#sorry did not expect to talk about this for this long

[snakesafraidtodie]

Danny stops mid rant once he realizes that Bruce Wayne is looking at him like he's crazy. "Ehh... never mind. It's just been a rough week. Ignore everything that I said. Obviously I'm alive. I'm just... uh, saying what my parents expect I'd say. Because they think I'm dead."

"You're used to indulging their delusions." Bruce stated, more than asked.

Danny sighed. "Look. I'm really sorry about them. But did you have to publish the name of the dead boy you thought was your son? Even if it's not me, that's gotta be some sort of privacy violation. Did you get permission from the family of the dead Danny?"

"...I'm sorry, I don't know how the body's identity got released to the press." Bruce had a genuine look of guilt on his face. "But you're right. That information should never have hit the news."

"Well, I guess it's not your fault then." Danny shrugged. "Um. This is a long shot, but do you know how to get in contact with Batman?"

"..."

"It's just, now that they're convinced you have my body- my parents... are kinda single-minded? And I wouldn't put B&E to steal what they think is the remains of their son past them. So. I wanna talk to Batman. To discuss how best to handle their brand of... them-ness. They're a lot, but they're good people! And they're grieving me, as misplaced as it is."

--------

The Fentons want a dead body that doesn't exist.

The Waynes want to keep their cover and not blow their identities. (No, Tim. You are not allowed to clone Daniel to make a fake corpse for his parents.)

Danny wants his parents to accept that he's both dead and alive and stop harassing a rich fruitloop for the corpse of a rando kid he mistook for his son. And he'd like to get that without having to out his identity to more people, but at this point it seems unlikely.

So.

When Bruce Wayne agreed to set up a meeting for him with Batman, Danny decided to tell the truth. Because who could he trust with it if not a fellow hero?

------

Ok. Batman was way more intimidating in person. The mass of shadows stared him down. Danny didn't know how to break the silence.

Luckily the Dark Knight took mercy. "Wayne told me you wanted to discuss your parents' potential future actions."

"R-right. Um. Yeah. Ok." Danny took a deep breath to quit his rambling and get to the point. "So. Some background info. Mom and Dad are ecto-biologists and ghost hunters. They spent their career inventing tech that runs on ectoplasm and publishing papers on the evils of post-human-consciousness. Their magnum opus was a portal to a theoretical dimension of ecto and ghosts. They built it in our basement. And."

Danny let the rings of transformation form. He began to float and at Batman's tensing, crossed his arms and legs to appear smaller. He looked away. "It killed me. Kinda. I am dead, but not. I'm a ghost, but I'm alive. I didn't tell them when it happened. They're ghost hunters, y'know? I grew up hearing the evils of my kind. But then the other Danny Fenton was announced dead, and they figured I was a ghost anyway."

Danny set his feet on the ground and turned human. "So I told them the truth, that I'm both, that I've been protecting Amity from the ghosts coming through the portal as the hero Phantom. But. Well, I don't know how much Mr. Wayne told you, but they're convinced I'm fully dead. They want me to move on. That's why they want the body."

Danny clutched at his hair in frustration. "And. I can't convince them otherwise! I don't- this reveal is already going so much better than I could've hoped. They're already rethinking their 'all ghosts are evil' stance. But. I can't keep living with them. They think I'm DEAD, Batman! That I'm haunting them or something. I can't do that to them! I can't make them believe me-!"

Large hands wrapped around Danny's own to gently uncurl the fingers fisted in his hair. "What do you need, Danny?"

Danny sniffed. His hands still held in Batman's own, Danny ducked his head, turning to self consciously wipe his face on his sleeve. "I don't know." He said in a tiny voice. "I want them to get better."

"..."

"Everyone always said they were mad scientists, growing up. I- I don't want them to- to end up at Arkham. But I can't convince them anymore. They need, like, a professional. But it will only work if the professional knows what's actually going on, and that means revealing my secret identity to more people, end even if there is someone trustworthy, I'll still need someplace to stay while we're doing this fucked up supernatural family therapy. So maybe I just gotta... fake my death. Let them move on. Wayne can tell them the other Danny got cremated already or something. And I'll... go... somewhere."

Danny pulled his hands out of Batman's grasp and stood up straight. "Yeah. Ok. Batman, will you help put Danny Fenton to rest once and for all?"

It's a Terrible Cover Story, Really :/

DP x DC AU where, when trying to make a cover story for why Jason is suddenly legally alive again, Bruce (and the rest of the fam) come up with a story that they had found the body of a child that looked just like 15 year old Jason after he had gone missing and went straight into greif stricken panic and assumed to worst! Jason had come back to them later (let's say he's 22/23 here) after recovering from amnesia, and DNA tests confirmed it's him. They claim they exhumed the body and had the DNA tested and it came back (and they make this name up, completely believing that, since enough people have similar names, this won't come back to bite them) as Danny Fenton.

It's plastered all over the news and it makes it's way back to Jack and Maddie fast: who are now completely convinced their son died on a breif trip they took to Gotham 7 years ago and came back as a ghost who just didn't know he was dead. When they try to bring up the topic with Danny, as gently as they could, they wind up learning that he's Phantom and start to think it's a split personality type deal. One is their son trying to greave his own death and failing because he thinks he's still alive, and the other is their son trying to live up to them as ghost hunters and trying to be the hero his kid self must have thought they were. They're torn up and grief stricken and try contacting Bruce about retrieving their sons body.

Bruce is freaking out because he thinks he just convinced people who may have been looking for their son for years that their kid is dead (and maybe he is! Oh god!) And Amity Park nonsense is keeping him from finding anything about the (half) living Danny, now attending community college.

Jack and Maddie are freaking out because they don't want to let go of their son, but also this can't be healthy for any of them or for Danny's soul, he needs to move on and they need time to rethink everything they've ever thought about ghosts to grieve.

And Danny's freaking out because he thinks Brucie Wayne, ditz extraordinaire (unless his kids are involved), clueless to a fault, Brucie, somehow figured out he was a ghost and outed him to his parents???? Not cool man!

[kirbmey]

une lecture d'été — dad’sassistant!zayne x reader

synopsis: where zayne is your dads assistant for the summer while you stay at your vacay home back in france; on an especially hot day you ask him to read for you on the pool ૮꒰ྀི⸝⸝> . <⸝⸝꒱ྀིა

tw: suggestive (what did u expect from me atp), heavily based on call me by your name, zayne’s around 30 and reader is 20, 80’s setting, he’s a bit of a tease, etc.

june 10th, woke up at 6 am to catch a ride towards your family summer house in crema, a quiet countryside town in france.

it was nothing new since you used to go every summer and every winter with your parents, to have a break from the busy city back at home.

but this time it felt different, more exciting. your father, a very well known history and archeology professor, was having his internship assistant over to show him the ancient ruins that decorated the nearby beaches your family loved to visit on the heatwaves.

who would this man be, old or young? with saddening or cheerful features? long or short hair? tall? fit? well spoken? you couldn’t stop daydreaming about how he’d look.

the name ‘zayne’ became part of your father’s vocabulary some months ago, praising his ideas and hard work at almost every dinner.

you heard so much about him you felt like you actually knew him already, knowing that he wore shirts most days to the lectures (way too open for your father’s liking), that there was always a watch surrounding his wrist. you even knew when he cut or trimmed his hair, your dad paying attention to every detail and loving a little bit of gossip.

once you three arrived to the white old looking villa you skipped happily towards the tall entryway, excited to finally breathe in the scent of the sea and feel the humidity stick to your skin and hair.

what you didn’t expect when your housemaid opened the door was to see a young and tall gentleman sitting in the lobby, reading a national geographic magazine trough a pair of black framed glasses.

⠀ ⠀ 　　　“jesus, zayne, how unexpected to see you here already!” your father laughed loudly as he approached him, noticing on how said assistant wanted to shake hands, the older man going for a tight hug instead.

⠀ ⠀ 　　　“sorry if this was too sudden, I’ve been really excited about coming here. the housemaid even showed me the library you’ve got, it’s amazing.” he said apologetically, corresponding the hug and flashing a wide smile, taking in the way his canines where shaped.

you just stood there pretending you were waiting for your mother who was catching up with the housemaid, watching both masculine figures slowly walk away while talking about some book you couldn’t bear much about.

later at night you decided to make your first move, going down the noisy wooden stairs with excitement to show off your summer dress, waking through the long hallways decorated with swinging lacy white curtains.

there was only him sitting on the patio table, reading again, a book with a deep blue cover this time. the title could read “mythos”, a volume of myths your dad used to read you so you could sleep at night when you were too afraid of the dark.

you chose to sit down next to him, gaining his attention and a little smile momentarily before he went back to his reading. you stretched to grab a piece of homemade bread from the table as you spoke in a shy voice.

⠀ ⠀ 　　　“y’know, my dad used to read that book to me when i was younger.” now he paid full attention to you, staring at your cherry cola eyes and putting the tome down.

⠀ ⠀ 　　　“aren’t you young still?” he teased smirking, noticing how your cheeks heated at the comment. he lowly chuckled, sipping his wine before speaking again.

⠀ ⠀ 　　　“sorry, haven’t introduced myself yet, i’m zayne, your dads—”, “assistant, i know, you’re the only person he’s been talking about lately.” you accidentally interrupt him; he didn’t mind if it meant he could listen to you honey-like voice a little bit more.

⠀ ⠀ 　　　“uh, is that so?” he sifted his position on the chair, turning to look at you directly while crossing one leg over the other, doing the same thing with his arms. his biceps noticeable under the white fabric of his shirt.

⠀ ⠀ 　　　“yup, i know so much about you already.” you said without thinking too much. wasn’t it weird to say such a thing to a man you just met?

⠀ ⠀ 　　　“well, i hope i can get to know many things about you as well.” he lightly responded, drifting his gaze to the opposite sight when he saw you parents approaching the lame table.

dinner was easier to get through than you expected, the chicken moira, the housemaid, cooked too delicious to bother on speaking or participating in conversations.

it wasn’t too late yet, but you were already feeling sleepy, so you excused yourself and took slow steps to your bedroom, gaining a ‘good night’ from everyone, even zayne.

he was all you could think about when you laid down on the spring mattress, rolling around as you made stupid scenarios in your head about how good and warm and tight a hug from him would feel, about how soft his dark locks had to be, about how big and nice and strong his hands were…

needless to say, you didn’t sleep much that night, finally drifting away imagining the pillow you were hugging was the assistant’s chest.

june 11th, woke up at 8 am sweating horribly. you easily felt hot, and it was no help when humidity was the thing that predominated in that side of the country.

so you stood up, washed your face and teeth and dressed with a simple white bikini to hit the swimming pool after having breakfast; zayne wasn’t at the table that morning and you couldn’t help but feel annoyed.

after a few minutes you ran towards the pool thrilled, getting some reprimands from your parents to which you made def ears.

you jumped inside, got refreshed and let the water wake up your senses before noticing a figure reclining in one of the lounge chairs once your head was out.

it was the man you missed so much earlier, naked chest, unbuttoned deep blue shirt and a pair of bermuda shorts decorating his beautiful body, accompanied by black sunglasses and, of course, yesterday’s book.

⠀ ⠀ 　　　“careful, lady, you don’t want to ruin the pages of your dad’s book now, do you?” he said while he sat down on the edge of said lounge chair, taking off his glasses to look at the heavely imagine in front of him; you, all wet.

believe it or not, he couldn’t stop thinking about you last night, either. something about you vainilla perfume and your adorable voice got stuck in his head.

and yeah, he also made stupid scenarios about you. wanted to know what was your favorite chapter from the tome you father gave him, to ask what you were studying; and wanted to know your name that you didn’t share the night prior.

⠀ ⠀ 　　　“sorry, didn’t notice you there…” you mumbled, approaching the pool’s trim to look up to him from underneath, laying your head on top of your arms. were you teasing him, perhaps?

⠀ ⠀ 　　　“that’s okay, don’t worry.” he simply said. a few minutes of an uncomfortable silence, you stared at the tile floor while he stared at you, talking a little bit softer this time. “did you sleep well?”

⠀ ⠀ 　　　“actually? no. been rolling around my bed all night.” you mutter while tracing the trim’s pattern with a finger. he just hums not really knowing how to respond and there’s another awkward silence that you happen to break this time.

⠀ ⠀ 　　　“could you read f’me, zaynie, please?” maybe his tender voice reading one of the already known chapters would help you sleep tonight; you weren’t shy to ask ‘cause you noticed his gaze on you the whole time.

he simply nodded, not wanting to ruin the intimate moment you both managed to build so quickly, pulling the lounge chair closer to the edge were you rested so he could shield your delicate skin from the burning sun.

you tried your best to not fall asleep, his american accent and the way he rolled the r’s a relaxing sound that calmed your brain.

both of you shared your thoughts on the different chapters, telling him stories from your childhood when he reached a page your dad used to exaggerate his voice to, the assistant feeling like he knew you now a little bit better.

zayne found himself on the obligation to finish up the reading season when he noticed the sun going down and your eyes slowly closing, reaching a hand to caress your cheek with a thumb to make you look up to him.

and so you did, pushing in the comforting touch of his palm and getting out of the now kinda cold water with his help, thanking him as you felt a big towel surrounding your smaller frame.

he wouldn’t admit he maybe stared at your eyes locking with his from above for way too long, or the way your breast’s pressed against the tile wall from the pool and took you to dinner. here you were again.

sat down together again, ate leftover chicken again, but you didn’t remain quiet this time, joining the conversation to share thoughts with the three other people at the table.

zayne scooted closer to you little by little, brushed his leg with yours and even dared to rub your knee under the table, hiding from your parents lurking eyes; they knew something was going on but didn’t really worried about it. they liked him for you.

summer passed away too fast for your preference, getting caught up in the nights you sneaked into zayne’s bedroom and shared not-so-innocent kisses from time to time, listening to him read while you painted your nails or brushed your hair, going along the expeditions your dad took him to so you could walk with him by the shore.

now, you were always glued to the landline talking to him while you impatiently waited for winter to share your days with him again when you weren’t visiting him at college, getting scolded by your father every time he saw you there.

a/n: i wrote this with someone else in mind, but decided to change to zayne last minute ( ;´ - `;)

— masterlist.

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 5 - If You Let Me

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Welcome back Sam Winchester I’m sorry about your girlfriend are you ready to suffer for thousands of words as these two idiots dance around each other?

Chapter title from when the party's over by Billie Eilish

Word Count: 16.7k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Dean calls you for a case, you grapple with your growing power, and Sam has questions. Usual warnings.

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, enemies to friends to lovers, canon divergence, slow burn, angst, fluff, monster of the week.

Chapter 4 - Chapter 6

Read on A03!

No matter what happens, Dean can never be allowed to know how fast you’re driving. Especially because every single traffic violation you commit is in his name. In the hope of seeing him just ten minutes sooner.

In your defense, you haven’t seen him in person in almost three months. You’d gone on a hunt together, parted with the usual smile and awkward high five, and then he’d just stopped asking to you hunt with him. He hasn’t left, hadn’t vanished, and he’s been the one calling you to talk, but he just doesn’t even mention hunts anymore. You just don’t see him. And over those four months of missing him—and shoving that aching, whining feeling deep, deep down where it couldn’t feed into the White’s vast desire—he’s started to sound… off.

“Did you know that people could curse animals?”

“Yeah,” you’d said, glancing down the hall to make sure Bobby was still gone, and not about to barge in and catch you talking to Dean. “I think you can curse most anything. I’ve heard of like, babies being cursed.”

“That’s creepy, Princess.”

“I didn’t curse them-“ You’d cut yourself off with a frown. “Did you and John run into a cursed animal?”

“Uh. No?”

You’d raised your brows. “Why are you asking me, I wasn’t there.”

“No, I’m just- It’s complicated. I’ll tell you later. How did that hunt in Montana go?”

“Oh, super fucking easy.” And it had been. You may have destroyed a fire hydrant when the chimera chased after you—unable to contain or aim the Darkness like you could when you were with Dean—and almost bashed your head against the wall from the sickness crawling over your head and setting it on fire when you returned to the motel, but you’d been done in a day. And you’d been lonely—hollow and long and vastly lonely—but Dean didn’t need to know that. “What’s complicated?”

He’d sighed into the speaker. “I said I’d tell you later-“

“Are you safe?”

There had been a long pause of static noise. You’d been about to check if the call dropped—Bobby didn’t really get great reception—when Dean spoke again. His voice had sounded soft.

It had been worrying.

“I’m alright,” he’d whispered your name, and your grip on the phone had tightened. “It’s- There’s a lot going on right now.”

You’d frowned into the air, the White making a pathetic noise like it could convince you to take a car and just go. Go to Dean—you didn’t even know where he was—and try to help him with whatever was a lot, when you’d probably end up making it worse. You always made things worse.

You might have also destroyed a tree. And a mailbox. And a good part of the road.

Dean clears his throat, his tone almost nervous through the speaker. “Where are you?”

“Me?”

He chuckled. “Yeah, unless there’s someone else on the phone I should know about-“

“Shut up.” You’d rolled your eyes, sitting up in your seat as an engine sounded outside. “Shit.”

“Where’s Shit-“

“No, that’s not- Sorry, Dean, I have to go-“

“Why?” Through the phone, you hadn’t been able to tell if that was his worried voice or angry voice. “Are you-“

“I’m alright, I just-“

“Where the hell are you-“

“I’m home, in South-“ You’d cut yourself off with an internal grimace. Fucking Dean and his way of making you accidentally say too much of the truth all the time, even over the phone. “Park.”

“Isn’t that a TV show?”

Shit. Dean mostly watched children’s cartoons, daytime soap operas in motels, and really old movies. You hadn’t expected him to know that.

“No?”

“Why are you asking me-“

“Shut up. I really have to go-“

“Alright, alright, just, if you’re not busy, we’re near Pittsburgh, and we could use your help.”

You’d frowned, taking careful steps up to your room, praying that Bobby wouldn’t immediately start looking for you when he got inside. “I don’t think John would want my help-“

“Not Dad.” Dena had sighed, and you could picture him running his hand over his face. “Sammy.”

You’d frozen, the door not fully closed. “Your brother? He’s done with college?”

“Yeah. I mean, no. Kind of. It’s-“

“Don’t say complicated.”

“Uh,” he’d paused. “Complicated.”

“Dean-“

“I couldn’t think of another word! What the hell else-“

“Messy? Confusing? Complex?”

“You know Princess, you’re really annoying-“

You’d scoffed. “That’s no way to talk your very good friend and possible savior. Message me where to meet you.”

“So you’re coming?”

“Yeah.” You’d grinned into the air, keeping an ear on the door as Bobby shuffled around downstairs. “I want to meet your brother.”

Dean had groaned. “You know, you’ve met him before-“

“Doesn’t count. I want to actually talk to him this time.”

“Fucking- Fine, but no funny business, or asking him stupid questions.”

You’d hummed. “No.”

He’d snapped your name into the phone, right as Bobby had called it from downstairs, and you really did have to go. 

“See you soon, Deano.”

You’d hung up, and barely a second later Bobby had knocked on your door.

“Hey,” he’d grunted you name, and you were pretty sure he hadn’t heard anything. “You in there?”

“Yeah, wait-“ You’d checked your hand and glanced in the mirror—no bite marks or scratches, the only evidence of your pain living inside where Bobby couldn’t see it—and opened the door with your best nothing’s wrong smile. “Welcome home, old man.”

Bobby had scoffed, scanned over you with narrowed eyes, and then met your gaze with a small, tight smile. “Ain’t I the one who’s supposed to- shit-“

You’d wrapped him in a tight hug, squeezing him and letting out the long breath you always held when you left. It was an oath you kept trying to keep for yourself, that you’d always come back home because you had to let out that breath. That the highways were long, and the nights were lonely, and the Darkness kept building and building inside you—sinking deeper and deeper into the White until there was always some part of you that strained and screamed from the pain of trying to pry them apart—but you had a home to come back to, and one person who’d never call you a burden.

Because you’ve grown sicker. You only grow sicker. You only destroy more and more things, and the Darkness only slips away from you with more ease, but Bobby doesn’t give up on you. 

The demons began, and they won’t stop coming, but Bobby doesn’t give up on you. 

Dozens of demons, more and more every month, ever since that one demon you’d killed for Dean. You don’t know why. You don’t know what beacon lit up inside of you, what’s calling every single fucking demon in America to come and find you wherever you went, but they are. They do.

It's been random. Gas stations and grocery stores, on random hunts and waiting for you near your car. It’s worse when you’re alone. When the Darkness and the pain get overwhelming to the point that you’re barely you anymore, and you end up curled in a bathtub, breathing heavy through your nose. Your clothing in a pile of the floor because it aches to touch something as sick as you, the whole room disgustingly clean because you can feel the grime itch and rot at your skin, your rings on the sink because the pain of the iron sears over your ribs and organs.

And then you’ll force yourself up to go get some coffee, and the barista will have something black and malevolent and glinting writhing inside of Her.

They almost never attack. It’s more terrifying, because you’ll feel an overwhelming sense of wrong, and you’ll yank everything down with a bite on your inner cheek, and there will be the demon.

Just watching you. Smiling at you, following you for day, and then vanishing when you skip town.

Then there’s him. He’s the worst of them all. He’s more like fog, burning and glinting inside his vessel’s body. He’s yellow like sulfur or acid, and keeps appearing when you turn a corner. Passing you in the street and nodding at you in a bar, like he knows you.

He never approaches. He never attacks. He just watches, like you’re a specimen. Everything that’s wrong inside of you his worse inside of him. Potent. Eroding.

Terrifying.

And Bobby knows. Not about the yellow demon, or how the whole thing started, but that you don’t really sleep anymore because you’re afraid the night will take form and go for your throat. That you’re on more and more hunts because it’s distracting from how the Darkness always strangles the White when you’re static and useless. That all the pain has gotten far worse over these past few months. 

Although he does think that’s unexplainable. He doesn’t know it’s because you’re always alone when you’re gone, and the only reminder of Dean is his voice on your phone and his knife in your jacket. 

But Bobby still doesn’t give up on you. He made you create a plan for when the Darkness—inevitably, although neither of you would say it aloud—takes over and you aren’t able to drag yourself down in time. He still tells you to just come home and stay there every single day. And if Bobby was going to give up on you, he would have long ago. He wouldn’t return your hug with a long sigh and mutter your name like you were something important to him, instead of a leech. 

“Welcome back, kiddo.” He’d grunted, and when he pulled back and gave you one last firm look, you knew he was checking for damage one last time. “Chimera go down easy?”

You’d flinched, the beast’s shrieks of pain still echoing around your head, and Bobby had frowned.

“You have another-“

“Yeah.” You’d whispered. “Big one.” 

Bobby had sighed, rubbing his jaw as he gave you another assessing look. “Anythin’ unfixable?”

You’d shaken your head. “I would’ve called you, but I wasn’t that far, and I’d finished the hunt anyway.” 

Bobby had opened his mouth, worry painted on his features, but you’d known what he was going to ask. It was the same fear that haunted you. 

“Nobody saw me.”

He’d nodded, letting out a long sigh. “Alright, but you’re gonna need to be more careful. Our luck ain’t gonna last forever, and when someone does get wind-“

“I’ll call you, then Rufus, throw all my phones off a bridge and abandon whatever car I was driving. Go one town over from wherever I am and lock down until either you or Rufus comes to get me.” You’d given Bobby a soft smile. “I know the drill. I helped you make it.”

Bobby had rolled his eyes. “Cool it, smartass. How long are you stayin’ this time?”

You’d given him an apologetic, tight-lipped smile. “Dinner?”

“That’s it?”

“I’ve got another hunt.” You’d mumbled, and Bobby had frowned.

“You need a rest,” Bobby had grunted your name, and you’d swallowed. “Ya’ look like shit.”

“Hey-“

“I ain’t gonna lie to you. When the hell was the last time you slept a whole night?”

You couldn’t remember. 

But you really wanted to go see Dean. You missed him. You missed laughing and talking to him, and you were worried about him. And couldn’t tell Bobby that, because then you’d have to tell Bobby that you’ve actually been hunting with Dean for about two years when he’d specifically told you not to.

“A few days ago.” You’d shrugged, twisting a ring on your finger. “I’ll be okay, and I can come right back after this one.”

Bobby had sighed. “Where would you be headin’.”

“Pennsylvania.” 

“And you’re stickin’ around for dinner.”

You’d nodded, and Bobby hadn’t pushed further. You’d eat dinner with him, spoken about anything that didn’t make him look concerned and your whole body only pain, and climbed into the car with another silent promise to come back.

And you were holding your breath again. But this was a three-person hunt. A three-person hunt with Dean. 

You’d be fine.

He’s sent you to one of the usual, generic strip motels. Crowded lot, beige paint, cracked sidewalks, and stiff, square bushes lining the building. You’ve barely stepped out onto the pavement when a door slams, and there he is. Bags under his eyes weren’t there last time you saw him, a small bruise on his cheek that seems about a week old, but still grinning. Still impossibly handsome, still making the White buck and hum and ease into the Darkness, still not yours to ask for.

And really happy to see you. You’ve seen Dean’s fake smile.

This one is real.

He shouts your name, and you’re long past trying to fight your own smile at the sound of him saying it. At the sight of him jogging towards you, nothing but genuine joy on his face that you’re here.

And then he hugs you, and you’re not sure this isn’t a dream. Dean never hugs you anywhere but in your dreams. In real life he always grins at you and shoves his hands into his pockets, the most contact he offers being a nudge of your shoulder with his, or a drag of your body away from danger. But this is a hug. This is his arms wrapped around your shoulders, his body pressed right up to yours, and it’s so quick that you don’t have a chance to really return it before he’s gone.

Dean’s eyes are wide on yours as he steps back, and there’s more red near his ears than usual. His hands go in his pockets, you stand a little taller, and both of you stare at each other for a long, strange second before you find your voice.

“Hi.”

“Uh,” Dean clears his throat, glancing over his shoulder before looking back to you. “Hey. Good to see you.”

“Yeah, you too.” You wrap your arms around your body, and suddenly there’s a ghost of a strong, warm body pressed to yours. Dean had hugged you, and it was far worse than just his hand. It had branded on something deeper under your skin, sinking down into the White, bleeding into the Darkness until everything was silver, and you were a little dizzy.

And you’re just staring at each other. You want to hug Dean again. He’d been warm and tangible, and he’d touched you on purpose and it had sent lighting through your blood and up your spine, and you can’t tell if your skin is prickling from the silence or the need to just go touch him

“Dean!” A loud, annoyed voice cuts through the air, and you look over Dean’s shoulder to see a tall, shaggy-haired man walking out of the motel. “You left the fucking door open, dude, you can’t just-“

The man stops, blinking at you, and you offer him a small smile. That’s Sam. He’s somehow taller, and his face isn’t babyish and innocent anymore, but you recognize him. 

And he seems to recognize you, because his words are slow, and his gaze never leaves yours.

“Dean?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Don’t start, Sammy, I closed the door-“

“No, you didn’t. But that’s not what I-“ Sam glares at Dean, gesturing to you “Is she your contact?” 

“No, she’s my hooker- fuck-“

You whack Dean’s arm, and Sam’s eyes widen.

“I am not a hooker-“

“Obviously, Princess, hookers are supposed to be nice-“

“I’m nice!”

Dean gives you a flat look. “You just freakin’ hit me!”

“Because you called me a hooker, Winchester.” You wrinkle your nose at him, crossing your arms. “And, just so we’re clear, if I was a hooker, you wouldn’t be able to afford me.”

Dean’s jaw twitches slightly, and you frown, because he’s not sparring back. He’s supposed to spar back. The strange, hanging tension from the hug is gone—he probably hadn’t even felt it deep in his body like you had, he’d probably just been awkward because you’d been too dazed from his contact to hug him back—so Dean’s supposed to make a joke about working out another form of payment, and wiggle his brows at you in a way he doesn’t know always makes you fall a little further into him. Makes your skin warm and the world technicolor. 

But he’s just looking at you, and there’s something taut flashing behind his eyes. You open your mouth to apologize—to ask what you said because you know you’re bad at understanding the line, yet Dean always seems okay crossing it with you—but Sam clears his throat, and Dean turns away.

The White aches. You don’t have time to indulge it.

“So she is the contact.” Sam raises his brows, and Dean scowls at him.

“Obviously.” He mutters, and when he looks back to you the taut thing seems fainter. Buried down where you’re not sure you’re supposed to see it.

But you do. And it taints those fractured pieces through your body. Makes them wither and balk, because you struck something in Dean again, and you don’t ever really know how to stop.

Dean says your name, offering you a smaller smile than before. It’s still real. You’ll have to cling to the fact that it’s still real. “This my brother, Sammy-“

“Sam. It’s Sam.”

Dean shrugs. “Sure, whatever-“

“No, not whatever.” Sam frowns. “It’s bad enough you won’t stop calling me Sammy, I don’t need everyone we meet-“

“You two have actually met before-“

“Yeah, I remember. And Dad said that-“

Dean shoots Sam a sharp look, Sam snaps his mouth shut, and everything start to get too big as the Darkness vaults up to the surface. John had said something about you. He wasn’t here, but he’d told Sam and Dean something, and Sam didn’t look all that happy to see you. He wasn’t turning any weapons on you, but he and Dean were exchanging a silent conversation, and you were caving in as the world expanded. You could feel the bite of the wind on the trees, and the thirst of the yellowing grass around you, and fuck, you could taste bile in your throat because the Darkness was starting to rot in your stomach as you forced it down-

Sam says your name, and you almost don’t hear it over the ringing in your ears. “Is she good-“

“Yeah, shit- just-“ Dean places one hand on your shoulder, waving the other in your face. “Hey, Princess, come back down-“

He’s close. His hand is solid on your body. He smells like grass and spice. 

His thumb has moved to the bridge of your nose, stroking a slow line that moves the Darkness back into the cavity of your chest. Makes everything clear, even as the pain lingers. 

You let out a long breath, offering Dean a small smile. “Thank you.”

Something flashes in his eyes, and your breath is heavy in your lungs. Every time this happens, you worry he’ll snap. That he’ll demand more answers than you can offer, and his it’s probably just a girl thing will come to a crashing end as he puts together that it’s a you thing. And just you isn’t worthy of him wasting time on.

But this one doesn’t seem to be it. Dean’s lips press in a small pout, and he scans over your face, but he doesn’t push. 

“You good?”

“I’m fine,” you shrug him off, making your voice as casual as possible. “Just a long drive. It’s nice to meet you, Sam. Again.”

“Yeah, you too.” Sam offers you a tight-lipped smile. “Dean said you could help us out with this?”

You nod. “Well, he didn’t what this is, but-“

Sam cuts you off with a groan, shooting Dean a frown. “Dude, you didn’t tell her the details of the case?”

“C’mon, it’s not my job to be a freakin’ database or whatever-“

“You still need to tell her what the case is, Dean, what if she can’t help-“

“I can help.” You snap, and Sam sighs.

“Look, I’m not doubting you, but this one is really complicated-“

“Good.” You raise your chin up, holding Sam’s gaze. “That’s my specialty.”

Dean clears his throat, looking between you and Sam with a weary expression. “It is, Sammy. She’ll get this. And you know we need the extra hands.”

Sam sighs, shaking his head. “Okay, fine. But you’re the one who’s explaining the case, Dean. You were supposed to anyway.”

Dean rolls his eyes at you as Sam turns around, and suddenly it’s all clear and bright again. You don’t know how he does that, how he stitches everything inside you together when it starts to rip. You need to figure it out and bottle it up. How to use it on command, because this might be a long case. Sam doesn’t seem to want you here, or like you all that much, and John told them something. They haven’t killed you, but John told them something. And Dean might be strangely willing to just dismiss your episodes, but you catch Sam’s odd look as you walk into their motel room. He seems a bit sharper than Dean, a little more on edge, a little more guarded and cautious.

So you need to be careful. You need to keep it the fuck together, by yourself.

And you’re a little worried that’s not possible.

Dean gestures for you to sit in a creaking, wooden chair—Sam watching you both from across a round table—and claps his hands together as he begins.

“So, we’ve got five dead ladies, three in their twenties, one in her thirties, and one hag-“

You raise your brows at him. “Hag?”

“Yeah, she was like a million. Wrinkly. Right, Sammy?”

Sam shrugs, shaking his head. “I would’ve just said old, man.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Fine, old. Point is, different ages. Different races too, and jobs, and social circles. We’ve been investigating for about a week, even broke into the vic's houses and went through their rooms. No connection between the vics outside of all being chicks, no deep dark secret, fucking nothing.”

You frown at him. “Like the mall.”

“Kind of, yeah, but these ladies are all going down the same way.” Dean points to his head. “Bashed in brains.”

“Gross.” You mutter, running a hand through your hair as you think. “Where are they dying?”

“Same office building.” Sam says, sliding some papers across the table. “Different floors, though. Four of the vics were employees, but one was just visiting her boyfriend.”

You nod slowly, scanning over the files. “And why isn’t it a ghost?”

“Because we figured out who the ghost should be.” Dean leans over you, tapping another one of the files. You can feel the heat from his body, and it makes your gut warm. You need to get it the fuck together. “Maggie Robins. Got her brains bashed in by her husband, Joey, in his office after she found out he’d been cheating on her with her best friend. Son of a bitch offed himself and the mistress right after.”

“Yikes.”

“Oh yeah. But here’s the fucked part-“

“Maggie’s body was cremated.” Sam jumps in, and Dean glares at him. “And all primary possessions were auctioned off by the police. We triple checked the whole office building, and were only a few things left in Joey’s office, for evidence, but nothing that important.”

You raise your brows. “What are we constituting as important?” “Personal valuables.” Sam says, frowning at you. “All that was left were some pens, generic wall art, and makeup-“ “Perfume.” Dean corrects, and Sam nods.

“Yeah, perfume-“ He pauses, turning to Dean with a dry, amused look. “Why’d you remember perfume?”

“I’m observant.” Dean snaps, looking down to you with a shrug. “It was perfume, Princess.”

“Yeah, I’ll make a note.” You smile at him, Dean smiles back, and when you glace back to Sam his expression is strained. Unreadable.

You’ll have to worry about that later.

“So,” you sift through the papers, tearing slightly at the corners. “Not a ghost. Have there been other signs?”

“Flickering lights,” Dean drops into the last chair, watching you with a gaze that seems to sear into your bones. “Few people said they’ve heard moans and screams when no one was there, and a janitor told us he’s been wiping up ghost blood, but-“

“Oh, okay. It’s an onryo.” 

You lean back in your chair, crossing your arms, and Sam and Dean exchange surprised look.

“It’s a…” Sam blinks at you. “It’s a what?”

“Onryo.” You shrug, tucking your knees into your chest. “Japanese vengeance ghost, born from a really violent death that was emotionally charged, often because of a betrayal.”

“Shit.” Dean mutters. “Betrayal like your husband fucking your best friend.”

“Exactly.” You grin at him, and you could swear he puffs his chest out as he grins back.

“I told you she’d get it, Sammy-“

“Yeah, you’re a genius.” Sam’s voice is dry as he pulls the papers back across the table, his attention on you still weary. “You’re sure?”

“Positive. Did the janitor tell you he kept finding blood in random places, and it would vanished when he tried to clean it?”

Dean nods, you give Sam a pointed look, and Sam sighs.

“Fine. If it’s an onryo, how are we supposed to kill it?”

You hum, tilting your head at the air. “There should be a special kind of exorcism, but I’ve never actually done one before.”

Sam frowns. “Then how do you know-“

“My dad dealt with an onryo once.” You shrug. “And I’ve read a lot about them.”

Something flashes in Sam’s eyes, he tenses in his seat, and it makes your hold on the Darkness go slack.

He doesn’t trust you. 

Maybe he can see everything that’s wrong with you. Dean may have grown blind to it, but Sam hasn’t, and he might be able to see the rotting sickness that covers your whole body. He might not want you anywhere near him, or his brother. He doesn’t seem like John—from what Dean’s told you about him, Sam doesn’t even seem to like his father all that much—but you can’t shake the wired strain that Sam Winchester just doesn’t trust you.

“Your dad.” Sam’s voice is cautious, his eyes narrowed. “The hunter.”

You’re not sure why he says hunter like that. Like it’s a bomb that’s set to go off. 

“Yeah. The hunter.” You glance at Dean, who’s rigid in his seat, glowering at Sam. “Are you guys good?”

“We’re fine.” Dean snaps, and Sam gives him an odd, tight look.

“Dean-“

“We’re good, Sammy.” Dean turns back to you, and you’re really not sure what’s happening. No guns are pressed to your brow, but there’s a heated, brittle wire hanging over all your heads, and the Darkness is starting to slip through your fingers. Not breaching out—not as you dig your nails into your skin, and bite through your cheek—but brimming right on the surface. On edge. 

Waiting for a snap.

It doesn’t come. Dean gives you a winning grin and Sam keeps frowning between you both, but nothing snaps. Not when Sam double-checks how sure you are it’s an onryo, and you say you’d bet a lot on it, because you would. Not when Dean suggests you all go figure out exactly what the onryo ritual is, and you and Sam look at him like he’s sprouted a second head. Not when Dean insists you all drive together, and you both try to protest—almost certainly for different reasons—but ultimately lose to Dean’s dramatic saving the trees and team spirit speech.

“Still no gun, Princess?” Dean hangs over your shoulder as you sort through your bag, and you shoot him a glare.

“Is the knife no longer good enough for you?”

“No.” He shrugs. “Not when you’ve been hunting alone.”

“Because you’ve been busy.” You raise your brows at him, and he sighs.

“Yeah, I know, it’s… Complex.”

Your lips twitch slightly. “Good job.”

“Shut up.” He rolls his eyes, but the air feels a little lighter, and the White is blending into the Darkness as it’s only you and Dean.

But it’s not only you and Dean. And Sam doesn’t seem to want you here. And it’s complex.

“You don’t have to explain it to me,” you mutter, tucking your knife into your jacket. “And I did my job, I’m sure you can do the rest without me.”

“Do you want us to do the rest without you?”

You turn to fully face him, and he looks guarded. Standing a little too tall, his hands seeming to be fisted in his jacket, watching you wearily. Like you might lash out, or explode.

Something’s really off with him. He hasn’t looked at you like that in years. 

He hasn’t looked at you like that since you last saw him with John.

“I don’t have anything else to do.” You mumble, watching him carefully. “And I’m already here.”

“Awesome.” Dean’s shoulders relax slightly, and he nods his head away from your car, deeper into the parking. “C’mon.”

You sigh. “I really can drive myself-“

“Nope. We’re sticking together.” His hand finds your back, and all you can do is let him moves you deeper into the parking lot. “You’ve gotta meet my car, Princess.”

“I have met your car-“

“Doesn’t count. You’re actually gonna ride in her this time.”

Dean’s grin is shit-eating. You’re not sure if you want to punch or kiss him.

“Shut up.”

“Nah.” Dean stops in the center of the lot, saying your name with a smirk. “Meet Baby.”

The Impala looks the exact same as before, save for a sour-faced, taller Sam Winchester sitting in shotgun, glaring between you and Dean. He scowls the whole time Dean guides you into the back bench, and refuses to look at you when Dean closes the door.

You clear your throat, watching Dean move around the hood of the car. “Hi, Sam.”

He grunts, and you sigh, slipping off your shoes.

“It’s good to see you.” You try again, because silence with Dean is like soft music, but silence like this is suffocating. “You look, uh-“

“Taller.” Sam grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. “Yeah, I know-“

“I was going to say good.” You mumble, hugging your knees to your chest. “Not like a kid anymore.”

Sam’s eyes shoot to yours in the rearview mirror, you offer him a small smile, and his mouth opens right as Dean drops into the driver’s seat.

“Hey,” Dean turns in his seat, snapping your name. “No shoes on my car.”

You roll your eyes, gesturing to your feet. “I’m not wearing shoes.” 

“Oh.” He blinks between you and your socks. “Good.”

“I’m not an idiot, Winchester. And I’d rather not be murdered because I messed with the only lady in your life-“

“Shut up.” Dean rolls his eyes, turning back to start the engine, and right before he adjusts the mirror you catch Sam glancing you at again, a small frown on his face.

“You guys were gone for a while.” Sam says, mostly looking at Dean. “How long can it take to grab a gun?”

Dean scoffs. “Wouldn’t know, Sammy. Her majesty doesn’t hunt with guns.”

“Doesn’t hunt with-“ Sam blinks at you, his face painted in disbelief. “You don’t use a gun?”

You sigh. “No.”

“What do you use?”

You open your jacket to show him your knife, and Sam raises his brows.

“That’s it? I mean, how do you kill anything-“

“With talent.” Dean mutters, and you don’t appreciate how accurate his impression of you sounds. “I’d never use one anyway-“

“I wouldn’t use it. And someone,” You punch the back of Dean’s seat, and he huffs. “Has a lot of unwelcome options about that-“

“Because it’s stupid.” He grumbles, and you roll your eyes.

“You know, for someone who’s so annoyed about me not having a gun, you sure did buy me a knife.” 

You can hear the scowl in Dean’s voice. “You wouldn’t have taken the gun. You barely took the knife.“ 

“I could still throw it out-“ 

“Nope. You pinky promised.” 

You smirk as Dean sits up slightly—hearing his own words—and Sam gives him an incredulous look. 

“You pinky promised?

“It’s- She was being annoying-“

“He had to admit he was worried about me.” You tell Sam, leaning forward in your seat with a grin. “And that he thinks Charlie’s Angelsis the best movie ever made.” 

“I- I do not fucking think that-“ 

You giggle, rolling your eyes at Sam, who’s looking at you like you just fell  from space. “He’s still in denial.” 

“I am not-“ 

“It’s okay, Deano.” You pat his shoulder, and he shoots you a glare that doesn’t really reach his eyes. “We all still think you’re very tough.” 

The words leave your mouth, Dean rolls his eyes and grumbles about not even knowing why he called you, and some sort of dam seems to break in Sam. All of his cautious, pricking hostility vanishes into thin air, and he twists to fully look at you with an open expression.

In that moment, he does look more like the kid you met in the motel. Curious and not quite in awe of you, but something close. Something similar. 

“Dean said you were on at hunt before this?”

You run your thumb over your palm, tilting your head at Sam as you try to work out how much you can say. “Yeah, I was just stopping there after I finished up a Chimera hunt.”

Sam’s eyes widen. “A- Those are real?”

“Tragically, yeah.”

Dean raises his brows at you in the mirror. “Tragically?”

“They’re mean.” You shrug. “And shit a lot.”

Sam makes a face, but doesn’t turn away. “Had you hunted one before that?”

“No, I think they’re pretty rare outside of like, Greece-“

“But you killed this one, right?”

You nod, and Sam looks like he’s going to fall out of his seat. You’re not really sure what’s happening.

“How?”

“Um…” You twist a ring on your finger as your voice trails off, because you’d killed the Chimera with the Darkness. Let it rush out of your body and infect everything around you, until the Chimera exploded in a disgusting rain of blood. But you can’t really say that, so you go with how you’d planned to kill the Chimera. “I impaled it.”

“Like in the myth?”

“Exactly like in the myth.” You grin at Sam, and you’ve never seen someone so big look seven years old. “Bellerophon.”

“Bless you.” Dean mutters, and Sam gives his brother a look of exasperated disappointment. 

“No, dude, Bellerophon is the slayer of the Chimera in Greek mythology. He impales it in the mouth, using the Pegasus.”

“I don’t need to know why impaling worked-“

“Because of the angle.” You offer, ignoring Dean’s glare in the mirror. “It melts the spear with its fire-breath, and then it suffocates.”

“Yeah, that’s cool, but I still don’t-“

“What did you do with the body?” Sam interrupts, leaning forward to keep talking to you, and Dean seems to be pouting at the road.

Dean ends up pouting for most of the day, because after you lie about how you’d disposed of the Chimera—once again employing the very useful tactic of what you’d meant to do—Sam starts to ask about other things you’ve hunted, and how you’d killed them, and what you’ve learned about monsters overall. It lasts from the car and into the library, through almost the entirety of your research, and Dean barely gets a word in, only sulking over a book as Sam shares their own hunts. You decide not to comment on it when Sam says curses can’t be broken, because you’re positive that’s not true but you can’t say why, and answer all of Sam’s questions about alternative ways to deal with various spirits and monsters.

You’re shocked he remembered you telling John that.

You’re baffed as to why he’s suddenly treating you like a friend to catch up with, instead of whatever he’d thought you were before. You’re not really sure want to know what he thought of you before. Not when it’s suddenly changed to something far better.

“You’re afraid of flying?” You raise your brows at Dean, and he scowls. 

“I don’t trust it.” He mutters, turning a page so aggressively you’re worried he’ll tear it. “It’s high, and loud, and pointless. People belong on the ground.”

You hum. “What about boats?”

Dean shoots you a glare, you just grin at him, and his lips twitch slightly. You won.

“We dealt with a guy on a boat too.” Sam looks up from his own book, a slight frown on his face. “But that was kind of a bummer. Did you know spirits could possess water?”

You did know that. A powerful enough, angry enough spirit can possess most anything. But you only nod, because you’re mostly looking at Dean. Sunken into his chair, still mostly pouting, glaring at his book like it’s just insulted his car. You’ve never seen him act like this—silent, barely offering a comment or glance up at you and Sam, mostly pretending to read and fidgeting with his pen—and it makes the White spin and whine.

“Hey, De.”

You nudge his calf under the table, and he looks up at you with a frown.

“I’m hungry.”

“We passed a cafe on the way in,” Sam offers, and Dean raises his brows at you.

“You heard him.” He looks back to his book. “Go eat.”

You frown at him, even as the White bucks around inside of you. He’s not moving, or asking for food, or making fun of you for asking permission to go eat. Something’s off. Something’s been off, and you don’t know how to fix it—you don’t know how to fix anything—but you can’t stand how Dean’s silence is eating at your throat and lungs. You’re really going need to learn how to control his effect on you.

But not right now. 

“Do you want anything?”

Dean glances up at you again, something odd flashing in his eyes. “Me?”

“Yeah, you, dumbass-“

“Get me a burger.”

You give him a flat look. “It’s a cafe.”

“Whatever. Just figure something out.”

He still doesn’t move, or stop frowning. The moment you cheer him up, you’re going to kill him.

“Winchester.”

He grunts your name, and you glare at him as you continue.

“Where’s the cafe.”

“I dunno, ask Sammy.”

“Down the street.” Sam’s eyes bounce between you and Dean, a small frown on his face. “Just go straight, then to the left.”

You nod, giving Sam a thankful smile. “You want anything?”

Sam shakes his head, and you look back to Dean.

“Dean.”

That gets his full attention, and it seems to burn right into your body.

“I’m going by myself.” You rise to your feet, giving him a challenging look. “And I’m not good at directions. I might end up at the grocery store, and come back with carrots.” 

Dean narrows his eyes at you, but Sam just shrugs. 

“Actually, carrots sound-“

“C’mon, Princess.” Dean cuts off a surprised Sam with short words, pushing his chair back. “You’re paying.” 

Sam calls after you that he’ll call you if he finds anything, but you don’t really hear him. Not as Dean lowers his voice and leans down to your ear. His breath is warm. You might fall over.

“You’re really determined to get me to eat, sweetheart. Should I be worried?”

You hum. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dean Winchester.”

He clicks his tongue, and he’s grinning again. You won. “Full name. What did I do?”

“Sulk like a baby for an hour?” You raise your brows at him, and he’s a lot closer than you thought. You can count all his freckles. They’re kind of like stars. 

You can feel his breath on your face when he laughs. It’s warm, and smells like coffee and mint.

His body is like a furnace, and it’s melting everything to silver inside of you.

You’re losing your mind. 

“I can still kick you out of this hunt, you know.” He drawls, and you shrug, trying not to think about how Dean’s hand on your back shifts with the movement.

“Good luck with that.”

“It’s my hunt-“

“It’s your and Sam’s hunt.” You correct. “I think I’d have his vote to stay.”

“You would.” Dean lets out a dry chuckle, and you don’t even realize you’d made it to the cafe until Dean’s suddenly stops walking, and you’re waiting in a short line. “Fucking nerds.”

“That’s rude.” You shove his arm, and everything feels color when he laughs, and it’s real. There’s still something tight and coiled in his eyes as you make it to the counter and order, but he’s not slumping anymore, so you’re going to push it.

You’re going to ask what the hell is happening. Why he hasn’t been hunting with you, why Sam’s back, where John is, and why he’s been so strange. You turn your drink between your hands as Dean grabs the food—frowning at his empty seat and rehearsing your question in your head—and the moment he sits down you-

“Dad’s missing.” 

You blink at him. “What?”

“Our dad.” Dean mutters, sliding your food across the table. “He’s missing. And not just one of those longer hunts, we’ve been looking for months and he’s… Just gone.”

“Shit.” You mutter, pieces sliding together in your brain as Dean’s words sink in. “Where have you checked?”

“His last case. And we got activity on his phone, but…” He trails off with a shake of his head, not fully meeting your eyes. “We can’t fucking find him, and Sammy’s- He’s not doing well.”

You nod, and wait for Dean to continue. If you say something, you might say the wrong thing, because you don’t give a fuck if John Winchester is missing or dead or just on a bender. You’re breathing a little easier just from the knowledge that you can be here, and it won’t end in a bullet through your brain.

But Dean gives a fuck about John. And you—despite your best judgement and all rational reason—give a fuck about Dean. You give a fuck that he’s been so off because his Dad’s missing, that there seems to be something a little heavier in his eyes and on his shoulders than the last time you saw him, that you can almost taste his bitter, taut worry for Sam. 

You give a fuck that he’s telling you at all. That whatever he sees when he looks at you, it’s bright enough that he’d trust you with anything at all.

So you’ll bite your tongue, and let him keep going when he’s ready.

Dean draws in another long breath. “You can’t tell Sam I told you this.” He mutters. “I- We’ve barely talked about it, and he doesn’t know you, and it’s really fucking complicated-“

“Dean.” 

His eyes meet yours, and the guarded expression is back. It’s not your job to break through it. It’s not your job to do anything for Dean, but you want to. His tension seems to be moving into your body and making your muscles and organs sore, the Darkness is twisting and coiling in your body to find something to break. Churning until you let it flood out, pushing at the White in a way that makes you feel a little sick. 

You might as well find something to break for Dean, while he’s still here. While he hasn’t left, and everything feels big in a way that’s not suffocating and crushing.

“I won’t tell Sam.” You say, holding his gaze as you lean forward, raising your pinky. “Promise.”

Dean swallows, but takes your pinky and shakes it. “His girlfriend died. The same way our mom did, too, right after we lost the trail on Dad.”

“Your mom-“

“Burned on the ceiling.” Dean mutters. “We don’t know what did it, but Dad’s been hunting the son of a bitch since it happened, and then he vanishes, and it happens again? Right fucking after? That’s-“

“Not a coincidence.” You finish—letting out a long, slow breath—and Dean nods.

“Never a coincidence.”

You hum, frowning into the air as your head starts to kick into a high gear. This is just another case. Just another problem to solve that might call to you, a piece of the Darkness you could use. You can help with this. You can fix something. Dean’s isn’t guarded anymore—only sitting a little taller than usual, watching you carefully—and he’s still here. Dean’s still here, and he trusts you, and those fractured pieces in you are starting to stretch towards each other again. Bleeding through the Darkness in vibrant color as Dean holds your gaze, and you can help. 

If Dean wants your help. If he’d want you. 

The thought makes the White flash and sing. You need to keep it together.

“Is Sam okay?” You ask, your voice soft, and Dean sighs, rubbing his face.

“He’s not sleeping well. Thinks I haven’t noticed, but we share a damn room every night.”

You nod slowly. “Are you okay?”

Dean blinks at you, a small frown on his face. “Me?”

“Yeah, who else could I be asking-“

“I-“ Dean shakes his head, tapping his knuckles on the table. “I’m fine, Princess. Dad’s gonna turn up, and he’ll have a good reason for going off. Maybe he found what killed Mom, and he’s just waiting to grab us for help. Then we’ll get back to normal.”

You narrow your eyes. You don’t believe him. He’s still off, and the weight on him suddenly seems bigger now that you know where it’s coming from. But you’ve barely opened your mouth to push him when the little cafe doorbell rings, and Sam calls your name.

“I got it!” He stops at the side of your table, looking between you and Dean with a wide grin. “It’s called a harae, ritual purification. We just need to build a shrine and learn the words.”

You take the book Sam passes into your hands, scanning over the pages as Dean gives Sam a pat on the back.

“Nice one, Sammy. Once we gank this bitch, we’ll get you nice treat as a reward for good work-“

“Fuck off, jerk.“ Sam shoves Dean’s arm away in your periphery, and Dean just laughs.

“Hey, Dean?” You look up with a frown, turning the book for him to read. 

He doesn’t. He just says your name and stares at you, and it’s not really helpful. “What’s up?”

“You guys did interviews, right?”

He nods. “I did a lot while Sam was looking at the office. Looked at all the vics and our suspects.” He frowns. “I lost rock, paper, scissors.”

Sam laugh. “Again.”

“Shut up, bitch-“

“You’re the one who lost, Dean, it’s not my fault you suck-“

“I do not suck, you just play fucking mind games-“

“Winchester. Pay attention.” You give him a stern glare and kick under the table, and he scowls at you.

“Sammy started it-“

“I don’t care.” You tap the book, pushing it closer to him. “If you did the interviews, I need you to write down a list of things people said about our onryo, and get some stuff for the shrine. It will work better if it’s in closer relation to who Maggie Robins was in life.”

“Why do I have to do it-“

“Apparently because you suck at rock, paper, scissors.” You shrug, looking up to Sam. “We can go back to the motel, learn the ritual, and hopefully kill this thing by tonight.”

It takes another five minutes to get Dean to agree, and he’s still scowling when he drops you and Sam back at the motel, but it’s not heavy anymore. He’s not silent either, grumbling the whole way about being saddled with freakin’ shopping duty, and shouting that he better not come back to find that you and Sam threw a party while he was gone. 

Then it’s just you and Sam. Alone. Speaking chopped and stilted Japanese, giving each other odd looks as you adjust to the shift.

It’s not hard to be alone with Sam. He’s nice, easy to talk to, and doesn’t seem to have nearly as much fun pushing your button as Dean does. But it’s still strange. He keeps giving you odd looks and opening his mouth with a small frown, but shaking his head and shutting it. Your brain keeps spinning around what Dean told you, and how the Darkness seems... Off with Sam. His presence doesn’t blend it into Silver like Dean’s does, and it’s not volatile like with a monster or spirit, but it’s not normal. It’s turning and humming and beating into the White, like Sam is setting it off.

And you don’t even know what it is.

You excuse yourself to the bathroom when it starts to get overwhelming. When the Darkness starts to leak and your breathing has to be shallow to control it. Sam asks if you’re alright, and you just wave him off and lock the door behind you. Sinking onto the cold floor with your fingers squeezing at your throat, trying to drag it back down by force. It’s not enough. Whatever is happening is only feeding the Darkness, and it’s not dangerous but it could be. One wrong word, one accidental push, and you’d lose control in a second. You can feel lingering warmth of the sheets on Sam and Dean’s beds, and the ache of the creaking bathroom door, and the grime of tiles, sick and itching and all over your skin-

You bite down on the back of your hand, and everything falls back into you. You’re alright. You got through it. You always get through it. You’ll get through this hunt—rising to your feet and rubbing your face, checking in the mirror that no pain is visible—and you’ll help Dean, and everything will be alright. Maybe if you figure out what killed their mom, John won’t try to kill you when they find him. Maybe they won’t find him. Maybe you’ll be safe, and Dean could stick around for you, just for you because you’d helped him, helped his brother, and done it without breaking anything or losing control. Maybe you’d be able to tell him what’s wrong with you, and you’d have been good enough—done a good enough thing—that he wouldn’t call you a monster.

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.” You give Sam a small smile, twisting a ring on your finger as you walk back to the table. “Just had some sketchy road food yesterday. Happens to the best of us.”

Sam nods, and you think he bought it. Most people usually buy it. Even Bobby isn’t great at picking up your lies, because you’re careful and deliberate and practiced, and every lie you tell is purposeful and vital. A barrier to the horrid truth of how you’re always a little cancerous. 

You’re pretty sure the only person who sees past it is Dean. And that’s just another thing you’ve given up on hating him for.

“Do you know when Dean will be back?” You ask, because you can’t help yourself. You made the critical error of thinking of him, and suddenly the White is desperate for him to be close once more, and you’re too tired to fight it. 

“I dunno, probably soon.” Sam shakes his head, giving you another odd look. “Do you guys hunt together a lot?”

You hum, pulling another book from Sam’s stack. “Usually, yeah.”

“Usually?”

“We haven’t been on a hunt since October.” You shrug, and when glance up, Sam’s still staring at you.

“Has he been… Talking to you?”

“Yeah, uh, we call about once a week.”

“Dean calls you?”

You nod, frowning slightly. “That’s what I said, yeah.”

“Huh.” Sam’s looking at you like he did in the car. Like you’re an alien, or weird plant. It’s not hateful, and it doesn’t make the Darkness riot in defense, but it’s… unnerving. “How long have you guys been talking, again?”

“Uh,” you tilt your head, your brow furrowing slightly. “A little over two years?”

Sam makes a slight face. “Cool.”

It doesn’t sound cool. It sounds like Sam’s as confused as you are, which is unfair because you don’t even know what you’re confused about. All Sam should know is that Dean left you once, years passed, and now you’re friends. 

But maybe Sam knows why Dean left you. And he could tell you, and it could either mend all those shattered pieces lining your body in a single moment, or snap you entirely. At least if it snaps you this will be over. You won’t have to deal with the circling question of does Dean feel this too. Is he looking at you like that because he feels this. Is he still here—despite you being irrevocably you all the fucking time, despite John obviously hatred of you and what you are—because he feels this too.

“Hey, Sam-“

“Something’s not making-“ Sam’s eyes widen slightly as you speak over each other, and he raises his hands in an apologetic gesture. “Sorry, you first-“

“No,” you shake your head, keeping your desperate question lodged like a stone in your throat. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s not a big thing, just that it’s kind of strange that the onryo is going after only women.” Sam frowns at his book. “Everything I’ve found says they should either kill just about anyone in their path, or just target reminders of the person who wronged them. And with the whole cheating thing I’d imagine it would be men and women, not-“

“Just women.” You reach a hand out, and Sam passes you his book. “You’re right. If you’re sure it’s Maggie-“

“We’re sure.” Sam says, leaning back in his chair. “She had her brains bashed in exactly like all the vics. And the husband, actually.”

You pause. “And the husband?”

Sam nods, grimacing slightly. “The crime scene photos were really gross.”

“And…” You glance at the case files, still scattered on the table. “How did the mistress die?”

“Gunshot. The cops worked out that Maggie got her brains bashed by Joey, Joey shot his mistress-“

“What was the mistress’s name?”

“Uh, Becca. But-“

“And she was Maggie’s best friend?”

Sam nods, his brows drawing together as he starts to play catch up. “I think so, yeah. Dean said all the families were shocked that, uh, Becca would betray Maggie like that.”

You let out a long sigh, running a hand through your hair and giving Sam a disbelieving look. “Jesus fucking Christ, men are idiots.”

“Hey-“

“I’m back!” Dean bursts through the door, several plastic bags in hand. “Got all the shit, Princess. Looks like this Maggie chick even used the same-“

You hold up a hand, and Dean falls silent. “Sam, tell Dean what you just told me.”

“Uh,” Sam glances at Dean, who’s dropped down on the edge of his bed with a frown. “Becca-“

“Who the hell is Becca-“

“The mistress, dumb dumb.” You give Dean a glare, jerking your head at Sam. “Listen.”

Dean raises his hands in surrender, and Sam keeps going.

“Becca and Maggie were best friends, and you told me all the families were shocked about what happened.”

Dean nods. “Yeah, they all kept going on about how close those chicks were. Maggie’s mom said that Becca would stay with her when the husband was out of town on business.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh my god.”

“You got something you wanna say, sweetheart?“

“Not that you’ll want to hear, Deano.” You wrinkle your nose at him, even as a little bit of guilt eats at your throat. He’s gonna be pissed. “We need to start the ritual over.”

Dean blinks at you. “What.”

“Maggie isn’t the onryo.” You sigh, leaning back in your seat. “Joey is.”

Sam’s mouth falls open. “Fuck. That- It explains the targeting.”

“Yep.” You give him a tight smile. “And people don’t just bash their own brains in. Joey probably did kill Maggie, but then Becca killed Joey before shooting herself.”

Dean shakes his head, an adorable look of confusion on his face. “Why the hell would the douchebag get offed by his own mistress-“

“Because she wasn’t his mistress.” You say, and Dean just stares at you, his lips in a small pout that you want to bite.

“Huh?”

You exchange a look with Sam—who’s very poorly covering his snicker with a hand—and look back to Dean with a sigh. “Lesbians, Winchester. The mistress was the wife’s, not the husband’s.” 

“The- oh.” Dean goes red, scratching the back of his neck and looking anywhere but you. “Awesome. Good for them.”

You shrug. “I mean, they are both dead. But yeah, awesome.”

“For them.” Sam adds, letting out a long breath. “Not us. You’re right, we’re going to have scratch everything and work out how to do the ritual for Joey.”

“Fine.” Dean groans, kicking one of his bags. “But there’s no way in hell you’re making me do all those interviews again, Princess.“

You sigh, scratching at your fingers. “Sam, if you do the interviews, I can work out the MO to see if we can lure the onyro out, and Dean can make the ritual stick.”

Sam nods, looking back to a book, and Dean gapes at you.

“Ritual what?”

“Stick.”

“It’s a shaker made of paper.” Sam explains. “For the harae. It’ll be easy, dude.”

“And.” You give Dean a pointed look. “It’s either that or the interviews.”

Dean scowls, but relents with raise of his hands, and you grin at him.

“Great. We’ll have to wait for morning to do this, so, uh…” You trail off, frowning at your car out the window. You had really thought you’d be done by midnight. You can’t afford a motel room right now, and you don’t think Sam and Dean won’t notice you sleeping in your car. Bobby’s car. One of Bobby’s junkyard cars, which was in no way suitable for sleeping in. 

Dean says your name, and you turn your head on instinct alone. “You got a room?”

“Uh, no.” You glance back to your car. You can just drive it away, to a different lot, and make do. You know how to make do. “But I’ll find one, it’s fine-“

Sam shrugs, barely looking up from his book. “Just stay here.”

Heat rushes to your face, and you freeze in your chair. “What?”

“You can bunk with us, we’ve got the space.”

You can’t look at Dean. You and Dean don’t share a room. You don’t know why he’s never offered, but you know why you haven’t, and at this point it’s an unspoken rule.

But Dean’s not shutting Sam down, and the White has started to burst and glow at the idea of it. Of being closer.

You cannot share a room with Dean. It will destroy this. It will give you the opportunity to ruin your friendship with him, give you another place to fall further into him, provide another opportunity for the White to pull you closer and closer, down, down, down into Dean. 

“No, no it’s okay, I’m sure somewhere has a room-“

Dean cuts you off, and you’re going to go insane. “You can take my bed.” 

“It’s- it’s really fine-“

“No,” He says your name casually—like your brain and heart aren’t exploding—and pushes up off his mattress. “You’re doing us a solid, we can put you up. And I’ve shared with Sam before. I can deal with his Sasquatch starfishing.”

Sam glares up from his book. “I do not starfish-“

“But you are a Sasquatch?” 

Dean smirks at Sam, Sam flips him off, and the conversation seems to be over. Sam’s still reading. Dean’s kicking the bag and grumbling about stupid rituals.

But you’re frozen.Time isn’t really flowing, and the world isn’t really moving, because you have to talk your way out of this. You have to figure out what you can say so you can leave, without Sam and Dean being gentlemen and insisting you stay, or asking questions about why you’re so frantic to be anywhere but here.

And you’re not. Every single fiber of your existence wants to stay in this room, where it’s warm and demons might not find you. Your body wants to rest in Dean’s bed, because it will probably smell like grass and spice and Dean. Your fucking tongue keeps trying to move against your will, to suggest you and Dean just share a bed. 

And you’re strong enough to hold yourself back from that, but not from the rest of it. Not from the high that rushes through you when you give in, mumble that you’ll go get your bags from the car, and Dean insists on walking with you. You can’t stop your laugh from echoing through the parking lot at his stupid jokes, or the Darkness from moving out of you in a way that’s not painful. In a way where you can feel how calm the grass is in the quickly sinking twilight, or how soothing the gentle wind is to the tree branches.

Dean guides you back inside, and you stumble. Just a normal, boring trip over your own feet that Dean saves you from, catching you with firm hands and a laugh. 

He’s real, and he’s not gone. The streetlight over his head is casting a gold glow over his skin and hair, and everything about him seems fake—still far too pretty, made of gold but warm under your touch—but he’s real.

And he smiles at you. And that light flickers.

And you’re so fucked.

——————

Dean needed to get a grip. He needed to stop being a freaking creep, and act like a normal person.

He couldn’t. And he wasn’t going to figure out how to in one night. But he needed to, because there was no goddamn way She hadn’t cast some sort of spell on him, and not a chance in hell he was going to make it through the night without acting like She wasn’t only a few quick steps away.

She couldn’t be doing this on purpose. She’d have to be a demon or something, sent to torture Dean with Her… everything. To make him sit at the table while She showered just a room over—if Sam had given him one more amused look, Dean would’ve punched his lights out—and then come out of the bathroom with steam and light surrounding Her, like a beautiful, tempting nightmare. She’d grabbed a little, colorful bag—given Dean a smile because she must hate him—and vanished back into the bathroom.

She’d come out a little while later with soft, almost glowing skin and shiny hair Dean had wanted to touch. She’d passed him on her way to bed, and smelled like sugar and fruit.

The whole room had been surrounded with that fucking fruit smell. Dean had been losing his goddamn mind. 

He’d ended up flat one his back, staring at the ceiling through most of the night, something tight and hot lodged in his throat and gut. Sammy was fine to share a bed with, but Dean wanted to be across the room.

With Her. Holding Her like they were real people, smelling her hair like a goddamn creep and talking to her in the dark. 

Dean really just wanted to be with Her in the dark. To wrap around Her and keep her against him, where She wouldn’t have one of those weird freak outs he’d slowly learned to handle, where no strange, haunting monsters would find Her and take her away.

He didn’t want Her to go away. It was getting fucking crippling, how Dean wanted Her around all the time. How he was so fucking selfish and empty that, since Jessica, he’d started to spiral into thoughts of Her finding out what a mess his life was, and leaving him alone. Of taking all Her blinding, silver light that Dean was more than happy to follow down into the dark, and turn it somewhere else. That he’d been given a chance to see the universe in brilliant eyes, and now it would be ripped away from him.

Worse, he had nightmares that She was on the ceiling. And he’d tried to dismiss them as stress—Dad was missing, Sam was on edge, and Dean was fucking exhausted, so stress seemed reasonable—but they’d persisted. Which was crazy. Jess had been Sam’s girl. He’d had her, and lost her. Mom had been Dad’s, and that was why Dad had become Dad after her death. 

Dean had never had Her. He’d held Her hand once, and kissed Her forehead twice. She wasn’t Dean’s to fear for, or protect, or imagine pressed against him in the dark. She wasn’t Dean’s to keep near him, wasn’t Dean’s to fantasize about, wasn’t Dean’s to want. To get anxious about introducing to his family, because they were all born and made in the mud and She seemed to be created from starlight. He’d never even meet Her family, because she still wouldn’t tell Dean the damn truth about them.

He still didn’t know how to be furious about that in a way that stuck. How to not care when Her eyes went glassy, when She looked small and lost. How to not feel alive when She smiled, and orbit around Her when her world was more colorful than his.

And Sam liking Her had made that worse. Made it more real. Sam liking Her meant Dean wasn’t going insane. It meant that Dad might have simply been wrong, and She wasn’t just an illusion, and that if She left it would just be because Dean wasn’t worth her time.

And She hadn’t left. He’d told Her about Dad and Jessica and Mom, and then watched her shuffle around their motel room in the morning with an adorable, sleepy face. He’d watched Her in Baby’s passenger seat—Sam taking her car for the interviews—and had to force his hand to stay on the wheel and not Her thigh. 

He was looking at Her, across the diner table and poking at Her breakfast with a fork. He wasn’t sure how She managed to look so beautiful all the goddamn time, even when her lips were still swollen from sleep and her eyes were a little glazed from exhaustion. How Her voice always sounded like a song that echoed through Dean’s body, spurring something a little to the right of his heart and making him do almost anything she asked.

Like making a that stupid stick while She wrote on a paper napkin, that adorable furrow in Her brow.

“Sam should be back soon.” She mumbled, crossing something out on Her list. “Are you almost-“

Dean placed the stick over Her napkin, grinning at Her when she looked up. “Done.”

She gave the stick a once over, sighed, and went back to Her napkin without a word.

Dean frowned, leaning over to try and read Her scrawling. “Can you read that?”

“I’m writing it.”

“That’s not an answer, sweetheart.”

She glanced up, Dean winked, and She rolled her eyes.

“Shut up.”

Dean just hummed, leaning at little further forward. “So that’s a no?”

“I’ll stab you.”

“Damn, Princess, I thought you liked me-“

He cut himself off with a grunt, and She was flushing. It was the best color Dean had ever seen.

“I can like you and stab you.” She muttered. “I’d stitch it up after.”

Dean wanted to ask how much She liked him. If She like liked him. If She breathed easier when he was there and felt peaceful when he was by her side. If his voice haunted Her dreams.

He shrugged the urge off, and pushed on.

“You stab me, I’m asking Sammy to fix it. You don’t have good bedside manner.”

“Or you’re just a terrible patient.”

Dean gasped—making his most dramatically wounded face—and when She looked back up, she giggled.

“You’re such a fucking idiot.”

He smirked, nodding in agreement, and Her words didn’t hurt him. People had called Dean an idiot before, and it had always stuck on his skin and coated over his chest. But She said it like it was endearment. As if the softer tone lining Her voice could be affection. For Dean.

She was looking back down to the napkin. Dean needed Her to look at him. To either help Her with what she was doing, or listen to her giggle again. Nothing was ever complicated when She was smiling and giggling at Dean.

“What’s it say?” Dean tried to grab the napkin, and She snatched it away with a glower.

“Hey-“

“C’mon, you’ve been losing your mind over that for like an hour, I could help-“

“So ask like a big boy, Winchester. Say please.”

Dean held Her gaze, grabbed Her wrist, and smirked as she flushed.

“Please, Princess.” He squeezed Her wrist, and he could’ve sworn She leaned into him. “Tell me what’s on your dumb napkin.”

“It’s not dumb.” She mumbled, Her voice a little breathy. It was distracting. “I’m just- I’m trying to figure out the onryo’s MO. Usually they don’t have one, but Joey seems to, and I can’t work it out.”

“What’ve you ruled out?”

“Appearance,” She frowned at Her writing. “Profession. Marital status-“

“Vics weren’t cheaters?”

She shook Her head. “Most were single. It’s just- It’s not making a lot of sense.”

Dean shrugged. He still hadn’t let go of Her wrist. His hand might be trapped there permanently. “Doesn’t matter, right? Long as we gank the fucker, we’re in the clear.”

“Yeah,” She let out a long breath, glancing up at Dean with soft eyes. “I guess. I just- It’s weird.”

“Our lives are weird, sweetheart.” He grinned at Her. “Chill out. Sammy’ll be back soon, and we’ll be done before dinner.”

She nodded, her features relaxing, and Dean felt something loosen in his stomach. He was still touching Her. He couldn’t pull away. She wasn’t even trying to move, not trying to break his gaze, and he had grabbed Her over her shirt but She’d shifted and now he could feel Her skin. It was soft. Warm. It felt so goddamn right under his palm and She wasn’t moving away-

Sam cleared his throat, standing at the side of the table, and She and Dean flew apart. He yanked his hand away—grabbing his fork and tapping it in an uneven rhythm on his plate—and She moved backwards in her seat, hiking a knee up to her chest and looking up at Sam with wide eyes. 

Dean cleared his throat. “Hey, Sammy, you’re back-“

“Yeah.” Sam was looking between them, his lips twitching. “Am I interrupting-”

“No!” Her voice was high, and frantic. Dean frowned. He would’ve said no too, but She didn’t need to say it like that. “We’re just, um, talking about the case. Did you get what we needed?”

Sam nodded, pulling out a folded paper from his pocket and passing it into Her hands. “That should be enough, right?”

“Uh… Yeah.” She scanned over the list, and Dean didn’t miss Sam’s grin at Her approval. “I’ll head out now to set up?”

He wanted to protest. To tell Her to just stay and eat with them. She’d barely touched her plate, and something in his stomach kept gnawing at the idea of Her going off alone. She might hunt alone all the time, and Dean might know she had her knife, know that he’d be right behind Her, but he still didn’t want to Her to just go alone. He had twisting feeling over his heart at the idea of Her going alone-

“Sure.” Sam passed Her the keys to her car, stepping out of the way so she could exit the booth. “Call if you need anything, and we’ll meet you there in an hour.”

She hummed in agreement, giving them both soft smiles, and Dean was rooted in his seat. He should follow Her, or insist she stayed, and she’d get all fucking pissy about him not thinking she could handle this alone, but he still rather get yelled at then watch Her walk away. She was walking away. Dean needed to shout after Her and-

“She walks fast.” Sam said, dropping in Her now empty seat, and Dean blinked.

“Huh?”

Sam said Her name, settling in his seat. “She walks-“

“I heard you.” Dean snapped, looking out the window to watch Her move through the parking lot. She did walk fast. He’d never really noticed it before, because She always walked just a pace ahead of him, matching his speed perfectly. But alone, She did seem to walk faster. With purpose.

Towards Her car. Away from Dean. He could still run and grab Her. Convince her to come back to the booth-

“Does Dad know you were hunting with her?”

Dean turned back to Sam with a frown. “What.”

“Dad,” Sam leaned back, giving Dean a pointed look. “I remember what he said about her, Dean. Shit, dude, he hated her, even before he dug that stuff up-“

“Dad didn’t hate her.” Dean muttered. “He was just looking out for us.”

“He was being paranoid. And, just for the record, that woman,” Sam pointed out the window, and Dean realized She was gone. Fuck. “Doesn’t really seem like a spoiled, bratty con-artist.”

Dean scowled. He fucking knew that. And Sam needed to stop saying it, because it made Her more real. Made Her more possible, made Dean crash further up into Her. Fed the idea that he could, maybe, touch Her and not get burned.

“Dad doesn’t know, does he.” Sam crossed his arms, raising his brows. “You lied to him.”

“I didn’t-“

“You did. There’s not a chance he would’ve let you just go off hunting with anyone, let alone her.” Sam grinned at him, and Dean didn’t appreciate the glee on his face. “You were fucking lying to Dad.”

Dean braced his arms on the table, lowering his voice to a hiss. “I’m serious, Sam. Drop it.”

Sam did not drop it. He might be trying to get punched. “No, Dean. You’ve been lying to Dad. You never lie to Dad about anything.”

“Sam-“

“I mean, you’ve lied for me. But c’mon dude.” Sam let out a dry laugh, shaking his head. “Even you have to stop and think about why you don’t want Dad knowing about her. I mean, she’s nothing like what he said, but Dad’s Dad.”

“What the hell it that supposed to mean?“

“It means he’s not going to like that he was wrong. That she’s cool.” Sam shrugged. “I like her. The only thing I’d worry about is the, uh…”

He trailed off, and Dean frowned. 

“Worry about what?”

“I don’t know.” Sam’s brow furrowed slightly. “I mean, I don’t know what they are. Panic attacks?”

Dean shook his head, his brow drawn in confusion, and Sam gave him an odd look.

“C’mon, dude, there’s no way you haven’t noticed. I mean, you helped her, when she got here. When you did the, uh,” Sam reached up to his face, running his finger over his nose. “That.”

“Oh, yeah, that always calms her down-“

“But what is that?”

“I don’t know.” Dean muttered. “Probably just some girl shit-“

Sam scoffed. “That is not a girl thing. That’s like… an episode or something. Have you asked her?”

“No. And you,” Dean point to Sam with a glower. “Better not say shit.”

He didn’t need to give Her a reason to leave. A reason to think he didn’t want Her around. Those moments were strange—and had been happening more and more frequently—but Dean had dealt with stranger, and he knew how to handle it now. 

And Sam paused, tilting his head. 

“Holy shit, dude.” His face split into a shit-eating grin. “You really like her.”

“What?! No- I- Why the-” Dean narrowed his eyes. “You don’t know what the hell you’re talking about-“

“Yeah, I do. I know you, Dean. You don’t want to make her upset, you have a crush-“

Dean slammed his fist on the table, leaning forward with a glower. “Watch it, I’ll kick your fucking ass-“

Sam just shrugged, a shit eating grin on his face. “Whatever. Won’t make you not have a crush on her.”

“I do not have a fucking crush. She’s my friend-“

Sam laughed again, this one louder. “Sure, dude. You looked like you were gonna cry when she walked away. I bet you wanna go after her-“

“Because she doesn’t need to do this alone! We hunt together, that’s the point of partners-“

“Partners?” Sam raised his brows. “Do you not hear yourself? You’re so worried about her-“

“Sam, I swear to fucking god-“

“Fine, man.” Sam raised his hands in surrender, still smirking. “Chill out.”

“I am fucking chill.” Dean grumbled, glancing at Her abandoned plate. “If you’re not eating that, we can go now-“

“No, I’ll eat it. And she’ll be fine, Dean. There was a lot of overlap on this list from the Maggie one, she just needs to find a really specific kind of beer. I mean, you got the perfume, right?”

Dean frowned. “Perfume?”

“Yeah.” Sam nodded, poking at the plate with his fork. “That bottle in his office, same kind you bought for the first ritual.”

Dean sat up in the booth, a creeping, almost painful chill shooting up his spine and through his blood. “Yellow bottle?”

“Uh huh-“

“French name?” 

“Yeah, dude, I just said it was the same-“

Pieces fell into place in Dean’s head, and he felt sick. He’d fucking seen the bottle in Joey’s office, and remembered it because of Her. Then he’d forgotten until last night, and She’d cut him off before he’d had a chance to tell Her, when he’d gotten back. If he had told Her, she would’ve put it together faster. She would’ve seen the overlap on the lists, pointed out that it was strange to keep perfume in your office if you weren’t actually having an affair. 

If you were confronting your wife about her affair.

Dean shot out of his seat. “We need to go, now.”

“Woah, slow down, we still need to pay-“

“No, fuck, it’s-“ Dean ran a hand over his face, snapping Her name. “She uses that perfume.”

“So?”

“So, if you were a woman trying to cover your affair with your girl best-friend, how would you do it?”

Sam looked at him like he was insane. “I don’t know, man, that’s not a situation I’ve thought about once-“

“Would you make your girlfriend use the same perfume you use? Would you buy it for her?”

“Dean, I don’t know-“

“It’s the perfume, Sam!” Dean was shouting. He didn’t care. “We didn’t think about it! We thought it was the wife who got slighted, but it’s the fucking dude, and all the vics had that goddamn perfume! And-“

“The wife and mistress were using it.” Sam’s eyes widened, and his words far too slow when they had to go. “To hide their affair. And if the husband put that together, he’d… and…” Sam said Her name, and Dean felt his lungs tighten. “She uses…  Fuck.”

It was good Sam got up when he did, or Dean would’ve started to drag him out of the diner. The waitress shouted after them to pay, but he didn’t hear. There was red lining his vision and blood in his ears because he had been an idiot. They never would’ve gotten what the spirit was without Her, they never would’ve gone after the right douchebag without Her, and if Dean hadn’t managed to catch it, She would’ve paid the price for helping him. For Dean being unobservant asshole.

She still might pay the price. They hadn’t saved Her yet. Dean was violating traffic laws and testing Baby’s bounds, but She was in fucking danger and nothing else mattered.

“So,” Sam cleared his throat. “How do you know it’s her perfume?”

“Shut it, or I’ll fucking shoot you-“

“No, dude, I swear I’m not teasing. I just want to be sure-“

“I’m positive.” Dean grunted, not bothering to look over and see if his brother was listening. “And you better be ready to exorcise this son of a bitch-“

“I got the Japanese down last night. And I’m sure she’s fine, Dean-“

“Shut up.”

Sam raised his hands, and made the smart choice to close his fucking trap and let Dean focus. 

He didn’t bother with proper parking, stopping right on the curb outside the office and sprinting inside. The building was cold. Too cold. Fucking freezing the closer they got to the office, lights flickering in the hallways and all of Dean’s attention narrowed to listen for screams or bangs or cries for help-

The door to the office was locked. He pounded on it—shouting Her name and making the walls shake slightly—but there was no noise from the other side. The overhead lights sparked and flickered, wind seemed to rush through the half-empty hallway, and Dean took several steps back. This building was probably insured, and he needed to get in that fucking room.

Dean cracked his neck, braced his body, and threw himself forward.  

The room was pitch black when he crashed into it—one the overhead lamps hanging from the ceiling and light flooding in from the hallway—and She was sitting in the corner. Her back was pressed to the wall, Her hand around her throat, and Her eyes glassy as they found Dean’s.

He shouted Her name, dropping to his knees at Her side. “Fuck, are you-“

She shook Her head, pushing at his chest. “Dean, go, you need to go-“

“Are you goddamn crazy, there’s no way I’m leaving-“

“No, I’ve- I’ve got it, please-“

Sam finally caught up, the paper shaker in one hand and a gun in the other. “Shit, where’s the-“

“Don’t know. Get ready.” Dean never looked away from Her bloodless face, keeping it cradled in one hand. “C’mon, Princess, you a target, we’re going-“

“No!” She screamed, and Dean didn’t have time to feel something snap in his chest before She was kicking him away.

Before a large, white-clad and blood covered figure appeared right where he’d been before. Reaching down for Her as she curled further down into herself, not even trying to goddamn defend herself.

Dean was certain his heart stopped. That it exploded through his body in a firework of blood and feral, uncontrollable fear. And there was something else, too. Rioting in his chest, burning and golden and bellowing for Her. To save Her. To pull Her from danger, from the pain, from the dark-

He could only see red, only hear his own roar of Her name as the onryo grabbed Her head, slammed it into the wall, and She didn’t fight back.

Dean tackled the onryo. Wrapped his arms around its throat and yanked it away from Her slightly slumping body on the floor. Slammed his knees into its back and crashed them both against the desk, raising his fist to pummel it fucking bloody and uglier-

It threw Dean off with a guttural, ear-bleeding roar, and Dean felt pain pound over his back as he slammed into the wall. He was vaguely aware of Sam beginning the ritual, but he didn’t care. 

The onryo was heading back for Her. And Sam had realized and was running forward, but he wouldn’t be strong enough if Dean wasn’t, and She wasn’t fighting back.

All the lights in the hallway sparked and flickered, and Dean saw a flash of silver in the dark. He could hear low chanting and muttering in a soft, musical voice, and his head was spinning but he could swear She was moving.

The onryo screamed, and a blinding pillar flame burst through the room. Dean couldn’t think outside of fire. Licking at the ceiling and walls, and he couldn’t see Her anywhere at all-

It was gone in a second, and the room when dark once more. 

A small, weak noise came from the corner of the room, and when Dean’s eyes readjusted, he could see Her in the dark. He didn’t need to think to move to Her.

He just did. 

Holding Her face with his gentlest touch, angling it carefully to check for blood or bruising, muttering Her name until she made another soft sound and he knew she was conscious. He let Her slump forwards into him as Her eyes fluttered, and her breathing eased.

She’d be fine. Dean could see a cut on Her brow, a bite mark on her hand, and a gash on Her shoulder, but he’d stitched up worse for Dad. Her eyes weren’t staying open for more than a second, and her heart was racing when he checked Her pulse on her neck, but her gasps weren’t choked or stuttered so she’d be fine.

“Dean.” Sam muttered from behind them, his voice soft. “Is she-“

“She’s fine.” He grunted, wrapping his arm around her waist to hold Her steady as he moved to his feet. “Hold on,” he whispered Her name in her ear, and she listened, her arms looping around Dean’s neck. 

It was relieving and worrying all at once. She felt fragile again. 

Dean didn’t know if he could live with himself if he broke Her.

“Sam,” Dean didn’t take his eyes off of Her as he spoke, because looking at Her seemed to make just a little bit of the panic fogging his brain clear. He could see Her chest rise and fall. She’d be okay. “I know we still gotta check-“

Sam understood immediately. He usually did. “I can do it. Take her, I’ll meet you back at the motel.”

Dean nodded in silent thanks and—after carefully grabbing Her keys out of her pocket and throwing them to Sam—carried Her in his arms out of the office and into Baby. 

He drove slowly, his grip on the wheel white knuckled as She made soft sounds of pain at his side. Dean had brought Her here. He’d put Her in danger, just because he had missed Her, missed moving in her orbit. She was hurt because he’d been an idiot and brought Her into harm’s way. He’d triggered one of Her episodes because he hadn’t done his job and protected her, and She’d still ended up doing the ritual herself because he was fucking horrible at his job. He’d been lost in his head, just like Dad always told him not to be, and now She was in pain. She’d be okay, safe in a fancy home in some mystery town, if Dean just hadn’t called Her.

And he was a selfish, lonely piece of shit.

And he didn’t want Her to go.

She let him move Her from the Impala to the motel room, leaning into his side and walking in uneven, unsteady steps. At least She was walking. At least when Dean set Her down on his bed, she was able to pull off her own jacket and remove Her own shoes. Her eyes were slightly unfocused, and there was swelling on Her cheekbone where the onryo had grabbed her, but at least She was sitting upright, watching Dean grab their med kit. 

She was a statue, but at least She was here. With Dean. 

Where he could hear Her low, strained noises when he touched her gash, and he could rip his head apart with guilt. 

He’d fucking let that happen to Her. She wasn’t speaking, and Dean couldn’t tell if she was angry, but she should be. Because Dean had failed. 

Dad wouldn’t have failed. Dad would kill Dean if he found out he’d dragged Her into their family business, and she got hurt. He’d yell at Dean for letting Her everything distract him, because she wasn’t a real hunter, she was just a girl.

That’s what Dad had always called Her, when Dean managed to bring Her up. When he’d been testing the waters about telling Dad about Her, and always decided against it because Dad said She was just a lying, spoiled little girl, who didn’t give a damn about Dean.

But She’d killed the onryo. And She’d left him with the Poltergeist, but She’d chosen him with the Demon. When he’d only had Her, even if the worst of his injuries had been a mild concussion. 

Sammy liked Her. She liked Sammy. 

And when Dean glanced back up at Her beautiful face—cast like artwork in the shadows and cool lights of the motel—She was watching him the same way She always did. A little hazier, Her face more open and gentle than usual, but still the same.

Like Dean might be something. Anything at all.

“I’m sorry.” She whispered, and Dean’s hands stilled.

“What.”

“I’m sorry.” She repeated it, and Dean felt sick. He might break his jaw. “I didn’t mean to. Please, I’m really- I didn’t mean to do that-“

Dean looked up at Her. Her eyes were glossy, Her features bloodless, and her every word choked as Her body curled into herself. Like She was trying to make herself small. Like She was trying to hide.

“I’m so sorry.” She whispered again, and Dean glanced down to Her hands in her lap. 

Raw and bloody, lined with marks where She’d begun to scratch.

He grabbed them without a word, moving them apart to rest on the mattress. She made a weak, strangled noise, and Dean could feel it in the goddamn cavity of his chest. Echoing around and burning a hole in his body that was shaped like Her.

“I’m sorry-“

“Why.” He muttered, refocusing his attention onto the gash. “You didn’t fuck anything up. You ganked the son of a bitch, and Sammy’s finishing the ritual for you. We’re fine.”

“The ritual?”

Dean nodded, glancing up at Her. The little furrow was back in Her brow, and she was breathing so fucking fast-

His thumb moved up before he could think about it. Running a soft line down the bridge of Her nose until she let out a long, slow breath, and the sound washed over Dean like rain. 

She’d be okay. Her eyes were still clouded, and She still looked far too small, but Dean would patch Her up and She’d be okay.

He rose without a word when he finished the stitches, muttering an order for Her to stay there, and moves to the kitchenette before he can think better of it. Opened the cabinet and started heating some water, just because he had to do something. If Dean was something, She was more, and he had just fucking do this. A silent apology.

A plea to not leave. To stay with Dean, because he was the fucking worst, but he’d never let that shit happen again. 

She’d moved to the headboard, Her legs curled under her body as she rested against the headboard. And She was still watching him. He wanted to brush the sweaty hair from Her face, and kiss the bruise on Her head, and pull her into a long hug to swear that would never goddamn happen again. 

He wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He didn’t even know how to grab Her face between his hands and tell Her he was sorry. That he’d felt like was suffocating when She’d gotten hurt, that he felt like the lungs and heart—and something else he didn’t even have a word for—were being crush and shredded apart all at once when She’d screamed. 

But he could do this. Dean could walk mix in the cocoa powder, grab one of Sam’s stupid thermoses, and pass the hot chocolate into Her shaking hands. 

He just looked at Her for a long moment. Gorgeous in an almost indescribable way, right before him where he could touch Her if he tried.

He didn't know where to start touching Her. How to start caring about Her the way something like Her—breakable and furious and brutal, brighter than anything Dean had even seen before, would ever see again— would deserve to be cared about. But he had to try. He had to keep Her close, where he could always make sure She’d be okay.

“How’d you know to come?” Her voice was still a breath, but it sounded more like Her, and Dean could take that.

He shrugged. “Got a gut feeling.”

“A gut feeling?”

“Yeah.” Dean gave Her a small smirk, dropping onto the edge of the bed. “Tells you what’s wrong and right, when something’s going bad-“

She whacked his arm, and it was weaker than usual, but still Her. She looked more and more like Her by the moment. “Shut up.”

“Bossy.”

She wrinkled Her nose at him, glowering over the thermos as She drank.

He chuckled. “You know, I mean that as a compliment-“

“Don’t tell me what I know, Winchester.”

The laugh that left Dean was loud, and real, and made Her smile. And he felt alive. Right now, Dean was alive at Her side, golden under Her attention, and more relaxed in the dark than he’d been in days.

“Yes, ma’am.” He drawled, and She rolled her eyes.

When She moved the thermos away from Her mouth, there was a little line of milk above Her lips, and Dean grinned. 

“Nice mustache, Princess.”

She blinked at him. “What?”

“Your- here.” Dean reached forward before he could think better, and wiped it with his thumb.

He froze in place the moment he drew away. He’d touched Her. And She’d been warm and soft and real. His thumb had brushed over Her upper lip for only a second, so now the feeling of it might be branded on his skin. And when he looked back to Her, she was flushed. With the hitched breath. The parted mouth.

He wanted more. He wanted Her. He didn’t ever want Her to go.

“Uh, where are you going?” He cleared, trying to make his voice as casual as possible. He could do this. “Once we wrap up the loose ends here?”

“I don’t know.” She shrugged, settling back into the mattress. “Probably home.”

“Which is where?”

She gave him a small smile, taking a long sip of the coco without an answer.

“Never gonna tell me, huh?”

She shrugged. “Maybe next time, if you make me more of this.”

She tapped the thermos, and Dean felt his own mouth twitch.

“I think that’s bribery, Princess.”

“Maybe.” She hummed, raising Her brows at him. “Are we above bribery?”

Dean chuckled. “Guess not. And, uh,” he took a long breath, scratching the back of his neck. “Would you need it to be next time?”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, what if there wasn’t a next time?”

Something flared on Her face, she leaned slightly away, and Dean’s throat tightened. Not like that. Not at all like that.

“Oh.” She mumbled, and the words began to fall out of Dean like vomit.

“No, I’m not saying that. Opposite of that. I mean, I told you everything, and Sammy likes you, and we’re a good team, Sweetheart, so if you want to, I’m sure Sam wouldn’t be pissed. He’d be for it. He said you were cool, and three is ever safer than two. So, uh, yeah.”

She only blinked. “What?”

Dean felt his face heat. He hadn’t actually said the thing. “Stay.”

“Stay?”

“With me. And Sammy. Just to help us find Dad, then Sammy’ll probably go back to a normal, boring life, and you can do what you do. Just, uh, you can stick around after the hunt. If you want.”

“Stay with you, to find…“ She trailed off, and Dean couldn’t read that expression. He couldn’t fucking think, not outside of Her eyes on his, and the smell fruit dragging him into a pure sense of Her.

“Our Dad.” Dean finished Her sentence, and her throat bobbed. 

She let out a slow breath, hugging Her own body and ducking Her head, and Dean felt his chest go numb before she even spoke.

“I can’t.” She mumbled, rubbing that scarred palm over her calf. “I’m really sorry, Dean. Just, my dad-“

“Don’t. It’s fine.” He rubbed his own brow, his gaze fixed on Her hand. Close enough to touch.

But not really close at all.

“Dean-“

“I’m serious. It was just an offer.”

“But-“

He snapped Her name, and it was harsher than he meant it, but something also felt like it was peeling along his ribs. She didn’t want him. Nobody would want him. He’d gotten Her hurt, and he had no good reason to think She’d stick around for him. She didn’t feel this, it was all only Dean losing his mind and falling to his knees for a woman that he could never have. She sounded wounded and desperate, but She wasn’t his to wound, and She’d told him she didn’t want to stay. That She wanted to go back home. Somewhere of the mud, somewhere Dean wasn’t good enough to follow her to.

“I’m-“

“Don’t apologize.” He muttered. She needed to rest, and Dean didn’t need Her sorrys. He didn’t really deserve them. “Go to sleep, Princess. I’ll see you in the morning.”

She took a long breath. “Dean?”

He grunted, unable to look Her in the eyes, and She sighed.

“I know I, you-“ She cut herself off with a swallow, her voice growing softer by the second. “But can you, um, can you please- I don’t want to- Could you please sit?”

Dean frowned at the floor. “What.”

“With me. Sit with me. Until I fall asleep.” She whispered. “You can go after, if you do, but… Please.”

Her voice was so goddamn light, so dream-like, and Dean didn’t think he’d ever learn to not bend for it. Not when his eyes dragged back to Her’s, and they were calling him further down. Drawing him closer with only Her. Still just Her, at Dean’s side, in the whole universe of a motel room.

And She wanted him for this. Only this. 

But at least it was something.

He nodded, and forced himself to ignore the spark up his spine when a She mumbled a thanks, and closed her eyes with a soft breath.

She was passed out in only a few minutes, and Dean stayed at Her side. Just a nod felt like it was an oath, when it was for Her. So Dean sat at Her side, and watched her sleep like that same creep he’d been the night before.

He didn’t really notice Sam returning. He couldn’t look anywhere but Her. Slack faced and breathing slow, drooling onto the pillow in a way Dean wanted to wipe from her chin, hair in her face he wanted to brush away, lips parted that he always wanted to touch. 

Beautiful. Not his to have. 

But She’d be here until morning. And She’d asked him to stay with Her, so he’d sit in the dark for Her and practice how he’d let Her go when she walked away. Remind himself that it was for the better She wouldn’t stay. She wouldn’t get hurt. And he would see Her again.

Maybe, while she was hunting without him, She’d find someone who actually kept her safe. Who did what Dean wasn’t good enough to do, and didn’t just watch Her in the dark. They’d hold Her in the dark. They’d be Her dark, just like Dean irrationally craved, but deserving. Worthy of a star falling into their hands, worthy of holding it with them all the time. 

Dean felt sick. Her hand was splayed across the mattress. 

He let himself hold it. If this was the only chance he had, and She didn’t flinch away when he twined his fingers with Her’s, he’d hold Her hand.

He’d take tonight. 

And he’d learn how get a grip in the morning. 

End Note: Diversity win! These Lesbians were part of a triple murder suicide!

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

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[jiangwanyinscatmom]

I have a genuine doubt about Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian’s relationship in the novel. (I just read your post about if a kid jc would defend a kid wwx, but has a little to do with that post).

I remember Jiang Cheng tried to defender Wei Wuxian from his mother, and later he even sacrificed himself for wwx, losing his core in the process. (If there’s more, I don’t remember. It’s been a time since I read the novel).

I really don’t understand why he sacrificed? I get that he thought Wei Wuxian was better than him, but… after everything he did, he just let people jeopardize Wei Wuxian in the end of his first life?…

It was a way to say “everything I owed you is paid”? Was he mad that he did that but in the end Wei Wuxian wasn’t “grateful” even never knowing what Jiang Cheng truly did?…

I think after Jiang Cheng lost his core to “protect” Wei Wuxian, he started to see wwx as a servant and nothing more. Before the attack we saw that they got along very well, but after it seemed like he started to agree more with his mother's ideas about Wei Wuxian being only a servant.

That’s why he was so mad that Jiang Yanli died defending him? He threw Jiang Yanli’s sacrifice away and lead a siege against Wei Wuxian anyway…

Not only he threw his relationship with Wei Wuxian away, but he did not respected his sister’s wish and choice. She knew something was wrong, that Wei Wuxian wouldn’t kill her husband for nothing, and Jiang Cheng didn’t trust her…

I am wrong? I really want your point of view about this. And I’m sorry if you already talked about it, I’m new here. Thank you!

Caring about others, is complicated. For as much as I'm called a hater and anti, I have never denied that Jiang Cheng cared (as lacking as that may have been in a significant way) for Wei Wuxian.

Jiang Cheng did care in some capacity for Wei Wuxian and try. He just didn't put up much effort in the long run to maintain that support when it was a detriment to himself and was spiteful when that care required effort and some sacrifices. Even when he "protected" Wei Wuxian from his mother he was still cowed by her threats to him, and let Wei Wuxian be whipped (and later turned to strangle Wei Wuxian, twice actually, and blame him for his parents deaths).

As for the core issue. Jiang Cheng never expected to give more than what he was expecting for Wei Wuxian. He did not willingly give his core and was resentful about that cost for protecting Wei Wuxian. It cannot be a kindness when he hated what it cost and lashed out years after. He always thought of Wei Wuxian as his servant first and foremost despite being "friends". That is what always would make them eventually part. Ideologically they are nothing alike and that was obvious as soon as their talk about servants children and Jiang Cheng dismissing their worth and ability. He threw his relationship away because he felt entitled to Wei Wuxian as a tool more than a friend. A friend does not have stipulations for their care and love especially when they start forming it as a debt of give and take.

[noctumsolis]

"Ah. That's... very creative thinking, major. Tell me, how long will it be until the object reaches the sun?"

"Eight months, but that hardly presents a problem. No matter what he might try, Graf Entula isn't going to find a spacecraft that can get him near it."

"No I, I expect not. I don't suppose there are any that could reach... and capture the item, are there?"

"Shouldn't think so. Why are you sweating?"

"Well, major, the trouble uh, the... a miscommunication, um..."

"OUT WITH IT, MAN!"

"WE'RE ALL GOING TO DIE!"

Silence.

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"Did you actually see the object?"

"Of course. Bulbous, red thing. It glowed."

"Yes. That was it then. The cor omnium."

"I thought it'd be something nuclear like that. Could've made us the most powerful... but it was too dangerous, you convinced me of that."

"Fool. Damn, damn, bloody fool."

"Now just a—"

"Not you, ME! I should've... Look, it's the vampire that was dangerous, not the cor omnium. It's not nuclear it's, well I suppose you could call it a nucleus so... Sorry, no. It's the heart, you see. The heart. And when a vampire can get to a heart do you know what he does?"

"Eats it, I guess?"

"Yeah. Eats it, drinks its lifeblood. He would drain it completely and leave it a lifeless husk. And that. That..."

"You mean this uranium core is a living thing?"

"No, no, no. The cor omnium, cor, heart, omnium, of all. The heart of all."

"ALL WHAT?"

"All of us. All life on Earth. So, when the heart dies, everything dies. Everything that lives, will die. In... eight months."

"Oh. Aw, shit."

"Oh, the ancient artifact that no-one must ever find? The one that would doom humanity if that vampire ever found it? Yeah, I locked it in a steel box and launched it into the sun. Even if it didn't get destroyed, there's no way that undead Lord is ever getting it back."

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 26: Do You Love Me

Summary: Things escalate to the point of complete and utter disaster.

Word Count: 5,593

Warnings: MAJOR angst, a suicide attempt, insecurity, depression, suicidal thoughts, self harm, and blood.

Notes: Please prepare yourselves before reading this one, guys. I'm not joking around with the warnings here (not that I ever am, but you know what I mean). Also I apologize profusely in advance for what's about to happen.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 16: Battered & Mangled

Lucy twisted her hands together, feeling vaguely sick with nerves. Silence stretched on between her and Tommy, each of them waiting for the other to speak first.

“I called you,” he said, finally. “Earlier.”

“You did?” Fingers ran through her red hair, tugging on the locks anxiously. “Sorry. I was out with Asher. Did something happen?”

He stood from the chair he was collapsed in, grabbing more kindling to feed into the fire. “Polly resigned.”

That startled her a bit. “Oh?”

“Mhm.” He looked so…lost. Blue eyes staring pointedly out into the dark of the night.

“Was it because of Michael?” she pressed.

“I’m not here to talk about Polly,” Tommy said, voice suddenly stern. She looked down at her feet.

“Right.”

No more avoiding things. They both needed to have their heads clear for the events that were about to unfold. And it had become clear that just attempting to ignore their current situation to deal with later wasn’t going to achieve that.

And…she had promised him that they would talk about things. 

She’d have suggested they go inside, into the living quarters that Charlie had been letting her stay in. But she didn’t really want anyone eavesdropping in on their conversation. 

More silence stretched out between them, long and dark and endless. She jumped when Tommy’s hand touched her cheek, tilting her head up to look at him where he was now standing in front of her. She hadn’t even heard him move. 

“I miss you.”

“I miss you too,” she said softly, eyes staring up into his. 

“So come home.”

Her face crumpled. “I can’t.” It was barely more than a whisper.

“Why?”

“You know why, Tom.”

“No; no I don’t think that I do.” His voice was low and soft like honey. Tempting. “So tell me. Please. Help me understand. We can figure something out. If we just sit down and talk about it–”

“Talk about what, Tommy? About what days you and I are allowed to spend the night together? I don’t want to live like that. To be…the dirty little secret that you keep around to fuck you when your wife isn’t available.”

His brow furrowed, almost in confusion. Like the thought had never even occurred to him. “You would never be that. You’re not some whore I keep around for when I get bored, Lucy. And besides, I told you, I fixed that. She’s fine with us being together whenever–”

“You expect me to believe that’ll last? With her pattern of behavior? This is how it’s always worked with her, Tommy. She’s all nice and smiles and sweetness until something sets her off, and then I’m suddenly the big bad monster who’s stealing her husband. What happens the next time she has one of her fits? Hm? When she comes back asking for even more? Now that you’ve given her this, what’s going to stop her from asking for even more restrictions on what you can and can’t do with me? How long before you can’t even touch me at all without it breaking some rule that she’s come up with?”

“I won’t let that happen–”

“Yeah, well you already let this fucking happen,” she snapped back. Tommy’s eyes widened. She drew in a trembling breath, turning away, fighting back every urge to just shout at him. A lump formed in her throat. She forced herself to swallow it down.

“You chose to leave,” Tommy said sternly. “That wasn’t part of Lizzie’s rules. That wasn’t something that I wanted. You decided to do that, Lucy.”

“And I’ve told you over and over again why I had to do that. Lizzie and I can’t live in such close quarters with each other all the time. She can barely even stand to see you touch me, Tommy.”

“That’s her fucking problem.”

“No, it’s not! Not when her reaction to it affects all of us! This,” she gestured widely, “was the only solution.”

“A solution where everyone ends up miserable?”

“Oh, please,” she snapped, voice beginning to rise. “Don’t act like Lizzie isn’t fucking thrilled now that I’m gone and she gets to finally play out the happy fucking family fantasy that she’s always wanted. I’m not blind, I’ve seen how much happier you’ve been lately. Don’t act like it isn’t better now that I’m gone.”

“It’s not. It’s fucking awful there, Lucy. I’m not happier. I don’t know what I did to make you think that I am, but I’m not. I’m so…I’m so fucking lonely without you.” His voice started to rise as well, but he drew in a deep breath when she looked away, eyes focusing on the dark waters of the cut. When he spoke again his voice was softer. “And what about you, eh? Are you happier, now that you’ve moved out?” He took a cautious step towards her. “Michael said that you’re miserable.”

“You shouldn’t listen to anything that Michael says.”

“He’s right, though. Isn’t he?” 

She shook her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters. I don’t want you to be unhappy, love.” Another step, so that he was close enough for her to smell the scent of cigarette smoke and his cologne. Tommy rubbed a hand over his face, looking at her with scrutinizing eyes. “Why did you really leave, Lucy? Because I don’t believe it was just about Lizzie’s rules. There’s something else going on. I can see it in your eyes.” There was a desperation in his gaze that she wasn’t used to seeing. “Just tell me.” She looked away again, hands wringing together frantically. Tommy’s face twitched with frustration. “If I have to live the rest of my life without you then I think that I at least deserve to know why.” She pressed her lips together, squeezing her eyes shut tight. It was unclear whether she wanted to cry or shout at him. Tommy seemed to soften a little, reigning in his frustration to gently touch her hand, stilling her relentless fidgeting.

“Please. I know I fucked up. Just…help me understand. If I understand why you left, then I can find some way to fix this…”

“Maybe there is no fixing this,” she said defeatedly with a shrug. The frustration in Tommy’s face returned, face twisting as he struggled to reign in his temper.  

“So…what? You’re just going to give up, is that what’s happening here? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like I’m the only one who’s actually still fighting for us.”

“What?” Her anger was cold in her veins, rushing and bubbling just beneath her skin. Huh. It seemed that Polly had been right. She was angry at him.

“I’m the one who’s been renegotiating with Lizzie. I’m the one trying to find an actual fucking solution to this mess. You keep saying that everything is fine, promising that we will work things out. And yet I’ve been practically begging you to talk to me about this since it happened, and all you’ve done is avoid and ignore me. I’ve been trying, Lucy. Trying to talk to you, to still be with you, and you’ve done nothing but push me away.”

“Don’t you talk about fighting for us when you all but rolled over for Lizzie when she asked you to throw a grenade in the middle of our relationship to make her happy. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Tommy, but we are in the middle of a dangerous conspiracy to assassinate an MP, not to mention plugging up leaks, and dodging all of our other enemies that have been coming at us from every possible angle. So excuse me for trying to put the good of the company and the family over our personal issues.”

“No, don’t you fucking do that! Don’t act like you couldn’t have spared one lunch, one goddamn hour, to talk about this with me!”

She scoffed, shaking her head. “Why? So I get to hear again about how you chose her over me?”

Never before had she really considered herself to be a jealous person. But perhaps it was because she hadn’t ever felt like her place in Tommy’s heart was being threatened. He had shared all of his other lovers with her. And she had always known, without a single bit of doubt in her mind, that she was and always would be Tommy’s favorite. That he loved her. Because she was the only one that he let into his head. That he told his darkest, most closely kept secrets to. The only one allowed to actually touch his heart.  

Grace had been different. Because the three of them had all loved each other. Grace had simply become an addition to their pairing. And she had always ensured that Lucy had felt included. Not once did she try to usurp Lucy or steal Tommy away from her. Like Lizzie had. 

Difficult as things had been with Lizzie, Lucy had managed to make peace with the arrangement. At least outside of the relentless guilt she felt every time she so much as looked into Lizzie’s heartbroken eyes. And maybe there was a particularly awful part of her that almost enjoyed the knowledge that while Tommy may spend his nights with Lizzie out of duty, he spent the ones he did with her out of love.

But now that she knew Tommy did not love her anymore, everything had been thrown into disarray. She had begun to wonder if perhaps that was why, despite his previous words about fighting for them, he had not really fought for her at all when he’d struck that new deal with Lizzie. Even if he didn’t love Lizzie, did it really matter? He had still chosen her. To throw Lucy and their relationship into uncertainty all in the name of making Lizzie happy.

She didn’t want to be angry with him, but now that she had cracked open that little box she had stuffed all of her fury towards him in, it seemed incapable of anything other than spilling out. 

“What? No, no, no, that’s not what happened. You know I don’t love her. You know that.” Tommy’s voice was shocked, near panicked in response to her words.

“Then why did you do this to us, Tommy!?”

“I was drunk! Alright!? I was drunk off my ass. I wasn’t thinking. I was trying to get the information out of her of where Linda was for Arthur. And…Lizzie’s useful. I saw an opportunity to keep her around and I took it.” 

She shook her head, pulling away from him, still too angry and hurt. “Oh, yes. That makes me feel so much better! Good to know that my place in your life is worth trading for a morsel of information.”

He flinched. “That’s not what I meant.” He reached out to touch her face, but she pulled away.

“Isn’t it?” she spat out bitterly.

He reached out, grasping her cheeks in his hands. “Love, no. I made a mistake. I fucked up, but I was not choosing her over you.”  

“Stop it.” She pulled her face back, leaving his hands grasping at air.

“Stop what?” The genuine confusion in his voice just made her angrier. 

“Stop acting like you care so damn much! You want so badly to know why I left? I left because I couldn’t stand to live in a house where I was clearly so unwanted!” 

Tommy reared back like she had slapped him. “Unwan–Lucy, what are you talking about?”  

“God, Tommy!” she pushed away from him, pacing back and forth across the small space protected from the rain. “You made that deal with Lizzie. Either you knew what it would mean for you and me, or you didn’t even think of me at all.” She wasn’t sure which was worse. “Neither of you even thought to talk to me about it. Do you realize how…how…that feels!? To have your lover strike an arrangement that directly affects you without even including you in the discussion about it at all!? And–on top of all that–with someone who has done nothing but bully you and do everything in her power to make you miserable for years!?” 

“That’s-that’s not fair–” Tommy protested.

“Not fair? Not fair!? I’ll tell you what isn’t fucking fair, Thomas. What’s not fair is that I’m the one person who’s always been there for you and yet I’m the one that gets thrown out like garbage while she gets you for the rest of your lives!” She had to ball her hands up into fists to keep them from shaking. “I am so…fucking angry with you! You make this deal with Lizzie without even thinking of me, then you blindside me about it when we’re about to go into a fucking work meeting. You try to make it better by treating me more like your mistress or your personal whore than your lover–” 

“Now, hang on just a fucking minute–”

“Shut up!” she practically screamed at him. Tommy gaped at her. In all their years together, she had never spoken to him like that.

“You leave me to greet guests at your own fucking dinner party and to deal with Mosley alone while you’re too busy off fucking your wife, and then to top it all off, you replace me at my job with a man who hasn’t even held a rifle in years!” 

“We talked about that! I told you, it’s just for this one job, and that’s it!” Now Tommy was shouting too.

“That isn’t the point, Tommy! I’m replaceable! You’ve proven that with Lizzie, and again with Barney!” Her voice cracked a bit, the tears beginning to well in her eyes faster than she could force them down. The feelings of worthlessness and rejection nearly choked her. Tommy stared at her for a moment, mouth open slightly, brow furrowed, eyes blazing with a combination of hurt and fury.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?” he said finally. His voice was level, no longer shouting, but she knew him well enough to recognize the wrath and frustration beneath his tone. “Love, I don’t know how else to tell you this, you are not being replaced.” Head shaking, he stalked back and forth before turning to her, finger raised. “You keep talking like you think that this is what I wanted. You think I ever wanted to hurt you? Do you really think that I wanted,” he gestured vaguely, “any of this!?” He must have seen something in her face, because he took a step forward, face twisting with conviction. “You think that I wanted Lizzie to get pregnant!? You think that I wanted to have to marry her? You think that I would have done any of it, if I had known that it would cost me you!?” His voice was loud enough to echo a little in the space around them. Lucy forced herself to not break eye contact with him, even as her body trembled with the sobs she was fighting hard to stifle. “You said…you said that you were okay with it,” he added weakly. “I asked you, before I proposed to Lizzie.”

“I know. I know, I did, Tom. And I was. But that was before…” she trailed off, tears running down her face. Tommy reached out a hand to try to touch her cheek, to wipe them away, but she pulled back, away from him.

“Before what?”

“It doesn’t matter.” She looked away, still unable to bring herself to actually say it.  

“Yes, it does.” He waited for her to say more, sighing defeatedly when she didn’t. He was searching her eyes for something. Whatever he was looking for, he didn’t seem to find it, sighing and dropping to sit down in the chair by the fire, head in his hands.

“You promised,” he croaked, after finally raising his face, “when you left that we would still be together. That we weren’t splitting up. But that hasn’t seemed to be true at all, Lucy.”

She shivered, wrapping her arms around herself, tears still leaking from her eyes. 

“Tell me what you’re thinking. Please. Did you mean it, when you said that? Or were you just telling me what you thought I wanted to hear?” Something frighteningly resigned filtered into those ice blue eyes. He sighed very deeply, gazing out into the rain. “If you really want to leave, I won’t stop you. You know that.”

“You think that I really wanted to leave? I love you, Tommy.” He looked up at her words, eyes suddenly full of hope. “I meant it. When I said that we could still be together. But…”

“But what?” He stood. “But what, Lucy?”

She shook her head, unable to get the words out, her chest spasming with hiccups. Those sobs that she had been keeping at bay finally making themselves known, taking such violent hold over her body that she almost feared that she would collapse with them. Tommy stood, going to her and laying a hand on her arm that she weakly pushed away. 

“Love…love, please. Please,” he tried to reason. “Come home. Don’t worry about anything else. I want you back. I want you with me. Lucy,” he was trying to get in closer to her, to force her to meet his eyes. “Lucy, I love you–”     

“I don’t believe you!” It came out as an agonizing wail, shrill and with enough conviction to shake the entire earth. The words seemed to rip apart her vocal cords on their way out. Her heart shredded in her chest like paper. What little will for life she had remaining blew out like a candle. 

There it was. Bared and out for all to see. The truth. What she had known deep down for a while. Longer than she probably even realized. Because she’d been in denial about all of it. Because she wanted to hold onto him. Because she was a selfish, disgusting, horrid monster who hadn’t wanted to let him go even though she had to. Their relationship was dead. Had started to die slowly and painfully the second Lizzie got pregnant. Whatever love he’d ever had for her was long gone. Buried deep under the ground, never to be felt again. All that was left was residual guilt and a sense of duty towards her. That was all this was. 

And he still knew her well enough to know that the admittance of the death of his love for her would destroy her, so he would not say it. He’d carry on pretending, or at least trying to, for her sake. But she needed to stop being so selfish with him; stop trying to hold onto him for a little longer. She had to set him free.    

Tommy’s entire face changed. All anger and earnestness fell right off of it, eyes widening, jerking back as if she’d slapped him. The color drained out of his face, freckles standing out starkly against his paper-white skin, a look of horror quickly overtaking the frustration that had been there but a moment prior. 

Unable to face the mounting pain in his eyes, she buried her face in her hands. Great, she’d gone and hurt his feelings. But why? Because she’d called him on his bluff? Because he didn’t want to hurt her? At this point, she wished that he would just stop pretending and be honest. He didn’t love her anymore. They couldn’t keep dancing around it forever. 

“Lucy…” he made a sound of physical pain and rushed towards her, saying her name in agony, reaching out to her, trying to hold her. 

“Get away from me!” She braced both hands on his chest and shoved, hard enough to send him staggering back a few steps, eyes wide.

“Love…”

She shook her head furiously, still sobbing, taking a step away from him. “We’re done here.” There was more that they needed to discuss. What was going to happen to her position as his assistant, for one, but she couldn’t. Not now. “We’re done for tonight.” Another step back. “I’m sorry. We can talk more later…”

“No, Lucy, wait–!”

But she stepped back into the downpour surrounding them, and the rush of the rain pelting upon her drowned out his voice. With one final hitching sob, she rounded on her heel and ran, nearly slipping and tripping in the mud, to the door of the living quarters. She burst through it into the kitchen, slamming the door shut behind her. A hand clapped over her mouth to try to contain her heartbroken cries. 

Tommy did not follow her. That only made her sob more. 

Asher, laying by the door, raised his head, whining and going to nudge at her legs with his nose. 

Absentmindedly, she stroked his nose before staggering to the stairs, trembling fingers closing around the rail to balance herself. She was shivering, both from the chill that the rain had left her with, and the emotions still pumping through her veins. Asher’s nails clicked against the floorboards as he followed behind her. 

Her room was the furthest door down on the left, but that was not where she went. Instead, she made a beeline for the red door at the end of the hall. The one that led into the washroom. 

“No, Ash. Stay out here,” she commanded gently to the dog when he tried to squeeze past her legs to follow her inside. He whined again, watching her with concerned brown eyes, his head tilting to try to keep her in his line of sight as she closed the door. 

Peeling off her drenched coat, she let it fall into a heap of soggy material on the tiled floor. Her skin had erupted into gooseflesh, shaking so badly her teeth rattled in her skull. 

It’s over. It’s done.

I’m all alone again.

Both hands landed on the rim of the sink, barely managing to catch herself as she fell forward with an agonized sob. Her lungs and throat ached from crying, her eyes burning from shedding so many tears.  

There was so much pain inside her, it felt like she was about to burst unless she found some way to release it. 

She needed to get cleaned up. Yes; that’s what she needed to do. Maybe she would feel better after…

Oh, who was she kidding? She would never feel better again. Not after this. 

But she went to the tub on the far end of the washroom anyway, turning the faucet on it and fitting the plug in place.

As the tub filled, she ridded herself of her upper layers until she was only in her undershirt and trousers. Opening up the cabinet, she riffled through it in search of the soap she’d stored there earlier, fingers freezing when they passed over not the soap, but something silver and gleaming. 

“Pick it up,” a low, Irish accented voice said, arms suddenly wrapping around Lucy’s waist, chin resting on her shoulder. “Pick it up, get in the tub, and come away with me.”

Lucy remained frozen, trembling fingers hovering in place. 

No one wants me here anyway. 

It would be what’s best for everyone. 

I won’t be a burden anymore.

They’ll be free of me. 

Each thought came one right after the other rapidly, knocking her down and then striking her with the next before she had a chance to recover. Grace’s eyes gleamed at her from over her shoulder in the mirror. 

No one loves me.

Her fingers closed around the razor. 

∗ ∗ ∗ 

I don’t believe you.

He stared at the place where Lucy had been standing just seconds prior, mouth half open, his cries of her name lost in the roar of the wind and the splattering of rain. 

I don’t believe you.

He moved to race after her, to grab her tight in his arms and never, ever let her go again. To tell her over and over that he loved her, until she finally believed him again. 

I don’t believe you.

“Is everything alright, Tommy?” Curly asked, and Tommy paused, head snapping around to find the man standing just at the edge of the covering, barely out of the rain, his hands wringing together. “I heard shouting…”

No. Nothing is alright at all.

“Everything is fine, Curly,” he lied, managing a weak smile. “Everything is fine. Go on back to bed, eh? I’m sorry if we woke you up.”

“I was in the stables.”

Tommy nodded. As was often the case. Curly preferred to sleep with the horses than in a bed. “Well, best get back before they miss you in there, then, eh?”

Curly brightened, smiling and nodding. “Good night, then, Tom.”

“Good night, Curly.” He waited until he’d hurried back to the stables before he doused the fire, making sure there weren’t any lingering sparks or flames, then stepped away, picking his way carefully through the slippery mud towards the building Lucy had disappeared into. 

Swiping off his cap, he shook it out a few times to try to dispel some of the water that had soaked into it. The door into the living quarters opened up into a kitchen, a small sitting room just off to the right, and the stairs that led to the bedrooms in the back. The kitchen was vacant, but there were muddy footprints leading from the door to the stairs.

Tommy glanced around the kitchen, taking a second to gather himself. He would need to be the calm one. The rational one. Lucy was clearly even more upset than he had originally thought. If he wanted to help pull her out of the dark pit of despair she’d fallen into, he would have to keep his head about him. Not let himself get frustrated. 

After all, it wasn’t her fault. He was the jackass who had so thoroughly fucked up that the love of his life didn’t even believe he loved her anymore. 

It had been a while since he’d been in there. The kitchen was minimalistic and tidy as ever, but he noticed little symptoms of Lucy’s presence scattered throughout: the angle at which the kettle was settled on the stove, the tin of cinnamon vanilla tea on the counter, the way that the towels were folded. He smiled a little to himself fondly at the reminders of her presence. 

How could she ever think that he didn’t love her? The very idea of it was absolutely absurd to him.  

He hadn’t much of an actual plan for what he was going to do or say outside of going upstairs. Finding Lucy in her room. Taking her into his arms. Telling her over and over that he loved her. That he was so sorry. That he’d do anything, anything to fix what he had done. 

And then he’d take her to bed, and make love to her until the sun came up, and any doubts that he loved her with every ounce of his being were banished from her mind.

A bark shattered through the air and Tommy jumped, head turning to find Asher standing at the top of the stairs, practically bouncing from foot to foot anxiously.  

“Asher, no,” he frowned. Usually Asher was very good about not barking. Not unless he was alerting them to approaching dangers. Asher barked again, darting away from the stairs to further down the hallway that they led up to, then back to the top of the stairs, staring down at him imploringly. “Asher–oi!” Tommy jumped back in surprise when Asher suddenly darted down the stairs, took a mouthful of his trouser leg in his jaws, and tried to tug him up the stairs with him. “What the hell?” 

Asher yanked, and it was either he took a step forward or let the dog rip his trousers. 

“Asher, mate, I can’t play with you right now…”

Dropping the mouthful of fabric, Asher barked, then whined, darting up the stairs. 

“For fuck’s sake…” Tommy muttered. Now was not the time. Still, he huffed, following the dog up the stairs and down the hall. “What? What is so important?”

Asher came to a stop at the red door at the very far end of the hallway, whining and lifting a paw to scratch at the door. He was panting, tail dropped low. His ears kept twitching, as if trying to listen for something. Tommy’s blood chilled. 

“Asher?” he asked, making his way down the hallway. The dog whined loudly, scratching more insistently at the door. When Tommy got closer, he could see marks already left on the base of the wall and door frame where the dog had been pawing at it. “Move, boy,” he gently nudged the dog out of the way, leaning his head against the door, trying to hear what was on the other side of it as he raised his fist to knock. 

“Lucy?” he called softly. “Love, are you in there?”

No answer. He tried again.

“Lucy? Are you okay?”

Still nothing. Asher whined again, distraught. Tommy swallowed hard, his heart rate spiking in his ears. Fear locked pale hands around his throat. 

“Sweetheart? I’m coming in.” 

When he tried the knob it was to find the door surprisingly unlocked, but that was where his relief ended. 

Later, they would tell him that he screamed. And he supposed that he must have, though he had no recollection of it. 

The pieces of the scene before him were processed only in fragments. As if his mind knew that anything more would cause him to become incapacitated by hysterics. 

The bloody bathwater. The body with her head lolled back against the rim. The soaked clothes sticking to her like a second skin. The hand draped over the edge of the tub, blood dripping from it onto the white tiles. The bloody razor on the floor. The deep cuts slashed into her wrists. 

He was hurling himself towards the bathtub before his mind had fully finished processing what he was seeing, plunging his hands into the lukewarm water. Not caring that it was stained red–red, with her blood–as he scooped her up out of the tub. And she was a dead weight in his arms, and the thought of that word in association with Lucy had his knees buckling, sinking to the floor with her cradled to his chest. 

She was still dressed in her white undershirt and dark trousers. Her head fell back limply against his shoulder, those big brown eyes he’d fallen so deeply in love with closed. Damp hair clung to her forehead, a shade darker red than usual from the moisture. 

“No,” he choked out, hands hovering over her, frantic. “No, no, no, no, no, no…” he found her arms, gripping them tight, examining the blood flowing heavily from her wrists to pool around them. 

Have to stop the bleeding.

Shifting Lucy to lay across his lap, he yanked his tie free from around his neck with shaking hands, wrapping it around one of her arms and pulling it taunt in an improvised tourniquet. 

“Please, please,” he begged. He needed something else for the other arm…

“Tommy, what’s–oh my God,” Charlie gasped, coming to a stop in the doorway. 

Tommy looked up at him, and when he spoke, his voice was shockingly childlike. 

“Help me.”

“I’ll call an ambulance!” Charlie shouted, already racing down the hall. Tommy turned his attention back to Lucy, grabbing onto her shirt sleeves and ripping them apart to set to work fashioning a second tourniquet around the other arm. 

Right. What next? What more could he do to help her? It was taking everything he had to fight back the cycle of memories his brain was attempting to bombard him with: Greta’s hand in his, her final breaths rattling in her lungs while he lingered at her side, unable to do anything. Grace, in his arms, bleeding out while he was helpless to save her.. 

Here’s another one, Tommy. Another woman you loved, dead in your arms. Another one that’s all your fault. 

He shook his head. He needed to find something to make bandages out of for her wrists. Reaching into his pocket, he yanked out his handkerchief, ripping it in two and folding it, using one hand each to press the two pieces of fabric to the deep wounds on her wrists. The fabric was soaked crimson within seconds, and he was suddenly massively aware of the size of the scarlet puddle growing around him. 

He did not really even know if she was still alive. There was no time to check. He was pretty sure he saw her chest rising and falling shallowly, but that could always have been his mind seeing what it wanted to see. 

Despite the makeshift bandages steadily soaking through, he continued to maintain pressure, even as hope slipped away with every passing second. He could taste salt from his tears against his lips, aware that he was sobbing distraughtly, but not caring to do anything about it. 

“Please,” he curled around her, face bent in close to hers. “Please, Lucy, don’t leave me alone. Hang on. Just hang on. I’m sorry.” He started crying even harder. “I’m so, so sorry. I love you. I love you more than anything. Just please, please hang on. Stay with me. Please, please, please, please…”

He was still there, holding her on the floor of the washroom in a pool of her blood, crying and speaking to her softly, when the paramedics came charging through the door.

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[autism-autobot]

Flower of a Poisonous Seed Part 21

Part 20:

The only thing written on the whiteboard in the Demon Bull King's study was the word "flowers" in Nezha's handwriting.

The Demon Bull Family, Nezha, and Li Jing were trying to come up with what they'd do for Wukong's 7,000th birthday.

It wasn't as easy as they'd hoped.

For one thing, Wukong still hadn't fully recovered from surgery, and it was unclear as to whether or not he would recover in time for his birthday activities. Another thing to consider was that Wukong would still be sick even if he did manage to recover from the surgery in time.

And even then, they still weren't sure what Wukong would like to do for his birthday.

RS: Why can't we just ask him?

PIF: Because we're his family, and we ought to do something nice for him. He's been such a joy in each of our lives, and we ought to show him we care.

RS: But doesn't Uncle already know how much we care about him?

Nezha: This is Wukong we're talking about.

RS: Fair point. But what even are we going to do? "Flowers" isn't much to go off of.

Jing: Why can't we just throw a gala in his name and call it a day?

Nezha: Because, Father, Wukong gets far too anxious in crowds for us to even consider throwing any sort of party for him.

PIF: Poor baby, he got so nervous when my husband and I took him out to eat a few months back.

DBK: My brother wouldn't let go of my fur the whole time we were there. He could barely even speak up enough to order himself a salad, he was so nervous.

Nezha: Public outings are off the table, so is there anything else any of you can think of. I can only think of things we can do around the house, and Demon Bull King can't even fit inside my place. Wukong specifically requested that he be involved.

RS: My only ideas involve cake.

Jing: What kind of cake?

RS: Flower themed cake, obviously.

DBK: What kind of flowers?

RS: Um... the... regular kind?

PIF: We're going to have to do better than that for Wukong.

Nezha: Agreed. In the meantime, we can consider the flavor of the cake. What would be the point of the cake if not to eat it?

DBK: Yes, but what flavor?

Jing: Peach, of course.

Everyone else: NO!

Jing: Why not? He loves peaches!

Nezha: That was before his illness caused him to vomit whenever he consumed one. Citric acid doesn't sit well with him.

Jing: Oh. That's unfortunate.

RS: I once offered him a peach without knowing, and my poor uncle cried so hard.

Jing: Okay, so nothing peach related. Is there any fruit he can consume that he does like?

Nezha: Coconuts, apples, watermelon, raspberries, blueberries, any type of berry really...

RS: Did you memorize all his favorite foods?

Nezha: *smiles and shrugs* I love him very much, is all.

Jing: *raises eyebrow*

Nezha: Ugh, we're still just friends, Father. You can love someone platonically, you know.

RS: Raspberry cake sounds lovely!

DBK: And coconut shavings would make a good topping.

PIF: What about the frosting? What flavor should that be?

Nezha: Chocolate, maybe?

DBK: We may have to come back to that one.

~~~

Wukong wakes up in his recovery room to a certain dark-furred monkey sleeping with his head against his chest.

"I thought you were supposed to be monitoring me, silly."

Macaque had visited Wukong in the hospital soon after hearing about the surgery. Wukong never expected Macaque to be so worried about him.

It was during that time that they managed to catch up and come to be on better terms with each other.

Wukong being hospitalized gave them the opportunity to sit down and talk about subjects long overdue. Sorries, praises, and "I missed you"s were said by both monkeys.

They even talked about where to go from there.

"Caque, I don't want us to be an us again. I don't want to be an us with anyone for that matter. I'm done with that. I don't want to give myself away to anyone who isn't him. I'm sorry."

"It's okay, I get it. I... I just wish I appreciated you when I had you... and hadn't rejected you way back when. Maybe this *gestures to Wukong's bandages* wouldn't be happening if I didn't."

"Maybe it's a good thing you did."

~~~

PIF: MACAQUE!!!!!!!!!

Mac: *jolts awake* AAAAAAAAH!!!!! What??? What is it???!!!!

PIF: YOU WERE SUPPOSED TO BE MONITORING WUKONG!!!!!!!!!!

Mac: AAAAAAAAH!!!! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep!!!!

PIF: *raises fan to hit him*

Mac: *shadow teleports away*

Part 22:

Masterpost

@istopaskingmemate @swkbiggestdefender @starrclown @ainnur @weaverpop

[notdotspot]

Dp x Dc Stinky

Part. 1 Part. 2 Part. 3 Part. 4

Breakfast is never a quiet affair in the Wayne manor and Jason in his normal lateness expects everyone to be waiting for him to start. He takes his seat at the table and feels the emptiness next to him.

“Where’s Tim?”

“Sleeping,” Damian replies quickly. 

“Tim? Sleeping? Since when? He barely sleeps to start with much less sleeping in.” At Jason’s comment, the table seems to quiet, realizing just how odd it is. 

Steph speaks first, “I hate to admit it but Jason is right.”

“Hey!” He protests as she giggles into her hands.

Bruce jumps in before his children have the chance to turn the dining table into a warzone, “He has been having nightmares.” The group’s attention turns to him, so he continues, “Damian noticed he had not slept in days. By the time I approached him, he was delirious. I do not even know how he went on patrol like that.”

“B, it is not your fault. I can see you blaming yourself from here. You have to remember Tim was on his own for a long time. His parents did not care like you do and he is good at hiding his weaknesses,” Dick chimes in. The mood in the room is weighed with worry. 

“He will be fine. I told Titus to keep him in bed as long as possible. He will be better.” Luckily, everyone was distracted by Damian’s rare display of emotion, allowing them to shed some of their worry for their brother.

“Welp,” Jason stands, “Lovely family meal as always. Thank you, Alfred. See you later, losers. Places to be, people to see.” He then quickly made his way to the Batcave. Dressing quickly and grabbing his motorcycle. Crime Alley does not wait for him. Though Jason would be lying to himself if his only concern was fighting crime. 

Ever since he passed through that weird area in the Bat Burger two days ago, he has not seen a glimpse of the Pit Madness. Not even when he ran into a few Joker goons. An encounter like that would have meant lethal force, flashbacks, and a subsequent panic attack right there on the street, but it never came. He was in civilian clothes and did not even flinch to pull a phantom gun from its holster. He paused like any other person native to Gotham and was left scouring his brain for any clue about the miraculous cure he accidentally came across. 

It was not until he felt it again the previous night on a rooftop that he realized the affected air had an eerie green glow. So today, his mission is to find the source. 

Unfortunately for Jason though, other people do not care if he has something to do today. Now Jason is chasing some type of creature along the streets. 

“Why is this thing so fucking quick?” He yells into his helmet. He turns the corner to the alley it had disappeared down. Jason is forced to turn and brake quickly before he runs directly into the wall of the dead end. His gaze shoots up and the thing is waving at him. By the time he makes his way up the fire escape, it is gone. 

“Fast little shit,” he whispers under his breath. 

His earpiece cracks to life and he hears, “Need any help, Hood?”

“Are you not supposed to be having your little nap, Red? Where is Oracle?”

“Shut up! I slept enough. It is not like Dami or B will let me out on patrol anytime soon, and unlike you, Oracle has a day job. She is a functional member of society.” 

“I am dead to society. I am sorry I can not go work in a corner office at Wayne Enterprises.”

“Do you want help or not, asshole?”

“Yeah, sure. There is some creature racing around Crime Alley. Black tail, white hair, and Lazurus green eyes. I am sure Ras made it.”

“Green eyes?” Tim whispers. “I will come meet you.”

“No. No, you will not. You are on house arrest.” 

“In civilian clothes. I can ride on the bike with you. I need to see this thing.”

“No Red Robin?” 

“Yeah, no Red Robin.”

“Okay, meet me at the Bat Burger. You have to eat something first.”

“Be there in thirty minutes,” he says as the line disconnects. 

Jason signs. 

“Who are you talking to?”

If Jason were not trained to school his reactions, he would have lost his shit. He whips around to see the creature he has been chasing since he arrived this morning. He could now make out the features of a person. “Meta?” He thinks. “Oh? It has legs now, too”

“Who are you talking to?” 

“Red Robin,” he says cautiously. Jason can never be too careful. His hand finds his knife in his sleeve. “Why were you running?”

“Bored. No one to fight here.”

“Are you meta?” 

“Meta? I guess by your definition, yes.”

“Batman does not take too kindly to uninvited metas.”

“This is my first offense, though. No three strikes, you are out?”

“No.”

“Do not worry yourself, then. I am just on vacation. I only needed to stretch my legs.” The meta’s legs morph into a tail and back. 

“How long are you here for?” 

“I do not know. A few decades? A century? I lose track of time easily these days.”

Jason is slowly being lulled into a state of calm. He did not even notice his hand releasing his blade or his anxious caution leaking away. 

“You stink. Do you know that?” One sentence and Jason was snapped back to reality. He was questioning a potential threat and he was nowhere near able to defend himself.

“People keep telling me that,” he replies as casually as he can. His mind is panicking at how easily he lost his focus. He begins making up time. He observes the meta more, noticing the barely perceivable green fog leaching off of the person. A younger guy he is realizing. A young teenager maybe fourteen. 

“Wait,” he interrupts his own thoughts, “green glow and calming effect.”

“It might be the dirty ectoplasm you are carrying with you.” He does not linger on his newfound awareness. He is caught up in something entirely new.

“Ecto-what?”

“Ectoplasm. Glowing green goop. Radiating ghostly energy? Ring a bell?”

“Like a Lazurus Pit?”

“A what?”

Jason takes a breath to begin explaining but his phone ringing interrupts him. He answered without a second thought. 

“Where are you?” Tim says over the line. “I am here.”

“That was way less than thirty minutes.”

“No, it has been longer. Almost an hour.” Jason’s eyes flicker to the person floating in front of him. 

“Okay, I am not far. I am bringing a guest.” He ends the call as quickly as he had answered it. “What’s your name, kid?”

“You can call me Phantom.” He smiles.

“Do you eat burgers, Phantom?”

“I do!”

“Then, come on.”

---------

also on ao3

I am excited for the upcoming chapters

[chronicallyonline101]

Illuso with team member who at front is quiet but after awhile they become really hyper and sassy. Refuses to admit he likes them, gets annoyed when they’re close with the other team members?

Hi!! sorry for the wait! I've been reallllyyy busy, but i love this idea tysm for sending it in!

Illuso x Reader || Second Person POV, GN Pronouns Used.

'Illuso think's it's fun to tease you. He doesn't expect you to turn the tables.'

Nervous; you were nervous. Nothing you did could settle the pit of unease that had blossomed within your chest, all you could do was pick at your nails and bite at your cheek - unsure of what would occur in the imminent future.

You were stood, alone, in a dark corridor. Bathed by nothing but moonlight that swept in through the cracks of sheathed windows. Golden, fluorescent light crept across the floor near your feet, a sign that the room next to you was occupied, yet, you wouldn't dare enter.

You could hear voices, masculine in their nature, talking amongst themselves. They were undoubtably the voices of your new teammates, each one reacting to the information that your new leader: Risotto Nero, had offered them. You couldn't quite make out what was being said, for the thick slab of wood separating you and them muffled most words, but from the yelling and the shouting you could assume they hadn't taken it well - they'd be distrustful of you, though you couldn't blame them. You would be too if a stranger imposed on your team.

A few more seconds of this passed before the voices eventually fell to silence. When the handle on the door to the room began to twist, you found yourself swallowing thickly, willing your nerves to calm down lest you made a horrid first impression.

Once the door swung open, you were met with the herculean figure of Risotto, stood morosely in the doorway. He blocked your view of the other team members, but you knew they were there from the hushed whispers they slipped back and forth.

"Are you ready?" He inquired, voice not baring a hint of emotion - he was being professional with you. Meekly, you nodded your head, ducking it downward once he turned around and began leading you into the room.

Usually, you wouldn't be so shy; you never had been, with your old team. You oozed confidence and could fill a room with laughter so loud it'd break glass - or something like that. But... ever since the incident with your last team, and learning you'd be assigned to the La Squadra Di Execuzioni, your usual wall of hyperactivity had crumbled - leaving nothing but a pile of mushy, jittery rubble. It certainly didn't help that your entire future within Passione waged on how well you could insert yourself into this team - Hitmen weren't some low class drug peddler, you either settle in nicely or leave in a casket.

Thinking about it while you stood before the entire team, who lounged about on peeling, worn green couches; maybe dying wasn't so bad.

You'd been made to introduce yourself, and so you did. Stammering and mumbling, with a voice so hoarse you half thought it would cut out on you mid-sentence, you eventually managed to spit out your name, previous affiliation with Passione, and your stand.

A few of them laughed at you for being so unsure - one even compared you to a fish, whatever that meant. You grew shyer under their insults, and it certainly didn't help that you had this nagging pressure burning into your cheek... it felt like you were being watched, and --- oh, you were.

One member of the team took a particular attentive liking to you. With rose-coloured eyes holding a glint of mischief, the brunet stared at you without shame - a quirk in his brow and a smile on his lips.

The first time Illuso had laid eyes on you, he had known you'd be in for the long haul. There had been a coy, timid look to you while you stood in front of his team - introducing yourself at the insistence of their team leader, Risotto.

He wasn't quite sure himself why he was so interested in you. You weren't anything special; shy and quiet, you did as you were told without complaint and had settled down quite nicely amongst the hitmen of La Squadra Di Execuzioni.

Maybe it was because you were easy to tease.

He'd always been a cheek, but, his nefarious behaviour had only been amplified since your arrival. It was just so fun!

Risotto had tried to encourage everyone to share their stands; it would promote trust between you and the team, but Illuso had refused. He'd said it made him "feel safer," despite knowing you were no real threat to his Man in the Mirror.

You'd appreciated his transparency, if he wasn't going to share his stand then at the very least it was respectable that he was honest about his reasoning behind not sharing.

Though, you'd quickly learn he hadn't been honest. When he started popping out of mirrors at random intervals - be it washing your hands, walking past your own reflection, or even showering, he would appear and scare you into a near heart attack.

He found your reactions funny, maybe even endearing; you'd jump and shriek and tell him off in the most pathetic voice ever and he just loved it. Maybe a little too much, because his behaviour was notably different toward you than anyone else, and people were beginning to notice.

"Hey, man, do you like them or something?" Formaggio had asked one evening when Illuso had been explaining his latest, meanest plan. Formaggio hadn't even bothered to lift his lethargic gaze away from the television as he so rudely pried at Illuso's personal life.

The offended gasp Illuso let out could have been heard across the entirety of Italy. "No,"

He growled, staring at Formaggio as if he had just grown two heads. Why would he even suggest that? The brunet scowled at the mere thought, no, he didn't like you. He'd hardly even call you a friend, more like, a victim of bullying.

"What cog turned in your meat-head to even make you think that I would like them like that?" He crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at Formaggio expectantly - when the redhead let out a short 'Dunno', followed by a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders, Illuso let out a scoff. It was so difficult talking to Formaggio, he never even listened half the time!

"I don't like them." He repeated, more so to himself than Formaggio. Formaggio lifted a brow in Illuso's direction, questioning why he hadn't just dropped the subject; a cocky grin slipped onto his lips when the luxurious brunet turned around and bellowed out an insecure: "Why, do you like them?"

Oh. Illuso definitely had a crush on you. He was so deep in denial that Formaggio was surprised he hadn't started drowning. Throwing his arms behind his head, Formaggio stretched out on the couch - letting a dismissive sound pass his lips.

"Eh, I think they're chill."

Just seeing the way Illuso's eye twitched in his peripherals offered Formaggio enough smug serotonin to live off of for the next few weeks.

"You can't like them," He commanded, jabbing an accusatory finger in Formaggio's direction. "We're like best friends. It's weird."

Formaggio raised his hands in mock defence. "I never said I liked them. I said I think they're chill." His brow raised curiously. "Besides... you're more like a bully than a friend."

Another scoff fell from Illuso's lips. He rolled his eyes to the side, as if Formaggio had pointed out the most obvious thing ever. "Exactly. I'm mean. I'm mean to you, too! That's how I show affection---"

"---So you do like them?" Formaggio sat upright with a grin, revelling in the startled expression that overtook Illuso's usually composed features.

"Not in the way you're implying!"

But it very much was in the way Formaggio had been implying.

And it had been a major mistake letting Formaggio in on that information, even if accidentally, for things shifted between the two of you greatly - as a means of teasing Illuso, Formaggio had taken it upon himself to become your 'best-friend,' and with his sudden approval it seemed the team warmed up to you much faster than they would have without.

Soon enough, you were coming out of your shell - hanging out with the others a lot more, talking and chatting and enjoying yourself. Having gotten over that initial shy phase, it turned out that you were the total opposite of what the team had originally pegged you to be - you were always bouncing around, and got excited over the littlest of things. You could take an insult too and found yourself in approval of even the most snappiest members of the team.

Throughout it all, Illuso wasn't sure why he felt so... jealous. Annoyed, that suddenly everyone was taking a liking to you when at first he had been the only one who bothered with you. And yet, for some reason you seemed to despise him!

He continued trying to taunt you; pulling pranks when you least expected it, but now alert and ready, it was harder for him to get away with these things. He never shied away from a challenge, but by God, he wished you'd just let him do this.

Despite Formaggio's best efforts to push the two of you together, it seemed Illuso remained unaware of his own startling crush on you. Not until one fateful night, when the fruits of his labour came to full fruition:

You knew it was bad, but you'd had a habit of staying up late into the night. Your days were mostly occupied with the manual labour that came with being a hitman, and so, staying awake deep into the gloom of night was a kind solace - a break from all the stress carried along in the day.

Except, you couldn't relax. Not when he was watching you, and you knew he was for you'd torn the sheet off of the vanity in the corner of your room. A thing you'd usually keep covered to evade his attention, you'd finally freed, to have payback on all the times he'd jumped at you and scared you.

He was probably wondering why you'd taken the sheet off, but you doubted he'd figured it out - he always overestimated himself.

Arising from your bed, you let yourself stretch out. Nonchalantly walking toward the vanity; almost like an advertisement, an invite. You could feel his eyes burning at the back of your head, and though you couldn't see him in the midst of the night, you knew he was there.

It took him no time to try and scare you - already, you could hear the tell tale jangle that for some reason always sounded out whenever he used his stand. In a matter of seconds, you swiftly snapped around on your heel and dove onto him. He let out a loud 'Oof' as he was pushed backward, the both of you successfully getting thrown into the mirror world.

You had him beneath you, pinned down with a wicked, excited grin spread across your face. "Got you!"

Winded, Illuso hardly had time to register that you were on top of him. His ruby eyes splayed wide in surprise; you'd been getting cocky, but this was something new entirely.

"You did that on purpose," He grumbled, tone turning sour. His brow furrowed, upset that you'd spoiled his plans, but the flush across his cheeks told you otherwise.

"Mm. Maybe I did." Sticking your tongue out, you jabbed at him playfully - it surprised him, you'd never been this way before, and it had him flustered.

The moment ended far too quickly for his own liking. You pushed off of him, and turned around to leave the tilted mirror world; he watched with narrow eyes. He could lock you in, if he so wished, and then leave himself; watching with devious glee as you ran back and forth trying to escape. But he wouldn't. He was nice - sometimes.

You offered him a coy look before you left, and didn't bother covering the mirror - was that an invite? Did you want him to follow?

A huff left his nostrils when he moved to sit upright, brow furrowed in frustration.

Maybe he did like you like that.

---

I HOPE THIS IS WHAT YOU WANTED IF NOT JST SEND ANOTHER ASK AND I CAN DO IT!!!

[imtryingbuck]

Opposite attracts

~ gif not mine credit to owner ~

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: bucky and y/n are completely opposite to each other. (I’m terrible at summaries sorry!)

Word count: 2,842

Warnings: fluff. angst. swearing. Bucky puts himself down. mentions of being sick and being sick on (not detailed). mentions of sex(?)

A/N: absolutely love this request, thank you so much for sending it, I’m so sorry that it took so long🤍

Masterlist

No one really understood why or how the relationship between Bucky and Y/n worked due to them being so different from each other, yet they were so in love with each other. The couple met at university, Sam being the social butterfly that he had introduced them - after they had already met a few weeks earlier.

“Hi, is this seat taken?”

Bucky flinched at the voice, he didn’t mean to, he was to engrossed in the comic book in his hand that he didn’t notice someone approaching him. Looking up, he gulped, shaking his head. “N-no.”

“Thank you.” He truly expected her to take the seat and move it away, not sit there next to him. “I’m Y/n, hi.”

“I know.” He whispered. “B-Bucky.”

He didn’t know why she was introducing herself to him, he knew who she was, everyone did. Y/n L/n was bubbly, talkative, a person who made friends with everyone and anyone, she was popular, and so beautiful - something everyone thought about her, and so did he.

“What are you reading?” She asks, bringing him back to the present.

“J-just a comic.”

“Which one?”

“I- erm, this one.” Showing her the cover.

“Is that the new one?”

“Y-yeah?”

“I’ll have to ring him later and see if he has it.” He gives her a questioning look, which she laughs at. “My brother, he’s a massive fan of comics. Honestly you should see his collection!”

“Oh, right.”

“He’s a bit of a nerd.” She chuckles. “And he absolutely loves gaming.”

“Right.”

“Sorry, you’re trying to read and I keep talking, I’ll leave you alone now.”

“Okay.” He felt guilty about how he reacted, especially when she lowered her head, but he was nervous - sitting there tense as she talked. He didn’t know why she was talking to him or even sitting next to him when there were other available seats.

A couple of weeks later Sam brought Y/n to the house he shared with Bucky and Steve, the group of friends that also included Natasha, Wanda, Clint, Vis and Thor were having a movie marathon and Sam had invited her. When Bucky saw her entering the house he truly didn’t know what to do with himself - especially when she sat in the seat next to where he always sat.

And from that day on, Y/n joined their friendship group. Much to Bucky’s annoyance. It wasn’t because she was rude or mean or even spoke down to him, no, she was sweet and kind, didn’t judge or laugh at him for stuttering and stumbling over his words, she was always interested in everything he had to say. So the reason why he was annoyed about her being around all the time? Well because he had a huge crush on her and that annoyed him.

He knew that she wouldn’t like him, he was completely the opposite of her; he was shy, nerdy, insecure, he was everything she wasn’t.

Bucky’s hands shook as he did up his tie, staring at himself in the mirror whilst Steve poured drinks for them. Sam, Thor, Clint and Vis were finishing off getting dressed, their conversation and laughter fading into the background as he remembered the moment he told her he had feelings for her.

It had been a year since Y/n became an official member of their group, in that year Bucky finally stopped becoming a stuttering mess every time she spoke to him, he grew more confident when he realised that she wasn’t going to judge him or laugh at him for being himself.

It was Wanda’s birthday, the group threw a party for her in the house she shared with Natasha and Y/n - the group watched with much amusement as Bucky came out of his shell the more he continued to drink. “Steve!”

“Yeah?”

“Ha-have you seen Y/n?”

“I saw her going outside ten minutes ago, why?”

“I need to talk to her.” The blond nodded his head as he watched his best friend stumble across the room and out of the house. Bucky found her sitting on the ground, leaning back as she stared up at the stars. “Y/n.”

She would have been startled by the intrusion if he hadn’t made so much noise trying to get out of the door. “Yeah?”

“I- I Bucky Barnes need to tell you something.”

Giggling at his words, she held out her hand to help him sit down next to her. “And what is it you need to tell me?”

“I don’t like you.” He says when he finally gets as comfortable as he can on the hard ground. “Well that’s not true, I do like you. A lot. Like a lot, a lot, you know?”

“I like you too Bucky.”

“No you don’t.” He snaps. “Sorry that was mean.”

“It’s okay, but of course I like you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, you're my friend.”

The soft, shy smile on his lips disappeared at her words, of course she only saw him as a friend. “B-but that’s not what I meant.”

“What do you mean?”

“I like you, more than a friend.” Picking at the rim of the plastic cup in his hand, before whispering. “I think I love you.”

Her cheeks instantly went red. Her heart raced as she looked over at him and saw the seriousness on his face. Reaching over to hold his hand, her whole body tingled when he flipped his hand over and their fingers slotted against each other. “I think I love you too.”

“You're lying!” Watching as she shakes her head. “You are! You’re too pretty for someone like me.”

“Firstly, I’m not lying to you and secondly, don’t put yourself down!”

“But you are, you're so pretty and look at me! Fat and ugly and-“

“No!” She shouted, making him jump. “Don’t call yourself names especially when they aren’t true! Please Bucky.”

“Bossy.” He mumbled. “You really like me?”

“Yes. I wouldn’t say I do if I didn’t.”

“Because I’m slightly drunk, can I kiss you?”

“Slightly?” He nodded with a dopey smile. “Okay.”

“Okay, as in I can kiss you or.” She didn’t give him a chance to finish his sentence, taking a hold of his face she pressed her lips to his. “Wow.” He whispered after they pulled away for air. “P-please don’t take this wrong but.”

He didn't finish his sentence as he puked up.

When he woke up the next morning, face down on the sofa, his head was pounding and he was convinced the room was spinning. With a groan he managed to sit up, coming face to face with Sam and Steve sitting there with massive grins. “Wh-what happened?”

“Aside from you confessing your love for Y/n, kissing her, then being sick on her, and then passing out. Nothing much.”

The room finally stopped spinning as his heart stopped beating. “I-I-I was sick on her? I told her?” Grabbing a cushion he held it to his face and screamed. “No, no, no I couldn’t! You're lying!”

“We watched-“

“I kissed her? When? How? Oh god!” As he was having a mini panic attack his so called best friends were crying with laughter. “It-it’s not funny!”

“It’s fine, she didn’t seem to mind- well until you were sick on her.”

“I bet she hates me!”

“Who hates you?” His eyes went wide as Y/n came into the living room. “Bucky?”

“I-I- can we talk?”

“Sure.” She glanced over at the guys - who were trying and failing to conceal their amusement. “Boys, fuck off.”

“Yes ma’am.” They said in unison, saluting her which she laughed at.

“Bucky?”

“I am so so sorry, I didn’t mean it or mean to be sick, I-I understand if you never want to speak to me again.”

“Oh.” Twisting the bottom of her shirt in her fingers. “You didn’t- it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine! I shouldn’t have told you, I promised myself I wouldn’t do it.” Gripping the cushion for dear life. “I’m never drinking again.”

“Wait, did you mean it? Do you like me?”

“Of course I like you! I told you last night. Please don’t make me feel any more stupid than I already do.”

“And I like you! I meant what I said last night.”

As they waited for the car to come around, Bucky smiled at the memory of their first date.

Two weeks after he drunkenly confessed and made a fool of himself, he asked her out on a date to which she said yes, happily.

He borrowed Steve’s car and drove to her house, clumsily handing her the bouquet of flowers he had gotten her - not mentioning that he had brought way too many, not knowing which one she would have preferred. A meal and cinema, it was simple yet she didn’t show any sign of it being boring.

“So, where are you taking me?” Y/n asked from the passenger seat.

“I tried booking a table at that new restaurant but they didn’t have any seats available, so I thought we could have a picnic instead, if that’s alright?”

“It’s perfect, I’ve always wanted to go on a picnic.”

“Sam helped me.” He admitted with a laugh.

“He’s always helpful.”

As he pulled the car up to the beach, he watched Y/n’s face light up. “I remember you saying that you always love going to the beach, so I thought- is it stupid?”

“It is perfect! This is already the best date ever!” They worked as a team to lay the blanket out on the soft sand, once sat and food was out of the basket, they talked whilst eating. “If you could have any job in the world, what would you choose?”

“I would own a restaurant, what about you?”

“I would have a rescue centre for animals.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I love animals.” She chuckles. “If not that then I would be a veterinarian.”

“Why not be both?”

“Maybe.” She shrugs, finishing her sandwich off before speaking again. “What would you name your restaurant?”

“I don’t know. It wouldn’t happen anyway.”

“You don’t know that.” Shifting herself onto her knees, an idea of a possible name came to her head. “J.B.B Food, or Barnes Restaurant or-or James B Barnes - no not that one, or Food by James?”

He chuckled softly as the possible names of this restaurant that he would never have, kept coming out of her mouth. “You’re thinking of names of something I don’t even have.”

“I’m getting ahead of myself aren’t I? Maybe we could think about the food you’ll cook.”

“Everything.” He winked. “Okay maybe not everything but I would cater to everyone.”

“And obviously I would get food for free.”

“Obviously.”

“Oh I could be your taster! This is going to be amazing!”

He bursts out laughing. “Again, it’s not even going to happen.”

“You need to have faith, if you want it to happen then it will!”

“Alright, what about you? You want to run a rescue centre, what would it be called?”

“Easy. Y/n’s animal rescue centre, it will have places for all animals big and small, people would have to have a background check when they want to adopt because you can’t be too careful, and after two years of opening I would have to open another one because of all the animals I will rescue.”

“You’ve really thought about this?”

“In full detail.”

“I like it.”

“Thank you.” She smiled. “Then again, it might not happen.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Well you don’t have faith in your dream, so I might as well not have it in mine.”

“But yours is more realistic.”

“But so is owning a restaurant, if you put your mind to it, it will succeed. Five years after opening your first one you’ll be onto opening your fourth or even fifth!”

“One a year? You're killing me!”

“No, I’m making you rich! And me fat from all the taste testing I’ll be doing.” She giggles. “One day we’ll have our dream jobs.”

“One day.” He whispered, watching as she continued to eat.

They never made it to the cinema as they spent hours on the beach building sandcastles - which Y/n got a stranger to vote which one was the best - and having a splash around in the water, he found it amusing that she was creating sand-angels, they shared many kisses whilst they were there too.

When Bucky dropped Y/n off that night, they shared another kiss before she asked him something that caused him to choke on air. “Do- would you like to come in?”

“For?”

“What do you think?” Her eyes went wide as he started choking. “Shit, are you alright?”

“Fine, I’m fine. I-erm I- I’m still- you know?”

“Wh- oh. Oh that’s okay, I don’t want to pressure- or think that you want to- you know with me- no pressure or-“

“I want too!” He blurts out cutting off her rambling. “I’m just nervous.”

“That’s okay. Everyone gets nervous, we don’t have to do it tonight.”

“I do- I want to, tonight I mean- if you're okay with it?”

After fifteen minutes of convincing Bucky that she wasn't going to judge him or his body, he finally took his clothes off - cheeks going bright red as her eyes scanned up and down his body with nothing but admiration and lust in her eyes.

They both laid there panting for breath as the scent of sex and sweat was heavy in the air. “You- you said that you was a virgin.”

“I am- was, why? Was I bad? Oh god!”

“The opposite.” She giggled. “You was great, I promise.”

“T-thanks, I guess.” He laughs, wrapping his arm around her - smiling as she shuffles closer to him. “You were amazing by the way.”

The car passed by his restaurant, yes his restaurant, four years after graduating from university Y/n all but knocked down the door to their shared apartment.

“I’ve found it! Bucky!”

Coming out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, he frowned at her words. “What are you talking about?”

“A building, I- fuck I ran all the way up here, I found the building.”

“Okay?” He says slowly, walking into the kitchen to fill a glass up with water to hand it to her. “You found a building?”

“Yes, but not any building, no, no I found thee building!” Gulping down the water way too fast she ignored the slight ache in her chest. “For your restaurant.”

“What? Where?”

“It’s- get dressed and we can go now, hurry.”

Y/n went halves with him on the building - much to his dismay. It was run down and needed a lot of work which the group were more than happy to help with, a year later Barnes Restaurant was opening its doors. Two years after that he was opening up another one, with one being done up.

As he sat in the back with the guys, the car went by Y/n’s Animal Rescue Centre.

“It’s happening! Bucky it’s happening!” She screamed down the phone, deafening him, before bursting through the large doors of the restaurant. “It’s happening!” She sang loudly, startling the customers.

“What’s going on?” He asked coming to the counter, laughing as he says. “Calm down your scaring off my customers.”

“The woman got back to me, it’s-guess what- it’s happening!” The customers who were enjoying their meal laughed along with Bucky as Y/n starts to do a dance. “They accepted my bid! I am now the proud owner of the land!”

Bucky ran around the counter and picked her up and spun her around. “I’m so proud of you baby, so proud!”

Everyone cheered, even though they didn’t really know what was happening.

Just over a year later the rescue centre was up and running. Six months after the doors opened, Y/n came home with a white fluffy kitten. “Don’t be mad… but, look.”

“It’s- baby, we talked about this.”

“I know, I know but look at her.” Practically shoving the kitten into his face. “She’s so cute.”

“She is, yes.” He couldn’t disagree with her, but they talked about her not bringing animals home with her, she had brought two dogs home once which they gave to Steve. “I don’t think-“

“I’ve already thought about that, whenever the landlord comes we’ll just hide her, simple. Please Buck, please.”

He was never able to say no to her, especially not when she was pouting and giving him her best puppy eyes. “Fine but if we get caught out, I’m blaming you.”

It was a lie and they both knew it. “That’s fine. What should we name her?”

Nearly an hour it took them to settle on a name. Alpine.

Bucky stood at the end of the aisle watching with a bated breath, tears burning his vision as the love of his life walked towards him.

They were completely opposite to each other, yet their love was just the same.

Tags: @imcinnamoons | @pigeonmama | @capsbestgirl77

[apricitae-world]

BASHFUL DAWN

Xavier is exhausted after fighting against Soren and reliving his past. You try to help. [XAVIER X READER FLUFF]

THIS POST CONTAINS: Xavier X gender neutral reader, angst, fluff, Xavier is implied to have self-esteem issues, talking about feelings, cuddling and snuggling, my take on "Voyage of the Outcast" story chapter.

Enjoy.

BASHFUL DAWN

After the report of the college incident and the device left by Soren, Xavier had been missing from your life. The last day you two spoke seemed like a dream now, when he promised he would tell you everything.

Xavier always lies. Bile rises to your throat right after you wake up in the morning, plagued by the memories of your (boy)friend. Even though Xavier lived literally on the floor above yours, it seemed an invisible wall had been put between you.

You knocked on his door the following afternoon, but no response. You hadn't seem him in the Hunters Association for work either, Captain Jenna's brow furrowed in concern, but brushing it off like a "well earned rest". When you left the apartment to feed the stray cat, there was already a bowl of food in its telltale place. You visit Philos, inquiring poor Jeremiah to where his friend might have been. The man was sweating cold, saying he didn't know. Things reaching a breaking point when you visited your garden, the one you saved from a Wanderer oh so long ago.

It really felt like he was gone from your life, barely any signal of life to say he was there at all.

After a few days of trying to pick yourself up (Tara truly was a wonderful friend to hear your rants and watch your comfort movies), you see a familiar bedhead leaving a convenience store with five bowls of hotpot in hand.

"Xavier?" His lustrous blond hair was now matted and lifeless. His blue, shiny eyes did not reflect any light anymore, and his lovely white sweater, the one you stole and wore so many times, was almost falling from his shoulders.

He looked terrible.

"Hi." He says, still not meeting your gaze. You wanted to yell, scream, grab him by his arms and ask where the hell he has been. Even so, seeing him like this made your anger deflate like a sad balloon. "Are you okay?" You ask.

Xavier lifts his head, shocked. Guess he wasn't expecting that reaction either. "I was the one who ghosted you. I'm the one who is supposed to be making amends." He concludes and falls silent again. "I'm sorry. I keep messing up."

This version of your lover was nothing short of terrible. You had never seem him look so defeated. "Why didn't you reply to me texts? My calls? I dropped by your place so many times." Street lights and car honks were all around you, but you coudn't find yourself to care. In fact, your world seemed just too quiet.

"Let's go to my place. I guess I owe you an explanation." No more words were exchanged during the walk, and maybe you prefered it that way. The last thing you want is to make a fuss in front of the whole building.

The inside of Xavier's apartment was messy. Some dirty dishes here and there, unfinished books scattered around and no calm music playing. His trustworthy cleaning robot, the one he would not stop talking about a while back, layed gathering dust in a corner. The entire place seemed pretty much unrecognizable.

Xavier put some water to boil for his hotpots and sat beside you on the fluffly couch. "The first thing I should do is apologize. No one should go missing like that, especially after what we went through." You hum. A sign for him to keep going. "I tought things would be better if I tried to solve them by myself. No matter what, I want you to be safe. And happy."

"What makes you think I don't want to be part of this? Of finding things out with you?" You squish his face gently between your hands. He goes limp in your hold, content. "It's dangerous, and I don't even know if my plan will work at all."

"If you tell me what the plan is, then I can help you." You say matter-of-factly and raise a brow. Xavier's face scrunches and he laughs. His voice was a little hoarse, but beautiful as always. How you missed that.

"What do I have to say to make you understand we are in this together? Don't think you're getting rid of me so easily." He closes the distance between you, holding all of your body close against his. "I would never want to get rid of you."

Your lovely silence was interrupted by the sound of metal clanking against each other and the smell of something burning. "Xavier! The water for the hotpot!" You both look at each other with newfound horror before sprinting to the kitchen.

Some things never change.

-

The hotpots were delicious, even if you scolded him for eating instant food for a week straight. You both made a promise to clean the apartment on the following day and start putting things in order. Slowly.

"Thank you for being here. And not being mad." You think a little before replying. "I am mad, I won't deny. But I also like you a lot and don't want to lose what we have. If you promise me to be more open about what you want and what you need, we'll be alright."

"Okay. I'll try." Xavier takes a deep breath. "I love you." Thank goodness your boyfriend didn't have a phone right now, because your face was priceless: eyes open and mouth agape. "I love you too."

You two end up sharing a bed that night. His room was messy like the rest of the house, but you promised to fix it in the morning. As so, all the lights were turned off and you hugged Xavier from under the covers. Everything seemed alright in the world.

When the sun arrived the next morning, you two were still holding each other close. No matter how dark the night, there would always be stars to guide the way, and the morning would surely arrive. You hold Xavier a little tighter and drift back to sleep.

WOULD YOU LIKE TO REQUEST A FANFIC, DRABBLE OR FANART? TRY TIPPING ME ON KO-FI! IT HELPS ME BRING MORE CONTENT LIKE THIS IN THE FUTURE:

[midnightsmusings]

-Kneel, Alpha- Pt. 2

I did it! This was harder than expected, getting the dynamics right with Ghost's reluctance to accept his submission. Nevertheless! Smut is here: (although I apologize I didn't mean for it to be this LONG I just had so much to say about these two)

This is WAY different than the wip I posted so enjoy that as a little peek into how my brain works I guess?

-CW: 18+ MDNI, handjob, top omega Soap, bottom alpha Ghost, Ghost's a little mean to himself

Ghost swallowed, groaning as Soap's hand squeezed. He was waiting for the laughter at the way an alpha was acting needy from an Omega snarling and shouting at him.

Yet when he glanced up after the silence became too agonizing he didn't find disgust. Instead Ghost watched as the realization on Soap's face quickly turned to pure want.

Ghost let out another sound, embarrassingly whinier than the last one as that dark gaze trailed down to his lap. Flushing under his mask Ghost squirmed knowing even through the humiliation and stress of this whole ordeal his pants were still tight. Straining up against the warm palm.

"I can't be anything like what an alphas supposed to be" Ghost muttered through a clenched jaw. Still trying to save face even with the omega's hand squeezing his clothed cock. His voice was tight as everything he'd been holding back was now out. Ghost felt flayed open and exposed now, seen as the sorry excuse for an alpha he was.

"You're everything I want in an alpha ye old fashioned git" Soap finally said, his own voice lowered and equally strained. This was how Ghost chose to explain? Make him feel up his bulge? God Soap was hopelessly in love with him.

Soap couldn't resist giving another squeeze, just to hear that low groan again, to see those eyes roll and feel Ghost's length twitch.

"Ye think..after a life of me being told to quiet down, to be more submissive I'd fall for a partner who would want ta' tell me the same thing?"

Soap sighs fondly, anger flooding out of him. He figured the man brushing him off was another part of that front he put up, gruff and unapproachable. Figured Ghost was wary of letting his guard down after the shit he's been through. Soap never guessed it was because the alpha would melt so easily at a sharp tone and a some rough handling. Would hate that side of himself.

Soap knew a talk needed to happen. The stubborn alpha wasn't in a place to voice his wants, probably wouldn't be without a lot of work.

So, he leaned back and lifted his hand off the cock that was just begging to be rubbed raw. Soap's own length hardening at the low pained whine Ghost let out from the full loss of touch.

"Och I know" he cooed sweet and teasing at the halfhearted glare sent his way before turning more serious, gaze sharpening and taking in each minuscule reaction.

"Now yer gonna go shut and lock that door" Soap said with a commanding tilt as he jerked his head towards the still wide open door of Ghost's office.

Ghost sat, mind whirling as he looked up at Soap, thinking of nothing but his ache for relief and the man's commanding tone. Eventually his mind cleared in understanding.

It was an out. Soap was giving him an out.

A subtle one, but one nonetheless.

Ghost stood and walked stiffly to the door, body tense warring with himself between using this option and walking out that door...or shutting it and accepting he was a soft and shite alpha.

Soap watched with bated breath as Ghost hesitated, gloved hand tight around the knob before the man finally shut the door and locked it with a loud click. Soap watches with a grin as he turned, looking surprisingly bashful.

"Good lad, come sit that pretty arse back down" Soap commanded kicking the chair out towards him with a smirk. His blood was thrumming and scent deepening with arousal at the sight of the large alpha following his orders so well, even if he was still putting up that bratty act.

Ghost let out a soft growl, irritated the way his cheeks heated up at that praise but stomped over. Sure he shut that door, signaled he wanted this but that didn't mean he could stomach acting like an obedient welp.

"Isn't that what you are though?" His mind helpfully supplied.

As soon as Ghost slumped back in the chair Soap reached his free hand up to grasp his angled jaw, tugging at the fabric of his mask.

Ghost felt the fabric sliding over his skin, only reacting with a snapping of teeth just shy of Soap's fingers but otherwise letting him tug it up.

He couldn't hide the flush deepening on his half exposed face at Soap's teasing chuckle from his halfhearted attempt.

"Bite me if ye want but I'm fuckn kissing ya" Soap said eyes dark and blood thrumming in his veins.

Ghost paused, cock throbbing as Soap leaned down. The words weren't a growl or a warning, they were said with a casual acceptance that had Ghost melting back into the chair and his scarred lips slipping open in answer.

Soap hummed as the man went pliant under him, soft pants escaping his mouth. Soap didn't actually worry about being bit the closer he got to the Alpha.

He would wear Ghost's teeth marks proudly and knew he was just struggling to accept Soap wanted this. Wanted him

"I'll bite you if you don't kiss me" Ghost grumbled pressing his teeth into Soap's thumb impatiently as the omega just looked.

Ghost was completely undone, aching and getting exactly what he's been missing for so long. At least he would if Soap hurried up.

With a narrowed yet fond gaze Soap finally sealed their lips together and twin groans of relief rang out. They moved together desperately, teeth clashing and desperate sounds being swallowed as Ghost shifted forward in the chair as far as he could. Soap smiled against his lips and pushed him back down, a warning squeeze to his cock as a silent command to stay still.

"Ye didn't think I was holdin back too?" Soap growls against Ghost's mouth once he finally pulls back. He bit at Ghost's notched upper lip before diving in for another sloppy kiss. Soap was more confident now that he's put it all together. Licking into the alphas mouth unashamedly while keeping his grip on Ghost's cock just shy of enough.

"I didn't-you never...fuckn hell" Ghost stumbled over his words, panting and reeling. His mind stuck on the hand torturously squeezing his cock and the tongue in his mouth. His head was blank, any hope of defending his choices going out the window under Soap's ability to make him feel so small.

The scent of the omega was saturated around him, it wasn't like the usual sickly sweet scent that made Ghost's stomach roll. No, Soap's scent was harsh and smoky, like a wildfire.

Soap just chuckled down at the man, delighted to see his walls crumbling.

Instead of going back for more, flooding the alphas mouth with the taste of him Soap stood back up. He stroked Ghost's spit slick lips his fingers. The touch reverent and savoring this moment despite the heat and need thrumming between them.

He felt the clenching of Ghost's jaw, saw the war of emotions in his eyes and decided to keep prodding. Knew it wouldn't end how it did last time based on the length under his palm only getting harder.

"Didnae not think I might be worried an alpha wouldn't want some hardheaded omega who wanted ta take control?"

Those words finally got through to Ghost, his squirming ceasing as he blinked up at the man dumbly for a moment. Soap wanted control?

Ghost groaned a low pained noise at the confirmation. There was still a tinge of irritation in Soap's scent but under that Ghost scented want and desire. His gloved hands clenched on the arm rests of his chair as he took a deep breath in, his hips immediately jerked up into Soap's hand, rocking with intent now.

"Shite-god Johnny" he panted out, eyes lidded as he looked up at Soap. None of his swirling thoughts would it past his clenched teeth.

"I'd give it to you, anything you asked for" he wanted to say, but the words were choked back by another rumbling moan leaving his lips.

Ghost's actions always spoke louder anyways.

Soap just clicked his tongue at the needy motions, his own cock throbbing at the sight the alpha made. Ghost's thighs clenching as he practically humped Soap's hand. While it took a lot of force to take his hand away when all he wanted to do was take, he had to teach a lesson here.

"Ah ah, greedy" he chided, humming at Ghost's irritated growl from the loss of stimulation. He caught Ghost's thick arm as it shot down to his lap, intending to finish what Soap stopped. Soap just shook his head with another click of his tongue.

"Cmon now Ghost, ye gotta start asking for what you want"

Ghost let out a drawn out groan, head dropping back as he keeps getting denied stimulation. He worked his jaw for a moment, fingers trailing up Soap's arm that held his own back from giving himself the relief the omega was drawing out.

"Fuckn 'ell it's been so long just do anything" Ghost got out finally, skin buzzing and flushed hoping desperately that was enough for the touch to resume. He would die before admitting his tone was begging.

"There's a good lad" Soap hummed far too pleased and smug as he pressed a smacking kiss to Ghost's lips.

"We'll work on mannners aye?" Soap chuckled tone full of promise as he tilted his head down at Simon, delighting in the alpha's clear desperation for him. It was heady, having the elusive Ghost groaning under him, hard and dripping.

"Been achin for it huh?" Soap rumbled, hand moving from his arm up to squeeze over his bicep and finally to his neck.

Ghost arched up, nodding desperately along to the man's words and wanting the touch on his neck to tighten, to claim.

However, what came out of his mouth was a shaky, barely convincing rebuttal.

"No, take care of m'self fine" Ghost grunted his head arching into the long fingers sliding under the mask at his nape.

"Oh aye that so?" Soap retorted with that damned teasing and knowing chuckle that had Ghost sure he was going to burst untouched in his pants.

"Go on then, show me how good ya take care of yerself" Soap ordered close to his ear, giving a silent tug to the bottom of his mask but otherwise leaving it alone.

Ghost didn't even hesitate before ripping the fabric off, body shivering at the command and almost completely coming out of his chair to rear up and claim Soap's mouth, silencing the words that had him crumbling too fast.

"Bloody hell stop teasing" Ghost growled and bared his teeth when Soap pulled away again after a lick to his lips, pressing down on his broad shoulders to settle him in the chair again.

"Shh cmon lemme look at ya" Soap huffed grinning at the low guttural whine that left the man's lips as his hand tangled in his blond hair and tugged. "There's my bonnie alpha" Soap cooed eyes raking over Ghost's face unabashedly, watching how the pretty flush over his cheeks highlighted the various scars cutting through the pale skin.

Soap wanted to lavish each deep mark on his body with a kiss. Ached to replace each memory of pain with the softness of his lips and gentle nips of his teeth as he left his own loving mark over them. Ghost shifted in his chair, growing impatient as his hips twitched up in need. He felt fuzzy at the way Soap was holding his chin tight, casually staring at him as long as he wanted.

Usually it would make Ghost's skin crawl but right now he just felt..adored. It was a feeling an alpha should balk at, should puff up at but instead it made Ghost melt a little. He yearned for this, to be lavished with attention and praise.

Ghost's gloved hands trailed mindlessly down to his lap, a gruff moan slipping past his parted lips as he finally pressed into the bulge there but didn't allow himself to go any further, instead looked up at Soap with wide, pleading eyes. He wouldn't, couldn't ask for permission but needed it all the same.

"There's a lad go on" Soap urged, drinking in that desperate and needy gaze. It took a lot of restraint to not wrap his own hand around the red and pulsing cock as Ghost finally undid his pants, both of them groaning as it was freed.

Even for an alpha Ghost was big, uncut and twitching. Ghost wrapped a gloved hand around the base, as he squeezed his head fell back against the chair. Eyes shutting tight with a choked off moan.

"Steamin' Jesus beautiful fuckn' thing look at you" Soap groaned stepping even closer into the alpha's space, forcing his thick thighs open and tightening his hold in his blond hair.

Soap's eyes were stuck on Ghost's cock, the way it leaked with each upstroke of his hand, still gloved and surly adding a rough texture that Ghost didn't seem to mind.

The prominent vein along the bottom just begging to be licked. Soap's mouth watered, he was transfixed and utterly gone.

Ghost was reduced to pants and moans, words gone to him as he kept his eyes squeezed shut, not wanting to acknowledge the omega standing over him, praising him, fuck guiding him through this.

His hips jerked up as Soap's words kept tumbling out of his lips, hand tugging his hair and forcing his head back up for a kiss that was all teeth.

Ghost knew he shouldn't like this. Shouldn't be leaking precum like an omega leaking slick at being under Soap's control but here he was, already on the edge after just a few strokes and growled commands.

"Soap fuck-I'm gonna" Ghost gasped, words cutting off with a choked moan as the omega slid from his wide open lips to his neck, harsh bites combined with soft kisses were making him dizzy and Ghost shuddered as his knot grew. Pulsing and an angry red.

"Tha's a good alpha, now cum for me" Soap said with a commanding growl. Ghost shook his head for a moment, a low hesitant whine leaving his lips as he struggled against the overwhelming rush of pleasure.

The second he spilled over this would become all too real. Soap stoked this side of him, the side he's been ignoring for decades and Ghost wasn't sure how to just let it happen.

"Be good and cum" Soap rumbled. He noticed Ghost getting lost in his head and that wouldn't do.

He reached down, wrapping his calloused hand around the alpha's pulsing knot and squeezed, relishing in the snarling moan Ghost let out.

Ghost's orgasm was wrenched from him as soon as Soap touched his cock. Their hands bumping as Ghost's worked furiously now, immediately responding to Soap's demand.

Ropes of cum landed on the front of Soap's pants embarrassingly fast. Ghost worked himself through it, panting heavily and open mouthed, the orgasm feeling like it lasted hours as cum steadily leaked out.

He'd never had such a satisfying release, his body slumping boneless in the chair and face nuzzling into the omegas neck after finally softening.

"Bonnie thing ye are, how copy?" Soap murmured tone soft as he guided his face out of his neck, gaze raking over him and taking in his lax posture. The alpha flushed and looking fucked out.

Soap felt pride surge through him, reducing Ghost to this with barely a touch had him clutching the man tighter. Determined to never let him go now.

Ghost couldn't get words out, simply pressed a tired kiss to Soap's wrist that was near his face, the omega's hand still holding his hair in a grounding grip.

Soap hummed, smile turning soft as he stroked the sweaty strands away from Ghost's forehead, leaning down and running his nose from cheek to neck and back, scent marking him greedily.

"Theres a good boy under all that growlin aye?" He teased softly before leaning back to gently tuck him back into his pants, shushing his overstimulated growls.

Ghost just watched with lidded eyes as Soap grabbed his hand and licked his glove clean of the cum. Ghost was sure if he didn't just have his soul drained out of him, he'd cum again from the sight.

"Shite I think love you I love you I-" Ghosts brain chanted like a broken record as he watched Soap's soft lips suck over his thumb, the leather shiny with spit now.

"Up ye get Ghost, we're gonna get clean 'n talk" Soap said after a moment of them basking in the silence and the scent of their combined desire. He pat Ghost's thigh expectantly.

Ghost quickly took his silent declaration of love back and narrowed his eyes up at the omega with a grumble, refusing to move and espically refusing to talk.

"No" he grunted simply sitting and admiring the sight of his cum staining Soap's own pants, the man would smell like him for a while now.

Soap let out a huff, hand tangling roughly in the back of his hair and forcing his gaze up at him.

"Yes or yer not cummin for a week" he retorted sternly with a raised eyebrow and well-

Ghost immediately stood up on shaky legs and followed.

Taglist <3 : @toons-boop-boop

[michaelndarling]

All he could do was give a little nod, forcing a smile to play it off like it wasn’t as big of a deal as it actually was. “We’ll get through it,” he promises, knowing that much at least to be true. For all it sucks knowing how long his brother had lied to him and Wendy, Michael knew he wasn’t capable of staying mad at the older boy for long. He just needed some time to adjust and come to terms with the truth - that they maybe weren’t as close as he had always liked to think and pride themselves on being. “We did, though I didn’t want to be too big of a burden and keep her from Phil for too long.” Hence why he had been wandering around the ballroom by himself with no real aim when he’d ran into the other boy.

Another nod in agreement at the sentiment that it was better to avoid the lost boys’ house and whoever may be returning there once the night was through. “My roommate’s gone for the break anyway,” he finally admits, figuring it was better to say it now than wait for Sam to find out when they arrive at his empty dorm and think Michael had tricked him into being alone again. Because that was not the case, not at all. Yes, he wants to be alone with the other boy and do the sort of things they used to share together before a certain Tramp girl had come into their lives – but he’d never want to make Sam feel as if he were being pressured or manipulated in any way into anything at all.

As they walked towards the campus, which thankfully wasn’t too far, the last subject Michael would have ever expected to be used to fill the silent void was the fiasco of what had happened at Halloween. Though they had never talked about it beyond that night, he had assumed that was simply because it was in the past - what else was there to say really, anyway? Michael had messed up. Colette had messed up. And Sam was stuck in the middle of it all. It wasn’t exactly the most pleasant of conversation topics to be had. “You don’t have to apologize,” he promises, genuinely meaning it and not just trying to make the other boy feel better. “It was hardly your fault at all. I’m the one that’s sorry for well, everything. For saying those things to her, for dragging you into the middle of it again. You don’t deserve that.”

"I'm really sorry to hear that." Sam could only wonder what exactly the two brothers had between them, and if he, too, had found out about his relationship with Tink, given that it seemed to be starting to be revealed around the group. He was in no place to go prying into it: he was hardly holding onto a conversation in general with Michael. "I'm hope you had a nice time with Wendy, though." Sam hadn't felt comfortable talking to the eldest Darling since he and Michael had ended on the terms they had. It was unfortunate, the feeling that he couldn't talk to her without addressing the obvious rift he'd caused between himself and the Darling siblings.

Sam hadn't been inside the dorm room he'd once found so familiar in over a year. The idea of returning had him nearly transported back to the first time he'd been invited: the same excitement began to turn his already pink cheeks what he assumed was the same red hue as the wine he'd been drinking before. "Okay," he agreed, "okay, yeah. Let's do that, 'cause I don't know who's gonna be at my house, y'know, after the party." He hoped it wasn't presumptuous, that they would need to be alone, but truly, the last thing he wanted was for Tink to see how little judgement he was about to exercise.

Sam began to walk in the direction of campus, his steps slow in the cold. "I, uh--I've been meaning to apologize, again, for what happened on Halloween. I just feel like I haven't gotten the chance to talk to you, y'know ... just the two of us, since then."

[rafyki]

Episode 11 really showed Jack's growth

Okay, I know what you're gonna say: "but he lashed out at Joke! He threw him away again! He got so angry!". And like- yes he lashed out, yes he didn't stop to think, yes he got extremely angry. But that literally happened in the first ten minutes of the episode, alright? There's more than a hour after that, so please let's focus on everything else that happened too, and the fact that Jack acting like that literally only lasts for a short while (as I already said, everything happens extremely fast in this episode, if you really think about it he only stays made for less than a day, which is a perfectly valid period of time to need to sort through complicated feelings - hell, it's an incredibly short time, Jack got over himself extremely quickly).

Anyway, lemme go in order, because I'm not just talking about his relationship with Joke here, but about everything else too.

There are two main things about Jack's character arc (well, more than two, but I wanna focus on these ones now): first, his tendency to hold grudges and be hard on forgiveness and, second, the fact that he never stands up to power and powerful people in an active way (I'll explain better what I mean later).

As for the first, I made a whole other post about it, so I'm not gonna repeat everything again, but let's see how in this episode he got to the end of his growth in this aspect.

He's extremely mad at the start of the episode (rightfully so), so much that he goes on a rampage (we love to see it, tbh), even though he should know that it wouldn't end well.

When he wakes up, he's still mad - of course he is, he didn't have time to think and process everything yet, given that he was beaten unconscious until now. He gets mad at Grandma when she mentions Joke, and then he lashes out at Save and Hope. It's understandable.

But then? Then it only takes Hope saying this for him to calm down and put things into perspective

I think it's important to point out that here it's only been maybe a few hours since the hospital scene. And here, Jack finally has time to think.

This it when he finally stops and thinks and realizes that he was wrong, that he didn't have any right to be mad at Save or Hope (or, well, he does, but how should also be able to understand their positions, because he's been there too), because they're all in the same situation in the end; and he realizes that Joke only did what he did for him. This is the moment when he finally has time to think and realize he was wrong (both about Save and about Joke), realize that he doesn't want to lose Joke, that he misses him.

Let's not forget that the start of Jack's character growth was to learn to forgive. And here, he shows that he's finally able to do this.

He works together with Save and Hope, he trusts them. Why didn't he call Joke to join them then? Well, I think he probably wanted things to calm down first so that after that he would have the time to actually talk to Joke. He didn't have the time to do that in the end, and that's the tragic thing.

But we know that's what he planned to do, because that's exaclty what he says.

Anyway, let's move on or this will become way too long lmao

It's not only in terms of learning to forgive that Jack grew. It's also in the way he finally decides to actively act to oppose Boss.

I mean, Jack was caught in Boss' web of power since he was young, and he's had to deal with the fact that he couldn't escape it, couldn't defeat it, for years. And so, he always submitted to Boss, in a way.

Yes, when he was a debt collector he went against him, in secret (and sacrificing himself and his own money), until Boss found out and Jack had to bow his head againt before him. When Gradma was in the hospital, he let himself in Boss' grasp again and even when Joke and Grandma slapped some sense into him his way to oppose Boss was to simply tell him he didn't want to marry Rose anymore, but was still willing to work for him; now, we know that that only worked because Joke had stolen the ring. What would have happened if Joke hadn't done that? Boss would have refused, of course, and Jack would have had bowed his head again.

Until now, Jack's actions were often passive, a result of him having no choice. Even when he played the ladder game against Lompran, that wasn't a real choice.

Not now, though. In this episode, Jack finally realizes that he can't keep doing it, that he needs to fight back for real. And this is the first time that Jack realizes that he can't always do the morally correct thing if he wants to defeat people like Boss.

Jack has always had really solid morals, and he's always lived by the fact that he needs to be better - better than the corrupted people in power who use them and look down on them. And that means he can't accept theft as a valid way to fix things, even if it would be justifiable and it would make things easier. But he can't do that, because that would mean that he's just as bad as them. Poor people are always expected to do the right thing.

Until now. Because now Jack has finally realized that he can't play it fair against people like them, he understood how that world works, and he realized that he needs to play following their game's rules.

He's learned the power game's rules and he's ready to play.

And that's what he does. He's able to take advantage of Lompran's greed and use it for his own ends, and he's not afraid of risking his own or Save's life - because he knows at this point that they can't play it safe anymore.

He played the game but he also kept his morals, because he still didn't do it for himself; he played their game but he's still better than them

Jack has mostly been a passive force until now, but in this episode he's finally the active force - he's the one with the plan, the one who takes the lead. (Joke, on the other had, has always been the active force of the show, and in this episode he's the passive one, but I'll make another post about this another day)

And I think this will be obvious in next episode too, when he'll (finally!) get a gun and do everything that's needed to save Joke and everyone else from Boss.

And he finally understood that the world isn't black and white and that sometime you need to do something "bad" to fight back, both for youself and for others. And that that doesn't mean you're a bad person.

[newspecies]

"the vast majority of legal persecution against early queers was focused on men" ARE YOU INSANE

[lord-squiggletits]

Part of why I hate this fandom's take on Autobots vs Decepticons is ppl (mainly 'con fans honestly) who can't have any nuance of the situation whatsoever and love to write plots like "oh the humans are racist and abusive towards Cybertronians so this is how Megatron is right" no actually I don't think colonialism/imperialism and racism are justified so long as you can point the finger and say "they were the aggressors first" or "their hands are no cleaner than ours bc their society sucks too" sorry. Please come up with better sociopolitical narratives in your war story.