#why was demon hard to draw got me a fat minute but I kinda got it lets gooo

[mrpuzzle]

Happy birthday!! 🎂🎁🎈 @grimgummies

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

The Matchmaker: Thirteen

The fire crackled in the hearth and Bucky stretched lazily, half awake. You had really picked a nice couch. Plush and soft. Good for napping. Or, the activities that he’d just been doing on the sofa with you.

He looked down and smiled a little, adjusting the blanket gently to cover your bottom where it had bunched up and was leaving you exposed. He didn’t want you getting chilled.

His belly was comfortably full of pasta, he’d had a few glasses of wine, and he had the love of his life asleep on his chest. It was a nice night. A quiet celebration to mark the last of your doctorate work getting done.  He knew you were worn out when you’d walked through the door.

It had radiated off of you. You looked exhausted and stressed. He always hated that. He looked up from the pasta sauce he was stirring and held out his arms, “Hey, Princess,” he said smiling, “Why don’t I run you a hot bath before dinner, huh?” You make a soft miserable sound. You’re cold and wet and it feels like the sides of your stomach are stuck together. You’d been too anxious to eat more than a couple bites of the chocolate chip pancakes Bucky had tried to get you to eat that morning. And what you had eaten you’d thrown up just from the nerves.

“I just wanna go to sleep,” you murmur, “I don’t even think I can eat.”  You walk into his arms and thud your head gently against his chest. 

He frowns and strokes your back tenderly, “What’s wrong, Sweetheart?”

You shake your head and sigh, “Nothing,” you murmur, “I’m just tired.” 

“At least go put on some dry clothes,” he says softly, “Get comfortable. Let yourself relax a little. Let your body realize you’re not running on adrenaline anymore.”

You nod and take a deep breath, “Okay,” you whisper.

“Good girl,” he praises gently, nudging you towards the stairs, “One step at a time.” He watches you go and shakes his head. He’s a little glad you turned down working for SHEILD. Some types of stress you could handle really well. A frenetic work pace. Lots of things at once, fine. All fine. But prolonged stress, being stressed out for days on end while you unsnarled tangles and had no apparent end to the worrying? Nope. You were built for sprints, not Marathons. SHEILD was constant stress. Constant pressure. He didn’t doubt that you could adjust but he’d prefer you not have to. The effects on your body aside, he wondered what it would do to your heart. 

Bucky listens with half an ear and nods to himself when he hears the shower start, adjusting the temperature of the stove and starting the water for pasta. He knew you’d sworn off carbs for right now, but he also knew that you were miserable. He figured breaking the diet that he didn’t even think was necessary wouldn’t hurt. Not for one day. Not if it meant that you went to sleep with a full belly and he didn’t find you awake at 3am possessed by some manic cleaning demon after an anxiety-induced nightmare vaulted you out of bed. Fully awake and already in a panic. He hated that too. How easily all the shit your older sister had said and done to you instilled that you were never going to be enough. How all the things stupid boys, who didn’t understand you, had perpetually made you question if it was a trap if anyone asked about things you were interested in. It was only now that he lived with you that he really noticed it. 

For a moment he’d thought you had a double life or something. But it wasn’t that. It was a massive, sprawling, fantasy epic you had spent the better part of 15 years writing and refining. There were multiple languages, cultures. All this detail and illustration... It had made his head spin when he’d found the stacks of journals and loose-leaf papers in binders. You’d very cautiously, shyly explained that it was how you’d put in to practice some of the theoretical things you read about when you were first wrestling with it. Without any real-world experience to really draw on. Or access. You’d just crafted one to test things out on. “Like Tolkein but like... Less racist and somehow more pretentious,” you’d told him. You looked like you were waiting for him to laugh at you. He couldn’t really do anything but stare. At least not for a moment. 

“Can I read it?” he asked. 

“No,” you answered hesitantly, hugging the binder you’re holding to your chest, like he might take it from you. Like someone probably had before. 

He hadn’t pressed. He’d simply nodded and very carefully added the journals and binders to the shelf next to your desk. Where you could get to them if you wanted them. 

Your quiet footfalls on the wood floors make him lookup. You’ve stolen one of his t-shirts and found a clean pair of pajama bottoms. Your hair is still dry, but your skin is pink. The water must have been hot. A lot hotter than Bucky liked it.You look better. Kinda. At least less frazzled. 

When your arms wrap around his waist and your cheek rests against his back he smiles, “Baby, I got a fire going before you got home,” he coaxed, “Why don’t you go cuddle up with a blanket... I’ll bring you some dinner and a glass of wine.”

“I still feel nauseous,” you tell him groggily.

He frowns, “At least try, Princess. You need to eat. You might even feel better if we get a little something in your stomach.”

He watches you go as you shuffle through the doorway and frowns. You really do need rest. He can practically see the anxiety and the depression it leaves behind gnawing at you. He knows this is a temporary state. A rudderlessness left behind after your life’s work this far getting handed over. But. He’d much rather drown you in pasta and cuddles until you fall asleep than just let you fall asleep face down on the bed like you are. 

It doesn’t take long to have a couple bowls and a couple glasses of wine put together on a tray. The TV is off but you have the record played on and playing softly. He smiles a little, you’re wrapped up in the fluffy throw off the couch hugging the stuffed dog he bought you as a joke when you asked for a puppy. “Here, Sweetheart,” he said handing you a bowl and a glass. When you take them your hands a trembling just a little and it reaffirms his assessment that you need food in your belly. 

You take them and take a deep breath. “Thank you,” you murmur. Bucky nods and sinks into the couch gently, “I made brownies too,” he said, proud of himself.

You smile up at him and take a sip of wine, “You’re getting pretty domestic,” you tease, “Don’t worry I won’t tell Sam.” Bucky grinned, “Well, I gotta get some skills. You know. Since you’re gonna be a Professor. And a Consultant for the UN... Once I retire I’m practically gonna be a trophy husband. I gotta keep you interested in me somehow.”

You laugh softly, “Well I appreciate the efforts. Even if you are gonna make me fat.” Bucky rolled his eyes, “Baby, you’re perfectly healthy. Fuck that magazine. You’re healthy. You work out more than I do. You can eat whatever you want.” You sigh, “I know. It’s still not nice to read while I’m trying to get groceries.”

Bucky nodded, “I know, Sugar.” He kisses you gently and smiles a little, “But let’s not worry about those assholes now, huh? Just relax and let me take care of you. You worked hard. You deserve a treat.” You nod and take another sip of wine, “Okay,” you sigh, “This actually looks really good... Food Network?”

“Facebook,” he said grinning. 

____________ 

He managed to coax you into most of the pasta and a brownie between two glasses of wine. You unwound slowly and Bucky felt better. He hated it when you had yourself worked up. 

It also hadn’t taken long for him to work you back up again in a completely different way. He applied considerable efforts into getting you sleepy and relaxed. He figured a slow, snuggly round of lovemaking would probably be just the thing. When he had you naked and squirming under his hands, he pinned you gently to the couch and lavished kisses down your body, nuzzling your stomach affectionately. There wasn’t much talking but there didn’t need to be. He knew what you liked. You knew that in the back of his mind, he was thinking about how pretty you’d look growing his baby. 

“I love you,” you’d panted, your legs wrapped around his waist to pull him closer. 

“Who doesn’t?” he teased, kissing you hungrily.

After he’d spent inside you and you were pleasantly tired instead of mind-numbingly exhausted, he’d held you. You’d snuggled into his arms and hid your face in his neck. 

It hadn’t taken long for you to fall asleep. The comfort of a full stomach, a gentle orgasm, and a warm body to cuddle paired with the sweetness of Bucky humming along with the record he’d put on had you fast asleep in a few minutes. 

Bucky felt like he was in heaven, drowsing there in a hazy, twilight state. It was a level of comfort he never thought was possible. He never knew it was possible to be this content. This blissed out. 

He adjusted the blanket over you gently and stroked your hair. This was home and he couldn’t wait to be a trophy husband. 

Tags: @lancsnerd​ @stevieang​ @golddaggers​ @blameitonthecauseway @qxeen-of-hearts​ @process-pending​ @xmarveled​ @beautybyfire, @etherealwaifgoddess, @mschellehitt, @mistressoftorture @thorfanficwriter, @ctinadiva, @innerpaperexpertcloud @amalthea9  @cdwmtjb8 @notyourtypicalrose

[stardust-lightning]

Starchild: Dream Maker Chapter 4 - A Little Rose

Our destination is what looks like a marketplace or something.

The buildings were old, brick apartment complexes with little trays under the window growing either flowers or weeds and their roofs reminds me of the terracotta roofs of those pretty Spanish Colonial homes. The streets were lined with dust and trash on the sides like broken bottles and loose leaves of paper. The buildings were connected by string banners decorated with colorful, intricate paper designs above our heads. On the ground below, the roads were lined with cramped vendors, most of which have closed up for the night. The vendors may be closed, but that didn’t disturb the restaurants and homes, which have their lights still on and still open for business. The center of the town had one of those elaborate stone fountains, painted with geometric shapes all around it. The ground itself was paved with colorful tiles, creating pretty patterns under the dust and sand that covered most of it. There were even people, some who not even human but actual aliens, who were out this late, I guess, going back home.

“What exactly is this town?”

“I don’t know…D-Does your sketchbook say anything?”

I open my sketchbook and catch several million pages of drawings and things from falling out and getting blown by the wind. I reach the front of the book to find anything relating to this town. After turning a few pages, Zero stops me and points to this drawn-out map that took up every square inch of the two pages we find. My sketchbook must be laced with magic, because a name begins to form on the page next to where Zero is pointing. The inked name take a moment to form before it reads:

PUEBLO TERRACOTTA

That would make sense, giving that all of the buildings are covered with red terracotta roofs.

“Pueblo Terracotta?”

“That’s what it says. It's a town.”

“It’s a little big for a town isn’t it?”

“Yeah.”

I feel a raindrop on my left shoulder. I look up and see the dark-blue sky becoming cloudy. Another drop lands in my hair and another lands on Zero’s nose, making him twitch his nose in a cute way. The rain begins to come down harder by the minute.

“Hold this.” I tell Zero, giving him my sketchbook and I pull my galaxy coat over my head. I motion Zero to come over to me. He makes his way over and he snuggles up against me to ensure room for the two of us under my coat. He clutches my sketchbook tightly as we rush through the town square into what looks like a bar of sorts that is still open. It’s an open place with only a half-circle hole in the wall covered by a shabby curtain. We reach inside the place as the rain continues to fall softly to the ground.

Zero and I find ourselves inside this red-brick, dimly-lit tavern of some sort. The place itself was about the size of a small apartment and the walls were decorated with these beautiful murals of jardíns with tiny tiles depicting the detail of roses, passion flowers, carnations and jasmine. The clay, tiled floor were a burgundy color and it is littered with paper, dust and even small pieces of glass. The sweet aroma of mimosa seems to flood the place with a faint scent. There were people who are drinking, talking, laughing and some dancing in the corner to the three-piece band, which consists of a violin, guitar, and a trumpet, playing something like mariachi. On the wooden tables, a single candle burns on the top of a fat, green-glass bottle. There are even little Christmas lights that are hung on the top of the ceiling. The tavern itself looks like one of those Spanish bars in Spain someplace. The entire atmosphere is kinda nice and comfortable, almost homely even.

“Where are we exactly?” I ask Zero as I take the coat down and put it back on.

He just shrugs, just as confused as I am.

“It’s a nice place though.”

“Y-Yeah…” He says as he gives me back my sketchbook to hold.

Zero looks more at ease now than he was before, even smiling a little, which makes me a little happier. He’s one of those shy and sweet boys you either read in novels or seen in romantic movies. To be honest, he’s just like me:  first time in this brand new world beyond one’s greatest and wildest imaginations and we’re excited, nervous but excited.

God, please watch over Zero. Of all the people here, he’s the last person I want to see hurt.

“Hola!” My thoughts were immediately interrupted by a cheery female voice. I turned my attention to the young woman standing in front of us. She has a sky-blue, shoulderless blouse and a black, ruffled skirt brushed against her ankles as she walked with strappy sandals on her feet. Her short dark hair is curled with a little red flower adornment.

“You two must be new here.”

“Yes.”

“Well, come in and sit down! There are plenty of tables to sit down for a break. There are even some upstairs if you prefer, just up that stairwell.” She tells us before going to another table. I motion to Zero to follow me and we take the stairwell to go upstairs. The stairs, which have these faded, yet beautiful geometric patterns in the steps, spirals into an upstairs room much like the one down below, except it is open-air with white paint over stucco pillars and walls, and an arcade of tall arches several meters tall all around the only person up here is an older gentleman playing a classical guitar sounding as sweet as the mimosa downstairs. The pillars are covered in vines and bushes, covered in ripe, red roses with little drops of rain on the petals. It’s basically a large balcony.

It’s peaceful up here with the rain coming down softly and the noises downstairs are muffled by the thick walls. I gesture to a wooden bench under the covering and we both sit down for a time, him on my right side, watching the rain fall down. My sketchbook lays on my lap. It is night out and the moon is shining fully in the sky surrounded by tiny, shiny stars that look like white dots against a black backdrop. I hear Zero scooting closer to me.

“It’s serene tonight.” I observe.

“Y-Yeah…”

We sit in silence for a few moments.

“Say, I’ve got a big question.”

“O-Okay. What is it?”

“What exactly is this place?”

“S-Sorry?”

“What is this realm?”

Zero took a moment before speaking.

“W-Well, this realm here is called the Dreamscape.”

“The Dreamscape?”

“Y-Yeah. The Dreamscape is basically a plane of existence where dreams, memories and thoughts are created and stored. Within the Dreamscape, the realm is divided by galaxies, like districts and governed by the Dreamlords who reign over their galaxies. Akron-Ren is the Dreamlord that presides over your galaxy.”

“So how is the Dreamscape itself monitored?”

“There is a plane of existence that presides over the Dreamscape called Plasmatio. P-Plasmatio is the center of the Dreamscape realm and is home to the Seven Elders. The Seven Elders are responsible for ensuring that the Dreamscape is f-functioning properly. For as long as I can remember, the Dreamscape has been safe and sound; however, the Dreamscape is not entirely invincible. There have been a few occasions where the Realm of Nightmares invades and wrecks havoc.”

“The Realm of Nightmares?”

“I-It’s basically a smaller version of Hell. In t-that place, t-the Nightmare Spirits roam around like d-demons, preying on unsuspecting p-people. We have to be c-careful, some have actually escaped into the Dreamscape and taken people hostage into the Realm of Nightmares by disguising as ordinary people like you or I. Their method of disguise is the reason the Dreamscape has been attacked because the only true to invade the Dreamscape is to attack it from within and with their well-developed disguises, it's easy to be fooled. The only way to t-tell them from real people is the dark aura around their person and they function like sociopaths. Who knows what horrible t-things t-they do? G-G-Getting scared thinking about it.” He shivers.

“Gotcha. So how exactly did I wind up at your place of all places? Why me?”

“That’s a good question that I don’t know the answer. The forces working here work in odd ways sometimes.”

I take a moment to digest all of this information. It's a lot to take in.

“Do I need to explain anything else?” Zero asks, anxiously, “If it helps any, think of Plasmatio as Heaven, the Dreamscape as the Protectorate and the Realm of Nightmares as Hell.” He explained as he moved his hands around to indicate levels. It makes a little more sense now. It's not everything, but I can imagine it's a little hard trying to explain this place.

“I’ve got one more thing.”

“Okay.”

“Am I the only mortal here?” I felt the need to ask this to know if this happens to everyone at some point in their lives.

“You actually are.”

Wait, what?

“You’re the only mortal being here because you're the only one so that I know who has actually made it to the deepest levels of your Subconscious. You weren't the first, but you won't be the last. There have only been a few mortals who have actually made it here.”

“For somebody who has never been outside the Reverie Cathedral, you know some deep stuff.”

“W-Well, I am the Dreamlord's apprentice. Gotta know this stuff if I’m going to be in charge one day.” He confessed sheepishly.

“Fair enough.”

I want to know more about this place and I have unanswered questions:  Why am I even here? How did I get here? Why the Reverie Cathedral of all places? Am I seriously the only mortal being here? Am I actually alive and in a dream, or am I dead and this is my journey to the afterlife? What am I here? What am I? Who am I? Why me? How? Why?

I decide to put these thoughts on the back-burner for now, seeing as I’ve asked for a lot of information. We sit in awkward silence some more as the rain continues to fall. Zero shifts a little and then he turns to his side away from me to get something.

“C-Can I give you something?” he asks shyly, his face still turned away.

“Sure.”

“O-Okay…C-Close your eyes.”

I do just that. I feel something in my hands, something like a plant stem...

I open my eyes to see what he gave me.

It’s a small rose.

“It’s really pretty.”

“I-I thought you’d look r-really p-pretty with one...c-can I, um, can I p-put it behind your ear?”

“Alright, though, we need to take these thorns off.”

“R-Right.”

I use my nail to try to scrape off the thorns. It takes a few minutes, but I manage to take off the sharp parts and numb it down. I give it to Zero, who snaps the stem in half to shorten it. I scoot closer to him, watching his hands try to put the rose behind my ear. I can feel his hands trembling as he places the flower, adjusts it and smooths my short hair.

“Do I look okay?” I ask, touching lightly on the flower to feel it in place.

“You look beautiful tonight.” Zero tells me with a shy smile on his face and a pink blush tinting his cheeks. He looks like he’s in one of those enraptured trances where the guy is so enamored with a pretty girl that he slips into a little fantasy of romance, completely oblivious to the world.

“Thank you.” I tell him with a smile. I watch as Zero snaps out of whatever love-infested fantasy he had and watch as his face grows a blush as dark as the rose behind my ear.

“I-I-I m-mean, y-you’re really really pretty in g-general, and t-the rose g-gives it a n-nice touch and-O-Oh gosh, this is really embarrassing, I want to crawl under a rock and die!” Zero starts rambling a hundred miles an hour that it takes me a minute to compute everything he rushes to say, and ends his rambling by placing his head in his hands.

His cuteness level just went from 1.0x to 1.5x. I laugh a little and wrap my arms around him. I feel him shrink away and close in on himself. I feel the movement and loosen the hug to look at him worryingly. Does he dislike hugs?

“S-Sorry…” Zero apologizes.

“D-Don’t apologize, you did nothing wrong. Something the matter?”

“N-No, it’s just… um… what were you just d-doing?”

“Um, a hug?”

“A hug?”

“Yeah. Have you never been hugged before?”

Zero shakes his head. Is the idea of affection that foreign to him that it makes him uncomfortable when he is drawn in for a simple hug? Is Akron-Ren that cold-hearted  that he refuses to give Zero even so much as a comforting gesture because he thinks that Zero is beneath him or something? This may sound like jumping to conclusions, but his behavior is starting to really concern me.

The rain continues to fall as though nothing is wrong. I awkwardly lean back with my hands on the bench, looking into the distance. We are quiet again, but then I feel some warmth near my right hand and then two fingers on top of my index and middle fingers. His shaking index finger intertwine with mine. I tighten the bond to let him know that I’m okay with it, which I am. Out of the corner of my eye, I see his mouth curve into a smile.

It’s a little step forward, but still a step forward.

[justanotherwaywarddaughter]

But Seriously, Though, You Liked the Hat?

Characters: Dean x Reader, Sam

Word Count: 2945

Warnings: Saccharine fluff. Sorry not sorry. Scattered plot (is this a warning?) I still suck at titles.

Summary: The reader and the Winchesters have been on a case that has been going on for quite some time. In their eagerness to follow a lead, they stumble upon some witches. Dean’s plan backfires on him a bit, and suddenly, he's a baby. The reader takes care of him. 

A/N: This is my entry for @deals-with-demons 200 follower challenge. Congrats, Sarah! Hope you like it! (I’m running right down to the wire here. Guess who took too many hours this semester.) I had one thing in mind when I took the prompt, which is bolded below, but this one kinda just took over. It’s just a little something. It’s unbeta’d, so all the mistakes are mine. Italics are reader’s thoughts. Feedback is always welcome and is more than appreciated! Thanks for reading!

What have I gotten myself into?

Life with the Winchesters was not all you’d thought it would be. The men who managed to keep the world from ending couldn’t manage to keep from bickering with each other. Constantly. The men who managed to kill monsters for a living couldn’t manage to kill a spider. Ever. The men who managed to clean up crime scenes after a hunt couldn’t manage to clean up… well, anything, really. The men who managed to always have near perfect aim couldn’t manage to aim for the laundry basket. Or the trashcan. The list of things they couldn’t manage to do was ever growing.

They did, however, manage to get on your nerves; sometimes purposefully, sometimes accidentally. The eldest Winchester had a special way of getting under your skin; it was a gift, really. He picked at you every chance he got. As little brothers often do, Sam fell in line, taking his cues from Dean. The two of them together was enough to drive a normal person crazy. It’s a good thing I’m not a normal person.

I did not sign up for this, you groaned inwardly, seeing the disaster zone that was the motel room you’d been sharing with the brothers.

Kicking your way inside past the fast food wrappers, dirty socks, and the leftovers in varying stages of decomposition, you griped, “Is it too much to ask for a room that doesn’t smell like something died? I don’t understand how you all think this is okay. Why do we always have to go through this? It’s the same routine: you all make a mess, I nag about it, we eventually clean it up. Why can’t we skip a couple of steps? You all could just be clean from the get go. It would save so much time and energy.”

Looking up from the newspaper he’d been reading, Dean asked, “Does it bother you, sweetheart?”

“You know it does, Dean,” you grumbled, dangling one of his socks in front of his face.

Snatching his sock and smirking, he rolled off the bed and tossed over his shoulder, “That’s why we have to do it.”

You rolled your eyes and half-heartedly bit back a curse, picking up a sticky soda can from the nightstand and chucking it at Dean’s head.

Having been on this wild goose chase of a hunt for over a week, you were tired. Tired of playing mom to two man-children. Tired of fruitless research. Tired of dead ends. Tired of long nights. So, when you heard Sam mention something about a possible lead, you were, understandably, eager to check it out, foregoing your usual air of caution. When Sam mentioned this, you replied, “What’s the worst thing that could happen?” The three of you parted ways, you and Dean going to check out the address Sam had dug up while Sam went to the police station to grab a few case files.

This. This is the worst thing that could’ve happened, you thought, taking in your surroundings. Instead of finding a routine vengeful spirit or a run-of-the-mill demon or even a nice werewolf, you managed to stumble into the command central of some new practitioners of black magic. Apparently, Fate had decided to cut you a little slack, though– Wait, isn’t she dead? Anyway, the point remains. Only one of the witches was home. Hallelujah. The only problem was that while she was inexperienced, she was anything but ineffective. From the time you two had clamored in like you owned the place, she’d been on you hot and heavy. She’s just one person. WHERE IS SHE KEEPING ALL THESE INCANTATIONS AND SPELLWARES?

After a solid thirty minutes of bobbing and weaving, you were all on the verge of exhaustion. The witch paused, panting. Seeing an opportunity in the lull, Dean, ever trigger happy, squeezed off half a clip, effectively solving your witch issues.

“A bit much, don’t ya think?” you asked, moving to nudge her with the toe of your boot.

“Better safe than sorry,” he said with a smug grin, and began straightening the mess the firefight had made. I knew he knows how to clean. Jerk. You moved to help him, setting a tipped table aright.

“Where the hell did Sam go? He was supposed to come here after he got done at the sheriff’s office. If that jackass is taking a nap again, I swear to the gods–“ you were cut off by shrill yell. Spinning on your heel, you were met with the sight of a disheveled young girl, her blond hair sticking up in irregular tufts. She shakily made her way to the corpse lying in the middle of the room, her once red face becoming ashen.

“You,” she growled, reaching out a clawed hand toward Dean. “I will end you,” she vowed, her childlike voice at odds with her words.

“End me? I’d like to see you try, sweetheart. Who invited the overgrown child?” Dean snorted, looking around the room as if for the person responsible for her.

No no no no do not agitate the unstable witch. Do. Not. Provoke. Her. You shot Dean a warning glance, but he continued to snicker seeing her burning glare.

“What, you gonna bop me with your magic wand? Bibbidi bobbidi boo me? Come on, princess. We both know you couldn’t hurt a fly,” he taunted, swaggering her way.

What the fresh hell are you doing, you idiot?

Dean flashed you a quick I-know-what-I’m-doing look. You swallowed a sigh.

“Overgrown child? OVERGROWN CHILD? I’ve been casting spells longer than you’ve been alive. I’ll show you an overgrown child!” she shrieked, her spritely figure contorted in her rage.

Oh, I get it.

With the witch’s attention diverted toward Dean, you were able to slide the gun from the waistband of your jeans.

One more smartass remark. I just need one more. That shouldn’t be difficult for you, Winchester. He grinned, seeing that you were catching on.

You took aim, “That’s enough. Back away,” you motioned with the barrel of your gun.

Sadly, the little witch didn’t head your warning. She lunged at Dean, and you pulled the trigger.

Bullseye.

But before she went down, the witch managed to fling some harried Latin and a shimmering powder– Seriously though, where the hell do they keep this stuff?– at Dean.  Your first priority was to make sure she was actually dead. No pulse. Check. Your second priority was to check on Dean. Turning from the two corpses– That’s gonna be a bitch to clean up– you looked around the room trying spot your hunting partner. This should not be this hard. He is literally over six feet tall. HE’S THE ONLY OTHER PERSON HERE. Your gaze caught on a pile of clothes that hadn’t been there a second ago. Drawing your weapon once again, you moved toward it with measured steps.

“Son of a bitch. Dean?” you questioned, taking in the tiny figure burrowed in the Led Zeppelin t-shirt Dean had been wearing. Sighing, you picked him up, his chubby fingers immediately finding and tugging on your hair.

“I freaking hate witches,” you grumbled, pulling out your phone to call Sam. Three rings later, a groggy voice answered with an air of annoyance.

“Hello, Samuel. Enjoy your nap? Good, good. It’s the last sleep you’ll get UNTIL YOU FIGURE OUT HOW THE HELL TO GROW YOUR BROTHER UP. What am I talking about, you ask? If you’d been here, you’d know! Witches, Sam. I’m talking about witches. Plural. We got ‘em, but they apparently got Dean too. He’s an infant, Sam. I DON’T KNOW HOW TO TAKE CARE OF A BABY! I’m coming to you, and you better have that nose of yours buried in whatever book will tell us how to fix this by the time I get back,” you said, angrily hanging up.

I miss the days when I could slam my flip phone shut. Hitting the end button violently just doesn’t do it for me.

Looking down at the baby in your arms, you sighed.

I did not think this through. How am I supposed to drive and hold him?

“I guess we’re winging it, Deano. You know what this means? I get to drive Baby,” you said with a grin. At that, he let out a high-pitched wail.

“Don’t get your diaper all in a twist. I’ll be careful. Shit, you aren’t stopping. What do I do?” you asked frantically. I guess we’re winging it here too. You began to gently rock him, bringing his head up to rest on your chest. In response, he curled his fingers in your hair and grinned.

Alright, we know that works. I’ll tuck that away for future reference.

With a now content Dean still nestled on your shoulder, you gathered his clothes from the floor and shoved both your guns in the waistband of your jeans. After dropping the stuff in the backseat of Baby, you grabbed the spare gas can from the trunk, soaking the perimeter of the house.

“This will have to do for clean-up, kid,” you said to the little boy dozing on your shoulder as you flicked your lighter onto the accelerant.

Your drive back to the motel was mostly silent. Turns out babies aren’t much for carrying on conversations. Pulling into the parking lot, you scooped a now sleeping baby Dean up and ran toward the door.

God this is weird.

“Sam, open the door!” you said while banging with your fist, waking the little blonde headed baby on your shoulder. Fat tears started streaming down his face just before he let out a wail. “SAMOPENTHISDOORRIGHTNOWDAMMIT” you yelled, causing him to be even more upset.

“Okay, this is fine. We’re fine. You’re fine,” you attempted to soothe him, bouncing him up and down before snuggling him close to your chest again.

Hearing the creak of the door, you almost bowled Sam over in your determination to get inside.

“Dude, you have to take him. He’s your brother. This is just too weird,” you said as soon as Sam had locked the door.

“I don’t know anything about babies. I was the baby,” Sam said, putting his hands up in front of him.

“This isn’t a stick up, so you can put your hands down. I can’t take care of him, and you know damn well why,” you said, once again trying to hand off the baby that had settled his hand on your cleavage. Even as a baby, Dean. Un-freaking-believable.

“That’s a shitty excuse, Y/N. I’m not taking care of him just because you have some silly little crush,” Sam said, dropping down onto the sofa.

“Oh my God, Sam. Don’t say stuff like that in front of him! We have no idea what he’ll remember! You make it sound like I’m some fifteen-year-old school girl or something. What happened to ‘It’s no big deal’ and ‘I swear I won’t say anything’?” you shot back.

“Relax. He’s asleep. I didn’t mean to get you all riled up. If you think about it though, we’ll get this solved more quickly if you just let me continue researching. We both know I’m faster,” he shrugged.

“You. Owe. Me. What am I even supposed to do with him?” you asked, sitting down on the bed, automatically adjusting Dean’s position not to jostle him.

“I don’t know. Go get him some clothes, figure out how to make a bottle? I’m sure you’re a natural,” he rattled off, not really paying attention.

“Guess that’s what we’ll do,” you sighed, grabbing your keys and stolen credit card from the night stand. “Wait. Moms carry purses. I think I have one here somewhere... Aha! Got it.” You stuffed your pistol, keys, card, and an extra magazine in the little black bag. Grabbing a shirt to use for a makeshift blanket, you headed out the door.

How am I even supposed to know what a baby needs? Aimlessly wandering down the aisles with a gurgling Dean in your arms, you chose things at random. Bottles, diapers, wipes, pacifiers, stuffed animals; into the cart they went. Until you got to the clothes, that is. ALL THIS STUFF IS SO LITTLE. I CAN’T. If we have to do this, we’re gonna do it right. You chose a fuzzy penguin sleeper and a matching onesie pant set with little baby bears. OH MY GOD THERE’S A MATCHING HAT WITH EARS. You’re gonna love it. I can just tell. Eager to get Dean home so you could play dress up, you quickly made your purchases and left.

Once you were back at the motel, you dropped the bags on the bed, digging in them with one hand for the things you needed to dress him. Sam eyed you with curiosity as you put on Dean’s tiny little outfit and blew a raspberry on his stomach. Scooping up a now giggling Dean, you tossed him up in the air, earning more giggles, the ears on his hat flapping as he went up and down.  You two continued on like this until Sam, who’d had enough of the baby talk, suggested you put Dean to bed.

Flipping off the lights, you gently placed a footie-pajama-clad baby Dean next to you in bed. He promptly rolled over and stuck his butt in the air. Suppressing a giggle, you rubbed circles on his back and patted him until he was snoring softly. You gently placed him on your chest to ensure you wouldn’t roll over on him.

“You know, you’re not so bad, little man. You can’t speak and annoy me like grown-up you does. I know this was really weird at first. I’m permanently blocking the memories of those diaper changes, by the way. But this was kinda nice. It wasn’t all bad. I wouldn’t mind being this close to you when you’re all grown up. I’m a snuggler. I know you don’t see me that way, but hey, a girl can dream right? Sammy’s right. It’s just a little crush. I’m sure I’ll get over it. You know, you’re a good listener when you’re sleeping,” you whispered, finishing with a snicker. You placed a soft kiss on the top of his head and nodded off.

I can’t breathe. I can’t freaking breathe. Why is it so damn hot? You thought, your eyes snapping open. Instead of a sweet little baby snuggled into your chest, there was a grown man lying on top of you.  

HIs snoring isn’t so soft now.                                                                                                Aaaaaand he’s naked.

“Dean… Dean,” you whispered, poking him. Sighing, you said a bit louder, “Dean. Get up. I can’t breathe.” Giving up being gentle, you shoved at him and all but yelled, “DEANGETOFFYOURESUFFOCATINGME” The snoring man woke with a start, falling off the bed and pulling you with him. Hearing Sam’s chortle, you popped up out of the floor and made a beeline for the bathroom, leaning against the locked door for support.

Okay, so that just happened. Calm down, Y/N. Calm down. This is fine. You’re fine. Just give him a minute to put some clothes on. That’ll make this a little less awkward. Please, for the love of all that is good and holy in this world, don’t let him remember all that.

Taking a deep breath and steeling yourself, you unlocked the bathroom door and stepped outside. Sam was gone. You and Dean were alone.

Well this isn’t awkward at all.

“Morning,” you said hesitantly.

“Morning,” he replied.

After an awkward silence that seemed to last eons, you broke down, “All right. I’ll bite. How much do you remember?” You avoided eye contact like the plague.

That’s a nice lamp. Why is he taking so long to answer? Was that stain always there on the carpet?

You were so wrapped up in trying to decide if the blob on the edge of the bed skirt was jelly or pudding that you didn’t notice Dean approach you. You didn’t see the tender look in his eyes or the little half smile he had when he said, “I remember everything.”

Startled at his sudden close proximity, you took a step backward. “You want to elaborate, Winchester?”

“Not particularly. I liked the hat, though” he said, his usual arrogance returning.

“Oh. Okay. Glad you’re back to normal,” you said uncertainly, turning away from him and looking for something to do with your hands. You settled on making coffee and had just placed a filter in when two large hands clasped around your waist, spinning you around.

Your gaze locked with Dean’s as he emptied your hands and moved them so they were joined behind his head.

“I remember everything,” he said again.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’ is right. Just so you know, I’m a snuggler too,” he said with that grin that made his eyes crinkle. God I love that.

“You heard that?” you asked warily.

“Every. Single. Word.” He said, his words each punctuated with a chaste kiss; one to your nose, one to the corner of your mouth, the last lingering on your forehead.

Taking advantage of where he’d put your hands, you pulled him down, connecting your lips with his. His eyes, wide with shock, eventually fluttered shut as your mouths moved in synchrony, tasting, testing, and exploring. You broke apart, breathing heavily. Trailing openmouthed kisses across his face, you worked your way down and nipped at his jaw.

“You missed,” you said with a sly smile.

“My mistake. Won’t happen again,” he said, claiming your mouth once again.

You pulled back. “But seriously, though, you liked the hat?”

“That’s what you take away from this?” he sighed, incredulous. “Yes. I liked the hat,” he chuckled, pulling you in closer.

  I knew it.

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[randomfanfictiontime]

Meant to Be

Summary: A meeting with Cupid leaves some tension between you and Dean

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Word Count: 2807

Warning: Fluff

(A/N): Originally on Wattpad, but since I had no ideas for any other stories, might as well give you guys something am I right?

"Hello, I'm Special Agent Cliff and this is my partner Agent Carter. We are here to ask you a few questions if you don't mind." Sam stated, showing the lady his badge while I did the same.

"Of course. Come in. I was just packing some things." She said, moving over to the mantle to grab a few pictures off of it. While Sam moved over to the fridge, I started asking a few questions.

"So, were you the one that found the bodies?" She nodded.

"It was horrific. There was blood everywhere, along with... other stuff. I'm pretty sure Alice was already dead. Russell was mostly dead. Except he was still, uh, chewing a little." Sam walked back over to stand beside of me.

"Did you notice Alice acting weird in the last few days? Like more hostile? Aggressive?" She shook her head.

"Alice was a nice girl. Never drank. Never cussed. She still had her promise ring on, if you know what I mean." She picked up a worn stuffed bunny and smiled sadly.

"It was her first date in months. She was so excited. I don't understand how two people can just do that. Eat each other to death."

"Me neither." I mumbled.

~~~~~~~~~

When we made it back to the motel, Dean was sitting at the table reading something.

"Anything?"

I sighed as I ran a finger through my (H/C) hair. "No. Nothing. No EMF. No sulfur."

"Well then what is it? I was betting on it to be a ghost or demon possession. You should have seen those bodies. They started eating and just didn't stop. Their stomach was full. Thanksgiving dinner full."

I visibly grimaced and got up to get a beer from the fridge.

"Not much else we can do tonight. I'll finish looking through the files. You two can go ahead and get going." I stayed bent down in front of the fridge door, letting the door hide my face. I knew exactly what Sam was talking about.

"I'm sorry?"

"Y'know unleash the kraken. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

"Where am I going?"

"Dean, it's Valentines Day. Your favorite holiday. What did you call it again? Unattached drifters Christmas?"

As soon as I closed the fridge door, I saw Dean get up and go to it, probably getting another beer.

"Yeah well, I don't know. I guess I'm just not feeling it this year." The room was silent for a few seconds except for the small squeak of the bed as I sat down.

"What?" Dean asked.

"It's like when a puppy doesn't eat. You automatically know something's really wrong." I couldn't help but snicker a little at that comment.

"Well are you going out, (Y/N)? I know you also love this holiday."

I shrugged. "I don't know. I don't usually go out in the first place. I like Valentines Day because it gives couples a chance to show that they really love each other. Not just for the sex, Sam."

"Oh well I guess that's the line drawing the difference between you and Dean."

"Ha ha. Very funny. Now that that's established, are we gonna get to work or what." Dean muttered.

~~~~~(The Next Day)~~~~~

As Sam, Dean, and I walked towards the door to the coroners room, I noticed that Sam started to look at a man in a black suit with a briefcase like he had just seen a ghost.

"Sam. You okay?" I muttered lowly so Dean wouldn't hear me.

"Huh? Oh yeah I'm fine." I was still a little skeptical but I let it go.

As I made my way into the office, Dean was introducing Sam and I.

"These are my partners Special Agent Cliff and Agent Carter." The coroner shook our hands before leaving us to examine the bodies.

"Hey, (Y/N)." I hummed in response. He pushed the tub with a heart in it towards me.

"Be my valentine?" He asked in a childish way. Despite me rolling my eyes, I couldn't help the little flutter in my belly. He smiled cheekily.

"Woah whoa wait a second. These hearts have the same markings. Check this out. It looks like some kind of letter."

"Meh. Kinda reminds me of a heart shape without the pointy end." I shrug.

"Oh no. I think it's Enochian."

"What like angel markings? Like the tagging on our ribs?"

"I don't know."

"Ah hell." Dean mumbled while pulling his phone out to call Cas. Cas appeared only a second later.

"Your right, Sam. These are angelic marks. I imagine that you can find similar markings on the other couples' hearts as well. It's a marking of union. This man and woman were intended to mate."

"Alright so who put them there?" I inquired. Cas turned to us.

"Well, you people call them Cupid."

"Them?"

"A what?" Sam and I both said at the same time. I have always loved Greek-mythology so I was quite surprised to hear him say 'them'. I thought there was only one.

"No, (Y/N). There is a lot more than one. What human myth has mistaken for Cupid is actually a lower order of angel. Technically a cherub. Third class. They are all over the world."

"You mean the little flying fat kid with a diaper?"

"So what your saying is-" Cas cut him off annoyingly.

"What I'm saying is that a cupid has gone rogue and we have to stop him before he kills again.

~~~~~~

For some reason, being in this restaurant makes me feel uneasy. The waitress hands all of us our food. All I had gotten was a soda. I asked for a slice of pie but they didn't have any.

"So what, you just happen to know that he like hanging out at places like this?"

"This place is a nexus of human reproduction. This is exactly the place the Cupid would come to... pollinate..." Cas trailed off, eyeing Dean's burger. I raise my eyebrow at him but he's to busy making googly eyes at the burger to notice. Dean drops his burger and pushes his plate away from him. Sam noticed as well.

"Wait a minute. You're not hungry. You?"

Dean looks at me nervously.

"No.... What I'm not hungry."

"Are you sick?" You ask playfully while pretending to check for a fever by placing the back of your hand on his forehead. I was sitting next to him so it was easier access. He gently pushed my hand away while sighing.

"Then your not gonna finish that?" Before Dean could answer, Cas grabbed the plate and started eating. Everyone at the table, including myself, looked at him as if he sprouted a second head. Cas stopped abruptly and looked around.

"He's here."

We all started looking around, not seeing a thing. Cas made a wind blow through the restaurant, making my hair flutter all over my face.

"Geez, Cas. Give me a warning next time." I mumbled. When I finally got the hair out of my face and patted down, I saw Dean staring at me.

"What? Is there something on my face?" He seemed surprised, as if he didn't notice I saw him looking at me. As if he was in a trance.

"Uh, no." He shook his head and looked around the restaurant once more.

"There."

"What, you mean the same-side-of-the-booth couple over there?"

"Meet me in the back." And just like that, Cas was gone.

When we made our way there, we saw Cas standing there with his arm outstretched. He started chanting some spell.

"Well? Where is he?" Dean stood, looking around. Just then I heard Dean grunt.

"Here I am~." I quickly turned around to see a pale man hugging Dean from behind, lifting him off of the ground, being shook around. I started laughing my ass off.

"Hahaha." I bent over laughing. Dean kept trying to get out of the man's embrace.

"Help!" He struggled.

"Oh, don't you worry. Help is on the way. Yes it is. Yes it is." The man cooed in a babyish voice while giggling. That just made me laugh even harder.

"Shut up, (Y/N)!" Dean yelled at me. I clutch my stomach as tears start coming out of my eyes from laughing so hard. All of a sudden, the man let go of Dean and started towards Cas.

"Hello, you!" That's when I noticed he was completely naked. Not even a diaper. That made me let out another giggle as I realized that when he was hugging Dean, he was naked. Dean shot a glare in my direction, knowing what I was laughing about. I tried to stifle my laughs but it didn't really work.

"This is Cupid?"

"Yes." Cupid looked at Sam and started walking towards him.

"And look at you, huh?" Sam was frantically shaking his head, saying no. But Cupid engulfed him in a hug anyway. I couldn't contain my giggle anymore.

"Is this a fight? Are we in a fight? What is this?"

"It's their handshake."

"Well I don't like it."

"No one likes it."

Hope was bubbling up inside of me at the thought of Cupid forgetting to 'greet' me. But Dean wasn't going let that happen.

"Don't forget about little miss (Y/N)." He smirked. Cupid gasped as he let go of Sam.

"I would never. Look at you. You're so pretty." He came bounding over to me as I glared at Dean. I began backing up to get away from but that proved to be a useless effort as he caught up to me a squeezed me to death.

"Ugh. Dean... You asshat." I breathed out. But he was too busy looking triumphantly at Sam, thinking he was successfully getting revenge on me. Oh he is so going to get it later. Cupid finally let go off me, leaving me to gasp for air. Boy, did he have a strong bear hug.

"What can I do for you." He asked, turning towards Cas.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Doing what?"

"The targets you've marked. They are slaughtering each other." Cupid's smile faded.

"What? They are?" Dean was just getting angrier by the second it seemed.

"Listen, birthday suit. We know. We know how you've been going around, popping people with your poison arrow, making em' murder each other." At this point, Cupid started to look like he was going to cry. I almost felt bad for him.

"What we don't know is why."

"You think that I..." He trailed off.

"Well, uh... I-I don't know what to say." He went crying toward me and pulled me into another hug, crying on my shoulder. I just stood there, unmoving. The others turned around to look at me and him. Cupid just kept on crying. I awkwardly brought my arms up and patted him on the back. All eyes were on you, urging you to talk to him.

"We, uh, didn't mean to...hurt your feelings." At that moment, he hugged me tighter. I don't know what happened but I suddenly relaxed and started to try and comfort him. I rubbed his back, calming his crying.

"Love is more than a word to me. I love love. I love it and if that's wrong then I don't wanna be right." He finally let go of me.

"I was just on my evening rounds. Whatever my targets do after that has nothing to do with me. I was just following my orders."

Cas stared at him for a second, quickly glanced at me, then spoke up.

"He's telling the truth."

"What orders?" Cupid looked at Dean like he was crazy.

"Heaven's, silly, heaven."

"Why do they care if Harry meets Sally?"

"Oh mostly they don't. But ya know, certain bloodlines. Certain destinies. Like yours." He moved his finger signaling to me and Dean. At this point I was utterly confused.

"What do you mean?" I asked. He turned around to me.

"Oh you know. The union between (Y/N) (L/N) and Dean Winchester," he popped open his hands like a flower blooming when he said that, "Very big deal upstairs." My eyes widen as I looked to Dean who was also staring at me. Suddenly, my mouth felt dry.

"I-I'm sorry you must have the wrong gal." My denial kicked in. There was no way I was supposed to be paired with Dean.

"Hmmm... Nope. Definitely supposed to happen. In fact..." He trailed off and came up to me. He put his hand on my heart.

"Yep. You're already marked. You're already longing for him. You and Dean should've been united already." He smiled at me and then at Dean who looked like he had just seen a ghost. My heart started to beat even faster as the blush on my cheeks deepened.

"It's like the union of your parents. John and Mary Winchester. Destined to happen. Top priority arrangement." He said turning towards Sam and Dean.

"I-I gotta go." I say as I fast walked, which turned into a run, out of the door. I bolted out of the restaurant, past the impala, and to the park that was across the street. I sat down on the bench, put my head in my hands, and sighed. Sniffling, I heard the fluttering of wings.

"(Y/N)-" Cas started but I cut him off.

"Don't bother, Cas. The secrets out. Now he knows that I like him. He's never gonna stop teasing me about it. I'm gonna have to quit h-hunting with them, just s-so I won't have to face him each morning." My eyes brimmed with tears. That was by far the worst situation I have ever been in. Not to mention embarrassing. I felt the bench move a little; indicating that Cas had sat beside me.

"Just tell me one thing, Cas. Was he telling the truth? Was all of that crap about it being important for me and Dean to get together true?"

"Yes. Your offspring has a very important role to play in the future. He won't make fun of you. He's too kind for that. Besides, the union involves him too." I look at Cas, teary eyed.

"(Y/N)?" You heard a familiar voice say. You looked up to see Dean standing before Cas and I.

"I'll, uh, leave you two alone to talk." He got up and started walking back towards the restaurant. Dean sat next to you. He opened his mouth to say something but I cut him off.

"Dean, before you say anything, I don't need you to tease me about it. I get it that you don't actually feel the same, seeing as how many women you screw on a monthly bases, so please... Let's just forget this happened okay?" I wiped your eyes and moved to get up but and arm was pulling me back down.

"I wasn't gonna make fun of you. Truth be told, I was sort of happy when that cupid was talking about us being a priority to unite. It made my feelings for you feel not so heavy." I just stared at him with wide eyes.

"What he said in there... Was it true? About you being in love with me?" He asked hesitantly, not meeting my gaze. I looked down sheepishly.

"Y-yeah."

"For how long?" I looked at him.

"I guess ever since I met you. But I never said anything because I didn't think the feelings were mutual."

"Oh they were mutual. Very mutual. I just didn't realize how hard I had fallen until now." By this point, he was looking at me. Those stunning green eyes sparkling in the moonlight.

"But what about all those women?"

"I don't know. I guess I just wanted to get my mind off of you." I just nodded and looked back at my black flats. I felt a hand under my chin, pulling my gaze back to the man beside of me.

"I really do love you, sweetheart."

"I love you too, Dean." He leaned in towards me and closed the small distance between our lips, pulling me into a sweet, passionate kiss. We stayed this way for a few moments before we both broke away in need of air.

"So? Want to make a cupid's job easier and be with me?" He asked. I laughed a bit before taking my hand in his.

"Yes." His smile grew, showing off his pearly whites.

Forever Tags:

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Dean Fics Tags:

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[spacegaywritings]

Warming Paws and Melting Walls (6/8) “Queer Voices”

Summary: Remy has a lazy day after his hard and long day at work. Virgil is very glad to be with him and comment on his shenanigans as much as a cat can.

Tags: human = slave for a cat, mentions of pets eating humans, mentions of cat scratches, Remy going worst case scenario of “lmao cat might kill me”, mentions of blood, wtf remy seriously, criticising the world, hating on rich people, fuck reality tv, remy has weird thoughts, migraines, chronic pain gang, medication-induced dummy thoughts, questioning the world, microphones, singing, weird echo distortion, auditive triggers (described), eating, silly dummy, soft cat shenanigans, remy is a soft owner

 I do not think there is any to be applied. If you need me to add anything, please contact me here or on my tumblr (spacegayparty, spacegaywritings)

ao3: 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 // all.

tumblr:  1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 (you are here) / 7 / 8.

My KoFi  - Support me ♥ or Commission me

Remy flopped his body back down onto the couch. He had just about left his bed and done the most essential actions to start a day.

 “Virgilius kitty catticus”, he called lowly, laying flat on the couch.

 His legs were sprawled out like the seductive lover in a peculiar pose... or any liquid simply taking up as much space as they could. Yeah, he classified to be the latter, if any. This was to put it nicely. He did not look loving or seductive at all. His body was about as tempting as a greased bucket of expired fat for frying fries. For a more trained eye, he might have resembles a starfish with his limbs facing away from him and stretching wide and far into the world as if to get as much exposure to air and light as possible. Maybe he was some kind of starfish-lover-grease-plant.

 Yes, he was a really super special plant and he shall live like this!

Immobile, comfortable, unfit for work and cared for by nature only. Not to speak of how he refused to care for anything and anyone either.

Didn’t everyone aspire to be a nice house plant? Like a house cat! Now he and Virgil could be more than friends - bestest friends... perhaps even bitches in crime.

 They would absolutely trash the household by demanding a lot of care and just throwing out some dirt. If he was a plant with mobile or flexible limbs under his control, he could knock things from counters like the void did. Remy definitely learned how much cats seemed to enjoy playing into gravity’s power. Virgil was a never-ending source of knocking random things off the counter, off the shelves and tables and whatever else they could find.

 “Virgiiiiiil~”

 Remy had accepted his fate: he was hosting a little demon kitten, a spoiled mini Queen expecting royal treatment when he was just a humble worker who bitched at idiotic people.

Why, oh why-

As he laid there, drama overcoming him, existential dread rumbled in his guts. The hunger from going without sustenance for a whole night consumed his being, Virgil finally made their way over to them and decided to give him a lovely greeting. His migraine-ridden head was met with the sudden impact of a whole furry kitty skull just crashing against it.

 Instantly, pain exploded in his mind, his brain pressing against his skull from the inside and pounding wildly. Throbbing agony painted his features and he groaned, his face distorting to present the mask of a broken man, hopeless for any improvement. It was not that the area Virgil had bonked their head against was hurting more. No, it was like touching a bubble and destroying the whole of it in the process.

 “Ughh...”

 His voice was tired and, his brows heavy and lethargic from the constant anguish pushing him into the ground. At the same time, his head felt detached from reality. It was an unreal experience.

The pain was present, persistent and heavy on him as it crushed his appetite. While his body demanded food, it also demanded him to stay off any intake of nutritions via mouth. Nausea washed over him and he felt warm , uncomfortably hot even. Sweat seemed to break over his miserable, physical vessel and he pressed his lips together in regret, not even daring to think about opening it. He felt feverish but knew he was not. He had tested it several times.

 He had to stop thinking.

Thinking hurt.

 “ d’s hur’s...”, he mumbled incoherently.

 Neither his head nor his lips wanted to do the talking at the moment. Sounds hurt, too.

 The man wanted to tell the little bitchy kitten that head bonks - while affectionate - were painful when he had bad migraines. He wanted to explain himself to the little creature who would just meet his torture with the inability to understand him. Even if the kitty tried, they would be unable to ever understand his words as he meant them. Virgil learned by context.

 Realising the kitten got no head pats in return or any other sorts of physical affection, the little void pawed at his face and gently nudged their head against Remy’s once more.

It was gentle, this time.

 “Mrow!”, the cat argued.

 Remy wanted to shake his head but feared the nausea would become even worse. The little soft nudge was.. endearing. The tender displays of affection did not heal him but it helped, it eased him. It was nice to know the kitten did not understand but still reacted to him, still cared and was there at once when he decided to call for them.

 Remy was brave enough to swallow his nausea. He shifted experimentally.

 Huh.. fine. It was kinda fine, right now.

 The nausea was just out of reach and he took the chance to quickly shift to his side and turn his whole body over. Remy gently patted the couch and patiently waited for the little kitten to follow him. His face was in the same space, just facing the other side.

 He was unusually off-fashion. His boxers were basically all his pyjamas, his shirt was a loose shirt from the women’s section. It was barely gracing over his features, loosely falling onto his skin.

Listen, he looked especially pretty with his hips showing a bit.

 “Huhww...”, he whined in pain.

 HIs eyes shut automatically. It was good that eyes had the reactive mechanism of closing when light hurt too much. With the little bits of light that intruded home shut out , he curled further around the kitten. Virgil gently nudged his chin and stretched into his arms. Pushing the little head into his palm, they received little head scritches once more and he gently caressed the kitten’s small chin.

 His pain killers should kick in soon. He was so glad that special medication for migraines existed... if he was lucky, they would just knock him out and he would wake up in a bit, lacking pain and nausea at all and feeling so much better. One day, he wanted to feel like a person would feel when waking up in the morning: free, fresh and ready to seize the day.

 Remy soon drifted off to sleep. The comforting feeling of his Queen of Salt tapping his hip bones was one of the most assuring actions one had ever performed on him. They curled up in his arms, right next to him. In solidarity to one another, the two eventually drifted into a respectful and hopefully healing nap.

 A few hours passed and magically, Remy woke up. His body was heavy and his energy levels ran low. Instinctively, he rolled onto his side and rubbed his eyes.

 The process was.. not just as smooth.

As he started to roll over, a little resistance could be felt next to him and he felt the intense heat on his chest suddenly be exposed to the much cooler air around him.

 Remy’s head was still heavy when he turned and he could feel his mind draw a painfully sneaking blank. Thinking was a drop-by-drop process compared to quickly pouring liquid from one into another container. But when he blinked, looking around and not seeing the familiar Overlord of Darkness, he knew there was a problem.

 Oh- Oh, Virgil.

  “aw.. sorry Virg”, he mumbled.

 St once, he moved off the squeaking kitty and sighed. Holy fuckery, he was more than glad he had not tried to roll over the kitten. This could have ended in the worst possible ways. Surprised at himself, he blinked.The kitten complained and nastily pushed their tail into his face in revenge. Yeah, the one and only Queen of Salt was right then and there. If they acted like this, they were obviously all up and healthy.

 Oh, and would you look at this. His nausea was almost entirely gone. The rest persisting in his throat and stomach was probably the greedy claw of hunger.

 Cat + pain-free state = happy Remy.

 “Aw, kitty”, Remy cooed and gently pulled the crabby bean into his arms, cradling them close.

 Virgil meowed in protest but it was a formality rather than a wish. When Remy got up, they decided to stay put and curl up against his chest once more, the inviting warmth winning over even the the charcoal grumpy cat. If they had been truly enraged about him squeezing them by accident, they would have given Remy an actual taste of pain.

 “Meow”, they mumbled in return and Remy kissed their head.

 “Yeah, sorry for the wait. You and I are getting food right now”

 He carefully got up, minding his step and circulation as he made his way into the kitchen with calculated movements. Whenever he got a bit further, he identified the next space he could lean against or a corner he could slide down from. Just in case his body was “too weak” and prissy with him to make it over to the kitchen and stay loyal to him while making a meal.

 Remy should get a walking stick.

 Eventually, he got over, took his supplements to further ward off migraines, dizzy spells and many other issues his existence was pained with. Cramps and muscle twitches. Those were those bitches!

 Virgil was down at his feet, not daring to wander the counters when he would cook. They knew better than to do so. The kitchen was basically off-limits for feral cat shenanigans of jumping and dumping anything they would find interest in.

 Within a few minutes, Remy and Virgil were snuggled up on the couch, lazy breakfast in his hands and kitten sprawled over his leg, nibbling at a little snack he had gifted them.. well, as a treat. Also, the cat just needed to eat, okay? The cat was contently purring on his leg, basically massaging it with the stubborn vibrations radiating off of them. They were happily chewing on a bit of meat Remy had placed on a napkin for them. He himself was stretched out under a thin yet fluffy blanket, as black as his soul. With that, he meant that it was a dark, shimmery blue that looked almost as dark as raven yet shone like charcoal and reflected the light blue-ly enough for him to call it blue. Every now and then, it would look like a cave of darkness when from other angles, it would look like a mysterious shade of blue.

A bit like the vast universe.

 The official cat owner pushed his eggs aside with his fork and let said cutlery rest abandoned on his plate as he finally gave up on eating. This whole breakfast thing might not have been exactly his type of life.

Eating at 11 am was... illegal. Too early. A true abomination. Who would do anything like this? What kinda fucking bitch even invented this sort of activity? This was torture, not a fucking luxury!

 Mornings were there to either work or sleep forever.

 Remy groaned.

 Virgil seemed to have passed out on his left thigh, a whole bundle of raven fur curled up next to him and halfway covering up his own body - even warming it. This cat was probably the only person he ever wanted to see in the morning. Or even interact with.

 Yeah, fuck everyone and everything else. It was “No social, only Virgil” - his new life motto.

 Seriously, now. This little monster was probably the only creature allowed to breathe around him during mornings. He detested mornings but during migraine days, he could not bear to be existent - oh, this was another level of hatred he bore in his angy heart.

 Mornings were the worst because he had to take medication, sleep away half the day and then still be in at least a bit of pain. Yet the idea of Virgil lazily purring on him without annoying him, without demanding attention or needing anything? Now this was true luxury if he ever knew any! Being himself was already a luxury and he paid a lot for it with sweat, pain and an angelic patience to never spill scalding hot coffee over other people when they dared to annoy him during his most painful episodes.

 Remy pushed his food away, plate immediately deserted on the other side of the couch. If he dared to as much as move a bit more to the front, he would have to lean in closer and move his upper body. This was too much work. Cancelled.

With Virgil cuddled up on his thigh, head literally resting close to his hip, he would quite frankly crush the little kitten or trap them at the very least. He did not want to disturb or even hurt the little void. Come to think of it, he could not stand the thought of it even in the slightest. The little beast getting hurt was also illegal. This was his favourite bitch and he would not just let them get hurt. Under no circumstances, especially if he could prevent it by any means.

 His body curled around the little blob of black as if they were about to get hurt and only their close physical contact was able to save them both from tremendous trouble. Remy shielded the little spark of joy in his life.

However, the kitten was about as sympathetic as always and grumbled in response.

 “Meow!”

 Virgil looked at him. Remy blinked back, dace unmoving.

 “Shut up, I am loving you right this fuck.. the.-...the f u ck now.”

 He cleared his throat and, again, blinked back at the Queen of Salt who slowly blinked at him. They pushed Remy’s annoying appendages away and nudged themself into a more comfortable position within their owner’s arms. Once completely satisfied, the cat continued purring like the motor they were.

 “There you go, sassy snitch.”

 The tired man commented, a small chuckle erupting from his throat. A warmth started spreading in his chest again, filling him from the inside. Virgil fuelled themself with their persistent purrs in order to produce more and more heat and vibrations.

This was a circle of heaven.

On one hand, it was a bit like rich people going to these fancy salons so they would look a bit less shit and also much more artificial. Somehow it was a big fucking trend for some fashion victims to look the least human possible and resemble plastic more than anything else. That or maybe some horror creatures.

Remy had no more than cynical eyebrow raises left when he saw shows coming up that presented these people like on a plate of food. Dehumanising, really. Society made people hate themselves for being people and looking like fucking people. As if anything about mean, horrifying mask faces were anything people wanted to see or talk about. The viewers were probably all thirsting after a big old cup of tea because they would definitely not get a tall glass of water in these trying times of reality TV or whatever this bitchy excuse of bullshit was called.

 “Meow.”

 “Yes, Virgil, Totally think so, too.”

 This, this was it. Those interactions were all he needed to make him feel... complete. He felt.. rich but in the more sensible and less extremely insane way. He was not materially watch. Ha, suck it “Material Girl”. No, he was emotionally enriched by Virgil’s presence. It was another kind of fancy and luxurious since it pleased his soul rather than his need to be loved by others. He was blessed and warmed with the love and closeness of a little creature that enjoyed him being around.

Somewhat at least.

 “I love you, little kitty cat. You are the right kinda bitch.”

 Okay, LISTEN. Virgil did not try to eat him in his sleep yet so he might was well consider them best buddies, given that the cat had so many opportunities to slice him open and drink his blood until he was dead and the little hellspawn was satisfied but instead they were simply cuddling up to him all the time. Maybe they were just tolerating him but they were doing a pretty good job and pretending to care about his ass whenever he was not moving a lot or literally suffered greatly.

 Virgil turned to him, blinking ever so slowly, “mrow?”

 Yeah, that was all the evidence needed. Virgil loved him and he deserved it because he was a truly rich bitch who worked for his shit and did not try to look like plastic or be scary. Wow, rich people were so scary with their weird needs and urges and deeds... He would never get over plastic faces and that was his last word on this topic. This sudden realisation kinda hit him hard. Like, even in that slow, numbed and dull conscious, he saw the dots, observed the connections and got to a surprising conclusion of people being plastic and this being very weird.

Striking thoughts, clearly. Or maybe he was just being ..confused..Uh, what was he thinking about? Oh man.. It felt like he has had a major mental break through about whatnot - maybe, Kim Kardashian’s ass and how he can achieve his butt to be just as thicc.

 The man shook his head, letting all the confusing thoughts leave his head. He shook them off like the wetness of an umbrella after coming in from a rainy day. Outside, the world was pretty silent and not a single sound other than Virgil’s sing-song purrs lulling him into comfort could be heard. He was a chronic pain bitch, he made sure to never have too many sounds around which was why his hobbies were silent and boring, mostly.

 Still, Virgil loved him. They really did because they bonked their head against Remy’s hip bone, once more. There was no pain, only ore head scritches for the little kitty.

He closed his eyes, drawing a deep breath. It smelled of love, of warmth and hugs. How were these valid scents? Because he smelled them, honey, that is literally all it needed to qualify.

 “You are perfect, little kitty.”

 The two cuddled for a bit longer, Remy’s thoughts drifting slowly. His mind was on a ride on one of these slow merry-go-rounds. It was delirious, magical. Thoughts brushed over him like a breeze, one after the other passing him and tickling his imagination until one would stick with him for long enough. Instead of just passing by, it was more like bumping him and making him look at this thought content in particular. 

 Music.

For some reason, the idea of nice calming melody was the worst to ever happen to him but maybe a peppy song would get his spirits back up and work down the soreness from being stuck in a morning, still. The idea was so alluring, he felt his heart beat in excitement.

Virgil rose their head.

Remy cradled them close, picking them up and settling them on his chest. Arms were still wrapped around the little void.

 Instinctively, he got up, his body sweeping over the floor. His toes were numb to the feeling of the ground and his mind saw nothing but his task. As always, the warmth of the void was close to his chest and keeping him warm as the loyal little disaster they were. They curiously looked around as the flat passed by him. It was so natural for them to be close and go to any place together, Remy felt as if their auras would melt together.

 “Meow?”, the cat inquired curiously.

 There was such an innocence in their deeds. Apparently, they realised a bit of a change at the very least. They looked over his shoulder as they only ever did when they just arrived here for the first time. Or, well, would be new to any other area they went to together. Virgil knew where they were but something about Remy’s actions seemed to spark a sense of novelty.

The cat meowed again, a larger chunk of excitement swinging in their voice as Remy did not acknowledge the first attempt at communication they had proposed.

 “Meow!”

 The persistent meowing grabbed the determined man’s attention and Remy settled in his room, in front of a box, little charcoal monster in his lap.

 “What do you want, Queen? Is my body not soft enough for your royal ass?”, he teased softly as one of his hands settled on their head.

 Fingers entangled in the fur and gently scritched the areas around their ears.

Virgil leaned in. Their head rested in his hand and they simply relished in the soft touches and rewarded their obedient owner with a low purr.

 “Oh, what is that? Are you happy now? Are you happy, now that I give you more attention?”, Remy asked softly, his voice prickling in amusement yet being overall subtle rather than pushy, “You are just the best little kitty, V.”

 “Memrrroww!”

 Remy got lost in the little void looking up at him, neck craning to accommodate the new angle. They blinked ever so slowly. A snail would move faster from one end of the street to another than Virgil would when taking the time to blink at him. It was sort of amusing, really. Remy read it was some kind of display of affection. It was endearing for sure. The owner knew because Virgil’s snuggling up to his palm and purring out “meow”s was something to make his heart feel.. warm and.. and right in his chest.

 Things felt right.

 Then it occurred to him.

The box.

He had come here for a reason, not for nothing. There was a sense of determination lighting up his heart just as much as his love for the little bundle of black salt in his lap.

 His unoccupied hand carefully lifted the box’s lid and let it slide down until it arrived on the ground with a dull sound. At once, the vibrations in the air ceased, the soft sounds of purring abruptly stopping as if the internal cat programme to keep it running crashed and failed to recover. The kitten moved its head to follow the sudden intrusion of the sound. Their ears were up, sharp and indignant at the sheer audacity of a noise around them when they did not personally and officially approve of it to exist here at this time.

 However, at least the cat did not hiss or anything. They just looked for a bit while Remy reached into the box, intent guiding his blind hands.

Virgil stared into the box for another moment before their ears slowly retreated to their more relaxed state and the kitten allowed themself to nudge Remy’s hand again. With one hand in the box, he only had one more to actively stroke the thunder cloud in his lap. He gladly took the opportunity to gift the small beast with a few more scritches, his hand travelling to their shin to gently stroke and scratch it with as little force as possible in order for the feline monster to be appeased with his actions.

 They were.

Virgil let the weight of their head be carried by Remy’s patient hand while the other rummaged in the box the cat has already lost interest in.

 What. A. Fool.

 His free hand wrapped around the pole-like shape, his fingers gracing the cool material. Ah, finally. He pulled at it until he had retreated his hand enough to reveal the object to broad daylight. It shone a bit, almost as if to mimic the metal it wanted to be made of. He pulled up the slender object, the weight enough to tell him he had something in his hands. It was light but not enough to make him forget about the fact he was holding something. The object’s shape was clear and direct. A few simple touches told him he was right.

His eyes were not needed in this point. He could tell it was the desired object without being able to see through the muffled darkness of the little storage. It was dark, it was always dark where he lived and got to control the dimness of the light.

 “I got ya, bitch.”

 Virgil gave him a look for a moment but he had only eyes and hands for the object. By now, he was “inspecting” it with both hands.

The weight was low enough for his noodle arms to get it easily without any exhaustion. Even with barely any food in him, he was capable. Okay, sure, he worked out but he was not that strong. A sandwich was probably just as heavy as this object. Remy pulled it against his chest with a sense of satisfaction washing over him. A proud smile adorned his features and he glanced back down at the Queen of Salt in his lap. Something within him told him that the furry friend by his side would understand what he just did, would feel what he had in mind.

 For now, he was saved by the cat’s sweet and sour ignorance.

They were like a little child. Not knowing much about the world yet being so eager and amazed at every little novelty they deemed to be a true wonder and a wonder only, for it was revolutionising the world for them. Probably, it was.

They did not know it just yet, but there was a big big miracle approaching them. Virgil was about to get to know a very natural yet artificial wonder very soon, Remy would make sure of that. As their caretaker, it was sort of his job to teach them about the good and the bad of the world. This lesson would be the perfect middle ground of morals and societal standards.

Or maybe just his own opinions... Yeah, maybe rather that, considering he did not really give too many fucks about society as it was.

 Remy pocketed the middle-sized item (it reminded him a large amount of a torch) and got his little kitty cat into his arms before getting up. Together, they returned to the cozy living-room. They cozied up together and the owner got his phone out and ready.

 “Virgil, be a dear, entertain me”, he softly requested before making a little “click” sound with one of his hands.

The kitten whipped their head around, staring into the source of sound that happened to be their miserable excuse of a human servant. With a cautious “meow” coming from them, they leaned in, tail standing still and body tense. Even their ears stood very firm.

 Remy barely breathed when he clicked his tongue in thought.

 “Yo, Queen, calm ya kitty senses. It is a fun surprise. Promise, honey.”

 They eased a bit, sitting down onto their little void butt with their eyes intensely looking at the source of sound, despite it being gone for so long. Reassurance did not reach through their raven fur.

 “Be a good kitty, come on”, he suggested as he brushed a hand through their endlessly dark fur. The sassy child complied, carefully purring into his palm. As usual, they pushed their head closer. The trust was big between them. Virgil shut their eyes effectively and purred on, for longer, for louder.

 It was the time, it really was.

 Remy pulled his own arm closer to his chest, the microphone in his hand. It was active, activated and more than ready for this - just as he was.

If there was any pain or discomfort left within him, he was invincible and ignorant to it since the mere idea of his little plan becoming reality has him in the sweet ecstasy of hyperfocusing.

 Everything but his objective and the required tools became invisible to him.

 Virgil purred and suddenly, without warning for the little salty royal, the sound of their own purr echoed back to them in an odd, distorted manner. The object threw sound back at them because it was a microphone. Said microphone gave a high-pitched feedback in return, leaving the cat awestruck.

 Despite the soft cuddles and little encouraging nudges, they remained silent. Their doll-like, spheric orbs widened and their jaw locked at the weird noises. The cat’s whole posture was simply the shadow of a scare and the embodiment of confusion. If Remy did not know better, he would call them a boomer for the look on their face that could best be described as disgust.

 “You okay there, kitty? Do you hate me and life now? Do you hate your wife- ”

 They eyed the man for a moment, a hint of bewilderment in their intense eyes. Virgil seemed to smell the bullshit that was Remy calling them a boomer, maybe even a Karen. In reality, the cat was more than right! Someone get the manager of dummy thicc kitty-slaves!

 This was heresy! No, it was CARESY! How dare this poorly-made, human-encouraged machine of deafening sounds be alive and working around this cat and even throw back their royal noise with cheap, messed-up pitches? This was a crime!

The perfect balance of demanding and adorable was lost to the heartless machine.

 “Mrrrrrr”

 Virgil started vrooming in spite.

 They frankly produced a sound between a growl and a purr. Remy did not know what it was. He was sure not even Virgil knew what kind of sound exactly they were making and had it not been for the microphone, he would not have even heard it. However, with the useful device, the sound was amplified and came back in an echoing mess of sounds that layered over one another, wavering and stumbling over each other in their heightened pitch as they fought to reach one’s eardrums before the others.

 Distorted echoes and overlapping noises vibrated their way into his hazy mind. Virgil squinted at the atrocious object before the.

He giggled.

 “Virgil, listen to yourself, you silly void!”

 His suggestion fell to deaf ears. Virgil’s ears were, in fact, moving and in place to detect the danger of the intrusive sounds, the loud and sudden shit to bother them in their comfortable existence.

They wrapped their paws around the microphone, both “arms” slinging around it and holding it in place. The microphone was just a finger away from the kitten’s wet nose. The patting sounds was amplified. Rustling occurred, scratching Remy’s and Virgil’s glorious hearing senses.

 They stared again. Remy stared too, his eyes captivated by the sudden turn of events happening before him.

 “Hey, little storm cloud, what are you doing?”

 The cat continued, thrashing the microphone and letting out an actual growl at this point. Louder pats and could were vocalised by the poor, abused microphone.

The dummy duo paid with their hearing abilities. Holy fuck.

 “MeoooooooOOOW!”

 The sound grew louder at the end, forcefully so. It was a powerful establishment of dominance on Virgil’s part. How would the microphone react? Stay tuned for the nex- OKAY The microphone obviously echoed the whole thing back right on impact, leaving Virgil to retreat their head yet not their stubborn paws.

The cat had licked blood and it was not going to give up not. Not in front of their new enemy!

 All the while, Remy decided to be wise enough and retreat his hand from the slightly feral-ing cat.

It was a matter of time for Virgil to just ba-

Iiiiit was already happening~

 Virgil released one of their paws while keeping the other around to stabilise the foe. They committed themself to observing it and keeping it in place while their black hook got back at it, fully swinging against the cool microphone. Remy let go, merely catching up on the series of movement Virgil started carrying out after he had retreated his caressing hand. He had just stopped himself from giggling in amusement as the situation turned into a somewhat serious scene.

 “BADANG!”

 His grip on the microphone was no more - as much as the noisy foe Virgil had bashed the annoying bitch far, far away. The kitty paw had practically yeeted the whole apparatus away from them, the little microphone flying over the couch and landing on the other side of it while echoing the sounds of whooshing air breezing into its loudspeaking function. It crashed into the cushions and sound exploded on them, leaving Remy and Virgil in a groan of annoyance, maybe even a slight tone of pain.

 Hah, tone.

 The microphone’s last cries died down as s quickly as they had torn into the world. Virgil sagely blinked at the fallen enemy. In a great sense of victory, the cat hopped into his arms. They flung themself at his chest and bonked their heads together once more.

 “Meow!”

 They seemed to argue in their own benefit, demanding a reward for defeating the evil intruder and saving their dummy thicc idiot of an owner. Stupid human slaves. Foolish mortals. Bringing their own enemy into their home and even cuddling with it. Good thing the fierce kitten was around to knock out any meanie!

 Very well, they thought, they deserved a treat and Remy would have to hand over one of the good things. Virgil desired it.

 The kitten nudged their owner, settling down on them in satisfaction.

 “You go, Queen”, Remy cheered softly as he gathered the bundle of utter darkness and destruction in his arms.

Praise covered the kitten in warmth. They blinked slowly.

“I got you, you little sassy bitch.”

 Remy wobbled into the kitchen with his bitch buddy and got some treats for the kitten especially and also some for his own tired self. The whole endeavour had not been the most clever thing to do. His head was hurting from the scratchy noises. Still, it was worth the silly fun they had together. Do not judge the bitch flat, they were both hungry and tired! Also, Remy was dummy thicc on meds. Weekends were made to bitch slap fucking microphones and other noise-generating machines and beings across the room just to get a little crunchy CRONCH CRONCH treat in return.

 This was the local apartment laws because Remy and Virgil said so.

 The owner carefully got something from the kitty drawer he had put together by now. With a ceremonial movement, he flicked his wrist and presented his little chaos charcoal with the treat of catnip paradise.

 Virgil jumped into the sack of nice smells and good treats.

 “MRRW!”

 Remy found himself succumbing to giggles once more.

 “Yeah, meow to you, too, dark and stormy knight. You are just the cutest little kitten, honey.”

 He got himself a bit of cheese as he sat down to watch Virgil bite and rip into the bag of the good old cat nip.