could have gone on foot. Dean made sure to put a GPS locator on his phone, so that's what he's tracking.

"It's so absurd, driving in circles looking for your unhinged angel," Rowena scoffs.

"We're not driving in circles. We're locked onto his phone's GPS. We're tracking his location."

"I have no idea what you just said, but I'm sure I could do it faster."

"Maybe you could but you'd have to do a spell which means we'd have to take the cuffs off, and we're not going to take them off."

"There's no trust? Are we not a team?"

"No!" you and Dean say at the same time.

You think she'd shut her mouth but three seconds later, she opens it right back up.

"You wouldn't think a road trip with two such strapping folks could be this tedious. Shall we have a wee sing-song?"

"No!" you and Dean say at the same time again.

"I have only myself to blame. I should never make deals with Winchesters since they seem unable to hold up their end of the bargain."

"Meaning what?"

"Oh, nothing. Just that thing between Sam, Crowley, and myself."

"What? What are you talking about?" you ask and look at her.

"Oh, surely, you know Sam made a deal with me to kill my son if I removed the Mark of Cain from both of you. Is the Mark gone? Yes. Is Crowley dead? No. Oh, I'm sorry. I should have known you wouldn't know anything about it, Y/N. You were too busy killing your way to your children. Or so I heard," she smirks. "Dean, on the other hand, I expected to know."

You put your elbow on the lip of the window and press your fingers to your temple. You knew it was a bad idea to jump back into things this early on. You're not ready. You're not ready to do this because you need to heal yourself first.

"I know what you're thinking. Your wee pal Castiel wouldn't be in this pickle if Samuel had done what he'd promised. I would've had no reason to cast the attack dog spell if Crowley were already dead."

The car falls into silence, and Dean continues to track Castiel. Suddenly, he stops and you look at him and his phone.

"Did he stop?"

"Yeah. He's close." You get out of the car, grab Rowena's arm, and pull her out of the car harshly. She knocks into your body with a gasp but you ignore her. "Alright, he's gotta be around here somewhere. I'll head up the street and you guys head the other way."

Dean knows that even in your state, you'd be able to take Rowena on. You hope it doesn't have to come to it but you'll be prepared for it if it does. Dean takes a gun out of his jacket and hands it to you just in case you aren't able to use your magic. The gun is riddled with witch-killing bullets which is your back up plan.

"Come on," you say and yank her along.

"Are you joking? I'm in heels."

"Shut up unless you're spoken to," you growl.

You know he's inside this closed warehouse so you walk with Rowena around to the back. You enter through a side door and head inside, already hearing the choked screams of a young woman. You round the corner and see Castiel with his hands wrapped around a young woman's throat with the intent to kill her. Dean enters moments later and tries to defuse the situation.

"Cas! Cas! Don't do this. Okay, this isn't you. It's the spell. You can beat this. Cas... Let her go." Castiel looks at his friend and has enough strength to listen. He lets the woman go and she stumbles back with a cough. "Go! Go, go, go." The woman immediately runs off with tears streaming down her face, and Castiel turns to Dean angrily. "Hey. Okay, okay. It's gonna be okay, buddy."

Castiel lunges at your husband and starts attacking him. He throws Dean into the chained link fence behind him and grabs the collar of his shirt. He repeatedly punches Dean in the face as if that will satiate the spell in him. You immediately remove the handcuffs off Rowena and press the barrel of the gun into the side of her head.

"Do it," you order.

"Desiste!"

Castiel immediately stops the assault on Dean and looks at Rowena. You press the gun deeper into her head and she scowls at you.

"Do I need to remind you these are witch-killing bullets? Finish it!" you shout.

"Fine," she sighs. "Adlevo onus tuum."

Castiel starts seizing immediately and falls to the ground in a fit of coughs. Dean, despite the blood on his face, crawls over to his friend.

"Cas? Cas? Hey." Castiel opens his eyes which are free of blood. He seems to be normal. "Come on. Come on." He helps him sit up. "Are you okay?"

"Permitte telum!" The gun in your hands flies out of your grip. "Abi!"

You go flying into a stack of boxes and you cry out in pain. Dean gets up and starts running at Rowena who casts another spell. The roller door that separates the workshop to the rest of the warehouse closes and locks before you, leaving her separate from everyone else. Dean stops running and goes over to you to help you up.

"I'm sure you had every intention of honoring our deal, but why take chances?"

She smirks and leaves, free of the iron shackles. Castiel is fixed. That was the most important thing to do. Yes, Rowena got away but Castiel is fixed. That was something you should have done yourself. Will you ever be okay again? With Rowena in the wind, you have no choice but to go back to the Bunker and figure out the next steps.

You wake up early the next morning and sip your coffee silently in the library. A couple of hours later, Sam and Dean come walking in. Bruises have set on Dean's face since he refused to let Castiel heal him of his injuries. Sam tosses an ice pack to his brother who then puts it on the damaged side. Castiel walks in with a solemn look on his face.

"Dean, I... There aren't words," the angel sighs.

"You're right. There aren't words, Cas, because there's no need. You were under a spell. It's fine."

"Yeah, but you had Rowena. Because of me, she's gone."

"We've got the codex. That's a start," Sam says. "It'll slow Rowena down some. If we'd killed her, the Book of the Damned would've been lost."

"Besides, we got bigger fish to fry."

"The Darkness. What does she want?"

"The big question is, where the hell is she?"

Castiel gestures to the wounds on Dean's face. "Dean I can fix that."

"No, it's fine. Besides, I had it coming."

"Castiel." All three men look at you. "Please heal him because I can't and I hate seeing my husband in pain." Dean can't argue with that logic and allows the angel to heal his wounds. Your phone rings and you see there is a message from Molly. "She's here. Castiel, can you stay? I think it's best if she meets you, too."

"Sure," he nods.

You walk to the front door and open it to reveal a young beautiful woman. She has straight light blonde hair, bright blue eyes, and is very fit-looking. She can't be more than five-foot-three but you can tell she is a good person. Maybe it's the witch in you or the mother but you feel like she's a good one.

"Molly?"

"Yes, you must be Y/N."

"Yeah. Come on in." She steps into the Bunker and gasps at the interior. She has never seen something like this before in all her years of doing this but she's not going to let it stop her. You lead her down the stairs and into the library where Sam, Dean, and Castiel are. "Molly, this is my husband, Dean, and his brother, Sam. This is Castiel, a family friend."

"Hi, it's nice to meet you," she smiles.

"Castiel is an angel. From Heaven. You should know that if you decide to take the job."

"Wow, I've never met an angel before. I heard they were real but those were just rumors."

"Please, sit." She sits across from all four of you at one of the tables. "So, I should first tell you that we're not your normal hunting family."

"Yes, I've heard of the Winchesters. Everyone knows who you are. I know the trouble you guys get into, and I know about the Sapphire Witch. Now, those were rare rumors. Once I saw your post, I had to do some research. Not everyone believes you're real."

"We deal with shit that's not normal like the Scribe of God and the Darkness and even God himself. If you're looking for a family that hunts vampires and werewolves, you're not gonna see it here." You look at Dean who shrugs. "I'm not saying it to scare her. It's fact."

"Don't worry, I don't scare easy," she chuckles. "You want the best for your children, right? I am here to provide that for you while you fight the Darkness and God himself."

"Can you tell us a little bit about yourself? How long you've been doing this? Why did you start doing this?" you ask and lean back in your seat.

"I have eight sisters and one brother who all came from hunters. My parents are lifelong hunters as well as their parents. Our lives growing up were... hard to say the least. My parents had to hunt and take care of all nine of us. Now, my brother is a hunter, and my sisters and I are able to give other families what we never had. Security and stability. I think hunting is noble and a necessity, so I watch kids so that their parents can hunt without worrying about them. My sisters and I travel the country to families who need us."

"That's... I admire that," you smile.

"Thank you."

"So, if you want this job, you will be living here with us. There are plenty of spare bedrooms that you can choose from, but that doesn't mean I want you to feel suffocated here. If you want to hang out with friends or a boyfriend, I encourage you to do so. There'll be times when we can take the kids hunting or one of us can be here.

"You'll be responsible for taking the kids to and from school and taking care of them when we're out. Sometimes, we're out for days at a time, the longest has been a week. I know they'll make friends, and I'm okay with them having playdates and stuff like that. However, we need to know about it before hand.

"There is also a backyard I have created. Yes, created. There is a magical dome around the backyard that I feel is safe for my kids to play in. They know the limits so I'd feel comfortable if you left them alone in there. It's not visible from the street and no monsters can get in there so you'll be safe, as well. It's in ruins right now but I'll fix it soon."

Dean doesn't look at you when you mention the backyard. He knows he fucked it up and doesn't comment on it.

"I've been doing this since I was eighteen, and I'm twenty-nine now. I know the stipulations that come with the job. In fact, I just got done with another family so I am ready to give this my all."

You look at Dean who doesn't seem like he is fully on board with this.

"Can you give us a few minutes?" you ask.

"Sure. I need to call my sister, anyway."

She gets up and heads into the war room, and you turn to face your husband. He doesn't look like he is fully on board with this, and you're not going to force him into anything.

"What do you guys think?" you ask.

"I think it's a smart choice to make," Castiel says.

"I think you should do whatever is easier for you. I'll get on board if everyone else is," Sam says.

"Dean?"

"Will this really help you?"

"I'd like to think it will. If it doesn't, then we tell her to leave. We have the money. I told you when I first got pregnant with Joanna that I would not raise my kids the way John raised us. If they want to hunt, they will do so after they graduate high school. They need an education. This cycle needs to stop with us."

"Okay, I trust you. Hire her."

"Molly, you can come back in now," you call out. She ends the call with her sister and walks back into the library. "Would you like to meet the kids? I think we'd benefit from you being here. You're not allergic to dogs, are you?"

"No, I'm not. Thank you for allowing me into your home," she smiles widely. "How long do you need me for?"

"As long as you'll stay, I guess. How long were you with your last family?"

"Three years. They were forced to stop hunting due to an injury. I'm ready to give you three years or more if you need it."

"We'll touch base every few months."

You bring the kids from their bedrooms with both dogs trailing behind you. Maryann is immediately shy and buries her head in your neck, Noah stays by your side, and Joanna waves happily at Molly.

"Kids, this is Molly. She will be living here with us and taking care of you when we go on hunts. She'll be taking you to and from school."

"Hi, I'm Joanna but you can call me Jo," she smiles. She bounces over to Molly and hugs her. "We're gonna be best friends!"

"Hi, Jo," she grins.

"This shy girl is Maryann. Mary is just fine if you want. She's a little shy but she'll warm up to you in no time." You smooth down her hair and kiss her temple. "This is Noah, my son."

"I don't need anyone taking care of me," he says.

"Noah," you hiss and he sighs. "Sorry."

"No, it's fine. Noah, I'm only here to help and give your parents some ease. They can do their job better knowing you're safe."

Noah doesn't say anything to that but looks away. Both dogs approach Molly and sniff around her to get used to her scent.

"The Rottweiler is Zeus and the German Shepard is Colonel. They're very protective of the kids but they're huge sweethearts. They don't bite and are very good at listening."

"Don't worry, we had four dogs growing up," she chuckles and scratches behind Colonel's ear once he allows it.

You think this is going to be good for you and your family. While Molly takes care of your kids, you can finally start to take care of yourself no matter how long it takes.

x

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[shallowseeker]

When Dean says, "You just bought into the biggest hoax in history," it's a strange dialogue, given the recent context.

DEAN: This mess... all the messes. It turns out that we're just hamsters running in a wheel our whole lives. What do we have to show for it, huh? Tell me you don't feel conned. God's been lying to you, Cas, forever. You bought into the biggest scam in history.

"You bought into it," Dean says. Which... no.

Cas may have prayed to Chuck, he may have been a loyal soldier to Chuck for eons, but he's the one that turned away from Chuck's recent machinations. He's the one that challenged Chuck and walked away from him, even from Sam and Dean.

So, then.

What are Dean's words about? Well. They're about everything. But they're about Dean's shame. His despair.

//

I think (2) things. These words are directed at Cas because Dean's "putting on Cas what he can't take," but Dean's saying these words indirectly to himself.

It's Dean who just bought into Chuck's scam at the worst possible moment. (This was a momentary thing, but to Dean, this feels huge. A betrayal and a self-betrayal. A crisis of faith and a crisis of faith.) And Cas, kindly, does not call him on this. He's sympathetic. So sympathetic.

Why?

CASTIEL: You don't think I'm angry? After what Chuck did? After what he took from me? He killed Jack. But that doesn't mean it was all a lie. DEAN: Really? CASTIEL: Chuck is all-knowing. He knew the truth, he... he just kept it to himself. DEAN: Well, now that his cover's blown, everything that we've done is for what? Nothing? CASTIEL: Even if we didn't know that all of the challenges that we face were born of Chuck's machinations, how would we describe it all? We'd call it "life". Because that's precisely what life is. It's an obstacle course, and maybe Chuck designed the obstacles, but we ran our own race. We made our own moves. And mostly, we did well with that. DEAN: Did we?

15x02

And this is Dean's insecurities playing up again. Did Dean do well here? DID he?

He bought into Chuck's machinations and played right into his hands. Dean was spiraling, hurt, and he felt he had to do the "right thing" to save the world from Jack.

But the pain point is: Dean feels like the world's biggest dupe right now, and it's easier to blame Cas. If you're really squinting at the circumstances and considering Dean's propensity for stories and reading, it's even easy to be suspicious of Cas.

Mary's dead. Jack's dead. They didn't do "mostly well" with this obstacle course, with this game of Mouse Trap.

In Dean's mind, they have resoundingly lost.

//

Cas is trying to offer support, gently, saying "We're real." Because he went through this moment waaay back in season 4 with Heaven. Back then, it was Dean who snapped Cas out of it and helped him wrestle with Heaven's authority and what's really real:

DEAN: Destiny? Don't give me that "holy" crap. Destiny, God's plan... It's all a bunch of lies, you poor, stupid son of a bitch! It's just a way for your bosses to keep me and keep you in line! You know what's real? People, families -- that's real. And you're gonna watch them all burn? ... 'Cause I'll take the pain and the guilt. I'll even take Sam as is. ...This is simple, Cas! No more crap about being a good soldier. There is a right and there is a wrong here, and you know it. ... Look at me! (DEAN grabs CASTIEL’s shoulder and turns CASTIEL back to face him) You know it! You were gonna help me once, weren't you? You were gonna warn me about all this...Help me -- now. Please.

4x22

They're almost the same scene.

Cas can't bring up that families are real because their family just died—a whole big freakin' chunk of it, and it's too painful. So, instead of "families are real," we get "we're real." But Cas is effectively calling back Dean's own words.

Absolutely, it is mirroring 4x22.

Dean has become season 4 Cas, conflicted, horrified with himself, not knowing what's real, and seeming to make all the wrong moves. This is the soldier's burden, now unsure of the cause (and "we're real" IS the through-line for every soldier-coded character from vintage SPN all the way to terminal-season- Eileen.)

Dean charges Cas with being "the thing that goes wrong" because (1) he's rightfully suspicious of all things Chuck-adjacent and (2) Dean feels like he's the thing going wrong in big ways right now. That everything he does is for nothing.

Dean "choked" at the worst possibly time with AU Michael, back during The Spear in 14x09, and it devastated him. AU Michael said as much:

Michael Dean: To break him, to crush and disappoint him so completely that, this time, he'll be nice and quiet for a change -- buried. And he is. He's gone. 

For Dean, that moment has a clear path to THIS moment. And this is where he finds himself now, choking again with regards to Chuck.

It's devastating.

EDIT: I like this, because it's a little-discussed complicating factor in the trial separation, but it's a huge part of it, too: that Dean chose Chuck's plan, even for a moment.

It's a guilt Dean carries but will not easily admit, and for Cas, it's just painful. Painful because Chuck should have been a loved one to trust, but he was a piece of shit with ill intentions... and painful because Dean couldn't see it immediately.

BUT they did show amazing resilience, even in the face of all of it. We have to remember that, even after Mary died, even after Dean said Cas was dead to him, they stayed together, in the same house, speaking to one another.

When Mary was burning on the pyre, Cas was ready to run and try to take Dean in his arms (Sam stopped him). Chuck had to try to interfere directly to engineer a separation. Even after Jack, they were sticking like glue as they ran from the graveyard, then saying "thank you" and "welcome" to one another when dealing with the zombies. At a time when they should've been oil and water, they were trying to find a way to be around one another and leech much-needed support from the other. It was Belphagor that drove the biggest wedge. Then The levee broke after the burning of Jack's body and the loss of Rowena.

(And even after that levee broke, they swam to one another later in the season. As The Trap shows us, found new purpose together right up until Claire Novak died.)

[pascaloverx]

Sweet Love

Summary: You're an up-and-coming writer, congratulations. To protect your beloved job, you're willing to do anything. Even strike a deal with the devil, better known as your sister's neighbor. You and Dean Winchester don't really see eye to eye, but in a moment of desperation, you agree to collaborate with him for a greater good.

Author's Notes: Many characters do not belong to me but to the Supernatural Universe (2005-2020). I hope you enjoy the fanfic's story. The fanfic will contain strong language and future adult content.

preview chapter two

CHAPTER ONE

You never imagined yourself knocking on Dean Winchester's door. I mean, you don't count having had dreams about him that involved you getting to know each other intimately. But going to his apartment to ask for help wasn't in your plans.

"I need you." You say softly as if telling someone a secret. Maybe your speech sounds like a whisper. Dean's obviously not hearing you properly, because he's humming Livin' On A Prayer as the song plays inside his apartment at full volume.

"What?" Dean says almost shouting as he looks me up and down. He looks confused like he doesn't hear you at all. You then decide to do something. You approach Dean almost seductively and say close to his ear that he won't regret it if he turns down the volume.

"Does your sister know you're here trying to get me into bed?" Dean asks as he turns off the music that was playing. Nothing against Bon Jovi, but seeing Dean turn off the sound for thinking he's going to sleep with you kind of lifts your spirits.

"If I were going to let you fuck me, I wouldn't ask my sister's opinion. I don't think you ask Sam's opinion when you decide to have sex." You speak while still standing, hoping that Dean will notice that he is only in his underwear and change into more decent clothes.

"You come over to my house, make me turn off my music and now I've suggested that I ask my brother if I can have sex. This conversation seems better by the minute." Dean speaks clearly enjoying this moment. You end up looking at his body from top to bottom but as soon as he notices, you turn to face the door.

"I need your help." You say while avoiding looking at Dean. He might have noticed, since he put on some pants. Not that you watched him put it on.

"With what?" Dean asks as you turn to face him. He put on his pants but is still shirtless. But now is not the time for you to notice these things. Even though his body is...

"I need to write steamy scenes in my book. But I just can't do it. It's like I can't think of anything sexy and I need to get this book published soon." The words coming out of your mouth don't seem to fully fit together. I mean, what is wrong with you that you would look to Dean Winchester for help?

"And what do I gain? Helping you will take up a lot of my free time, you know..." He seems too convinced, as if his ego could fill the air in the entire apartment.

"Free time? You mean wasted time. You've been living off your rich mother for I don't know how long. And I intend to pay you for the consultancy." You say everything with a certain pretentiousness in your tone of voice. Somehow, Dean Winchester brought out the worst in you.

"Do you think that just because I have a rich mother my life is easy?" Dean says, getting even closer to you, getting so close that you could smell his perfume invade your nostrils. In fact, Dean Winchester smells like men's perfume and sex.

"I think. Maybe it's not the easiest thing for you but it seems easy. So do it as an personal fulfillment, do it for the money, do it to show your mother that you are more than her son." You say feeling a heavy conscience as you realize that maybe you were rude to Dean, maybe even a little unfair.

"Nice attempt to manipulate me. I'm going to deny the offer and urgently ask you to leave my apartment. I'm accompanied and my visitor should be waiting for me in the room. So there's less you want to insult me ​​more or join me and my visit, I suggest you go to your apartment." Dean looks offended, maybe a little irritated. You look at him a little regretfully.

"I'm sorry if I seemed rude. But I would really like your help and I'm willing to give you whatever you want." You say, desperately trying to appeal to the side you know exists within Dean. He might not even notice, but claiming you're willing to give him whatever he wants is just a lure to make him interested. At least that's what you tell yourself. But it doesn't seem to work, he closes the door just as you're about to cross the hallway that separates his apartment from your sister's. What a disaster, now you'll have to stop being a writer and move on to a new field. You can't live forever with your sister.

"Be in my apartment later. Let's start working on your book. And I'll decide what I get for the help I'm giving you. As you said yourself, you'll give me whatever I want." Dean says as he opens the door to his apartment while you open the door to your sister's apartment. You immediately turn around and hug him. Without any explanation, your first instinct was to run into his arms. And you only realize how strange that is when you see the half-naked woman coming out of Dean's bedroom and staring at the two of you hugging at the door.

"See you later, buddy." You say, giving Dean Winchester a slightly friendly punch on the arm so that his visitor doesn't find it so bizarre for him to be hugging you at the door. He looks at you as if you've lost your mind, and then you quickly leave, entering your sister's apartment, hoping that the partnership with Dean Winchester is a good idea.

[pynkhues]

You absolutely nail the educational neglect thing. Both the personal shame, the social exclusion, and the fascination with educated people/desperate to learn with whatever diy tools you have (because good education isn't just learning a thing, but also how to learn in the first place).

Tho low key, in whatever au Lestat did get an education i can't imagine he wouldn't be fighting with bad teachers/authority figures. Equally, with a good teacher, esp a music teacher, he would shine like the sun.

(x)

Thank you! And yeah! It's actually a topic that I think about a lot, especially because I think the show's really going to explore it given the way they've already threaded in him being bad at spelling in s2, and Louis weaponising Lestat not finishing books as an indication of him being shallow/unintelligent in their fight in 1.05 (I strongly suspect Louis doesn't know that Lestat was never taught how to read or write / I don't think that's something Lestat would want Louis to know about him, especially as Louis reads as highly educated to me. That said, given how cruel Louis can get in a fight [I love him, your honour, haha], I wouldn't put it past him weaponising it even if he did know, honestly). Their educational gap too is just an interesting dynamic in a relationship too, and I can't imagine the writers wouldn't want to explore that.

Plus it really is such a huge part of TVL too, particularly in terms of Lestat's attraction to Nicki, and later his draw to Marius, and I think it's just so formative to who Lestat is as a character. His curiosity and wonderment with the world is a huge driving force for him as a character, and I do think that's born out of that educational neglect. I'm really curious as to what the show does with it, especially because I think they've been clear already that vampirism isn't an instant educational tool like it is in the books i.e. Lestat miraculously knows how to read and write the moment he's turned in TVL, and correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't think there's ever really language barriers in the books? But the show demonstrates that Claudia has to teach herself the languages she can later speak, and even as they're travelling, Claudia can speak Romanian, but Louis can't, and Sam's already talked about Lestat having to learn to speak English (and doing so on the ship to America), which makes me think he and Rolin have probably discussed it.

But yes! I think Lestat could be a pretty difficult student with anyone who wasn't a very good teacher, haha. I think he'd need someone both warm and really patient, because even though Lestat's so desperate to be taught, he's still Lestat, haha.

There's also a sense of frustration which comes with not being able to do things you think you should be able to do. One of my nephews has a rare motor disability which severely effects his ability to speak, and I help my sister with his homework from his speech and occupational therapists quite a bit. He can get really frustrated, especially because he knows what he wants to say, but the words will come out wrong (i.e. screwdriver might come out as driverscrew, or he'll temporarily lose certain sounds completely, so suddenly might not be able to say any words with an 'at' sound like 'that' or 'cat'). His therapists, my sister and I are all really patient with him, but he's not always patient with himself, and I mean, he's only 7, haha, but I actually do think Lestat would fall into that a bit too with not giving himself the time and space to get it wrong when he feels he knows how to get it right.

With the right teacher though - - yeah. Shining like the sun is a good way to put it! :-)

[startrekfangirl2233-writes]

Mm, Daddy Daddy

Jake 'Hangman' Seresin x Reader

Description: Being a student is hard. For your Master's degree, you have to contend with classes, labs, and assignments in addition to feeding yourself. You're treading water coming into the end of the Spring Semester when your roommate tells you she is breaking her portion of your lease and moving in with her new fiancé. You're left at wit's end and you're not sure how you'll make ends meet. Until, that is, a friend and colleague suggests a website called icanbeyourbaby.com. You're not sure what you'll find there, but Jake Seresin is not it. He's everything you've ever dreamed of and more. But can you keep him despite the contract the website insists you draw up? Will this ever be more than a short-term business arrangement? You hope so. Disclaimer: Female Reader, Slight BDSM, Sugar Daddy/Sugar Baby Relationship. This is also very clearly an AU! In this universe, Jake is a high flying, jet-setting lawyer, a very successful one. This is a story completely full of adult elements. It is for adults 18+ only. Minors Do Not Interact. Warnings: Reader gets paid for her companionship. This is a Sugar Daddy/ Sugar Baby agreement, after all. Word Count: 4354 Author Note: Hello, hello all you beautiful people! I'm insatiable and you only have @desert-fern to blame for putting this thought in my head. Fern, this one is for you! I hope you'll find yourself a Jake to entice you into studying and call you 'His Good Girl'! 🥰 😘 Also, the real ones know. The title for this fic comes from Sam Smith & Kim Petras - Unholy.

AO3: Cross-posted here! Wattpad: Cross-posted here! Anthology Masterlist My Masterlist

College sucks. You love learning, and you love being surrounded by so many different, amazingly talented people. What sucks is how expensive it is. Even with a scholarship, a roommate, and not one, but two full time jobs, you're just barely making ends meet. You've just gotten out of a double shift from hell when you walk into your apartment to see that Joanna, your roommate, has her boyfriend over. They're making out on the couch, and while you'd love to ignore them, you need to make yourself dinner and then write a ten page treatise on the effects of pollution on bivalves due tomorrow during your last class for your final grade.

Just as you're pulling your last Cup Noodles out of the microwave, making a mental note to buy more tomorrow, Joanna speaks up.

"Hey, Blue." She sounds nervous for some reason. "I'm glad I caught you before you headed to your room for the night."

"Hey, Jo!" You sound about as tired as you look. "What's up?"

"Well…. Austinproposedtomeandisaidyes." Her last words are too fast for your already stressed brain.

"One more time, Jo? Slowly?" You point to your head. "My brain's kinda fried and I didn't get any of that."

"I said, Austin proposed to me and I said yes." She's proffering her left hand out to you and you can't help your own squeal of glee as you examine the ring and congratulate her.

"Umm, you're the sweetest, you know that, Blue?" Why does she sound so sad when she’s telling you such nice things? "I hate to do this to you, but, um. Well, I'm moving in with Austin this weekend. Our landlady is letting me break my part of the lease, so the place is all yours."

You just congratulate her again, and watch as she and Austin retreat to her bedroom. When the apartment is quiet again, you begin to think. You dimly note how the fork in your hands goes clattering onto the countertop as you try to mentally catalog how many extra shifts you'll need to take to make your next month's rent payment and pay for classes at the same time. But no matter how you do the math, it doesn't add up. You'd need to work more hours than there are in the day and you still wouldn't have enough money. 

It's a conundrum that continues to churn away in the back of your mind as you slurp down the cold noodles and finish writing your paper. You'll need another roommate, at the very least. But summer break has already begun, and you're not likely to find one. Los Angeles is expensive. You mull it over for weeks, even after Joanna moves out. It's your lab partner at the Marine Institute, a girl named Samantha, who suggests an unlikely idea which might just be the most likely solution.

"Create a profile on this site: icanbeyourbaby.com. It's a sugar daddy/sugar baby site. It's full of older men looking for companionship. I started it a couple of months ago and I don't have to worry about anything anymore." It's true. Sammie doesn't look stressed or tired anymore. Her clothes are all new. You thought she'd just gotten a great job, which is why you'd asked if her boss was hiring. You'd never have expected Sammie with her neon pink and yellow hair, piercings and tattoos to be a sugar baby.

You turn the thought over and over in your head, trying to puzzle another way out of your situation without going into prostitution or living in the campus library out of a duffle bag for the rest of the year. When nothing else comes to mind, you fill out a profile on icanbeyourbaby. You stay as true to yourself as you can, feeling heat in your face and ears at the extremely in depth questions about sexual experience and kinks. Finally, you add a selfie taken recently at a friend's birthday party and hit submit. The congratulations screen is so cheery that you almost immediately want to slam your laptop lid down and curl up under your blankets. 

But you don't, because right as you try to, huge cheesy letters spell out "Congratulations, you got a match!" You're then routed into a chat window. You've been matched with a user called longhornlover, and when you click onto his profile, your jaw nearly drops out of its socket. 

His name, when you read through the details, is Jake Seresin. He's a lawyer working for a law firm downtown. He's just turned 34, and you can't quote this enough, he "needs a pretty girl on his arm for galas, dinners and parties, who is intelligent and able to keep up a conversation". Is this guy for real? At least the age gap isn't too bad. He's only 11 years older than you. Money is apparently no object and when you've flipped back to the open chat window, he's already messaged you asking you to meet him for coffee. 

You can't be blamed for saying yes, right? It's way too easy to sink into chatting with Jake on the app. He's more attentive than every man you've ever spoken to and he gives you butterflies every time he messages you good morning.

The day of your first date, you wear your best dress and walk out of your building, prepared to walk to the bus stop in order to make it to your date on time. You're definitely not expecting the shining blue Porsche idling on the street or the six-foot tall man leaning elegantly against the door. Jake's even more gorgeous in person. 

You stammer all over yourself as you greet him and then allow him to help you into the car, and whisk you away. He takes you to a little coffee shop outside of the city. The hostess leads you to a secluded booth and hands you a menu that is a leather bound book with no prices anywhere on the pages. It's quiet as you order an iced coffee and hand the menu back over.

"So, Blue, can I call you that?" At your nod, he continues, "Why did you sign up? What made you consider being a sugar baby?"

"Oh, I, um. My roommate just moved out, I'm working two jobs and I don't know if I'll be able to make rent, my school fees or be able to feed myself now that she's not going to be able to split rent with me." Your voice is quiet, ashamed. You're asking a stranger for money, practically.

"You're in school, your profile said. What are you studying?" He glosses over your shame so easily. Rich people really do have different cares from ordinary people like you.

"I'm at the University of San Diego getting my Masters in Environmental and Ocean studies." At his inquiring glance you continue, elaborating on the program a little bit. You finish up just as your waitress drops off your coffee, twirling her manicured nails in her hair as she smiles fetchingly at Jake. It's very satisfying to see how he doesn't respond to her at all.

"Thank you for telling me about yourself." He takes a sip of his coffee. "So what are you hoping to get out of this arrangement?"

This is the question you've been asking yourself non-stop for the past few days.

"I'd like to not have to worry about whether I'll be able to eat if I pay my rent and tuition. Or if I'll be able to sleep at night if I work and still have assignments I need to complete." You sip on your coffee, praying that all of your nervous sweating hasn't exposed the raccoon circles permanently tattooed under your eyes. "W-what do you want out of this?"

"I want you to be healthy and happy. And, when I have a company party or event to attend, I want you on my arm, smiling and being just as gorgeous as you are right now." His voice is so soft that the butterflies swarm up your esophagus.

"I can do that. Um, what about, um, sex things?" Your voice drops down to a whisper as you say the last words, sinking into your chair while furtively glancing around to see if anyone heard you.

"That's all up to you. I'd love to be able to call you my girlfriend and lavish a bunch of affection on you, including making you feel good. If that's something you're not comfortable with, then let me know." Jake's green eyes are glimmering with amusement as you stutter out your agreement.

Your eyes go even wider when he fishes an iPad out of his briefcase and pulls out a contract. He goes over every inch of it with you, making changes based on your comfort level, and then you both sign. That's how you became a sugar baby.

At the beginning it was all new and exciting. Jake deposited a quarter of a million dollars into your bank account the next morning, calling it your quarterly allowance. A part of you still doesn't believe that he's real. In the six months since that day, you've gone to no fewer than five parties, dressed to the nines in designer gowns with diamonds dripping off of your fingers, throat and wrists and been swanned around as Jake Seresin's girlfriend.

You love the kisses and possessive grip he has on your waist at those events. But you're at the point in your relationship, and it is a relationship - Jake had shredded the contract months ago, where you want more. You want the sleepovers at his penthouse downtown. You want him to call you his Good Girl and mean it as you bounce on his cock. So you take matters into your own hands. One Friday afternoon you let yourself into his penthouse, glad that at least you have the keys and don't need permission to do so. You set your bookbag down on the leather ottoman in the living room and pad into his bedroom. 

Jake's bedroom is your favorite place in the entire apartment. It's all pale wood and glass. His bed sits against the sole wall, a plush pillowy California King that you love taking naps in. You walk into the gigantic walk-in closet and pull out one of his button-down shirts, a pale cream one that you love seeing on his golden skin. The fabric is rich and silky and most importantly, ever so slightly transparent. You strip off all of your clothes and swathe yourself in the silky shirt. The cool fabric has your nipples turning into firm points and as you look at yourself in the mirror, you know Jake's going to love seeing you in his clothes, too. 

Then comes the next part of your plan. You settle down on the sofa with a throw over your lap and begin to study. Even though you have seduction on your mind, it's still finals season. Now, you wait. You're completely immersed in your Marine Law class when you hear the door open and Jake walks through the door. He's got a bag of groceries in one hand and his briefcase in the other.

"Hi, doll!" He sounds exhausted. 

"Hi, Jake!" Your voice is soft as you wave at him from your blanket burrito on the couch.

"How was your day, baby?" He sounds exhausted. You answer him from the couch, barely noticing him until you feel a kiss press against the side of your head. It's Jake, now dressed in just a pair of sweats with damp hair.

"When did you shower?" You can't help the confusion in your voice as you rub at your eyes from behind the frames of your glasses.

"Twenty minutes ago, baby." You can feel the amusement in his voice. "What're you so immersed in, huh?"

"Marine law." You keep scanning the slides in front of you, ignoring how his hands are tracing across your shoulders.

"Y'know, baby doll, I am a lawyer. So you can ask me for help if you want?" You can feel your resolve flagging as he sets your laptop down, unwraps you slowly from the throw, and tugs you into his lap. His hands trail teasingly over the bar expanse of your thighs, pausing at the junction of your hips, caressing the soft bare skin there.

"What do we have here, Baby Blue?" His voice is deep and velvety as he rucks the shirt up a little, knuckles firm against your bare stomach. 

"W-wanted to wear your shirt, Daddy." You can hear the rumble of his voice as he groans, trailing his fingers over your peaked nipples and back down to the apex of your thighs.

"And the rest of your clothes?" He's got a firm grip on each thigh, tugging them apart until your bare pussy is completely exposed.

"I-I took 'em off. Just wanted to be surrounded by your scent, Daddy." Your voice is a mewl as Jake massages teasingly over your clit, the barely there touches sending even more heat coiling through your veins.

"And you decided to be my good girl and study while you waited for Daddy to come home?" His calloused fingers pluck at your nipples with each word.

"Y-yes." Your chest is heaving, your mind going fuzzy and blank as Jake's - no - Daddy's hands rob you of all thought.

"You've been such a good girl, baby doll. D'you want your reward?" The fondness in Daddy's voice has you writhing as his hands open your tight walls up for him.

"Yes please, Daddy! Please!" He lifts you up with one thick forearm before working the sweats down to his knees. Now, you can feel Daddy's cock as it glides over your weeping hole as you wriggle in his lap.

"Come sit on this cock, Blue, baby." He punctuates the order with kisses that steal the breath from your lungs. You love when Daddy kisses you like this. You tug the constricting button down off, and carefully sink down onto his hard length. Daddy's cock is so big and thick that it nearly splits you apart. Each inch has your mouth open in a silent scream, and when he bottoms out, you're sweaty and exhausted. Your skin feels too tight and electric shocks are zipping across every inch that he touches. 

Daddy takes pity on you, letting you quiet on his cock, feeling how your walls clench around his length as you settle back against his chest.

"God, look at you, baby Blue. So pretty, my good girl, impaled on Daddy's cock like that." Daddy's big hands cup your tits, and you shudder before melting further into his arms. After several moments, he leans forward, tugging your laptop back onto your lap. "Gotta make sure my good girl is comfy. That she knows daddy is here for her always. Now, you sit here and study. If you're good, I'll fuck you until you scream later."

You're already so wet and aching for Daddy, that it'll be sweet torture to spend so long impaled on his length. His cock is pressing up against all the parts that make you see stars. But you're Daddy's good girl. So you do what he says. The first few pages, you're completely distracted, wriggling around in Daddy's lap, wanting more stimulation. But eventually you fall into a flow state, Daddy's presence comforting. 

You lose time. You must, because it's dark when the laptop closes and Daddy peppers kisses across your exposed shoulders. You're still impaled on his length, each thick inch pressing against your walls in the perfect way. You're slow to respond to the teasing caresses, nuzzling against the palm of Daddy's hand sweetly.

"Aww, baby Blue. You're so good for me, doll." Daddy's voice sounds so fond and it makes a small part of you light up. His praise and gentle words make you feel even better than his cock buried in you. When he lifts you off of his length, you sob at the empty feeling, weeping cunt clenching on nothing where it had once been wrapped around Daddy.

Before you can blink, you're splayed out on your back on Daddy's comfy leather sofa. He's crouched between your legs, gazing raptly at your heat as he pets across your hips and lower belly in slow soothing strokes. 

"D-daddy?" Your voice is tiny, as you try to swivel and nudge your hips closer to him.

"Yeah, baby doll?" Daddy punctuates his words with kisses against your inner thighs and your mound. Your mind whites out a bit at the pressure as he flattens his tongue over your fluttering, wet slit. His voice is smug as he continues, "D'you want something from Daddy, baby?"

You don't get the chance to respond, though. Between one breath and the next, you're being treated like a steak dinner placed before a starving man. Daddy feels like he's everywhere. His mouth and fingers devour you whole. Your entire body feels like a live wire, warring sensations dancing like electric currents across your skin as the band in your gut winds tighter and tighter. It feels like you're on a tightrope, dangling over a cliff.

Each heaving breath feels like too much and yet not enough oxygen is entering your lungs. You're begging and babbling, tugging on Daddy's hair in graceless sweeping motions as your mind forgets how to move or do anything than be at Daddy's pleasure. It's when Daddy growls against your cunt that you cum, screaming his name as your muscles lock with the force of your orgasm.

When you come back to yourself, it's on the cool satin sheets of Daddy's big bed. You feel wrung out and exhausted, mind floaty even as your limbs struggle to cooperate. You've just managed to sit up when Daddy wanders in, holding a condensation covered glass in his big hand. You make grabby hands for him, smiling as he drags you against his chest as you sip on the cool juice in the glass. 

"How are you feeling, baby?" You nuzzle in closer, sleepily peppering kisses across his chest. 

"Feel good, Daddy. Y'always make me feel good." The kiss Daddy presses against your lips consumes you body and soul. It takes several moments before you collect your frayed strands of thought.

"B-but, what about you, daddy? Did you cum?" Your voice is soft as you take his length in your hand.

"No, Blue, baby." His breathing hitches with each pass of your hand as you work his length in your fist. "But you don't have ta'...... Ahh!"

Each stuttering breath makes your smile just a little wider. Daddy's so pretty, his tawny mane of hair spread out against the pillow as a flush spreads across his chest. His big hand is curled around your bare hip as you slowly pump his length. 

"Doll, are you just going to tease me all night?" His voice is so fond as he tugs you close.

"No, Daddy." You melt into his chest as he kisses you. Each long slow slide of his tongue plundering your mouth has you pressing yourself closer. You kiss your daddy slowly, losing yourself to the touch.

"D'you want something baby?" There are big hands on your hips, stalling every movement as you try and fail to search for friction.

"Blue!" He's laughing now, peppering kisses across your pouting face as you fight to eke some pleasure out for yourself. But no matter what you do, you don't move.

"What're you searching for, huh, baby?" You growl as a result, stilling your hips as you suck kisses down his throat. You relish in the moans pouring out of Daddy's throat, brattily ignoring the teasing path of his hands across your lower stomach and breasts.

It's the sharp sting of a hand on your ass that has you squeaking and your mouth parting from the hickey you'd been leaving on Daddy's neck.

"Oh, baby. Did that sting?" As Daddy's big hands rub over your aching ass, you arch your back and try to nuzzle closer. But all that does is bring your bare skin closer to his mouth. The first wet press of his tongue to your peaked nipples has you moaning. You're so occupied by the dual sensations of the hands kneading your ass and the wet insistent suction of Daddy's mouth on your tits that you barely notice the pinching insistent pressure as Daddy's dick presses into you.

When Daddy finally bottoms out, you're already a drooling mess. This sugar baby arrangement is the best decision you've ever made. Daddy's a million times better than your first fumbling sexual experience in your prom date's pickup. His thick hard length in you has your pussy fluttering and already has you on the edge of an orgasm. When you're tipped onto your back in the sheets and Daddy starts to move, you're completely at his mercy.

Each thrust has you taking Daddy from root to tip. The entire room is filled with the lewd slapping of sweat-slippery skin against skin. Your breaths are punched out gasps as Daddy draws your legs up to his shoulders, holding them securely against his chest with one thick forearm as the other presses insistently against your engorged clit. Each brush of his calloused fingers coats them in your wetness and tips you even further towards your orgasm. You're babbling, hardly able to keep eye contact with the piercing, intent gaze Daddy's leveling on your sweat slicked skin. You cum with a scream, back arching off the bed.

"Aww, Blue, baby. Look at you! Fucked dumb on Daddy's thick hard cock." Daddy sets your legs back down as he pulls out of you and turns you so your back is pressed against his chest.

"You're going to be good, right Baby?" You're grinding your ass back against Daddy's ass unconsciously even as Daddy wraps a hand around your throat. You love having Daddy all over you like this. Even though you just came, you can't help wanting more. He uses the extra leverage to kiss your slack mouth until a thread of saliva stretches between your mouths.

"Daddy's gonna fuck your wet little pussy just like this with a hand around this little throat until you gush for me." His voice slows to a hiss as he teasingly runs his finger through your sensitive folds. "And you, baby. You're going to tell your daddy exactly how good he feels in that pretty little pussy."

You're nodding frantically, but that's not enough for Daddy. He smacks your pussy, tapping it until you're writhing against the steel hold he's got around your waist.

"Y-yes, Daddy! Yes! I can do that!" Your voice is a high pitched keen as you sob your relief at having Daddy buried inside you again.

He starts off slow, keeping the pace teasing as he pulls out of you until just the tip is sheathed and burying himself in you over and over again. Your hands are grasping onto his arms with all your strength, as you let Daddy chase his pleasure in you. His hand is firm against your throat, the pressure making you lightheaded and the sensations setting your blood aflame. With each slap of his hips against your ass you're telling him how good he feels. He's so big and thick you can't help it.

"Blue, baby." Daddy's voice is a purring growl which has your pussy dripping even wetter as your third orgasm builds. This one is going to be even harder than the last one. His hands pinch and tug at the heavy swell of your tits as they bounce with each thrust. "Cum for me, pretty baby. C'mon. You can do it. Cum for daddy."

"Yes, Daddy. Right there! M'so close. Wanna cum on your cock. Please. Please. Please. Please." You're still babbling for permission when Daddy's hands slide down to your clit and massage on the bud in time with his thrusts. When you come, it feels like you've been struck by lightning. You see stars behind your eyes as your orgasm builds and crests, seeming to never end. You vacantly feel Daddy empty himself in your sopping cunt, but that's it.

When you wake up, it's in the big bathtub in the master ensuite. There are hands carefully massaging shampoo into your hair and the water is steaming in the quiet night air. There's a deep relaxation weighing your muscles and bones as you blink yourself awake.

"Hey, Blue. How d'you feel?" It's Dadd- no, Jake, who's making you feel good.

"I feel so good, Jake." You kiss his wrist before turning so you can kiss him. He hefts you into his arms, not caring in the slightest that you're dripping soap and water all over his floor.

"You're back up, huh, baby?" At your nod, he kisses you before continuing. "I know you told me you've never been so far down before. And it definitely wasn't discussed. Was that okay, for you?" He sounds so worried as he sits on the tile with you dripping all over him.

"I'm perfect, Jakey. Perfect. It was everything I needed and more. If you liked it, I'd love to be your Baby Blue again?" You hope he'll agree. You love being Daddy's baby and brat.

"Absolutely, you can. But for the rest of tonight, how about we curl up on the sofa? I made some pasta and garlic bread." He grins at your nod before joining you in the tub again. This? You wouldn't give this up for anything in the world.

"Hey, Blue?" He sounds sated and sleepy.

"Yeah, Jake?" You cuddle closer to him and kiss his skin.

"Move in with me?" He sounds nervous. Like you’d reject him? After everything you’ve built a relationship with him? Not possible. You can’t believe what he’s asking you. You can’t even pretend to think about it. Your mouth runs away before your brain even processes the words screaming,  "YES!" while you kiss him until he’s breathless again. This man? You’re going to keep him forever.

Taglist:

@desert-fern 🥰 @mayhemmanaged 🥰 @cassiemitchell 🥰 @thedroneranger 🥰 @cherrycola27 🥰 @roosterforme 🥰 @roostette 🥰 @dakotakazansky 🥰 @bobby-r2d2-floyd 🥰 @sarahsmi13s 🥰 @lovinglyeternal 🥰 @lovingbradshawafterdark 🥰 @mamaskillerqueen 🥰 @chaoticassidy 🥰 @genius2050 🥰

I DO NOT CONSENT TO HAVE MY WORK POSTED, TRANSLATED, OR PUBLISHED ON ANY SITES OTHER THAN HERE OR ON AO3 BY ME. IF YOU SEE MY WORKS ANYWHERE OTHER THAN HERE OR AO3, THEN THEY HAVE BEEN POSTED WITHOUT MY PERMISSION AND I WILL BE WORKING TO TAKE THEM DOWN.

[trailofstardust]

This might sound like incoherent rambling, but I feel the need to vent:

Some years ago I had a very unpleasant experience with a religious right wing nut. It started when I saw his post which compared the mermaid from H.C. Andersen's original story with Disney's Ariel. He claimed that despite many criticizing Ariel for being "a selfish brat who got away with everything" he claims that the original mermaid frm H.C. Andersen's story fits the description far more in his opinion.

He argues that because Ariel was manipulated by Ursula and her minions to make the deal, as well as suffering from an unaccepting father she is far more sympathetic while the original mermaid was not influenced by outside factors, but was "only" suffering from an existencial crisis of learning that the only way for a mermaid to gain an afterlife is to get a human to fall in love with her.

He says that Ariel did make up for her actions by "making up her mess" by help take down Ursula while the original mermaid left her family grieving, and even might have caused her grandmother to die of heartbreak.

Finally, the OP claims that the original mermaid got her goal of being able to earn a soul, something he thinks is undeserved because of the grief she put her family through, and because she supposedly committed suicide by jumping off a boat that would in his eyes "automatically damn her to hell" (in his conservative christian viewpoint).

His opinions do upset me because they seem really skewered. It feels stupid to care so much about someones opinion on fiction, but they do bother me a lot, and still do now, especially his take that the OG mermaid "forced her sisters to get Chemotherapy" because in Andersen's story, the mermaid's sisters try to save her by exchanging their hair for a knife to the Sea-Witch. This is utterly bizarre.

To deal with my distress I've turned to creating and sharing my fictional stories, and I've created a character in response to the right-wing nut, designed specifically to piss him off.

She's a fan character for the game "Vampire Therapist".

Background: Vampire Therapist is a visual novel where you play as Sam Walls, a vampire who became a therapist to help other vampires process their emotional baggage and deal with their mental distortions.

It was not only funny and imaginative but provided me with a perfect vessel to process my emotional baggage and indulge my historical nerd side at once.

So onto my character: she was born during the late Roman empire to parents who were early Christians. She was a rebellious teenager who found her home life to be dull and restrictive, and defied her parent's authority by attending pagan festivals, and it was during one particularly wild celebration where she met her "Bloodfather", an ancient vampire who acted as the leader of a mystery cult in the guise of the god Dionysos, and they became lovers.

Her parents became worried and after finding out about their daughter's lover the father tried to kill him, but was mercilessly slaughtered in turn.

Since then she has continued her hedonistic lifestyle with little care in the world. Deep inside she does feel some guilt for indirectly causing her parent's death, yet it bothers her little, or at least she doesn't let it show.

Her quirk is a compulsive need to rebel against authority and shock conservative religious communities. She has given herself the nickname "Blasphemia".

What I want to do is to vent my frustrations from interacting with that right wing nut by creating a story about a character who did everything he accused Andersen's mermaid of, but still receives compassion and understanding to spite him.

[theanxiousghostartist]

TMAGP Re - Designs part 5 - Sam Khalid

Spoilers for Season 1 below!

Design: I kept his design mostly the same. I made him slightly more casual so that he would match with the rest of the crew. He's wearing red because Lena has a very red color scheme, and he wanted to emulate her to show her that he's "worthy" of the job (we'll get into that in the analysis). He does have dark green accents, referring to his (slightly) hidden connection to the Magnus Institute. Honestly, there's not much to say for Sam's design, I mostly went off of his vibes. The outfit is a mini reference to Jon because he helped (or I theorize that he did) Sam out by sending him to Gertrude and Gerry in that email.

Analysis: Sam is a character I relate to a lot. At a young age, he was declared "gifted" and when had his first "failure" (not getting accepted into the Institute's program), he felt like he had to prove his worth for everything. Every accomplishment that he earned wasn't "good enough" to make up for that "failure." So, he pushed harder and harder, he went to college and worked in a law office. Then, it was too much, and he burned himself out. We know that he was fired for some sort of "outburst" which could have very well been all the stress that he put himself under to "be better" and "be worthy," but since this is a horror/supernatural podcast, I am led to believe that the Fears (probably the Web tbh) pushed him into this outburst, leading to be fired and subsequently, the OIAR. Now, he is in the lion's den and doesn't even know it. With this job, he's taking it slower, which is great, and I do think the job at the OIAR is better for him. Less people to "disappoint" if you've already "disappointed" most of them (he mentioned his parents weren't the happiest when he was fired, and it doesn't seem like he has any friends besides the OIAR team at this point). Sam still dresses in Lena's color scheme to show her (the authority figure) that he's "on her side" and that he will do his best (as Oscar Wilde said, "Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery that mediocrity can pay to greatness"). Now, this is not to say that Sam is mediocre. However, at this point, that is how Sam sees himself - not special, not gifted, just mediocre. His self-esteem is lower than it has been since he was fired from his last job (with Alice referring to his depressing vaugepost about it). Continuing on, Sam gets a case, one of his first cases, in fact, on The Magnus Institute, the very source of his trauma (in more ways than one). This naturally gets him invested in the Institute as his digs up old memories of his rejection: Why didn't they choose him? What happened to the Institute? Was it a problem with them? Was there something wrong with him?

While Alice tries to get him to calm down and back off the Institute business (only going to the ruins with him because she thinks this will satisfy him enough to drop it), the new hire appears: Celia. Celia will get her own post soon, but she directly pushed Sam further into his Institute obsession, encouraging it throughout Season 1. She had her own reasons for this, of course, but her impact on Sam was very interesting. As they developed their romantic/sexual relationship, her manipulation of him was more clear to us (again, no hate on Celia for this!). They investigated Gertrude and Gerry, Jon and Martin, Basira, Georgie (although this was just Celia), Helen, and finally, Hilltop Road. Celia took advantage of Sam, wanting to learn about his past to help her stay in the TMAGP!verse. She used his trauma against him. And even so, when the Archivist attacked her, he tried to protect her. If we believe Celia, he saved her life by not only knocking the Archivist through the portal, but falling through himself.

I'm going to focus in on two scenes in particular now: 1st - The Mr. Bonzo scene with Gwen, and 2nd - his statement with the Archivist.

1) What I found interesting with the Mr. Bonzo scene, is that it read that Sam didn't feel aa if Gwen deserved to be believed. This is interesting because while Gwen was an arsehole for some of the series, most of her anger was directed towards Lena and Alice, not Sam. She helped Sam on multiple occasions and helped train him when Alice was late. He even told Gwen that one of the coffees that Alice got was for her (even though it wasn't), which meant a LOT to Gwen (she melted on the spot). This is one of the only times in S1, where we see Sam being just straight-up mean. While this could have been Sam just having a bad moment or something, I think there is more than that. This leads me into the 2nd scene I wanted to focus on: Sam's statement.

2) Sam's statement basically sums up to he ran away after he thought he failed his test, and stumbled into an experiment or ritual of some kind. He startles the person performing the experiment/ritual and which leads to it going haywire. The person' skeleton hatches out of him, and Sam says he can't look people in the face without seeing the skulls move, as if they were waiting to hatch. Sam tried to tell adults around him, but nobody believed him. I think this is why Sam was so cruel to Gwen. She was asking to be believed. She needed someone to confirm what was going on. But it had to be some sort of cruel prank, right? Why should she (who is self-righteous) believe when he, as a scared little kid, couldn't? It doesn't make sense. Sam wasn't believed, so why should Gwen be? This basically boils down to the fact that Sam was bitter that the adults in his life let him down (similar to Michael in TMA). Now, when Alice ran into one to the Archivist's victims, she was believed. Why? Because Sam still had a soft spot for her. She was his best friend (or at least, a very close one), and she needed support. She helped him explore the ruins, so why shouldn't he do this for her? He simply did not have that connection with Gwen. She was a friend, sure, but there was no reason why she should be believed. There was no mutal transaction. This could also explain why he protected Celia. Not only did he have a soft spot for her, but she helped him so much with exploring the Institute. It was a mutal transaction.

And that's Sam! He's an interesting character and feels very real/flesh out already. I can't wait to see what shenanigans he gets up to in S2! :D