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darthmaulification · 4 years ago

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din djarin nsfw alphabet

A/N: i STILL have writer’s block when it comes to all the other stuff i have to get done that it’s INFURIATING. 🙄😤😡 i literally write two (2) sentences, and then my head says “no thoughts, all done :)”.

so anons still waiting on your stuff, have faith, i will get them done eventually!! 🙏🙏😭😭

but i want to get more stuff out more regularly, so take another nsfw alphabet, my brain is melting. 💗

(again, i imply fem!afab!reader and also, there is sensitive content (abortion) under X)

nsfw below the cut! 😘

A = aftercare (what are they like after sex?)

Din may be a bit unsure at first, but he is so sweet when it comes to aftercare. He’s got a caring nature already, and when it comes to making sure you’re clean, comfortable, and content after sex, Din is very soft and gentle. He’ll be asking you the whole time about what you need, how you’re feeling, complimenting and praising you for being perfect. Once he’s done making sure you’re okay, Din will conclude every time with kisses and cuddles, holding you close to him all the while whispering to you in Basic and Mando’a about how much he loves you.

B = body part (what’s their favorite body part of their partner? what about themselves?)

Honestly, Din has spent so long without showing someone else any part of him, that he is fairly insecure about how he looks. He’s a tad... embarrassed by his body, because he wants it to be perfect for you, but he doesn’t feel like it is (of course, you think he’s perfect). Din has a lot of self-criticisms, he worries that he’s too old for you, that his nose is too big for your liking, that he’s got a soft tummy and not like men your age. So Din doesn’t have a favorite body part, he’ll just like anything that you like.

Now on you... Din is a big fan of your face. He comes from a culture where one’s face is kept hidden unless you’re family or spouse, so to have you in all your glory and beauty is almost overwhelming to him. He loves your eyes especially (windows to the soul, and all), how they’re so expressive, what they look like when he’s fucked you cockdumb... all glossy and hazed... Din also loves your lips in particular too, the smile that tugs them up, what they look like when you say his name... and for another obvious reason that tends to happen when you’re below his belt on your knees...

(Also Din is a boobie man, full stop).

C = cum (basically anything to do with cum)

Din cums a lot, and he wants it all over you. If you let him, he’ll splatter his nut on your face, belly, breasts, ass, and other places that he loves and wants marked. He likes seeing you all messy and sticky, covered in the stuff that he creates just for you. Din goes kinda feral though if you beg him to cum inside you, allow him to bottom out and let loose past your tight cervix straight into your womb... makes his brain fizzle out. Also, Din’s cum tastes abnormally sweet, almost too sugary, much like the sweet man himself.

D = dirty secret (what’s their dirty secret?)

Din wants to be cucked. Like he really wants to watch someone else fuck you (consensually, of course), and him not being able to do anything about it. It’d be such a fucking tease and edge for him that the thought makes him feel some sort of way in his pants.

Also, not so much of a secret but still dirty, Din can play the role of a dom to a T, but in his heart, he’s a sub. Just take the reins on day, there’s not much he’d be compelled to do to stop you.

E = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Most, if not all, of Din’s sexual experiences before you were clumsy, quick fucks with sex workers at brothels or cantinas. He had most of them when the desire became to high to ignore, so really the closest around satisfied him enough. And although most of the conquests had no specialness or emotion to them, they did shape the way Din moved around bodies, aided in his ability to please and such. So Din is rather experienced, he knows what he’s doing and how to make things steamy, but he’s really never been able to truly connect with someone before. Even though he’s well versed in the art of sex, there’s a few learning curves for him to accomplish, particularly making sure he meets your needs the way you want them met, not how he thinks you may want to do things.

F = favorite position (what’s their favorite position?)

By far, Din loves nothing more but to bend you over a table, or the console board of the Razor Crest, and pound into you from behind like there’s no tomorrow. He loves to have the warmth of your ass, heavy and plush, against his pelvis all while he’s up to the hilt inside your core. Din also likes the control it gives him, having you squirming and moaning under him, one of his hands heavy on your back keeping you down while the other squeezes your thighs and hips, or plays with your clit. Din might also get a bit grabby with your hair, pulling back your head enough so that he can nibble at your neck and hiss all the dirty things he wants into your ear.

The close second for his favorite position though is having you tied up to the bed, wrists and ankles bound. It’s one of Din’s favorite sights in the entire galaxy.

G = goofy (are they the more serious type, or more humorous?)

Din is serious about making sure he’s doing all he can to make you a moaning, cockdumb mess, that’s for damn sure. He’s very driven in that regard, serious about the task at hand and all the things he has to do to make sure you know just how much he loves you. Din isn’t a stoic robot though, he’s too vibrant and compassionate of a man for that, so he’ll being saying sweet things to get you to blush and smile, grinning against the shell of your ear before kissing your neck, maybe nipping playfully at your ass or stomach too... Din knows how to give a good time.

H = hair (how well-groomed are they?)

Din is a functionalist, so he likes to keep his bush below the belt to a minimum, or at least manageable, so he trims it and sometimes shaves it fully. Though he does have a tendency to let it grow a bit if he’s having a dry spell or if he just doesn’t have the motivation... but once the tuft starts catching on the zip to his pants (he goes commando, the dork), that’s when Din knows he’s got to shave. All his body hair elsewhere; head, face, legs, back, arms, etc, Din doesn’t care much about except his moustache and tasteful stubble which he does really like to keep. Of course, Din keeps everything as clean as a whistle.

On his partners, Din doesn’t have much of a preference, but he does lean towards someone who at least keeps their stuff trimmed (and clean, of course). However, he won’t force you to do anything, it’s your body, your decisions.

I = intimacy ( how intimate are they during sex?)

Just... so intimate. Of course, Din fucks like a beast in rut, but he’s so consuming and raw with it, it’s nothing short of perfect. Din wears his heart on his sleeve, so sex is constant “I love yous” in every word and action, even when it’s all vulgarity and dirty and horny, but it’s love nonetheless. You’re able to feel it from how he presses against you, molds against you like liquid heat, how his hands make your body his own, how he kisses you with stars in his eyes, how he tells you over and over again both vocally and silently, “Thank you”.

J = jack off (do they masturbate?)

Mm... it depends on his mood. He masturbated more when he was younger, when he had more time and drive to do so. Though once he got older, and life happened, and he’s almost non-stop running around chasing quarries... Din’s just too darn tired. It got even less so when Grogu came into his life, because oh my Maker the horror Din would feel if somehow his son caught him in the act. But Din is only human, and has that accursed Mandalorian sex drive, so sometimes the urge does rear it’s head, and he’s gotta make his hand and penis best friends again.

Doesn’t help when you’re occupying his thoughts either.

K = kinks (any kinks?)

Y’know that cliché where it’s like “normal looking person whose an absolute freak in the sheets”? Yeah, that’s Din. This man is the epitome of that. Here’s his kinks:

Bondage. Din really likes the sight of you tied up on the bed, at his mercy like a bunny in a hunter’s trap. He wants to have you bound by your wrists and ankles, maybe even tying you to the bedposts, and fucking you senseless while you beg to be able to touch him too. Din favors using handcuffs (technically binders, but Star Wars lingo is silly sometimes), but he’ll use whatever you’re okay with too. And, of course, if bondage isn’t your thing, he won’t ever force you to do it. (psst, Din doesn’t mind being tied up either)

Spanking. Kind of the only aspect of the “S” part of BDSM that Din will every really partake in. He likes landing a good few firm swats on your flanks, likes seeing your ass and thighs jiggle from the force of it, the bright flush that may appear afterwards if you let him go at it a while. Din also likes just being able to touch your ass too, so a nice spank to your bottom becomes the physical message of “You’re in for it tonight, mesh’la”. Oh, and he’ll make you count.

Daddy kink. Oh Maker, if you call him Daddy, he’ll lose his mind. Din has such a big Daddy kink that even if you call him it in a nonsexual situation, he’ll be feeling that warmth until he’s able to steal you away and rail you good. He loves being the Daddy and you being his “Sweet girl” or “Cyar’ika”... the dynamic runs him wild.

Breeding/pregnancy kink. Din wants to fuck a baby into you so badly he dreams about it. It’s been impounded into him that family and parenthood are really big deals, so you bet your ass he wants to fulfill that part of his Creed by making sure your pussy’s stuffed, womb is filled to the brim, and your breasts are swollen and milky. Din wants so so deeply to see you pregnant with the kid that you and him make, he desperately wants a family with you.

Breast/nipple kink. Yeah, Din really really likes your tits. There’s something about the shape, the texture, size, weight, etc that activates some primal monkey part of his brain that has him drooling. Din loves to knead and fondle your breasts, roll them under his large hands, press them together, watch the soft flesh squish and mold around his fingers. He especially loves the cute nipples of yours, pinching them between his fingers, tweaking them. Din also really likes sucking on your tits, leaving marks all over them, playing with your nipples with his tongue...

L = location (favorite place to “do the do”?)

When you both have the opportunity, Din really really likes taking you in a good, proper bedroom, something that the uncomfortable, tiny bunk on the Razor Crest really doesn’t account for. If it were up to him, he’d want to spend his entire life with you in bedroom fit for a king, taking you over and over again on a mattress that feels like a cloud. It’s no shock then whenever Din actually shills out the credits (being the frugal man he is) to buy a hotel room is the sex borderline godlike.

M = motivation (what gets them turned on?)

A sure-fire way to get Din fully and completely riled up would be to wear something real scandalous. Be that a shirt that shows a tad bit more, or pants that are tight enough to reveal you aren’t wearing panties, or (Din’s favorite) a set of cute lingerie... Din will get hard in his pants. It’d be even more so if you tease him in public, but be warned he’ll fuck you mean for that.

N = NO (what’s their turn offs?)

Very early on, it was, obviously, taking off his helmet. If you asked, or Maker forbid tried, the mood would drop pretty extensively if not entirely from Din. He’d get uncomfortable, go silent, and the first time it happened, he left the room. Removal of the helmet was a very big one before he eventually showed you his face.

After you’ve been able to kiss his face over and over again and cry because you think he’s so beautiful? Nothing comes to Din’s mind really besides the kinks that are... nastier. Like literally, y’know... some other bodily... stuffs. Anyways, Din is pretty adaptable when it comes to kinks/positions and stuff. The pros of already being a kinky man...

O = oral (do they have a preference in giving/receiving?)

Okay, Din really loves his dick sucked. The way that you wrap your lips around his shaft, kiss the tip of his penis, fondle his balls, lick and slobber on him... makes his eyes roll to the back of his head. He especially loves being able to watch you try and take all of him in your throat, seeing the tears of pleasure squeeze out your eyes, the way you hollow your cheeks around him and suck. Din loves it when you go down on him.

... Now that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like going down on you. There is no place Din would want to be more than with his face between your legs, lapping at you like a starving animal. He’ll spend hours with his mouth on your cunt, swirling his tongue around your clit, driving orgasm after orgasm from you until you’re shaking from overstimulation and begging him to stop. Din loves your pussy, the way you taste and smell... drives him wild.

P = pace & PDA (are they soft, sensual, rough, or feral? are they open to displaying the relationship?)

Din will most often rail you into the mattress with a fervor. He tends to fuck hard, and he likes to play rough. The pace he keeps is something that makes you see stars every time he thrusts, when he ruts into you so hard that your entire body moves. However, Din does this all with a type of passionate sensuality that leaves you in tears, he fucks you sure, but it’s also fully fueled by unwavering love. When he’s feeling especially sentimental, Din will indulge on this love, and he’ll go slower, deeper, make you feel nothing but the weight of him.

And PDA... Well, Din doesn’t take the helmet or beskar off in public, so PDA is every time Din steps in front of you to shield you protectively, it’s when he offers to carry whatever you’re holding, it’s when he fights for you, it’s when he stands close to your side, when he sends you long side-eyed glances that make you feel the love, it’s when he nudges your shoulder with his, when he lets you wrap your fingers around his, when he drapes you with his cloak, surrounding you with him... It’s the little, subtle things, the personal things that mean you’re closer to him than anyone else.

Q = quickies (what’s their opinion on quickies?)

Maker, yes. Din becomes kinda addicted to having sex with you, so any and all chance to pull down his and yours pants and rut you both into a quick release is perfect for him. They don’t happen all that often, you’re both too busy most of the time, but if there’s a window of opportunity, Din will take it.

R = risks (are they okay with experimenting? do they take risks?)

Din’s kinda a big baby, so anything you may want to try with him in the bedroom that’s out of the norm will have him a stuttering, blushing mess. Most of the time though, once you’ve explained whatever you’re wanting enough, he’ll be down to do it because he knows you’re fine with it, and so is he. Though Din has his limits, a few things in particular that he’d never risk: safety and his Creed. He won’t ever try something that would potentially put the both of you in mortal danger, and wouldn’t do something that breaks his Code. Other than that, Din does enjoy pushing the boundaries a little once you’ve started, and he might even become more advantageous.

S = stamina (how many rounds can they last?)

Din can last long enough, that’s for sure. He’s not borderline superhuman like some other men, but Din doesn’t tap out early either. With the skill he has with his hands, he’s easily able to make you cum a couple times before he dicks you down, and sometimes he’s even able to draw out an orgasm or two when he’s balls deep inside you. It all usually depends on his energy level, if he’s pumped up and well rested, expect a long, long night, but if he’s so tired he can barely keep his eyes open, honestly he might just cum if you jerk him off a little bit.

Though sleepy sex with Din, although it’s very short, is also a bit of an exercise in absolute trust with him. He’s able to fall asleep in your arms, all worn out and buzzing from his orgasm, it makes him feel fully at peace.

T = toys (do they own/use any toys?)

Haha, no. Din is such a minimalist, he didn’t own any type of luxury like that, unless you count the handcuffs, but he technically uses those for his job. It really is he just doesn’t have the space nor the credits he’s willing to spare, and he didn’t have a partner before you so really it would’ve been pointless for him. But now that he’s got you in his life (and bed)? Yeah, Din might splurge a little bit and buy some things to make your romps a bit more... interesting. Be that a vibrator, some silky rope, a plug... just some fun things.

U = unfair (how much do they like to tease?)

He likes to tease, because edging you edges him and that satiates the deep-rooted sub inside of him. Din likes to have you begging for release just as much as he likes the feeling of his cock practically screaming to sink into your velvety core. The teasing really goes both ways, even if Din is the one who’s technically doing all of it. He also gets really into dirty talk (for as long as he can actually speak) and will be saying all sorts of nasty things in your ear like “C’mon, cyar’ika, tell me you want my fingers” or “Pretty girl, use your words. You want my cock or no?”.

V = volume (how loud or quiet are they during sex?)

Din is loud, but in a quiet type of way? He like... whisper yells, like his voice is already naturally low, so when he’s got you all in his grasps it’s like the volume of his voice doesn’t increase, but the intensity does? Din fills the room, essentially, being the only thing you hear, even over your own moans, squeals, screams, etc. It’s mostly a lot of strained dirty talk, like each word Din says to you is determined, but he’s got to push them through clenched teeth because his dick’s twitching so hard and your pussy is just too good... and shit, once you’ve drawn the first moan out of him, it’s over for him. Din will be moaning. Once he’s lost in the sauce, which happens sorta quickly, Din becomes just as incoherent as you, maybe being able to babble out something about seeing you fat with child or maybe about how well you’re swallowing up his cock, but it really devolves into lengthy, horny moans and hefty grunts. So yes, our man’s is loud.

W = wildcard (what’s a random headcanon?)

Din loves when you tell him how much you think he’s attractive. He’s spent basically his whole life with his face in a bucket and his body in armor, so he’s never gotten compliments about his authentic self before. This kind of hampered his self-confidence and racked up his insecurity? Din doesn’t necessarily have any specific qualms with how he looks, but he also is very unsure of how you think of him. So when you tell him that you love his face; his crooked, hooked nose, his soft, honey brown eyes, his patchy stubble, and even his ridiculous moustache... it makes his heart soar.

This same sentiment goes for his body too, which Din does have a couple of more prominent issues with. For one, he’s a tad soft around the middle (age + indulging himself + taking excessive off days = weight gain) which makes him feel semi-insecure about what you may think when you don’t see chiseled, perfect abs, and he’s just generally self-conscious about his age. But when you’re fine with it? When you say you find his chub endearing?? That he’s really not that old and that he shouldn’t worry about it??? Din is beyond happy.

And in a complete 180, Din has a very high sperm count. Like astronomically high. A medical marvel type of high. So... if you indulge on his desire for a big family... expect a lot of little Djarin brats really fast.

X = x-ray & x-tra (what’s underneath those clothes? any more random headcanons?”)

Din is built like a himbo. He’s built like he’d ask you what pussy size do you wear when he buys pads for you. He’s built like the dude that comes into the store you work at every so often who’s just so captivating and out of this world handsome that you stare at him as he looks at the same thing he always does, until he leaves after not buying it for the third week in a row. He has a very good figure, muscular in all the right places from a lifetime of brutal physical activity. Din’s arms and shoulders are probably his best feature, the entirety of the appendages being toned with taut, powerful muscle and perfect for holding you. His chest is quite toned as well, though his pecs are softer and have a smattering of chest hair brushed on the muscles. Although he has a relatively trim waist and a defined Adonis belt, Din’s belly is actually pretty soft. He’s like a muscular boy, but with a bit more chub (if anyone gets that reference, you’re extra sexy), so Din doesn’t have a defined set of abs. He does have a dark happy trail that leads to the special someone between his thick-muscled thighs.

He also, from time and age, has a bit of a weathered look to him that makes him look experienced and jaded. His body also has a smattering of scars, most of them old and silvered, from scuffles and fights he’s had in his past.

Big Dick Cum Daddy Din is hung. His penis is a mouth-watering 9 inches (22.86 cm) of throbbing glory, not overly girthy (2 inches, 5.08 cm, in width) but perfect nonetheless. He has a very prominent vein on the bell end of his cock, as well as fairly defined ridges on the sides, like he’s fucking ribbed for your pleasure. His penis is actually circumcised, so the head of his cock gets especially red once you’ve got all the blood and horniness in his loins. Din’s balls are perfect too, weighty things that hang a bit lower that only shows their virility.

Din is pro-choice. He’s a firm believer in people having autonomy over their bodies and having the ability to choose. So when it comes to abortion, even though the thought admittedly makes Din a little uncomfortable, he would fully support his partner choosing to have one, if that was their decision.

Also, Din is a bisexual icon, I don’t make the rules.

Y = yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

Yes. Ever since you come into his life, Din is horny like a teen boy all over again, it’s almost ridiculous. At the very beginning, it’s just a lot of him fantasizing about what he wants to do to you, because A) you’ve both just met, B) his Creed, and C) it’d be so embarrassing for him for you to find out how much you affect him. But once you two start getting closer, and spend weeks and months dancing around each other, Din starts to get a bit more flirty, more frisky. You definitely start noticing how much he’s wanting you, so really it comes to the point that at any time you reciprocate your feelings and consent, Din will be on you in a second. After that first time, it’s over for y’all. Din will want to fuck all the time, everywhere, whenever possible. Your pussy becomes his dick’s permanent home.

Z = zzzz (how fast do they fall asleep after?)

Din isn’t an easy sleeper in general, so after sex it’s really not much different. It always takes a while for him to fall asleep, so you’ll definitely be passed out before he even starts to feel tired. He’ll spend most of his time after making sure you’re taken care of with his exquisite aftercare, and then mumble sweet nothings to you as you fall asleep. Even after you’re out, Din will still lie awake and talk to you quietly about anything and everything that comes to mind before he eventually falls asleep too.

#star wars #star wars din djarin #the mandalorian #din djarin x reader #din djarin x you

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theyreonlynoodlesmike · 4 years ago

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I have a request if that’s cool (Mobile says you’re open) how would the boys (individual) react to a very casually sweet s/o? Like they pass by on the way to the kitchen and give a peck on the lips and a “hey babe” or just habitually places their hand on the boys’ waists like it doesn’t even cross their mind. Snuggling in bed, getting a few of their fave sodas or snack “just ‘cause”, buys them gifts for no good reason and is just generally loving and sweet. Male s/o if that’s ok with you! -Salem

Okay, it's time *cracks knuckles* for some fluff. All of the lost boys are bi/pan you can't change my mind. Hope you enjoy!!

The Lost Boys x Sweet Boyfriend!S/O

David

We can already guess that this man has daddy issues so hes- he really doesn't know how to take it at first. David's toxic ass was attracted to Michael the second he punched him in the face, and David doesn't really know how to compute genuine kindness at first. David is used to being rejected, and, more so, he likes the chase. So, when you, his newest love interest, receive him with open arms he's a little like, "wait, what?"

Definitely assumes that you're doing it with an ulterior motive at first. That you're gonna turn around and have a sarcastic remark and reveal that you don't really like him. But when you simply just give his shoulder a squeeze as you pass and say a chipper "hey, david" (no sarcasm, no teasing) with a big grin on your face, almost as if you're happy to see him, he just kind of stares after you for a moment. It takes him less than a week to develop a crush on you and he's asking you out even sooner. Though, he's still questioning your motives when you readily accept. (Dude literally thinks you're a hunter for like a solid two weeks)

When he realizes that you're just like that and that you just like him, he becomes extremely possessive. Sorry, you liked him so he's your problem now. He's a little confused why someone so nice likes him, but he's sunk his claws into you and he's not planning on letting go.

He relishes all the gifts you give him, as you quickly learned that gifts were his love language. You give him some more bracelets to match his silver one and he just gave you a small smile as a thanks. He thinks it's really cute whenever you give him stuff, and he treasures all of them. Even if you're just bought him a pack of cigarettes, he seems to smile a little bit around each one. You're definitely ruining his tough guy persona when you two are at the boardwalk together, especially when you reach out to give him little touches. You put your arm around his waist once and, while he gave you a small glare, you swore you could see a blush poking above the hand holding the cigarette to his lips.

David will probably send you on food runs just as much as he sends Marko on them, to the point where you just start bringing his favorite snacks to the cave. When you started doing that, David didn't really know what to say. He just patted his lap and seemed a little bit more cuddlier than usual, but he was (not so) secretly happy that you were thinking of him.

David loves to say your name, and he loves the way you look at him each time. It's usually after that look that he leans in to give you a quick peck. He can't help himself, especially because dating someone so sweet has made him fall hard

Paul

The second you gave affection to Paul? Oh, he immediately mentally called dibs and had asked you out by the end of the night. He quickly caught on that you were sweet, and he was commenting on it with a corny line like, "You're gonna give me a tooth ache, sugar." But that does not mean he wants you to stop. The boy loves attention and anyone who's willing to give it to him was a-okay in his book. And, plus, it gives him plenty of material to work on you. He even dubs you a "fine piece of arm candy" and he laughs even if you roll your eyes. He flirts with you the whole night, even after you've agreed to go out with him, and the boys have to yank him away so the four of them go get something to eat

Just know that Paul is definitely the type of dude that doesn't do moderation. You try to give him a peck as you pass him? He's grabbing your hand and pulling you back for more until you're left breathless. You put an arm around his waist? He's putting his arm around yours and tugging you closer. Hell, might even lean in for a kiss if you're willing to give him one. You wanna snuggle in bed? Alright, well, you two are already in bed so- Basically, he loves the affection and he's willing to give you even more

If you surprise him with gifts? Expect a flurry of kisses. Physical touch is his (tied with words of affirmation) love language, and it's also how he shows his thanks. If you get him a cassette, he'll make sure to play it while the two of you spend some time hanging making out on the couch. You give him a new ring? Well, after he's done gushing about it and making marriage proposal jokes, he's practically sitting on top of you the entire night as he blabs about what hand/ring he should wear it and how he's gonna arrange his jewelry with the new addition. Your input is definitely considered, even if he is talking a mile a minute.

Paul always has the munchies, and not always for his vampiric craving, so he's definitely down to receive any snacks you give him. After awhile, he's just lumping his purchases in with yours and holding you from behind while you pay (think that one scene in superbad). But don't worry, he promises that he'll make it up later. Okay, he might to take slight advantage of how willing you are to pay for things, but he really does make it back. He makes you mixtapes, pays for all the rides/games you play on the boardwalk, and will give you free rides on the back of his bike. As long as you need them at night.

Overall, he thinks the two of you make quite a pair, especially to match his happy-goofy attitude

Marko

Marko is the Angriest™ of the boys, and he's not used to physical touch that isn't rough-housing. But that doesn't mean that he's not down for it.

When he first met you, he was quiet and stood back so he could check you out/see how you interacted with the others. Marko saw how you got on with his friends, and that's when he decided to joke with you and talk to you more. It was just teasing at first, but Marko quickly noticed how sweet and casually affectionate you were. He didn't have a crush on you until a few weeks after you met, when he'd won a particularly large prize from one of the booths. Marko passed the prize to you, and you, not giving it a second thought, pressed a kiss to his cheek. For a solid second, Marko was surprised. His eyes widened and he watched as you went to head towards the rides with Paul. While, yeah, he knew you were affectionate, that little peck had made him chew his thumb for the rest of the night. He ended up asking you out a couple weeks later, just because he wanted to be sure that you would accept and that he wasn't just looking into things. When you accepted, he was over the moon, but he hid his smile with his usual thumb chewing.

Marko is a big act of service kind of guy, but he loves when you get him gifts. You keep surprising him with patches, trinkets, and little pieces of jewelry that he's practically at your beck and call. He feels that it's necessary that he pays the affection back, and he's on the verge of cleaning your car or something the next time you come back to the cave with something for him

He's one of the most affectionate of the boys, albeit used to a rougher show of affection. He'll give you a little nudge, bump of his hip, or even wrap an arm around your shoulder with perhaps just a little bit of his vampiric strength added (even if you're taller than him). Though, he saves his softer touches for you. He likes to cup your face, kiss your cheek, and hold one of your hands between both of his. Hell, the boy once let you be big spoon, and you had to try not to tease him with how quickly he fell asleep

However, the boys have totally called him out for giving you heart eyes every time you walk by and kiss his cheek, hold his hand, or even talk while standing next to him. He just can't help it- He feels like you're the first person to ever love him this much, this way, and he can't help but get a little softer around the edges when you're around

Dwayne

Dwayne is a little touch starved, he'll admit. David isn't necessarily a hugger, Paul is a little too much of a hugger, and Marko will think any instigation of physical contact means that he wants to wrestle. So, when the boys meet you, and you're just- sweet? So casually? It doesn't take him long to develope a crush.

He does his best to hide it, and the boys swear that you're gonna end up finding out about the fact that they're vampires before you find out about Dwayne's crush on you. However, the brunette is immensely surprised when you're the one who asks him out. You thought you were sending him all sorts of signals, but you finally decided just to be forward with him. When he gave you a small nod and then said, "Sure" you were relieved. Dwayne was internally screaming.

Dwayne loves all of your little touches, even though he'll never tell you so. He lets you absently play with his hands, hair, and sometimes even his bracelets. Though, he had broken out into the biggest smile you'd ever seen on his face when he noticed that you were tying a new one onto his wrist. He just called you "cute" before leaning in to press a kiss to your lips. What can we say, Dwayne is more of an action kind of guy

Whenever you buy food for Dwayne, he gives you a small glare. He really doesn't need to eat, even though he appreciates the gesture. He says that he "doesn't want you wasting your money on him", even if you assure him that it's not a waste. Always makes sure to offer you some, and always buys something for you later that night.

Dwayne is a quality time type of guy, and he just loves to sit on the couch or lay on the bed with you and listen to you talk about your day or watch a movie/read. He'll watch as you intertwine your fingers, and give your hand a squeeze. You always catch him trying to hide his smiles with his hair or by turning his face away, but he just can't help it. He thinks that you're adorable, and he would gladly deck anyone for you (even if he's not that much of a fighter)

Lots of long stares. He just likes to watch you do your thing, and he also likes that he barely needs to call for your attention. You always have an arm around his waist or a hand in his, so he feels like you're never too far away. He feels super comfortable with you, knowing that he doesn't have to push himself to be social to get attention from you

Again, you're kind of ruining his reputation for being one of the most intimidating guys on the boardwalk, 'cause he always finds himself smiling whenever you're around. Still manages to have one of the wickedest death glares though

#the lost boys #the lost boys 1987 #the lost boys paul #paul the lost boys #the lost boys david #the lost boys dwayne #the lost boys marko #david the lost boys #dwayne the lost boys #marko the lost boys

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insomniamamma · 4 years ago

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Blue Morning: Fennec Shand x F!Twi’lek Reader

A/n: for Writer Wednesday. Don't @ me about canon this second dose of the covid shot is kicking my ass. Thinking of that blue Twi'lek chained to Bib Fortuna's throne in the sneak peak we got of The Book of Boba Fett. I’m not sure who to tag so @autumnleaves1991-blog, and @clydesducktape, and @flightlessangelwings. Also, this is my first time writing fxf fic so please be gentle. ‘Spotchka froths’ are mentioned. Picture a neon blue Sno-Cone with booze.

Warnings: Mentions of enslavement, cannon typical violence, Fennec Shand in formal wear is her own warning, mentions of death in a mythical context. Food mentionsl Alcohol consumption.

“Kiss me again, like you mean it.” (i botched the prompt a little)

You scrunch your eyes shut, expecting the blaster-shot to be the last thing you ever hear, chain still gripped in your hands, as if you haven't tried this every day since being sold to Bib Fortuna. You tug the chain in your sleep sometimes, curled on the rough-hewn stone, wake yourself up doing it, Fortuna and his cronies laughing at you. You open your eyes and you are somehow not dead. The gunslinger stares at you, her mouth slightly upturned, jerks her head towards the tunnels, telling you to run. And so you do.

Your bare feet slap over the cool, damp stone of the tunnels, carrying you to your quarters without any thought. You have to go. Blaster fire echoes above. The door to your chambers slides open and you close it behind you. You can't lock it. Slave quarters have no locks. "Kriff." Your tiny closet holds only the filmy costumes you are permitted to wear. You can't make it across the desert in any of this. You have nothing to your name but these ribbons and silks. You don't even have proper boots, just dainty slippers meant for nothing except looking pretty in. Part of you thinks to just run. Just grab what you can and bolt, twin suns be damned. No, think, Blue, you've got to play it smart. There's speeders in the bay. Swoop bikes, you make it there and none of the rest of it will matter. Get a speeder and you can be to Mos Eisley before the suns have time to cook you, you think you know the way, stole glimpses through the half-shuttered windows of the hover-barge that brought you and the other unfortunates here. You grab a few things out of your quarters, the slippers, a few pieces of gaudy jewelry, probably fake, but might net you a handful of credits. Kark. The suns are going to cook you. You yank the threadbare sheet off your cot and wrap it around yourself in a makeshift robe. Now or never. You creep your way towards the bay. The vast doors are open, why wouldn't they be? The palace has plenty of speeder traffic, though you don't see anyone moving, maybe the raiders found what they wanted and cleared out, maybe-- "Going somewhere?" Dank farrik. Your skin prickles from the ends of your lekku to the tips of your toes. You raise your hands instinctively. The gunslinger. The one who shot through your chain and not your skull. “You told me to run," "And I assumed you weren't stupid," she says, "You got a pickup waiting? If not, you'll be dead in half a day." "You're going to give me back to him," "Who?" "Bib Fortuna." "Bib Fortuna is dead," she says. A ghost of a smile touches her lips, "But you are not. What's your next move? You got any contacts in Mos Eisley?" You shake your head. "Fennec? Sitrep." You hear the crackle of her comms. "Found a straggler," says Fennec, "Non-hostile." "Bring them up."

Fennec grips you arm lightly, leads you back up through the tunnels to the throne-room. Your insides quiver. Nothing good has ever happened to you in this room. The only thing that came close was when Fortuna would have one of his lackeys bring you the beautiful old Nabooan hallikset to play for a spell. He kept it displayed on the wall, just beyond the reach allowed by your chain, but when you were allowed to play, the room would grow quiet, the lackeys and scumbags and hangers on would stop their chatter and just listen, and there would be something like peace for however long Fortuna would grant it. He'd flick a hand at one of the guards who'd take the hallikset from your hands, and then he'd wrap an arm around you in a sideways hug, and sing your praises as if you were his talented daughter and not his property. And now he's dead, lying in a heap in front of his own throne. You eye the corpse. His eyes are wide open and clouded, obviously dead, but still-- "What have you brought me, Fen?" You look up at the man on the throne. Oh, Maker, a Mandalorian. You've never met one, but you've heard tales. They are feared for their efficiency and brutality in battle. And yet some of the stories paint them as honorable. "Found her in the vehicle bay," says Fennec. "Come here," he says, "Let me get a proper look at you." Fennec nudges you, her hand on the small of your back in a gentle push. "Go on," she murmurs, soft so only you can hear. You step around Bib Fortuna's cooling corpse like it might still try to reach out and grab you. The absurdity of the situation hits you. The man on the throne will decide your fate one way or another, a blaster shot through the heart or he'll send you packing or he'll keep you here, just another Bib Fortuna, maybe better and maybe worse and here you are, wrapped in a bedsheet. "Show me your hands," he says. The dark of his visor reveals nothing, but he offers his own gloved hands, palms up, so you do the same. The Mandalorian examines your hands. “So you have worked with your hands." “Yes, sir." "Good." You feel something loosen in your chest. If he was going to shoot you, he would have done it by now. He brushes your fingertips. "You play an instrument," he says. Your eyes flick to the wall where the hallikset hangs. "Yes," you say, "I was an apprentice--" Here you struggle, to translate what you were supposed to be into Basic, "Tale-singer?" Kriff, it sounds stupid in Basic. Before you were taken, you were tasked with knowing the stories, the songs of Ryloth, but also given the responsibility of finding new tales to tell, not all of them truthful. Utter fabrications and harsh truth are both equally dull, your mentor had told you, lie enough that the tale has interest, but keep truth enough that the message comes across. "Bard. I guess." "Show me." His helmet jerks towards the wall where the hallikset hangs. The collar is still around your neck, the stub of the chain thumps against your spine, but, for the first time since you were brought here, you go and get it by yourself, cradling it to your chest like a baby. You sit yourself at the foot of the throne and play like you have so many times before, the first song you learned, a lullaby old as Ryloth itself, the three moons racing across the sky as bothers, big brother and middle brother get in a fight, and the youngest wins the race. You sing in Ryl. You end the song. No one speaks. "I'm sorry. I'm rusty. It's been some time." The dark visor gives you nothing. You gingerly lean the hallikset against the throne and back up, careful not to tread on Fortuna's robes. You back into Fennec, who grips your arms gently. "What is your name, girl?" You give your name in Ryl. "But everyone just calls me Blue," you say. "I am Boba Fett." He says, "My associate is Fennec Shand. You work for us now. We will discuss the exact terms later. Take that collar off her, Fen. Find her some proper clothing." "You should have seen your face," Fennec grins at you. "Are you out of you suns-stroked mind?" You mean to yell, but it comes out more like a choked-off laugh "Why didn't you warn me?" You stab your arm back towards the throne room, "That's Boba karking Fett! If I'd've looked at him wrong he could've SHOT ME!" Fennec laughs, a brief baring of teeth. "He wouldn't have hurt you," she says, "He's Mandalorian." "What does that have to do with anything?" "Mandos have a habit of adopting people," says Fennec, "You are part of clan Fett now, like as not." No one touches you. No one makes you dance wearing leather and ribbons. For the first time since being abducted from Ryloth you are treated with dignity and respect. They pay you. It's not always much, but it's something, your own money, your own room with proper locks on the doors. Sometimes you play court musician, sometimes scribe, sometimes bartender, sometimes majordomo. Whatever role is required, your instructions are the same, eyes and ears. You are a soft thing in a crowd of hunters and hustlers, people have told you the most incredible things, thinking you are too naive, too stupid to understand, all happily spilled to Boba and Fennec over spotchka shots once the audience chamber clears out. And when Boba doesn't need you? You and Fennec are free to explore. The palace complex is huge, full of tunnels and chambers that the two of you are slowly mapping, marking the doorways and passages you've explored with bright paint. The B'omarr monks who built the palace still skitter through the passages. The first time you the two of you ran across one, Fennec drew her rifle. "No," you said and stepped between her and the stiffly walking spider droid, the brain inside it's housing bobbing gently in the cloudy liquid, "They have no weapons. They can't hurt us." You place your arm over hers and gently lower the rifle. "So you just let them wander around?" "They don't do anything. There's no point in hurting them." "Huh."

"Maker and stars," you mutter, "All this was down here the whole time?" The room looks like a Canto Bight rummage sale. All manner of art objects, furniture and rolled tapestries in stacks. Plast-sheeted clothing on racks. Paintings leaned haphazardly against the walls and each other. "You tell me," says Fennec, "This is your stomping ground." "Yeah, but I've never been this far down." You run a finger along one of the ornate frames, greasy with thick dust. "You think the boss will want any of this?" "Perhaps some of the art," says Fennec, "A lot of this is very old. Could fetch us some credits." You wander over to a rack of clothing, colorful dresses and robes in all lengths and cuts, some plain and some gaudy with pearls and lace. You lift the sheeting and stroke fabric that's softer than anything you've ever worn. "You might as well pick out a couple," says Fennec, "It'll all end up in market stall or a burn-pit anyway." "A couple? I'm taking this whole karking rack. Help me shove." "Stupid," she chides, "Let's call the mule-droid." "You know, this one with the dewflowers on it would look really nice on you." Fennec gives you that barely there smile, though her eyes glitter with merriment. “Never. In. Your. Life." You twitch your lekku in the equivalent of a shrug. "Fennec Shand, you are no fun." She raises an eyebrow. "I'm fun," she says, "I'm tons of fun." “Threatening to murder people does not count as fun." Fennec grins. "Don't knock it till you've tried it, Blue."

Slave One streaks up into the bright sky. Boba has to go off world for a handful of days, some sort of personal business to attend to. I expect to see this place still standing on my return, he'd said, try not to get yourselves arrested. "Who, us?" Said Fennec. "You end up in the drunk tank it comes out of your pay." "Noted."

"There's a festival in town tomorrow," you say, moving the cards in your hands. You and Fennec are playing Sabacc, a friendly game, no stakes, just to hone your skills and learn each other's tells so you can hustle in the cantinas. Not because you need to but because it's fun. "Yeah? An official one?" "No," you say, "Just a local thing." The Republic and the Empire both had sanctioned holidays, but in the Outer Rim that doesn't mean much. "The festival of the Twin Suns," you say, "It's about love. About being in love." You feel heat creeping from the tips of your lekku and over your face. You shake your head. "I don't know the whole story. Something about star-crossed lovers with a bad ending," you say. “You've never been," says Fennec. "No," you say, "But I always wanted to. They dance in the street. Everyone wears bright colors. Fortuna had after parties some times. Everyone seemed so happy." "We should go," says Fennec. "Really?" "Why not? Unless you just want to hang out and lose at Sabacc."

"Holy-karking-hell--" You mutter under your breath. Fennec wears a long, double-breasted jacket that looks straight out of some Old Republic holodrama, a tie the exact same blue as your skin tied at her throat, her traditional braid exchanged for something less severe, blue ribbon threaded through instead of the usual red. "Close you mouth before something flies in," she says. "Fen...wow," You clean up nice too. Let's go."

The Twin Suns Festival is every bit as loud and colorful as you imagined, brightly colored flags hang from every building, rainbow pennants and lanterns strung over the streets. Treaded crawlers drag mobile stages through the thronging streets, laden with musicians and dancers. Every so often, the sky explodes in a riot of fireworks. You and Fennec walk arm in arm so not to lose each other in the swelling crowd. You find a row of food stalls and share bantha kabobs so spicy your gums try to peel back from your teeth, followed by chilled spotchka froths to kill the burn. You share syrup smeared haroun bread and smile sticky smiles. In the streets, people hug, people kiss, people dance, all kinds of people, humans and Weequay and Twi'leks, a pair of Gamoreans lurk in a doorway and rub noses. A pair of Trandoshans point up at the starbursts of light splitting the night, their child laughing, gripping their parent's head ridges, a Bothan leans doubled over in laughter at something his Rodian friend just said. But not everything at the festival is happy chaos, as two of you wind your way towards the Great Square, things become more subdued. Rainbow colors still fly, but now the sills and doorways are lined with low burning lanterns and small candles. Small make-shift altars line the streets, again and again a portrait of two women, one in the simple garb of a moisture farmer, the other in a gown and headdress befitting a queen. Some iterations are crude, stick drawings pressed into tiles of sun-baked clay, others are ornate, woven tapestries threaded through with gold, bright pigments painted on stretched, scraped bantha hide. “This is them," you say, "The lovers. The twin suns." A pavilion stands in the center of the Great Square, draped in gauzy white fabric and lit with small hanging lanterns. Fennec takes your hand and tugs you towards it. "It's a shadow-play," she says, "I've never seen one." "Me neither." The Rodian at the tent entrance greets you warmly, presses printed flimsy flyers into your palms, a playbill of sorts, the names of the puppeteers and voice actors in bleared ink. You toss a few credits in the basket marked "donations" and make your way inside. You and Fennec seat yourselves towards the back. Children and smaller species sit on cushions right in front of the parchment screen. The screen is framed with heavy fabric on all sides to block the light.A few more patrons drift in and then they hood the lanterns. Delicately cut and articulated paper puppets tell the tale. The voices and narration are done in Basic and Huttese, one following the other, but the story is simple. A princess and the daughter of a moisture farmer fall in love. They keep the affair a secret until the princess is betrothed to an Outworld royal to cement a political alliance. The shadow-puppets dance behind the screen, backlit by flickering lanterns. A dance as old as the galaxy. A princess ensconced in a tower, pining for her true love. A clever pauper who scales the tower and frees her princess in the moonlight. Lovers who ran across the wastes and were swallowed up by the sands. "Searchers spread for days," says the narrator, "But the great dunes had drunk everything down. The hot winds erased every footprint." On the flickering screen two cut-paper women hold each other and slowly sink beneath swaying ripples of sand and then the line of the screen itself. "The shifting stands of our world are unforgiving," says the narrator. The light behind the stage changes color to the pinks and violets of dawn, "But it is said that the love the farmer and the princess had for each other was so powerful that the old gods of rock and wind and dune rejected their deaths." The shadowed dunes shift and sway and the lovers rise from beneath them, the ornate puppets replaced by simpler shapes, no crown for the princess, no dusty robes for the farmer just two mirror images facing each other. "Their souls rose from beneath the dunes and were carried on the currents of the Force--" They rise, paper girls floating in an imaginary sky "--to the suns that shine upon our world--" And with this the paper women flash into red flame, a collective oooh from the audience, and two stars appear, the greater and lesser Suns, cut from some red material that the light shines through, filling the white tent with ruddy light, the color of blood, but also of life "--The Suns of Tatooine burn hot, because, even through ages long lost and forgotten, their love for each other remains strong. The warmth you feel after the long cold night, that is their warmth, their gift to you, and to all of us."

There is a beat of silence and then applause erupts. Your cheeks are wet with tears. The puppeteers and narrators emerge from behind the dark curtains and bow. You paw at your face, hoping Fennec doesn't notice, which is futile. Fennec notices everything. She puts her arm around you and squeezes, her eyes seeking yours. "You ok, Blue?" She asks, but she's not teasing at all this time, her face gives nothing but concern. "Yeah, I'm good," you say, "I never knew the whole story. It's really kriffing sad. I kinda knew what to expect, but still--" Fennec tugs you to your feet. You were so engrossed in the shadow-play that you didn't realize you were still holding her hand. "C'mon," says Fennec. Her eyes shine in the low light, but that little smile creeps across her face, "Let's get a couple more of those spotchka froths so we can cry into them." You snort laughter. "That sounds like a plan."

"Oh, kriff," Fennec's expletive snaps you back to reality. You'd been lost in the music, grooving out to the horns, dancing because you wanted to and not because some sleemo holding the end of your chain expected it, moving your body in the way it wants to move. Fennec sounds scared and you are instantly a shade more sober. "Oh, kriff what?" "Kanjiklub," she says, and jerks her head towards the other side of the street, a trio of armed roughs argue loudly with a vendor, "They've got a price on my head. They see me, I'm dead." She pulls you into a shadowed doorway, "Quick, kiss me like you mean it!" You press your mouth to hers, flick at her lower lip with your tongue and she opens for you. The kiss is slow and languid, the gentle slide of your tongues, the plush heat of her mouth, the soft sounds she makes in the back of her throat. You cup her cheek, the pad of your thumb stroking the faint scars there. Her fingers brush the length of a lek, the faintest of touches but enough to light you up. You push her into the wall and kiss her harder. When you break the kiss, the two of you stand, foreheads pressed together, arms wound around each other, your chests heaving in tandem. "Hey Fen?" You breathe against her lips. "Yeah, Blue?" "I think..." you press your lips to hers again, a chaste kiss that she smiles into, "I think I meant it." "I think I meant it too," says Fennec, "How about we go home and do something about it?" "Yeah, let's go home. Just keep any eye out for those Kanjiklub goons." "What Kanjiklub goons?" She smirks and you huff. "Menace." "Your menace."

@honestly-shite , @draper-bobbie, @artemiseamoon

#writer wednesday #fennec shand x f!reader #fennec shand x f!twi'lek reader

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shotgun--rider · 5 years ago

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Stay With Me

A @destielsecretsanta2020 gift for @princess-aleera

Summary: For the first time in his life, Dean has the opportunity for a real Christmas with his family. And it would be perfect, if Cas hadn’t decided to bail on him again. OR: Dean and Cas finally use their words.

Warnings: Dean’s cripplingly low self-esteem, Cas undervaluing himself...you know, the usual.

A/N: Did I anxiously rewrite half of this on Christmas Eve? Yes. Do I have any confidence whatsoever left in the quality of this fic? No! Nevertheless, merry Christmas to my lovely giftee and I hope you enjoy this dumb fluffy little thing!

By now, Dean should have really known better than to have any kind of expectations for Christmas. He hasn’t had anything less than a shitty holiday since Mary was alive, and then he’d been too young to remember it. The weeks leading up to the 25th in his childhood were marked out by shoplifting cheap gifts for Sam (usually practical stuff, like flannels and socks) and trying to convince John that they didn’t need to work a job on Christmas day. He’d managed to walk out with a paper-wrapped ham once, but cooking it in a motel room didn’t exactly turn out and Sammy got mac and cheese for Christmas dinner. Again.

Even when they got older, it still wasn’t much of a big deal. They’d toss badly-wrapped gifts at each other in the Impala, still the same kind of practical things as always. Once, Sam bought them dumb Santa hats from the Gas-n-Sip and they drove down the interstate wearing them for a couple dozen miles before Dean got fed up and chucked it into the backseat.

So, yeah, Christmas sucked ass. And usually Dean didn’t give it much thought, because it wasn’t like he had a lot of fond memories to miss. But this year...sue him, this year he’d thought it might be different. Jack had cheerfully requested a Christmas tree with such enthusiasm that they had caved and set one up in the library, and after Sam had spearheaded the decorating with Eileen, Dean had to admit it looked surprisingly festive. And once there was a tree, it seemed only right to put some effort into the gifts, so he painstakingly picked something out for each member of his little family. (It was paid for with a fake credit card, but it was the thought that counted.) And with several more YouTube tutorials than he would ever admit to a living soul, they were neatly wrapped under the tree, too.

It was shaping up to be something like a real Christmas, and he was starting to look forward to making new stupid traditions and watching the look on Sam’s face when he opened his gifts.

But Dean Winchester doesn’t get nice things. So even though there’s an ache in his gut he’s trying to ignore as he bends to fish Cas’s gift back out from under the tree, he’s not really surprised. Hurt, maybe. Pissed, definitely. But surprised? No, it only makes sense that the angel bailed on them on Christmas Eve, popping off to who the hell knows where and ignoring his phone the way he too often does.

This is what always happens, Dean reasons, shoulders a little hunched as he starts back toward his room. He’s an angel, of course he has better places to be than spending Christmas with a pair of boring human hunters. What does Dean have to offer him anyway? The gift in his hands is shitty, he’s demanded way more from the guy than he can ever repay, and he already knows he’s not good enough for Cas. So he’ll just quietly put the gift back and play the whole thing off if anybody asks.

He’s almost made it to his bedroom when he passes Eileen, the woman giving him a friendly smile that fades into a curious look when her gaze falls on the slightly unevenly wrapped box in his hands. She signs something that he doesn’t quite get, and Dean kicks himself again for being such a fuckup that he can’t even learn ASL right.

Eileen doesn’t seem to mind, asking her question again verbally and signing along to help him. “Does Cas get his present privately?” She punctuates with a little eyebrow wiggle, always trying to tease him about the angel.

Dean huffs, shaking his head. He manages the sign for no before speaking the rest. “Nah, Cas, uh, Cas isn’t coming to Christmas.” He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly.

Eileen’s face scrunches. “What do you mean, he’s not coming? He was so excited--what did you do?”

“Nothing!” Dean says defensively, a private panic starting in his head at the thought that maybe he did, maybe he hurt Cas and he didn’t realize it. Or maybe Cas knew and left to save him the embarrassment. “He just said he had somewhere to be,”

“Did you talk to him about it?”

“He won’t answer his phone,” Dean says a little petulantly. He’s tried calling him about a dozen times at this point, and Cas has to have turned the damn thing off, because he doesn’t even get to the stupid endearing voicemail recording.

His brother’s girlfriend just gives him a look and folds her hands into a sign he knows immediately. Pray. “He’ll listen,”

Not for the first time, Dean wonders if Eileen is massively misinterpreting his relationship with Cas. Or at least, how much of a shit Cas gives about him. “Look, Eileen, I don’t think--”

Dean. She makes his name sign sharp and gently scolding. “Just talk to him,”

“Yeah, maybe,” he mumbles. He doesn’t bother to voice the but what if he still doesn’t answer.

He leaves Eileen with an attempt at looking nonchalant and makes it the rest of the way to his bedroom, flopping down on the memory foam mattress and staring at the ceiling. He’s positioned to one side as always, avoiding sprawling in the middle even though he would be well within his rights. Sam would probably spout some psychology bullshit about subconsciously saving the other half for someone. Yeah, right.

So maybe he’s a little more bitter about this than he thought. Squeezing his eyes shut, he huffs out a breath, half prepared to just pray to Cas so he can shout at him childishly. “Hey, uh, Cas? Listen, buddy--”

There’s an almost immediate flutter of wings and by the time Dean’s scrambling to sit halfway up, Cas is standing by the foot of the bed uncertainly, more rumpled than usual and his expression pained. “Hello, Dean,”

“Cas, what the hell?” Dean bursts out before he’s even fully decided to say the words.

“Dean,” Cas fixes his blue eyes on Dean’s face. “I think I may have made a mistake,”

“Really? What gave you that idea?” Dean shoots back sarcastically. “I mean, what the fuck, Cas? I get that you have obligations and better places to be, but goddammit, you have to stop leaving m--leaving without an explanation!” Vaguely, Dean realizes that he’s not totally in control of this conversation anymore, but he’s been sitting on this for a long time. “It’s Christmas, man,” he goes on weakly. “I know this is kinda your first one but you’re supposed to be with your family,”

“I know,” Cas rushes to agree, his face still flickering with distress. “But I could feel your longing after I left, and your prayer--” the angel slumps slightly in his too-big trench coat. “Dean, I don’t understand.”

“First of all, I was not longing. And b, what don’t you get? It’s not rocket science, Cas,”

“I left so that you could be with your family,” Cas explains, as if he’s not uttering the most insane thing Dean’s ever heard in his life. “But now you’re upset--I’m sorry, Dean,”

“Cas, what the fuck?” Dean says again, momentarily lost for words as he blinks at his best friend. “How do you not---you are family,”

Cas’s blue eyes blink a few times hopefully, before he seems to resign himself. “I try to be of use to you and Sam--”

“That has nothing to do with--” Dean stops. Oh, Cas. “Do...do you think we keep you around because you’re an angel?”

Cas tilts his head. “Well...yes,”

“Cas,” Dean says weakly. God, he wants to punch himself in the face for letting him think this way. “Look, Sam’s plenty useful, doing the research by myself would seriously suck ass. But he’s my brother either way. Family’s not--it’s not about being fucking useful.”

“Am I your brother, Dean?”

“Yes!” Dean bursts out, too loudly, kicking himself as his mouth continues without permission. “Yeah, I mean--yeah,” he trails off, not remotely willing to try explaining why that might not be the correct label after all. “You’re family, Cas.”

It’s probably just wishful thinking, but Cas looks almost disappointed. “Oh. I see. Thank you, Dean. I will--” a short pause, “I will stay for Christmas,”

“Great,” is all that comes out of Dean’s mouth in reply. “Yeah, that’s great.”

He wants to tell him that wasn’t actually what I wanted to say and I kinda think I might be in love with you and I want you to stay with me but the shadow of John Winchester and the fear of rejection keeps the words tightly coiled inside. Besides, they don’t do this. They don’t say things out loud, they never have. And--most of the time--that works.

So Dean swallows and smiles tightly and shoves away his newly-realized I love yous, turning around instead to find where he’d tossed Cas’s gift on the floor beside the bed. “You, uh, wanna put this back out--”

“Dean,”

Something in Cas’s voice has him straightening up immediately, and when he turns around the angel is looking at him with an expression he’s never seen before and--are those tears?

“Dean, I can hear you,”

Dean’s stomach sinks like a fear-filled lead balloon, but he asks anyway. “You can hear me what?”

“Sometimes,” Cas says quietly, “if you think something with enough intention, it can be heard like a prayer,”

Dean clears his throat roughly, bracing himself for Cas to explain gently how he has no interest in a man like Dean. “So, uh,” he trails off. Cas is still just looking at him with brimming eyes, which narrow suddenly.

“You are a good and righteous and wonderful man, Dean Winchester,” he says firmly, standing there so close and yet just out of Dean’s reach.

Dean gives a sheepish look. “Heard that bit too, huh?”

“Dean,” Cas says again, gently, waiting. Waiting so that Dean can go first.

And suddenly, with the knowledge that Cas already knows what he’s been trying to say, it’s infinitely less terrifying. “I--I love you, Cas,” he says hoarsely, surprising himself with how, after all this time, the words aren’t really that hard. “And you’re my best friend, and you’re family, and I don’t give a shit if you’ve got angel powers or whatever, and--” I need you please stay with me still gets stuck in his throat, the most dangerous out of all of those words, but Cas must hear it anyway, or be able to tell what he’s getting at, because he’s suddenly wrapped up in the angel’s embrace, the slightly shorter man warm and solid and thoroughly clinging to him.

He’d make a crack about chick flick moments, but he really doesn’t have a leg to stand on because he’s clinging to Cas just as tightly, gripping fistfuls of his trench coat and trying to reassure himself that this is real. This is real.

“I rebelled for you,” Cas is saying quietly into his shoulder. “I loved you from the minute I saw your soul for the first time.” And then he moves to meet Dean’s eyes, his own still looking a little watery, and finishes, “And I need you too,”

And Dean’s never kissed a man before, but after a confession like that is as good a time as any to bury the last of his father’s old words about fairies and manliness.

It’s clumsy at first, and not really fireworks and magic like chick flick romances like to claim, but it sends warm relief through his entire body. Dean shivers just slightly, pulling Cas closer as their mouths slowly explore, cautiously at first and then bolder, heat lacing the kiss. But more than anything, it feels like something he has been missing for so long that he stopped noticing has finally fitted back into place, and it’s overwhelming. But, Dean thinks as he helps toss Cas’s coat on the floor, so, so worth it.

***

The first real Winchester family Christmas is nothing short of chaotic, from the first moment that Dean and Cas finally emerge from their definitely-not-cuddling nest of blankets. Sam takes one look at them in the hallway and grins immediately, shaking his head with a loud “finally!” that has Dean scowling and demanding to know how long Sam has been paying attention to them. (The answer is far longer than Dean wants to think about)

They unwrap gifts on the floor of the library, indulging Jack’s inquisitive questions and periodically balling up wrapping to throw at each other. Sam’s hair is slowly collecting bows off the wrapping as Dean gets bored, though he eventually gives up when he has to choose between reaching Sam’s head and continuing to inch closer into Cas’s side.

For a moment, he wonders about the last Christmas when Mary was alive, and what she would say if she could see her sons and their hodgepodge celebration now. He doesn’t really mind, though, that he can’t remember it. This is all the holiday family memories he didn’t know he needed.

#destiel secret santa #destiel #destiel fic #deancas #spn fic

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wovenstarlight · 4 years ago

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YWBK update: chapter 25 + liner notes

yesterday will be kinder has updated! you can read chapter 25 here, or start from the beginning here

okay, on to notes and commentary! first time i’m doing these, let’s hope this works out. commentary under the cut to save people’s dashes

Hamin laughs. “Given how bad you are at not being suspicious, that’s understandable.” “Oh, come on, I’m not that bad.” Hamin screws up his whole face in a squint. “Okay, so maybe I’m a little bad.”

this part was really funny to me when i wrote it because i was like “hmm reasons for DHM to understand why HHJ wouldn’t work in the guild” and then i was like Wait. Their Whole First Meeting, Dude. DHM was lowkey convinced for the longest time that HHJ was like, on the run from the KR version of the mafia, and got plastic surgery to look like his little brothers, and is possibly in some sort of witness protection program??? or something??? how else does he not have cops on his ass this man is so suspicious all the time

“I don’t think… They said the dungeons were, like, different worlds? Did they find people there?”

mafia theory second place. dungeon theory first place

“Like, humans? Um. No, no humans.” “So then you can’t be from there. Okay.”

dungeon theory shot down. mafia theory back in the running

“Hey,” he says cautiously. “I’m— I’m gonna go get us some water, okay? Why don’t you… take a minute.” “Okay.” “The bathroom is over there, if you need it.” “Okay. Thank you.”

after four years working alongside a guy you start to notice when he’s feeling a little out of it and needs a bit of a break... but as JHW mentions later you also learn to be a little subtle about giving him one

jung heewon What’s with your typing? It reads like Jihye’s [HYJ]’s fine. Very energetic Too energetic? He’s going to burn out. How do I make him calm down

Epic Burnout Man makes a reappearance! when translating sclass one of the things that makes me want to shake HYJ most is his habit of constantly adding things to his to-do list while he already has 1 billion things on his plate. and all the time he’s whining about “UGH there’s SO MUCH WORK to do” No One Asked You To Do It

Anyway. the point is. HYJ isn’t about to be beat by HHJ at Developing Issues 😔

jung heewon I haven’t spoken to him directly about this because if he’s anything like you he’ll take it as an insult You wtf whts tht supposed 2 mean quit typing jung heewon Better not say shit, mr “No, I can’t take days off and cater to my interests or go out with friends or on a date, I’m too busy taking care of the kids and making sure their needs are met, no I don’t care that there are thousands of people out there balancing personal enjoyment and romance and work AND kids at the same time, are you suggesting I be a BAD GUARDIAN to MY KIDS?”

see above re: not being too direct with pointing out when HHJ’s having Issues because he doesn’t react well

You wht but our eyes r fine jung heewon Even if having glasses doesn’t run in the family, you should still get him checked, just in case

top 10 funny time travel moments: referring to you and your past self as “us” (our = my eyes are fine), but other people think you mean “our family” (our eyes are fine = no family history of long/shortsightedness)

Also. Sooyoung-ie says hi [Attachment: 20XX1213_144516.jpg]

ok no lie this was one of the parts that pissed me off the most, even though it’s Literally One Line, because. i love chat exchanges. i really do. when done right they’re a lot of fun to read. But Do You Know How Long It Took Me To Figure Out A Calendar For The Events In This Fic. now everything’s TIMED i have to count HOW MANY DAYS IT’S BEEN since XY event so i can CORRECTLY NUMBER the FILE ATTACHMENTS!!! this sucks!!! it took me fucking forever to pin down a timeline just so i could write this chapter plus the few before and after it!!!!

anyway i gave up when i reached year. i just put 20XX. fuck it. we are running on fairy tail time now. (actually i think that’s XXnumber number? XX76? or was it X796. something like that. Who cares i stopped watching fairy tail forever ago)

Fuck it! Hamin will understand!! “If you Awaken you should come work with me,” Han Hyunjae says all in a rush.

“HAMIN WILL UNDERSTAND” => he literally was cool with me giving zero context for half a dozen absolute balls to the wall nonsense bullshit things i’ve done before. he’ll be fine with this too. dog_in_burning_house_this_is_fine.png

“You already know about the guilds, those are going to be for dungeon Hunters, but I was thinking of forming something like an independent group of contractors. Awakened people with skills that aren’t useful for combat, but that might… that will be generally useful. It’d be you and me, and maybe one other guy I met recently. Probably more in the future.”

given that HHJ has no idea currently that peace exists (i’m so sorry baby i’ll find a way to shoehorn you in soon i miss you so much) he’s got no intentions to start a kiseungsu business yet! he mostly wants to live quietly while just acting as a manager for other Awakening-related services, like YMW’s forge and DHM’s tracking service, along with the information exchange/lowkey spy ring that he’s planning on setting up with JHW and the bar. since HYH is fine associating with him in this timeline, HHJ’s thinking he can get a foot in the door that way, then eventually spread out into dealings with most major guild leaders

RIP to this plan. you were well-made but you will not last long.

“Please, I can’t tell you how I know that, I really can’t, it’d put me and my brothers in danger if it got out. But—” “No need.” Hamin looks slightly alarmed, and Han Hyunjae feels himself settle at the obvious concern in his eyes.

MAFIA THEORY RAPIDLY RISING TO PROMINENCE??? THIS IS NOT HOW DO HAMIN WANTED HIS GUESS CONFIRMED

“I spoke to the Task Force Head and she said that there’s been discussion about hosting a meeting for the nearby high-rankers, where they’ll announce the guild proposal and see who else is interested in trying it out.”

“they’ll announce” i’m sorry king 💔 you deserved a nap

(OH ALSO FUN FACT choi eunyoung is a canon character, not an OC of mine! she appears in uhhh i think late 140s? 150s? something like that)

“I think there’s… probably only one other S-rank who’s Awakened right now?”

Hehehehehehehehehehehehehhehe

Hamin beams. “No, they’re doing great! Spookie’s taken really well to the new housing situation, but I think Spots might miss the store…”

shoutout to @daemonic-dawn for letting me borrow a pet name, love u king. i had a much longer ramble about pet names here but i finished typing and realized it was all entirely off topic so i removed it for convenience

Hyunjae makes an annoyed noise in the back of his throat. “Don’t— I mean.” He huffs, visibly taking a deep breath, and Yoojin frowns reflexively. [...] “Is everything alright?” Yoojin kind of wants to be annoyed at his tone on principle, but he forces his shoulders to relax, matching Hyunjae’s posture. Though he can’t stop himself from being a little short when he answers.

things the brothers have learned in four years living together: getting confrontational often leads to arguments that just fizzle out anyway, so it’s way fucking easier to consciously tone down their combativeness in advance when talking to each other about things they have problems with, instead of screaming their heads off and then having to calm yoohyun down afterwards to boot

“I guess. Whatever.” Yoojin slumps. “Can I…” “Hm?” Hyunjae blinks at Yoojin as he gestures to the spot on the bed beside him, then jolts. “Oh! Yeah, sure, c’mere.” He opens his arms, and Yoojin goes over and flumps on the bed, head in Hyunjae’s lap. Almost immediately, Hyunjae starts stroking fingers through his hair, and Yoojin relaxes into the touch, listening as Hyunjae continues speaking.

cuddles 🥺🥺🥺 sorry i don’t have any other commentary here just. cuddles. extremely and overwhelmingly comforting for a man who spent the better part of 8 years(?) with no major positive relationships, and a kid who spent 12 years of early life basically abandoned by his parents. you had best bet they gave up on not hugging each other 1 year into this whole mess

Yoojin hums in acknowledgement. It’s not like he’d ever let himself get hurt; he has too many responsibilities to his family and friends. If he wants to be good enough to keep up, he can’t afford to fuck up like that. But… hyung will worry if he keeps working so hard. He can slow down a little for him.

Problems disorder man when will you stop. the way he sees “getting hurt” as an inconvenience and an obstacle to his duties rather than a danger to himself. the way he doesn’t really care if he himself gets hurt, but if it’ll worry his family, then it’s a no-no. it’s just. wow. i know i wrote this but i hate him

“Not really. I talk to Myeongwoo about it sometimes.” “Ah, right, Myeongwoo.”

haha gays

“Don’t be weird about him,” Yoojin warns[...]. “I won’t, promise.”

if the “i won’t” line had a dialogue tag it’d be “Han Hyunjae lied”

“Is Eunwoo still in his relationship?” “Mhm, happy as ever. Apparently they’re trying long-distance, now that Eunwoo’s gone off to university abroad.”

three guesses for who eunwoo’s dating and you won’t need the first two

Hyunjae raises his hands like he’s going to deny the accusations levelled against him, so Yoojin seizes him by the collar and shakes him until he cries for mercy

oh my o/rv ass struggled so bad with not writing “shakes him like a man betrayed” here. it killed me not to. but in the end i prevailed (against, uh, myself. don’t think about it too hard.)

“Jeez, okay, he’s an F-rank!” “Eh?! Then why—” “He’s also got an SS-rank potential skill,” Hyunjae admits[...].

play-by-play of this scene because god if i draw any scene in this fic it would be this one just for the sheer hysterical nature of HYJ’s reaction:

YOOJIN: I HATE YOU WHAT THE FUCK WHY. TELL ME HIS RANK

HYUNJAE: HE’S AN F

YOOJIN: WHAT? WHAT THE FUCK?

HYUNJAE: he’s also got an SS-rank skill,

YOOJIN:

#star.txt #work: yesterday will be kinder #writing commentary #my writing #making impulse decisions today. very tired. godonight i hope you enjoy but also you'll have to enjoy without me

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fenharel-babe · 4 years ago

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I'm back in my Solavellan feelings and want to talk about my lavellan and Solas. I saw these prompts and decided to post that now. I'm going to answer each one (other than the nsfw ones) and here we go. Putting it under a keep reading just in case no one cares lol.

For the Fluff:

1. What are things they both find funny?

Solas and Bloom both love when Cassandra and Varric banter. They just find it hilarious because Cassandra is nice at some points but she can be angry while being funny. They just find both of them too funny.

2. If they could each describe each other in one sentence, what would it be?

Solas describe Bloom as, "A complicated woman," and Bloom describes Solas as, "A complicated man." They're both complicated on the surface and they just stick to that description. But if people ask for what do they like about each other, then OH BOY!!! They could go on a rant.

3. If they complimented each other, what would they say?

Solas would compliment Bloom by saying how she always notices the good in people. She always tries to make people feel better, help them heal, and just help people in general. She cares for people and the way she sees the good in people, and it makes him love her.

Bloom would compliment Solas by saying she loves hearing him ramble and how adorable it is. Solas rambles and we ALL know it. He'll talk about the fade or magic for hours and Bloom loves to hear all of it and she finds his passion adorable.

4. What would be their ship name?

Blas because it's close to blast and Bloom will blast you away if you ever hurt her family. It has Bl from Bloom and as from Solas lol.

5. What activities do they enjoy together?

Hmmm...they enjoy a lot of things together. I guess the one thing they could mainly enjoy together is reading. They both like to read and find it fun. But the part they both enjoy the best is reading to each other. Like Lavellan is resting her head in Solas's lap and he's reading whatever to her or Solas is resting his head in her lap and she's reading to him. It's comfortable and that's an activity they like.

Another one is taking naps together.

6. What is/are their love language(s)?

Physical attention. I believe Solas does like it when he gets physical attention. He's like...however old and he's definitely touch starved, but only for the person he loves: Bloom. They both like getting physical attention and like holding hands, kissing, hugging, nsfw things, and they do like words. They love being told "I love you" from the other and it brings them so much comfort. They love it when they comfort each other.

7. Write a ~300 word love scene for them.

Solas was looking at Bloom again. She was resting on the couch in the Rotunda, few pieces of hair falling in front of her face, and was slightly snoring. He worked in the Rotunda all the time and she would visit him all the time. Even before they confessed to each other. They love being together, so if she was ever stressed, she would come here and check on him. He would accept the attention and he would give her as much comfort as she needed. This time, she came because she had a bad dream. She was being chased by demons and was witnessing Solas's death in the future that Alexius tried to make. He knew she suffered from the mere memory, so he would never shun her away. He would do whatever she wanted and this time she just wanted to be in the same room with him.

She groaned in her sleep and it made him worry. He marked the page he was on in his book and went over to her. He knelt in front of her and pulled the pieces of hair back behind her ear. She moved slightly and it made him freeze, but she didn't move again and he was relieved. He looked at her closer now and he got to see the sight he loved. He loved to see her at peace, something he rarely got to see, and when she slept he got to see it. It made him feel happy and he just staring at her made him feel blessed. He leaned forward and kissed her forehead gently. He hoped she wouldn't wake, but she did.

She opened her eyes and smiled when she saw him. "Hi, vhenan."

Solas blushed at that word and decided to kiss her again to hide it.

8. What were their first impressions of each other?

Bloom found Solas as interesting and she really wanted to know more about him.

Solas found her as rude and distant. Only to realize she's just anxious and actually loves almost everyone.

For the Angst:

9. Have they made each other cry?

Have you seen the ending of Trespasser??? YES!! They have. They never used their words to hurt each other and make them cry, but their actions have. Solas leaving made Bloom cry, Bloom having a dream of Solas being dead made her cry, and seeing him again in Trespasser made her cry.

Now, Solas cried a lot. He hides it, but he does cry a lot. He cares for Bloom a lot, more than he thought he would, so seeing her hurt? It makes him upset. One time, she was knocked out for quite awhile because she used a lot of her energy, and Solas was so concerned and he cried. So yes they cry about each other a lot.

10. Write a ~300 word argument scene for them.

I can't exactly do this one because they rarely argue :(.

11. What causes them to fight?

Umm...the only thing that could make them fight would be Solas telling Bloom to do something she doesn't believe in. Solas telling her that she's too kind hearted and almost implying she's weak. That would really hurt her and she would argue. It would be a short argument because she would leave since she doesn't want to argue. They would both come together soon and they'll explain their side and almost always feel better.

12. Do they have differing political opinions?

Yeah. I'm not good with the politics in like DA, but it's obvious they do bc he's Solas and she doesn't know the things he does, so they do have different opinions. It's why they avoid that topic lol.

13. Name something they would never do for the other person.

Bloom could never let him destroy the world. Like she would never help him. Does she love him with her entire soul? Yes. But she can't destroy the world.

Solas would never just forget his past for her. You can take this as in he has to destroy the world or just that he can't stop the mission of at least sharing the word of his people. He just can't forget his past.

14. What would be a dealbreaker?

Destroying the world is a deal breaker for Bloom lol. Or just anything regarding to hurting people for the fun of it.

Deal breaker for Solas would have to be her hating on his old life. Like?? Excuse me?? Bloom would never but still. If he had someone do that then he'd have to leave them.

15. What are traits they dislike in one another?

Bloom doesn't like the way Solas is constantly not looking at other peoples POV. He just thinks about his past and sometimes needs to be reminded not everyone is like him and he needs to think about it like them.

Solas doesn't like the way Bloom is always sacrificing herself.

16. If they broke up, what would be their opinions of each other?

They would still love each other. They have broken up like twice already now. First in DAI and then again in Trespasser (not rlly but ya get it?? He left her once and then he did it again lol). They would still love each other and wouldn't move on. They would still believe that they are a good person (Even if Bloom's opinion of that good person is in doubt) and almost have the same opinions.

For the Depth:

17. What senses (sights, smells, feelings, etc). remind them of each other?

Bloom is reminded of him when she sees green clothes. She's reminded of his clothes he would wear, how she would take them off in the heat of the moment, and how she would sometimes sleep in them. And!! Seeing wolves or animals would sometimes remind her of him. He liked animals and talked about them and since he has a jawbone, if she saw a wolf she'd immediately think about him. The smell of the woods would remind her of him.

Solas is reminded of her when he sees anything blue or ginger. Blue was her favorite color and she almost always wore blue clothes, and her hair was ginger. Seeing anything ginger would remind him of her, her hair, and how he would run his fingers through it when she was stressed or sad.

18. What would be their love motto?

"To love is to understand each other, trust each other, and want to protect each other."

19. If they could each write a single line in their marriage vows, what would they be?

Bloom: "You make my fire brighter and make me feel like I can do the impossible."

Solas: "You understand me and see things in me I can't see myself."

20. What is a promise they have made to each other?

To love forever. Solas knew he wouldn't love anyone like he loves her and she knew she wouldn't love anyone the way she loves him, so they made a promise.

Away from their love, it's a promise to always be true to each other...even though that promise is very sad...because you know-

21. How have they changed each other for the better/for the worse?

I think they've both changed for the better. Bloom slowly learns she can't sacrifice herself and that it's okay to love someone no matter what. Solas learns that everyone is suffering in their own way, how precious people are, and how to love again.

22. If their lives were what was originally intended at birth, would they have still fallen in love?

Umm...Bloom was meant to be a hunter and stay in a clan, so I doubt they would have met. BUT if they ever did, they most likely still would have fallen in love. Bloom was still the same no matter what. He probably would adore her more because she can fight physically and also use her magic.

23. Write a ~300 scene between them with no dialogue, only body language.

They were in her bedroom, getting undressed for bed, and he finally wrapped his arms around her. Bloom felt relief when Solas wrapped his arms around her. She had been through a stressful day, so to feel his arms around her, it made her feel safe. The warmth he radiated brought her peace, and then the coolness he gave her made her feel even better. Anything involving him made her feel loved, so to just feel him made her happy.

Uhhh....I can't write just body language. I need to write dialogue so my bad. Take 79 or 80 words lol.

24. What is something they have each had to forgive the other for?

Bloom has to forgive him for trying to destroy the world lol.

Solas doesn't really have anything to forgive her for. She's always been careful around him, not overstepping boundaries, and they rarely fought. He just feels the need to forgive himself and understand why she forgives him.

Anyways yeah take this!! I might do more prompts like this. I just love them so much. I might do Cullen and Elle and Julian and Cassandra!! And there's not much proofreading so :))).

#my writing #solavellan #dragon age inquisition #solas x lavellan #dai #da:i #dragon age: inquisition #dragon age

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chipper9906 · 5 years ago

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Hello, Stranger

WARNING: SPOILERS FOR SEASON 15 EPISODE 18 ‘DESPAIR’ AND SEASON 15 EPISODE 19 ‘INHERIT THE EARTH’

Pairings: Castiel/Dean Winchester

Rating: General Audiences

Word Count: 6,201

Status: One Shot - Complete

Summary/Preview

The man above him was panting heavily, wheezing for breath through pained grunts, and usually, Dean would find some comfort in knowing he at least got a few good licks in.

Instead, all he could do was drop his head back into the carpet with gritted teeth. Great. He was Dean Winchester; He had taken on monsters that most believed to be fairy tales, he had taken on Lucifer, he had taken on God. Hell, he had even killed Hitler.

And now he was about to be killed by some goddamn junkie that had broken into his apartment.

Fan-friggen-tastic.

* * *

A post episode/ post season fix it fic because my heart hurts and I needed some happiness.

Link To Fic

Click Below To Keep Reading

* * *

Dean Winchester is a homeowner.

Well, he signed a contract that lets him rent a shitty, musty, one-bedroom apartment that has questionable stains on the carpet and the lingering smell of weed soaked into the walls, but it’s his. It’s also situated between a few bars and a pizza place that serves the best damn meat lover’s pizza he’s ever tasted in his life, so y’know. Silver linings.

The off-yellow, fluorescent light of the fridge hums obnoxiously at him, lighting the two last bottles of beer he has sat snugly in the corner. Dean pulls one out, grumbling to himself as he pats at the chipped kitchen counter for the bottle opener. He flips the cap off with a flick he has done many times, chucking the cap somewhere to the side (he swears he’ll throw them away later) and flopping down onto his couch with a groan.

His phone shrills at him from within his jean’s pocket and Dean throws his head back with an exasperated sigh. This was what he signed up for, after all. He just didn’t know how Bobby did it. The whole ‘normal job whilst also acting as an information source for the hunter network’ crap. If it were up to him, he’d just do the ‘hunter network’ stuff. You know, what actually matters. But he’s too old to be living out of motels which were paid for with fake credit cards and cash from hustling, so he has to do it the legal way. That’s not to say the apartment is a huge step up from the usual dumps he and Sammy used to stay in when on the road, but still. It’s his place.

Relief floods through him when he finally yanks the phone out of his pocket and sees Sam’s name plastered across the screen. Looks like he was free from hunter duties for a while yet.

“Heya Sammy,” Dean greets him the second he has the phone to his ear, his smile practically audible through the phone. “Is this an ‘another apocalypse’ phone call or…?”

“No, you jerk,” Sam chuckles down the phone. “It’s a regular phone call. You know, that thing normal people do when they check up on family?”

Dean nearly snorted into his beer. “Yeah, well, we’re far from normal, Sammy.”

“Funnily enough, I’m aware of that. But this is as close to ‘normal’ as we’re going to get. It’s the best we’re going to get.”

Dean hummed thoughtfully, swallowing down a mouthful of beer. “Yeah? Tell that to the dumbass newbie at work who decided he didn’t need to put the oil cap back on after changing the oil… oil everywhere Sammy. Everywhere. I can hack off vampire heads all day, but dealing with people? It’s a nightmare, Sam.”

“You’ll get used to it,” Sam assured him. “We’ll get used to it. It’s… Dean, you know how nice it is to hear you complain about work? Hearing ‘my co-workers a pain in the ass’ instead of ‘there’s a Were on my tail, bring the silver’ is something I never thought I’d get to experience.”

“Were on my tail? Wow, great pun there Sam…” Dean mumbled into the phone, getting a half-amused half annoyed snort from his brother. “Maybe one day I’ll go full ‘Bobby’. Get a cabin out in the middle of nowhere, open up my own mechanic shop… though, doubt I could go back to the old way of looking up the lore… Hey, they do satellite internet, right?”

Sam had suddenly gone very quiet. Dean raised his eyebrows as he waited for his brother's response, the white-noise from the other end of the line the only reassurance to Dean that the line hadn’t gone dead.

“Uh… yeah. Yeah, I think that’s something you could get set up.” Sam finally answered. “But… you know you can do all that without the whole ‘hunting network’ thing, right? That is still an option-,”

“I know, Sam,” Dean cut off his little brother abruptly. “I know that’s an option. And maybe one day I’ll realize just how old and broken down I am and accept that. But-,”

“But you won’t,” Sam sighed subtly.

“Maybe one day,” Dean repeated softly. “I just… I don’t think I’ll ever be able to quit cold turkey, Sam. I just… I need to do something.”

“Have you been on any hunts?”

Dean shrugged his shoulders, forgetting that Sam couldn’t see him. “Eh, a few. No solo hunts, before you panic. There was a hunter going through town, uh, Jason White? Hadn’t heard of him before, but-,” Dean huffed quietly in laughter. “-He sure as hell heard of me. Seems the Winchester name still has its rep around the hunter community.”

“I can never tell if that’s a good thing or a bad thing.”

“Dude was giddy to work with me, so I’d say it was a good thing.” Dean took another swig of beer. “And that’s when they don’t even know we kicked God’s ass!”

“Jack kicked God’s ass,” Sam corrected him. “We got our asses kicked by God.”

“Yeah, but… we needed to get Chuck to beat us up for the plan to work, so… I think it’s fair to say we brought down God.”

“Depending on who you tell that to, you might end up being flayed rather than hailed as a hero.”

Dean paused with the bottle of beer to his lips. “Point taken… maybe it would be better to keep it to ourselves.”

“Probably,” Sam agreed with a chuckle.

“How ‘bout you, Sammy? How’s college life treating you? Again?”

“It’s…” Sam was about to do the usual ‘everything’s great’ spiel, but something about Dean’s inquiring tone made him pause. “… it’s more difficult than I’d thought. I don’t know, maybe I should have had some kind of buffering time between, try and adjust a little before going back.”

“I can imagine.”

“Back then, I felt like I belonged in college, you know? I felt… on par with everyone around me, but now? I stick out like a sore thumb.”

“Yeah? Well, you are an old man amongst eighteen to twenty-year old’s.”

“Thirty-seven isn’t old, jerk. Plenty of people go back to college when they’re…”

“…older?” Dean finished his sentence with glee.

“Shut up.”

Dean laughed smugly at his brother’s annoyed grumbles, though he quickly pulled himself back together. “Seriously though Sammy, I… I hope you know I’m proud of you for this. I know it’s not exactly what we – what I imagined, but… I’m glad to see you living out the life you set out for yourself. I know I wasn’t supportive of you when you first left for college, and I know it’s gonna be tough for you. But if you can go up against God and win, I’m sure you can pass your bar exam.”

“Thanks, Dean.” Sam’s voice sounded a little choked. “How are you doing, anyway? I didn’t really ask.”

“Living the dream, Sammy. Living the dream.” Dean answered dryly, staring sombrely at the last dregs of beer in the bottle and wondering whether it’s worth grabbing the last bottle from the fridge. Future Dean will hate him if he does…

“Seriously, Dean.” If Sam’s voice was anything to go by, he had the puppy dog eyes on full effect right now. “How are you? You okay? I know it’s been hard since… since…”

Dean swallowed hard, letting his eyes flutter shut and his head lean back against the couch. “No, Sam. I’m pretty damn far from okay. And I’m not sure if I ever will be, but… I’ll learn to cope.”

“Dean, it’s… don’t be afraid to ask for help with this kind of stuff. I know it’s a bit unconventional when it comes to our lives, but-,”

“A bit unconventional?” Dean spluttered. “Sam, how the hell would I go about explaining any of this to a shrink, huh? ‘Hey, I had the literal Death trying to kill me, and one of the few people I love sacrificed himself to save me by telling me he loves me.’ Yeah, I’m sure that’ll go down a-,”

“What did you just say?” Sam interrupted in a quiet, shocked voice. “Dean, you… did Cas say-,”

“I’m not talking about that, Sammy.” Dean’s tone left no room for argument.

“Cas was my friend too you know, Dean,” Sam argued back, his voice understanding but digging too much for Dean’s liking. “I know you don’t like talking about this, but-,”

“No, Sam. I don’t like talking about it.” Dean snapped curtly.

“But-,”

“Cas was my Eileen, Sam.” Dean could hear Sam’s mouth snap close, the stunned silence on the other end of the phone too loud in Dean’s ear. “And I know you sure as hell don’t like talking about her. I had to… Fuck, do you have any idea, Sam? I never let myself think about it, about what Cas was to me. He could be a stubborn bastard and hard to read at times, and this whole damn time, he loved me and… he never told me. All this time he’d been holding that to himself and he just… I couldn’t do anything. I couldn’t say anything. He was just gone, and I…”

“You loved him.”

It wasn’t a question. Dean squeezed his eyes shut at Sam’s words. “Yeah. Yeah, I did. And he never got to know. He never heard me say it.”

Dean ran a tense hand through his hair, pulling at the strands with a pained grimace. “I still see him sometimes, Sammy. I feel like I’m going crazy. I’ll see a flash of him in a crowd, see that stupid tax-accountant get up of his out of the corner of my eye, and… I keep telling myself he’s gone, that I need to move on.”

“You will, Dean. Sometimes, after… after Jess, I’d see her, too. Grief does strange things to the mind.”

“Yeah, I know, but… I can’t help but think about when I lost him in purgatory. When I kept seeing him, back then, and… all that time, he was trying to reach out to me.”

“This isn’t like then, Dean.” Sam’s response was like a punch to the chest. “Cas was in Purgatory. When he was trying to contact you, he was back on Earth, right? Cas is… he’s in the Empty. The only being with enough power to get him out was Jack, but-,”

“But Jack’s not gonna be hands-on,” Dean said miserably.

“Right…” Sam replied with a sigh. “I’m sorry, Dean. I wish it was Cas, you know I do, but… he’s gone.”

“I know. I know that, Sammy. I’m not denying he’s gone, I just… I miss him. Guess I always assumed we’d win this thing together, you know? ‘Paradise on Earth’ and all that.”

“I don’t even know what Cas would have done after all this,” Sam said with a mild tone of amusement. “After meeting Cas, it felt like we had to stop one apocalypse after the other.”

“Poor guy never really got to catch a break,” Dean agreed sadly. “Maybe I could have trained him up to be a proper hunter, just like he wanted. Or… maybe he would have flown home.”

“Home?”

“Yeah, y’know; Heaven. If the other winged dicks let him back in, that is.”

“Dean… I don’t think ‘Heaven’ is Cas’ home. At least, it hasn’t been for a while, anyway. If Cas was still here, well… whatever he decided to do next, I can’t imagine anything that didn’t involve being by your side, Dean.”

* * *

The later into the night it got, the more tempted Dean was to break out the bottle of whisky he has hidden under his cupboard for ‘emergencies only’.

The only saving grace was that Dean had the day off tomorrow, so it’s not like he had to worry about work. Tonight was just going to be… one of those nights. Getting off the phone with Sammy always left him feeling bittersweet; happy to hear his brother’s voice, but the reminder that he was so far away only worsening the dull ache he felt in his chest that he could only fix by drinking until everything went black and numb.

‘THUMP’

Dean was upright from his bed in seconds, fingers curling around the comforting grip of his pistol under the pillow. The sound hadn’t come from his room, rather somewhere else in the apartment – the living room, perhaps? The kitchen? He slowly peeled off the covers, untangling them from his legs and stepping softly onto the dusty carpet, thankful it would mute his footsteps.

Dean cautiously approached his closed bedroom door, placing his ear up to the door and straining his hearing. Nothing. For a moment, he wondered if he had simply imagined the noise, his emotional and exhausted mind caught between sleep and lucidity, conjuring up a sound to distract him.

Maybe, if Dean were a normal person, he’d have waved it off and headed back to bed. Hunter's instincts are hard to shake off though, and not checking the apartment simply wasn’t an option. Sure, he had thrown up all the usual sigils in the apartment the second he had moved in (and likely ruined any chance of getting his deposit back), but you never know.

Dean clasps his free hand around the rounded doorknob, painstakingly turning it until he hears the ‘click’ of the lock, wincing at how loud the usually quiet sound felt in the silence of the room. Dean swings the door open slowly, peering out of the room and into the pitch-blackness of his apartment. He can barely make out the shadowed outline of his furniture, lit up only by the muted lights of passing traffic peeking in through the partly opened blinds.

Dean takes a single step out into the living room when a hand clasps around his shoulder.

He whirls around in an instant, knocking off the assailant’s arm and lifting his pistol to aim. The gun is wrenched out of his hands in an instant, the unexpectedly strong pull nearly sending him tumbling straight into his attacker. Dean hears his gun clatter to the floor, and he throws a punch out of instinct, feeling his knuckles connect with the strangers’ jaw. There’s a pained grunt from the man, definitely a man by his posture and deep, surprised groan of pain, and Dean jabs out his fist again before the man can counter. His fist lands squarely in the man's gut and Dean knows by the sound the man makes that he had just had the wind knocked out of him.

Dean’s next hit isn’t as successful, the man catching Dean’s fist mid-swing and twisting him away, pushing him forward until his chest hits the wall with a resounding ‘thud’. Dean grimaces at the pressure against his back and arm, kicking out a leg backward and feeling it connect with the guy’s knee. It buckles, the pressure on his back gone and Dean takes the advantage, spinning around and shoving the guy hard. He sees the blurry black figure go sprawling backward, slamming into the wall opposite with another pained grunt. Dean scrambles to the floor in search of his gun, blinking rapidly in an attempt to adjust to the darkness of the room. He just about catches a glint of metal, reaching for the gun before it’s gone again, kicked out of sight by his attacker. Dean growls in frustration, jumping to his feet as fast as his body will let him. It seems he isn’t as fast as he once was, the man grabbing him by the arm and slamming him back down to the ground before he can even blink.

His back hits the floor hard, the air leaving his lungs in one giant ‘whoosh’, dust erupting from the unkempt carpet under him. His attacker had clambered over him, the heavy pressure he felt on his wrists surely the man pinning him down, the weight on top of his legs surely that of the stranger. His head was spinning, vision blurry from the dark, and the hit to the back of his head when he landed. The man above him was panting heavily, wheezing for breath through pained grunts, and usually, Dean would find some comfort in knowing he at least got a few good licks in.

And now he was about to be killed by some goddamn junkie that had broken into his apartment. Fan-friggen-tastic.

“Hello, Dean.”

His heart stops. Pauses, for just a moment. When it kicks back into gear, it's with a hard, resounding thump. The voice was gruff, grated, that of a man who had either smoked ten packs of cigarettes a day or had had his vocal cords shredded apart. It was familiar, like coming home, and he wants to scream to the Universe how fucking cruel it is for him to be losing his mind like this, that it was bad enough to be seeing him, but to be hearing him too?

Unless…

He squirms underneath the man’s grip, his shallow, quick intakes of air a sure sign of an approaching panic attack. To Dean’s surprise, the man's grip slackened, and he let Dean scramble up to his feet. Dean stumbled back into the wall as the man smoothly got to his feet, stood there silently watching Dean panic as he slapped his hand against the wall, searching for the light switch. Dean’s hand passes over the smooth cool plastic of the panel, and he smacks down hard on the switch.

The light bursts to life, bathing the room in that sickening bright white. It’s blinding - as if lightning had struck inside his apartment. Dean still has his hand glued to the light switch; his gaze glued to the stranger stood opposite him.

Except, that was no stranger.

There’s a thin trail of blood slipping down a split lip that’s curved up into a subtle smile, blue eyes glossy with unshed tears that are scanning up and down Dean like he can’t quite believe he’s there. His chest is still heaving with exasperated breaths from their scuffle and he’s holding himself awkwardly, one leg taking more of his weight than the other – likely a result of Dean’s attempt at defending himself.

“Cas? Cas, is this… is that really you?” Dean’s voice is breathy, uncertainty laced in every word.

“I spent the whole drive over here thinking about what to say when I saw you,” Castiel said. “And now all I can think is how I should be scolding you for not checking to see if I’m a shifter or a demon first.”

Dean blinked owlishly at Cas, the shock mixed with the adrenaline sending his brain into overdrive. Cas’s shy smile widened briefly for a moment, barely wincing at the sting of his split lip being pulled.

“Actually, I… I was worried for a moment that I had been told the wrong address and had broken into someone else’s residence. But then you were pulling a gun on me and it seemed a bit too late to ask, so I-,”

Dean rushes forward before Cas can finish his sentence, throwing his arms around Cas’s shoulders and burying his head into his neck. He’s fully aware his hands are shaking, scrunching up the back of Castiel’s trench coat so tightly that he can feel some threads popping loose under his fingers. Castiel’s hands were wrapped around his back in return, squeezing Dean close with all his worth, eyes squeezed shut in content with his head nestled next to Dean’s.

When Dean pulls away, it’s to hold Cas at arm’s length and just… look. Take him all in. To savor the warmth of Cas’s under his hands, to drink in the smile he never thought he’d get to see again. Because there’s a part of him that still doesn’t know if this is real, and he wants to take the time to memorize the feel of Castiel in his arms.

“You, uh…” Dean says somewhat awkwardly. “You need a drink?”

* * *

Dean’s been staring at Cas for way too long then is socially acceptable now.

He’s perched on what Dean knows from experience is an incredibly uncomfortable bar stool at the end of the kitchen counter, the beer Dean had offered him pressed against his split lip from their, um… reunion. Dean tapped his fingers against the cool glass of whisky he held, watching Cas as his eyes scanned curiously around the apartment, and Dean starts to feel guilty for not keeping on top of the cleaning as much as he should. In his defense, he wasn’t exactly expecting company.

“How… how are you here, Cas?”

“I had to hot-wire a car that had been left parked in a desolate road near a field in Illinois. In my defense, it seemed rather neglected, so I doubt it’ll be missed. It was quite difficult finding you actually, your number no longer worked and I had to visit many, many bars to find some hunters who had some knowledge on your whereabouts-,”

“Cas, that’s… that’s not what I’m talking about. I mean how are you here?”

Castiel pulled the bottle away from his lip, placing it down delicately on the countertop. The signature frown was back on his face, along with the cocked head that Dean found much too endearing. “Dean, have you not noticed?”

Dean followed Castiel’s hands to where he had placed a finger on his split lip, wincing when he pressed down a bit too hard.

“What? That I greeted my best friends return from the dead by giving him a beating? Yeah, I kinda noticed.”

Castiel sighed quietly, and Dean grinned at the exasperation. “Have you not noticed that it hasn't healed?”

Dean frowned at him in confusion. “Oh. Why haven’t you…?”

It finally clicked.

Dean sat up straight as it hit him; looking to the split lip, to the bruise that had already begun forming on the edge of Cas’s jaw, to the way he held out his leg at an odd angle like it was bothering him.

Almost as if…

“You’re human?”

“I believe so, yes. My grace was… warped. It’s been through a lot, through the fall… but… I believe it had been different from the very start. Chuck was right, in a way. I was ‘the angel with a crack in his chassis’. Maybe that’s why I was the only one. Out of all the other me’s that exist… I was the angel that began to feel. The angel to fall in love with the righteous man. Angels aren’t supposed to love, you see. Emotions are seen as distractions. Emotions were thought only possible to humans because of one thing.”

“Souls,” Dean answered for him.

Castiel nodded. “Dean, do you understand what the Empty is? What happens to us? It’s… it seems almost peaceful when you think about it. To spent eternity just… sleeping. But we don’t sleep. We dream. We dream of all that we regret. For most angels and demon’s, they have only one regret; their death. What they did wrong to meet their end, tortured endlessly by that mistake. I didn’t dream of my death though, Dean. My death was no mistake. Instead, I dreamt of you. I dreamt of all the times I let you down, of all the things I should have done or said but never did. Angels aren’t supposed to do that, Dean. Those aren’t the regrets soldiers of God are meant to have.

“The Empty isn’t a complicated being. It’s… it’s nothingness, and it wants to exist as nothingness. Billy made it promises she wouldn’t keep, keeping it awake when all it wanted to do was to return to sleep. So when it had dragged us into that place, when I fell into that sleep… perhaps it assumed it would be able to return to sleep. But my dreams, my regrets… they weren’t of the type that any another being in the Empty had. My grace wasn’t settling, it was… it was like an animal in a cage, it was…”

“It was keeping the Empty awake.”

“The Empty wanted me to suffer. But in doing so, it was suffering itself. It didn’t understand why; I didn’t understand why. Why my grace. What made it different? It wasn’t until I had been spat back out here; when the Empty had figured it out before me that I realized. It wasn’t my grace, Dean. It wasn’t grace at all, not anymore. I’m… I’m still not sure how it happened, whether it had been happening for a while, if it was the reason my grace had been diminishing over the years, or… if maybe Jack had a part to play in it, or… or if it was just myself. If me falling for you, to be the first angel to do that… maybe it’s something that could happen to all angels.”

Dean had never been more confused in his life. “What are you talking about, Cas?”

“My grace was changed, Dean. An angel’s grace, it’s a source of power, a piece of God himself; just like a soul. I’m not just an angel who has lost his grace, Dean. My grace is still here, just changed. Adapted. I’m human in every sense of the word.”

Dean knew what Cas was getting at, but he couldn’t quite believe it himself. “…You have a soul?”

“I have a soul,” Castiel confirmed, giving Dean a watery smile. “Humans were not meant to exist in the Empty. It’s not something the Empty has ever had to deal with - emotions. The Empty is a powerful being. It can tear into your mind, to know all that makes you suffer. But a soul? It doesn’t know how to approach that. It doesn’t know how to make it quiet.”

“So… so what does that mean now for you?”

“It means I’m here,” Castiel answered simply, his wandering gaze returning to their surroundings.

Dean smiled, glancing down to the whisky in his hand to avoid seeing Castiel’s judgment of his shitty apartment. “Yeah? And what do you think of… here?”

Castiel hummed thoughtfully, taking his sweet time to look around the abysmal contents of the room which Dean knows full well only takes about ten seconds to take in.

“It’s rather small,” Castiel finally gives his verdict. Dean ducks his head with embarrassed laughter, scratching awkwardly at the back of his head.

“Yeah, well… a high-school dropout who has barely any prior job experience and next to no references doesn’t exactly get many calls for interviews.”

“I see,” Castiel replied with an understanding yet sad smile. “Why did you and Sam leave the bunker?”

“Well, after Sammy decided he wanted to give college another shot, and after you and Jack, it was… the bunker was too empty. Too quiet. Too many memories, I guess. And it’s not like I was gonna be hunting like I used to without Sammy…”

“You’re not hunting?” Castiel asked, surprise clearly written across his features.

“Sometimes,” Dean replied with a shrug. “It’s… Sammy wanted another shot at the normal life, and after everything… that doesn’t even begin to cover what the kid deserves.”

“And what about you?” Castiel said with a questioning frown. “What about what you deserve?”

Dean laughed one humorless chuckle. “Cas, I always expected to go out in a blaze of glory. Maybe with Sammy by my side, maybe not, but-,” Dean paused, turning his eyes down. “I didn’t… I didn’t picture a scenario where I lived and you didn’t. I didn’t know what life was going to be like after that, after you… I didn’t think it was a pain I’d have to live with, you know?”

Cas’s calloused hand rests over Dean’s, thumb gently sweeping over his wrist. There’s a sadness and regret to Cas’s gaze, but a comforting smile curled onto his lips. “When I took that deal… a part of me never expected for it to be claimed. I thought the Empty had made some colossal mistake on its part, because… I couldn’t envision a scenario where I’d be happy. A scenario where we beat God and we made it out alive. But then I wondered… I wondered how much the Empty knew of me. It had tortured me with it once, with what I feared and… of who I loved. And Dean, it was almost funny when I realized, when I assumed the Empty had surely made that mistake. It knew what I wanted most, and yet, it was something I could never have.”

“What you wanted?”

Cas’s smile turned sad. “You, Dean Winchester. I wanted to know the touch of your lips, of the feel of your skin under my hands… I wanted to know what it would be like to wake up next to you, to be something that brought you some sense of happiness… I wanted to know what it was like to be seen as something more than family, a friend, a brother… I wanted what angels aren’t supposed to want. I wanted your love, Dean Winchester.”

“…Cas-”

“But there was a simplicity to it.” Cas continued before Dean could form the words he wanted to say. “I couldn’t get that happiness because… because I wouldn’t let myself feel it. It was easier to just push it down, to pretend as if this hadn’t been something eating at me ever since I had rebelled. And to just… to just say it. In letting myself feel it, in telling you, in telling myself… that was my own form of happiness. It wasn’t in knowing you felt the same way, it wasn’t that I needed you to say it back… I said it because I needed you to know.”

How did Cas do this? Every time he thought he knew what to say, Cas found a way to rip the words right of his mouth. Dean was thrown through a loop again, his brain brought to a standstill. None of it made sense in his mind. The thought that he was Cas’s happiness, that he had somehow made an angel of the lord love, it was just… why him?

“In a way, the Empty lost,” Cas told him. “It wanted me to suffer. It was cruel, yes, but genius on its part, I must admit. To only take me once I had found happiness on Earth, but… I didn’t suffer as it took me, Dean. To die, knowing you were safe? That I had kept you safe? My mission is and always will be to save Dean Winchester. If my ending was the one where you get to live the life you deserve? Then… that was my happiness.”

Dean huffed, staring down at his whisky, absentmindedly spinning the glass across the counter. “You had found your peace. I get that, Cas, I really do,” Dean stopped spinning the glass, eyes flickering up to meet Cas’s. “But if you think the life I deserve is one that didn’t have you in it, then…”

Dean chuckled dryly, taking a small sip of his drink, welcoming the burning sensation that crawled down his throat.

“Dean, don’t think I wouldn’t have wanted… this,” Castiel insisted, brows furrowing. “I would have been content to carry on the way we are. I would of course wanted to stay with you, and Sam, and Jack, just as we were.”

Dean licks his lips nervously, tasting the lingering leftovers of his whisky. “And what if I’m not content with that?”

Cas frowned at him, a brief look of panic flashing across his face. “I don’t get what you mean?”

Dean laughs. He can’t help it. They’re small hushed snorts of laughter, dropping his chin down into his chest and shaking his head, his shoulders shaking with every chuckle. “Oh, Cas… We’re both idiots, aren’t we? Biggest damn idiots there are.”

Castiel was only getting more and more confused.

“Cas, what the hell did you think that mixtape meant?” Dean asked once he lifted his head back up. “What did you think that prayer back in Purgatory meant, huh? Both times? When I prayed to you every damn night in that hellhole?”

“I… I assumed-,”

“Assumed… yeah, we both kept making assumptions about the other, huh? You know I’m not great with words, Cas. I’m… I speak better with my actions, you know? But this… you… I didn’t know how to handle the way I felt for you. Calling you my brother was easy because that was a love I knew how to process. It was easy. You knew I cared for you, and I thought that was enough.”

“It was enough,” Castiel assured him.

“No, it wasn’t, Cas,” Dean insisted. “I was too much of a coward to tell you the truth.”

“Dean, you don’t have to-,”

Dean grabbed Castiel by the lapels of his trench coat to shut him up, tugging him forward and damn near dragging him over the counter. Castiel had gone wide-eyed, bracing himself by grabbing onto Dean's arms, keeping him suspended over the counter.

“Listen to me,” Dean stresses the words, keeping his eyes locked with Cas. “You’re not just my best friend. You’re not just my brother. You’re all that and more. You’re not just what I want, you’re all that I need. And I’m telling you this now because I should have told you all those years ago. I should have told you when you told me. I love you, too. You got that? I love you.”

And then Dean kisses the shocked look right off of Cas’s face, just to drive the point home.

It’s far from the best kiss Dean’s ever had. The taste of Castiel’s blood is metallic and tangy under his lips, and he went into the kiss a bit too rushed and hard. There’s definitely a clash of teeth at first, and a kiss was apparently the last thing Cas was expecting as his lips remained frozen in disbelief for some good few seconds. And yet, it was perfect.

Because it was Cas.

It’s not until Dean’s hands frame Cas’s face that he gets a response. His lips move under Dean’s, chapped yet addictingly soft. Dean’s thumb brushes down Cas’s cheek, the burn of stubble against his skin something new, but a reminder that this was Cas. It was Cas’s lips on his. It was Cas’s hands brushing through the short strands of hair at the back of his neck. It was Cas pressing his body into him, fitting together like two pieces of a puzzle that never thought the other piece would fit.

When they break away, it’s with a surprised “Oh,” from Cas that has Dean shaking quietly with repressed laughter, his forehead pressed against Cas with matching smiles on both men's faces.

“Like I said-,” Dean said softly. “-Idiots. Both of us.”

“I prefer the term ‘fools in love’,” Cas said with a grin. “Still idiots, but we have an excuse.”

“Yeah... yeah, I like the sound of that.” Dean agreed, returning Cas's gentle smile. “So, back on Earth, grace gone – or, changed into a soul. What’s the plan now?”

“Just... live life, I suppose. Experience humanity, of all there is to offer. Grow old...”

“Hmmm,’ Dean hummed in content. “Can you perhaps picture a little cozy cabin out in the woods? Maybe a yappy dog that won’t shut up and is constantly shedding all over the damn place, but you love anyway?”

“I think I could get on board with that... so long as there’s a cat running around that’ll provide the dog with some company,” Cas paused, squinting suspiciously at Dean. “Is there already a dog?”

“Apartment has a ‘no pets' rule. Miracle’s shacked up with Sammy for the time being, keeping the kid sane through exams.”

“...Miracle?”

“Yeah. Y'know, coz she was a miracle.” Dean swallowed nervously, struggling to get the next words out. “And... in this vision of the future... maybe you see yourself growing older with a grizzled, greying green-eyed hunter?”

“...Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“If you really have to ask that question, then I’m afraid I’m going to use to demote you back to ‘idiot'.”

“Wow,” Dean blanched. “Having a soul has made you a sassy dick.”

“You say that like you don’t love it.”

“I deal with it, but only because I love you. There’s a difference.”

Dean’s word elicited a beaming smile from Cas, that toothy smile he so rarely sees from Cas that he knows he’s going to be spending the rest of his life trying to see as often as possible. And really, what else can he do but smile back, just two idiots smiling at each other in a cramped, barely lit kitchen?

“I never thought I’d hear you say it…” Castiel admitted quietly.

“Well, be prepared to hear it until you get sick of it, coz I’ve got a lot of times I should have said it to make up for.”

#Destiel #destiel fanfiction #Destiel fanfic #destiel fic #castiel/dean winchester #Dean Winchester/Castiel #dean winchester/cas #fix it #fix it fic #happy ending #angst and fluff #dean/cas #cas/dean #CasDean #reunion

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f33itan · 4 years ago

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💛⚜️Pᴀʀᴛ 1: Tᴏʀᴛᴜʀᴇ ɪs Gᴏʟᴅᴇɴ⚜️💛 (From my Wattpad)

A/N: Ok, this was something a mutual of mine said here on Tumblr, and I decided to write a oneshot about it. Might be very VERY slight angst, nothing bad enough to actually be put under that umbrella though, anyways, enjoy this, and ty for the reads! :)

CW: MENTIONS OF RAPE, DEGRADATION, AND MORE FOUL WORDS THAN USUAL. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

B/N: Your Mother's boyfriend's name

M/N: Mother's name

꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂꧁꧂

"Oi, Y/N! Go get me another pack of beer from the store!"

"Yes father!" Damn that pig looking bitch. I'm just some fucking girl, trying to protect her mom from this demon of a person! Heck, he's not EVEN a person! He's the devil himself!! Man, I wish dad was here...

When you were in about 7th grade, your real father got killed in a massacre a couple cities over. He was not only a police officer, but a great father and husband as well. He treated you and your mother amazingly, and you thought life couldn't get anymore perfect, but soon that all went down hill. After his death, your mother's health depleted and she felt empty inside. She needed somebody else to make her complete. She decided to call an old friend from high school, and next thing you know he moved in. He seemed like a nice guy at first, but soon enough he was beating you guys mercilessly, enough to leave large bruises and scars whenever you didn't do exactly what he asked, in your eyes though, it was more of an order. You hated being ordered around, but you hated your mother getting beaten around even more. It seemed like a blessing that he hasn't tried to rape her, but god knows what he'll do, he's unpredictable

With all of this happening, you decided to tell him you were doing some "extra curricular" classes in college, but what you were actually doing was taking the Hunter's Exam and learning nen. Your biological father was kind-hearted and fun to be around, but he was also strict and sometimes a bit harsh, though he always meant well. Before his passing, all three of you would go out on the weekends to train, exercise, or do something that would enhance your body power and brain power. Because of this, all of you were exceptionally smart, and bodies all well toned. Sometimes your excursions would be going to a park and practicing a sport, driving to the snow and sledding, skiing, snowboarding, and every once in a while going to another state to zip line, try animal encounters, or take a family friendly class in that state's heritage and customs.

Since you were accustomed to hard core training and events, you thought the Hunter's Exam was quite fun, and was a test to your skills. After that, you were scouted out by a strong nen user by the name of Biscuit Krueger. You and her had lots of fun training, and with her pushing your limits to the utmost best, you turned out to be a specialist.

(Whenever I imagine myself in Hunter x Hunter, this is always my nen type and stuff LMAO)

Your power was called, Black shadow. You could have up to 10 weapons on hand, completely subjected to doing your bidding. These weapons were linked to you through blood, and they were surrounded with a substance that appeared to be black mist. The weapons you most preferred to practice with and use were your katana, blood string, and scythe. You could also make a weapon yours by cutting a fingertip and letting the blood drip onto the weapon, altering the appearance then gaining that black "mist", showing that it was now yours. The downside to this technique was that those "shadows and mist remnants" were your sleep. The darkness in your mind and the shadows all around you were taken and used for that power. In turn, you were always tired, yawning, and had bags under your eyes. Another plus side though was that you had a nen created chamber that had every weapon you owned. A girl can have some fun toys, can't she? You had tools for torture (whenever you took an opportunity to try it), many varieties of weapons, and of course, more snacks. But unlike B/N, you didn't have just fatty snacks. You had regeneration potions, healthy snacks, and special nen created "snacks" to help with different things, which all of these you had collected through pulling some strings. Your mother was worried, but you said it was all just college things. Yeah, just college things..

Ill make that pig bitch pay for what he has done to my mother!

Feitan POV -or whats going on with him- :

"What time, is it.."

"8 AM Fei!"

"Shut up, green eyes, too loud."

"Oh Fei don't be rude! It's mean!"

"That's, the point."

"Oh wait, Shalnark, what this?"

"What do you mean?"

"This... gold string?"

"OI SHALNARK, FEITAN, COME ERE' REAL QUICK!"

"Phinks, what, do you, want-" Phinks just ignored his question and pointed to the TV.

This is Channel 12, reporting live from York New City Town Square. People all over the city are claiming to be seeing a string tied to their left ring finger, leading them to some unknown destination! What is this string? Who put it there?-

"AY AY IM ON TV! THE STRING THINGY JUST LEAD ME TO THIS BEAUTIFUL GIRL AND NOW WERE DATING! SUPER AWESOME!"-

I apologize for the interference, but this string appears t be leading people to.. partners? Soulmates? Find out tomorrow morning, this is Amy Starwick from Channel 12, signing out.

"What. The. FUCK."

"OH MY GOD OH MY GOODNESS HOLY SHIT FEITAN YOU HAVE A SOULMATE!!"

"Nope-"

"YESS YOU DOOOOOOO"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP CHEERY BITCH-"

"No❤️" Since Feitan was on his last nerve with Shalnark, he decided to stomp over towards Chrollo in the main room, but Chrollo just chuckled.

"Wanna go find your soulmate? See if that things real?" Feitan just stared at the ground, lightly shifting his feet.

"Go ahead, I don't mind."

"Just, doing it, out of, curiosity."

"Mhm, curiosity, go find them." And with that, he was dismissed. Feitan wanted to say it was curiosity, but deep down he had this feeling there was something else, but what was it? It made his stomach tingle and he didn't like it one bit. He tried to ignore all of this, and just shrugged it off...

꧁꧂꧁꧂TimeSkip to Next Day꧁꧂꧁꧂

Your POV + some Feitan POV:

"Alright, today's the day, he'll be at his work, and on his break, i'll set the plan in motion.." Both me and mom don't like him, and I don't know about her, but I sure hate him, every ounce of him. The plan is simple: 1. Capture mom's boyfriend, 2. Take him to an abandoned building, 3. Torture him and get all of the answers I need, and 4. Kill him. His break is at 12, and he usually goes to get takeout every other Friday, what a pig. I'll give him a taste of his own medicine.

Time: 11:30 AM

Ok, I have everything ready. Fully energized to the utmost extent, Elixirs to bring him back in case he passes out too early, and- what? He's leaving for lunch early? PERFECT! You ran behind some buildings and hid in a two-way alleyway, waiting for him to pass by...

Here we go..

One..

Two..

THREE!

You covered his head with a sack, and took his phone out of his back pocket. Before heading over to your post, you laced the inside of the sack with some sleeping powder and pressed it against his nose and mouth. Within moments he passed out, and you typed in what you hoped to be his password, which was correct. Around 12:30, you were going to text one of his coworkers that he would be "going to a restaurant across town, and ditching work for a day, not wanting to see his stupid good for nothing girlfriend or his dumb daughter." You knew he called you both this because of going through his text messages when he wasn't looking or when he was sleeping. Little did you know that somebody was watching you from afar.

"Hmm... So, she, my, what do people, call it.. soulmate? Seems, interesting..."

Time: 12:00 PM

"Jesus, I new he was a fat ass but I didn't know he weighed this much!" You were tugging him from his legs through the back ways of York New. You wanted to find a secluded area, where once you were done with him you could just toss him somewhere for the birds and maggots to eat. After walking for what seemed like hours, you came across a set of abandoned buildings, specifically the one you laid out some extra things. A couple extra weapons, some towels, a change of clothes, a chair and some rope, a couple of flashlights, and of course, some snacks. Lucky for you, the douchebag you've been dragging around like a rag doll was still out cold, so you picked him up and tossed him on the chair, tying his wrists, ankles and neck to the chair.

"Maaannn, this is boring!! When the hell are you gonna wake up?!" As if on queue, you saw his eyes start to flutter open, and you immediately grabbed your box cutter. It wasn't a weapon used by your nen, but it was quite effective.

"What.. who.. wait- Y/N!? WHAT THE FUCK?! UNTIE ME NOW BEFORE I BEAT YOUR ASS!!" you didn't notice it, but Feitan was watching from the building over.

What, the fuck? Why she kidnap him? That pig? Why? Confusing, gotta keep, watching.

You shoved the box cutter into his left cheek, and you bathed in the glory of hearing his screams of pain.

"How does this feel, you bitch? Everything you've done to my dear mother, everything you've done to me, and heck, YOU WERE PROBABLY BEHIND MY DAD'S MURDER DURING THAT FUCKING MASSACRE!!" B/N noticed the tears in your eyes, and took this to his advantage.

"So what if I was? Both of your parents were pathetic anyways."

"NO THEY AREN'T! YOU'RE THE REASON WHY MY MOTHER'S LIKE THIS NOW! YOUR THE FUCKING REASON FOR EVERYTHING SHITTY THAT'S HAPPENED TO ME!!"

"Heh, hehe.. hahaHAHAHA! YOU KNOW GOD DAMNED WELL THAT ALL OF YOU ARE PATHETIC! WANNA KNOW WHY I GOT WITH YOUR MOM!? BECAUSE SHES HOT. AND SHE HAD GOOD MONEY FROM YOUR FUCKING DAD. YOU KNOW WHAT I WAS GONNA DO?! YOU KNOW WHY I TOOK OFF EARLY TODAY?! I WAS GONNA RAPE YOUR MOTHER AND MAKE YOU WATCH, THEN KILL BOTH OF YOU AND RUN OFF WITH ALL OF YOUR MONEY!! AND YOU KNOW WHAT'S IRONIC?! I DON'T HAVE ONE. SINGLE. FUCKING. REGRET. IF IT WASN'T FOR YOUR DAD, YOU SOULDN'T HAVE HAD THE NERVE TO DO THIS, YOU SHOULD HAVE BEEN ABORTED!!"

You couldn't handle this anymore, tears were falling down your face rapidly as you grabbed the duct tape and closed his mouth shut.

"I don't give a fuck about what you say.. I'm going to kill you here. This is your grave. Someday, I'll join you in hell, and when I do, I'll torture you again, and the Devil will laugh. You just watch and ducking wait you, you.. PATHETIC WORTHLESS PIG ASS SLOPPY ASS NASTU FUCKING BITCH!" With that, you grabbed a couple super worms in each hand and shoved them into his ears. Even with the duct tape, you could hear his screams of agony as the worms dug deeper into his ears. You then got our your katana and slashed him across the stomach, and shoved even more worms into that open wound of his. Quickly, you poured a large bottle of the elixir you had brought over him to keep him from dying so quickly. Box cutter still in hand, you carved small lines all over his arms and legs, then ripped off the tape to hear his desperate cries. You imagined he wanted to be dead, but you didn't care. His pain and you pain mixed together and you just started laughing. You through your head back and let yourself laugh. all of the pain this man has caused you and your mom will be repayed today.

But the pressure and stress was too much to handle. Your laughing of victory soon turned into screams and more tears, as you let yourself fall to the ground, not even noticing you didn't hit it hard, something had caught you, or someone..

What the shit am I doing?

Am I really going to kill him?

What's wrong with me?

What will mother think?

What would dad do?

What am I doing with my life?

You soon snapped out of all of those negative thoughts though, as you noticed something caressing your face lightly.

"Rest, now. He, won't die, so quickly. I'm, Feitan." You were a sniffling and crying mess, so all you could do was rush into Feitan's chest and cry. Without thinking, he wrapped his arms around you and held you close. He had no idea what he was doing, for he had only seen this kind of skin on skin contact in movies. So, he did what those people in the movies did.

"Don't, worry... It's all, going to be.. okay."

Word Count (Including author notes, etc) : 2251

-Wrote February 3, 2021-

Unedited sorry about that lol-

Part 1...

#hxh #hxh oneshot #hunterxhunter #feitan #feitanportor #pov #feitanxreader

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davids-cartoon-corkboard · 5 years ago

Note

Do you think that if Shredder!Raph will occur in rottmnt, the aftermath might result in Raph inheriting some of Shredder’s rage even after saved? Maybe that is how the crew is going to implement Raph’s trademark temper throughout previous generations and maybe even make him have to step down due to it, making Leo the new leader?

Short answer: “Inheriting the rage of a centuries-old demon" is a dope-ass idea, so if you’re a writer I would definitely encourage you to use that in your own stuff. But I think that if Raph’s temper worsens throughout the show, it should be because of his own character development and not a magical effect. However, a Shredder!Raph scenario could contribute to said worsening temper by inflicting emotional/psychological damage instead. :)

Long answer ahoy!

Looking at “Many Unhappy Returns” from the Shredder’s perspective makes it very clear why he does what he does. Like, he’s been dead for five hundred years, and then something went wrong with his resurrection. He’s waking up with no idea where he is or what’s going on and oh shit those guys are pointing weapons at him, that’s a threat!

Note that he doesn’t even bolt for them immediately, he does a warning stomp and screech (back off!) before starting to approach.

Those other guys are yelling, that’s also a threat,

and they’re closer so he’s gonna attack them first, actually. (None of the Foot wind up even comically injured, suggesting that flailing them around was an intimidation tactic rather than genuine Murderous Intent.)

And then the first group attacks, so of course he’s going to retaliate.

And then suddenly he’s somewhere else, with other threats (the animatronics), and then the first group that attacked him is back, so he’s gonna fight them again.

And these jerks just keep following him? He’s not going to ignore that. And WOW that’s a lot of bright lights and loud noises, which are also threats, what the fuck is going on?!

And then this tiny human girl chucks a giant metal box at him, holy SHIT?! Sure, the Shredder is a dangerous antagonist, but at this point I wouldn’t call him a “bad guy”, he’s literally just responding to what’s happening to him.

In summary, the Shredder was stressed tf out because he didn’t know where he was or what was happening, he retaliated against perceived threats, and quite possibly wouldn’t have attacked the turtles in the first place if they hadn’t just rushed in without understanding the situation.

Gosh, doesn’t that sound familiar?

So yeah, I’m waiting for Rise to give us that good good Shredder!Raph content.

As for the possibility of Leo taking over afterwards... no, but also yes, sort of? On the one hand, we know that Leo does have leadership capabilities, and it would be a waste for the narrative to not explore that. On the other hand, Rise has broken from the status quo in many ways, and it would also be a waste for the show to do a complete 180 and return to Leo Being The Leader™.

Consider how the “leader” role has influenced Leo in past iterations: his perfectionism wears on him and his brothers, any failure tanks his self-esteem, he feels isolated from the rest due to taking on such a large share of responsibility, being an authority figure grinds everyone’s gears, etc. It’s just bad for his mental health.

No doubt all this responsibility will also wear on Rise!Raph as the story progresses and the stakes get higher. It will be bad for him as well. But if Raph steps down, Leo will once again suffer from the weight of this role. So if neither option is quite correct, if neither brother can shoulder the burden of leadership alone, then the solution is just... for neither of them to shoulder the burden of leadership alone. Sure, Raph will probably remain leader in title and in spirit, but Leo taking on a sort of “deputy” role makes sense from a strategic standpoint, and would be good for his character development.

Here’s how I think it could go down:

The Shredder!Raph scenario will be different from the Shredder!Draxum scenario. The Shredder was starved for mystic energy the first time around, so he immediately chewed Draxum up and spit him out. But Raph could be compared more to a battery than a meal; it will take a while for the Shredder to drain him. And at this point the Shredder could be back in “evil samurai” mode, and thus will understand the value of holding Raph hostage.

Y’all who have followed my blog for a bit know about my “Raph is a system” theory; that when he was little, he got separated from his family and pursued by some cryptid hunter. This trauma formed Savage Raph, who is able to handle “being lost/alone/threatened” when Host Raph cannot. “Pizza Puffs” didn’t give us a lot of info about who I’m calling “Red Raph”, but he made his presence known when Host Raph was sort of... "emotionally alone”? In that his brothers were dying a little bit and too stoned to care.

So if Raph is trapped inside a living cage, scared and helpless and hurt and exhausted, his family unable to help him... he’s not going to be able to handle it.

Or, rather, Host Raph isn’t going to be able to handle it.

These two can, though.

I’m imagining a scene in the mindscape where the Shredder says something like “Your pathetic family cannot bear to strike you down, and so there is nothing that can stand in m- wait, why are there three of you OW FUCK-” Red and Savage will mentally kick his ass long enough for the other turtles to rip off a chunk of the armor so Leo can portal it into another dimension or something. Shredder gets K.O.’d since he’s not whole anymore, and the battle is won.

Since the armor didn’t drain Raph as severely as it did Draxum, he won’t become as weak as Draxum did. However, it will still take him some time to recover. Raph trusts Leo in serious moments as of “Many Unhappy Returns”, and he already took charge when Raph wasn’t available back in “Man vs. Sewer”. So Raph will be like, “Hey Leo, can you handle the Mad Dogs for a bit? Just long enough for me to get back on my feet.” And Leo will be like, “Sure bro, I’ve got this.”

He does not, in fact, “got this”. Leo’s ego has caused trouble before (”Shell in a Cell”, “Minotaur Maze”), and being in charge will no doubt go to his head. This has the potential for both comedy and seriousness, leading to wacky mishaps and genuine danger. Being the leader is hard work and it’s not always fun, but someone has to do it and Leo will have to put the others before himself for it to get done. Once Leo realizes this, he could bond with Raph by asking for his advice on leadership. Sometimes Leo will follow the advice and sometimes he won’t, sometimes that will work out and sometimes it won’t, laying the foundation for the idea that there are situations where it will be better for one or the other to lead, rather than having one lead all the time. But that will only happen for a few episodes, because Raph will heal quickly and he’ll be the leader again and everything will be fine!

Everything will not, in fact, be fine. Raph is the strongest in the family, the tank, the one who can take a hit so the smaller ones don’t have to... the idea of being hurt, of being weak, scares him because his family is also in danger if he’s unwell. So I don’t think he’ll acknowledge to anyone, not even himself, that getting possessed hurt him emotionally as well as physically. And when a wound isn’t acknowledged, it doesn’t get tended to, and when a wound isn’t tended to, it gets worse.

That he’s a system will add another layer of complexity to this. The Shredder!Raph incident would make all the alters aware of each other via mindscape shenanigans, but it would also leave them with the fear of not being in control, so I think they’ll come in conflict with each other for a bit. They’ll argue with themselves, switch, and lose time more often, enough that it impedes their ability to function and the other characters start to notice something is wrong.

Host Raph will convince himself that Everything Is Fine and try to get things “back to normal”, which probably means he’s just straight-up not going to acknowledge that he's a system. He’ll rationalize that he’s always “gotten weird” from time to time, so it’s nothing to think too hard about... right?

Savage Raph will be on high alert because they just survived a near-death (a near soul-destroying) experience. He’ll probably take the front and go overboard fighting some villains that Host Raph could have ordinarily fought on his own. It might also take a while to convince Savage Raph that these “sewer monsters” who keep following him around really don’t mean him any harm.

Red Raph will get snappy (pardon the pun) about the more social aspect of “not being in control”; that Host Raph asked Leo to be in charge and then Leo started being an egotistical dumbass. And when Leo does make the right decisions, Donnie and Mikey might side with him over Raph, and that will also grind his gears.

Mix all that together and you have a recipe for a capital b Breakdown.

So yeah, I can definitely see how the Shredder!Raph incident and its aftermath would worsen all three of their tempers, trauma will fuck up your emotions real bad. Perhaps Host Raph loses faith in himself and tries to step down and get Leo to replace him as leader... only for Leo to be like “Bro I cannot do this full time I will one hundred percent have my own Breakdown if that happens.”

The life lessons here are that Leo learns to offer support by sometimes taking the leader role; not to benefit his own ego, but because he wants to help Raph. And Raph learns to accept support by letting Leo be in charge sometimes; not because he’s weak or incapable, but because he can’t always be a Staunch Immovable Rock and he needs to let himself rest by trusting Leo.

And then the Raphs can work on communicating, cooperating, letting their allies know about them, digging into their trauma, etc. now that they have some breathing room.

(Do you think the Hidden City has therapists? Steven Universe and Mao Mao both have therapists can we BLEASE get one for Raph.)

#Anonymous #rottmnt #rottmnt theory #rottmnt raph #rottmnt leo #rottmnt shredder #shredder!raph #savage raph #red raph #there's like 1800 words here holy shit #if anyone wants to do fic for this u have my blessing to go hog wild #the 'raph is a system' theory

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contemplativepancakes · 5 years ago

Text

15x13 coda: just a couple of dumbasses being idiots

read on or read this and the rest of my codas on AO3:

Dean’s taken back at first, when he meets these alternate versions of him and Sam. He takes them in— everything from Sam’s man bun to their bare ankles to their truly atrocious car (Dean whispers an apology to Baby for even daring to lay eyes on something that ridiculous, never mind that there’s a version of himself actually riding around in it)— and he doesn’t know what to think. The other-them tell Sam and Dean that they get paid for hunting, and for a second, Dean wants what they have; all the way until other-Dean says they just hop on a plane to go to their hunts. Dean blanches. Hard pass.

By all accounts, though, Sam and Dean should be the ones jealous of this other pair of them, so it’s bizarre when Dean is snagged by the elbow and told it’s the other way around.

It’s after they’ve gotten back from following Ruby’s lead, and Dean’s still coming down from the adrenaline rush that the hellhounds sent him on. He makes a face to himself, because Ruby knows exactly how much Dean hates hellhounds, and that’s when other-Dean stops him. To have a chat. Because that’s apparently something he does.

Fuck, Dean needs a drink, and he needs it even more when he turns around to face the freaky other version of himself and sees a disgustingly earnest look on his face.

“So,” other-him says, leaning against the door frame of the library.

“So,” Dean repeats, gesturing for him to get on with the point.

“You have a nice thing going here.”

Dean grunts. “I guess.”

And then, inexplicably, other-Dean softens, the corners of his mouth turning up. “I saw you with Cas. You guys are really happy, aren’t you?”

“I don’t know about that,” Dean laughs, but then he thinks more what other-Dean said, the tone of his voice, and oh. “It’s not like that,” Dean rushes to say, but other-Dean is already off and running.

“With all the bureaucracy at Hunter Corp, I never really get to spend a lot of time with anyone besides Sam, so it’s nice to see the partnership that you and your Cas have. I’ve… thought about him like that sometimes, but things never seem to line up, or they get interrupted, you know?”

Fuck, does Dean know.

“But, anyway, I think I might have missed my chance with my Cas. So. I’m glad that at least you get to have that. I always knew we stared at each other too much for there to not be something there.” Other-Dean shakes his head. “Tell me one last thing. Are his thighs as nice wrapped around you as they look like they would be?”

Dean doesn’t have anything to say about that (even though other-Dean has a very valid point), and other-Dean takes his stunned silence as confirmation. “That good, huh?” he laughs with a wink, and then he brushes by Dean, leaving him standing there and gaping like a fish out of water until he scrambles after him to see him out of the bunker. Can’t have other-Dean getting any ideas about Dean’s Cas.

Later, after the other version of him and Sam are gone, he goes to find Cas. I think I might have missed my chance, other-Dean had said, and Dean is determined that he doesn’t have the same fate. As he walks down the hall, he peeks into Jack’s room, but it’s empty. He continues walking until he comes to Cas’s door. It’s shut, and there’s no answer when Dean raps his knuckles on it. He turns, dejected, and decides he’ll just have to deal with this whole thing tomorrow. As long as he doesn’t convince himself that it’s a bad idea by then, which has happened so many times that Dean’s lost count.

He’s so distracted by his thoughts that he almost jumps out of his skin when he flips on the light in his room to see Cas sitting on his bed. “Dude! Why are you just sitting here in the dark? I thought we were past all the weird stuff.”

Cas doesn’t even crack a grin at Dean’s exclamation, and the smile on Dean’s own face falters. “Is… something wrong?”

“No, I just need to tell you something,” Cas hedges, an uncertain look on his face.

“Well, don’t look like you’re getting led to the gallows, man. I don’t bite.”

Cas still hesitates, so Dean plops down on the bed beside him. This might take a while. “Ready whenever you are,” Dean says, throwing an arm over his eyes as he fights the urge to press into Cas’s side, maybe wrap an arm around one of his thighs… he curses other-Dean for ever putting that idea into his head.

“You remember when Jack died?” Cas asks tentatively.

“Do I remember?” Dean laughs, “Yeah, I don’t think I forgot our kid dying, Cas.”

“I made a deal,” Cas blurts, and the amusement slides right off of Dean’s face.

“What?”

“I made a deal. With the Empty. It was the only way to get Jack back.”

Cas looks incredibly guilty, which is at least one point in his favor, but Dean is reeling and trying not to jump straight to anger.

“What was the deal for?” he asks woodenly.

“That the empty would… get me. When I was happy, it’d take me back.”

“Shit, Cas. That’s messed up. You sure know how to pick them. Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Cas gives him a look, and yeah, that’s fair. Dean’s not sure if he could have handled this revelation any sooner, not sure if he’s even handling it right now.

“Just, I don’t want to keep secrets anymore, Dean. I’m sick of them. Secrets have never caused anything good for us.”

And here Cas is, making Dean keep the biggest secret of all.

Now, Dean might not think an awful lot of himself, and it could be blasphemous to think that he’s the thing that could make Cas happy, but he doesn’t believe in tempting fate. Carefully, deliberately, he doesn’t say any of the things that he came here to say, he just stares at Cas’s stupid sad puppy dog face that Dean knows he learned from Sam.

“You’re a fucking idiot.”

I’m starting a tag list! Let me know if you want to be added or removed!

@urbankat82 @that-one-fandom-chick

#supernatural #spn spoilers #15x13 #coda #15x13 coda #destiel #dean winchester #au!dean

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 5 years ago

Text

Jinxed-Part 1

Calum’s so used to fucking up that when a second chance comes his way he’s not sure what to do with it. Demon!Calum. Black!OC.

CW: 18+ Content (Smut), Blood, Gore, Violence, and Death mentions.

Enjoy my masterlist.

Support me on kofi.

_____________________________________

He wasn’t sent here to find companionship. He was here to wreck havoc, collect the souls that needed to be returned, find the ones that managed to escape the other Hunters. One such soul was proving difficult for Calum. He sat at the bar, just about every night, drinking whiskey straight. The bartenders were starting to recognize him. Always donned in his leather jacket and his dark curls always pushed back just a little from his forehead. All his intel was leading him here, at this bar. So he sat, and waited, and waited and sat.

Tonight is no different. The attire, all black from the beanie to the boots. The jacket was the only thing that distinguished him from staff. Tucked in his corner, Calum sipped at the glass. It didn’t taste like much to him anymore. His human form still taking perks from the previous demonic state. Alcohol truly had no effect on him and it all started to taste somewhat the same. Except for vodka and whiskey. And he couldn’t sip on just vodka at the bar. So he nurses his whiskey just like any other night.

Women approach his table, twirling hair, batting eyelashes. Calum wasn’t going to ignore them either. He smiled, flirted with some of them, went back to their place with some of them. He never made it a habit to do that. But he indulged himself. He let himself enjoy the visceral pull of his gut to be satisfied, even if it would never actually satisfied. Calum watches as the doors open, a group of girls walking in. Nothing about them reads highly distinctive. Yes, they’re attractive. But in the short skirts, and dresses, and high heels, they look like every other girl here.

There’s another girl that trails behind the main group, shirt hiding practically nothing of her bust. The black pants with a high thigh slit, revealing an assortment of tattoos on her upper thighs. That’s all Calum catches of her, besides the red undertone of her dark brown skin and high ponytail. As she disappears into the crowd, catching up the group Calum watches. Her smile is dazzling. But he thinks he shouldn’t get caught up tonight. Something in the air tells him he’ll find the guy tonight.

The night progresses, slowly, like watching the second hand of a clock go around. Maybe this asshat won’t show. Calum looks over the crowd, hoping he can spot that girl again. When his gaze does land on her, she’s at the bar. The guy he’s here to snatch up is leaning in mighty close. When she withdraws her arm from his touch once, Calum’s already pushing out of seat. When she steps back a second time from this guy, Calum barrels his way through the crowd. Everyone knows his human form. Everyone that should be scared of him does at least.

Approaching the bar, Calum smiles at the girl, sliding right up next to the asshole. “Tell me, miss,” he shouts, “is this asshole bothering you?”

She eyes him, unsure of what the hell is happening but she still nods. “He is,” she answers, watching the fear overtaking the creep’s face.

Calum smiles, taking the collar of their jacket into his fist. “Well, good thing he’s leaving. If you’d like, take a crack at him.”

The guy is stumbling over his words, pleading with her that he needs help. But she doesn’t feel for him. She doesn’t have it in her to punch this guy though. Even though he’s definitely a creep, she doesn’t have the heart. She shakes her head, looking down to the worn wood of the bar beneath the spill mat. “I-I can’t.”

Calum looks at his side profile. “You should thank her. Much too sweet to push your teeth in. Now, let’s apologize. And you and I, we’re going to have a little chat.”

At first, the only words the guy gets out are how she has to help him. But with a quick strike to the back of his knee from Calum, the man buckles and apologizes, holding himself by leaning into the sturdy bar. “I’m so sorry,” he rushes out.

Calum waste no time hauling the man up and dragging him out. She watches the dark man, in the black beanie haul out the creep, his feet literally dangling above the floor. That can’t be real, she thinks to herself, blinking as if to see straight. But she has to be seeing straight. She’s only one drink in for the night. She’s not that drunk. Not even drunk at all. But how the hell did he get over to her so fast? And how the hell was he able to carry that guy out like that?

She watches the door, like he’s going to walk back through them any moment. She saw him early, perched in the corner, sipping from a glass. She didn’t know what it was. But he just sipped occasionally. Was he security? She knew from her dad’s stories that sometimes bouncers had “drinks” but never actually drink so they could blend in when walking the dancefloor. But he never walked the dancefloor, at least not from what she could tell.

“Rubs, you okay?” Kourtney’s, Ruby’s friend, voice is clear over the bars of Cardi B’s mantra about money bags. Rubs, short for Ruby, though it was never really short. It was a name she used for herself. She never liked giving out her real name. She disliked it too much. Heard it too many times with anger and malicious intent behind it. So she makes sure she never hears it again.

“Yeah-yeah, I’m okay,” she breathes. But her gaze never leaves that door. “I’m just--feet hurt from all the dancing,” she says finally turning her gaze back to Kourtney. “I’m just going to chill here. If you want, I can hold you guys’ stuff.”

“You sure? It’s your birthday. C’mon, just dance. Cut loose.”

Her laughter falls out of her, watching her friend’s attempt to seduce her back to the dance floor by twerking in her face. Rubs taps Kourt’s ass a couple times before giving in. It is her birthday. And even though that creep had tried to sour her night, someone else had been right there to make it better. She watches that front door. Never lets her gaze fall too far from it. She’s dancing into a girl, she’s not sure who really. Ruby catches their perfume though and lets herself be pulled back into them.

She’s grinder deeper into the girl. Her knees aren’t hurting her, but she straightens back up, ass still clapping behind her when she catches the beanie covered head moving through the crowd. There’s no need to even try and apologize, to try and excuse herself. She just straightens up and shuffles through the bodies. No amount of excuse me’s are ever heard and people will still give her dirty looks for bumping into them.

As she clears the dance floor, she sees him settle back into his corner. At a high table just big enough for two. This is her chance. At the bar, she smiles. All the bartenders know it’s her birthday and she manages to squeeze a free drink for herself and the mysterious man. “Vodka cranberry and whatever he’s drinking up there,” she says nodding her head in his direction. The drinks come out a few moments later.

Before walking over to his table, she adjusts the shirt, pulling more of it up over her chest, situating the girls back into position. The chair scrapes against the floor and his dark eyes dance in shitty strobe lights of the club. He pretended not to notice her, but she saw her immediate bee line off the dance floor. She sets the drink down first before climbing into the seat across from next to him. He’s moved them so they both face the entire establishment. “What’s your name? Hawk or Eagle Eye?” she teases.

Calum twists his mouth up, pondering for a moment. “Close. It’s Calum.”

“Ruby,” she returns. Then it’s silent for a beat. “Look, I-I wanted to say thanks for earlier. That guy was a total creep. And you didn’t have to step in like that. But I really appreciate it. So I got you a drink. To say, thanks.”

He doesn’t call attention to the one already in his hand. His smile is genuine. “You’re welcome. And thanks.”

She watches the way he twirls his first drink in his hands, the rings sometimes softly clinking against the glass. The tattoos on his hands, they’re initials. She wants to ask, but she swallows that curiosity down. “If you want a dance, I’ll be somewhere down in there,” she offers and then slips from the seat. Doesn’t wait for Calum to confirm, or to say no. She disappears back into the thick of the crowd. Calum decides not to take her up on that offer but does offer to return the drink favor. Whenever she’s up for another one of course.

She dances for a while. Her smile big as she dances with the group she came in with. It’s a bit before she takes her herself back to the bar. He slips from his spot, second drink in hand this time. While at the bar, he learns it’s her birthday. “I feel terrible,” he teases. “Don’t have a present for you.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll count the drink, Calum. Thanks.”

He nods, looks over the drink, nothing’s been tampered with it and then settles back at his perch. He watches her and her friends, even as they pile into the back of the Uber. He follows from a distance, watching as the all pile into one house. It’s probably not the smartest thing to follow her. But he has to make sure they get home safely. Especially since it’s her birthday.

When Calum returns to his apartment, he flicks on the TV, knowing nothing will be on. But it’s habit. It’s background noise. He feels bad if he please music this late, his neighbors need their sleep and he doesn’t want to be that asshole. So he settles for late night reruns of shows he knows almost too well and feels ashamed for knowing them as well as he does. Already sitting on the kitchen table is his list. More people that have bargained with the Devil and have forgotten that there is still a price to pay. It’s all ironic. His job is never done, their hope never seems to faltar until they see his face. Until they are forced to realize, time has run out.

___

It’s crazy to go back to that bar a few nights later. She knows it. She knows that she really shouldn’t be expecting Calum perched in that back corner, eyes catching everything. But when she walks in and actually sees him, she thinks there must be a payoff for being crazy sometimes. Because why else on earth would she have dragged herself nearly an hour across town just to get a glimpse of this guy?

There’s no beanie this time. But his hooded eyes and brown skin are more than enough to ease her worries. Calum spots her too, the second she cracks open the door, he notes her scent. That’s insane he thinks to be able to pick someone out of a crowd just by the way they smell. But he does it. Her hair is the same, braided on the sides, the top slicked back and it all leads to the ponytail. The ends are wavy this time instead of the sleek, straight look when they first met.

He shouldn’t be so delighted to see her. He should be telling himself to get up, slip onto the dancefloor before she has the chance to catch him and slip out the backdoor near the restrooms. Someone that comes back once will come back again--he’s learned that over his years. Though years feels much to short, much to finite for the time he’s been alive and serving. He was human once. He remembers the way it feels to feel so invincible.

She pauses at the bar, eyes still flicking up to meet his. Calum wonders if she knows. It would be impossible for her to know. He’s not in his other form. He’s never even hinted to it. All he did was save her from a creep. But she watches him, like he’s going to suddenly evaporate from existence. Not that Calum couldn’t zip away without being detected. But instead he sits perfectly still. She’s in jeans this time, her top black and sheer with a bralette beneath it. She’s in sneakers though, a style the resembles Keds.

Her climb into the chair is smoother this time. No chunky heels in the way. “It’s a shame you don’t have a drink yet,” Ruby smiles, sliding the glass towards him.

“Another thank you drink?” “No.” She’s not sure how to explain what the drinks means. Unsure on whether to call it a I think you’re cute drink or a I have no idea what I’m doing, but I’m definitely flirting drink. Maybe it’s better undefined anyway. Maybe she doesn’t have to label everything to death. “It’s just a drink. Because I saw you empty handed.”

“Well, I think I should return the favor. What’s your poison?”

She gives a head shake no. “Nothing tonight. I drove over her.”

He scoffs. “They have a whole line of sodas. What’ll you have?”

“Sprite.”

He nods, slips of his chair and walks to the bar. It’s not a long wait until the fizzy clear drink is in his hands. He hands it to her before climbing back into the chair. “What brings you out tonight?”

The word ‘you’ dangles from lips. But she swallows it down with a sip of her drink. “Just out. What about you?”

“Just out too, I guess.” They sip on their drinks in a lull. It’s not awkward, shockingly. She takes in the cut of his jaw, the way his eyes are always moving over the crowd.

Words are falling over her lips before she can stop herself. “You’re not a bouncer, are you?” Calum shakes his head no. “So, are you like ex-military or something? Ex-law enforcement?”

He wonders what gives her that impression. But she must know someone that was for those to be her first guesses. He gives another shake no. “Where is the prefer not to say box?” he jokes, looking over to her.

“Fair, that’s fair. Only asked because my dad. He used to do something similar. Sit with his back to the wall, see all the exits. Ex-SWAT, but you never take the officer of the person. Just the badge and the gun.”

He wonders if she grew up with a lot of discipline. The thought really only crosses his mind when he notices the way she sits perfectly straight in her hair. Not a slouch or a curve in her back. “Sounds intense,” Calum offers.

She shrugs, going in for another sip. “At some point I think my brain just shut off. I always knew there was a chance he wasn’t coming home. I just didn’t compute it. Whenever he was in bed in the morning, it was great. But when he wasn’t, I never panicked. I just--kind of went on autopilot. Went to school, did work, played, did homework. Annoyed the shit of my younger sister. Just went about life.”

Calum reaches for the glass and swirls it around, taking a dramatic inhale. “Just making sure nothing is in that sprite. I watched them pour it too.”

Ruby laughs, eyes closing, reclining into the chair a bit more. “I know. Heavy for the club. Sorry.”

“Don’t.” The word falls just by itself at first. Nothing else. And then Calum sees the shift. How she sits back up straight. Was his tone harsh? He then adds on, “You don’t have to apologize.”

She nods, hiding in the glass. She can’t just ask to hook up with a guy, can she? She’s kind of used to it but not this sober. Calum can feel the tension build up. That there’s something she wants to say but can’t bring herself to say it. So instead he throws out a compliment, about her shoes. She laughs. “In all honesty, I had to drive nearly an hour out here. I wasn’t going to attempt to do that in heels. And I was too lazy to change out of them.”

“I thought you were just out?”

The heat of her cheeks makes her fan herself a little. Is she going to be this forward? She might as well, since she’s already put one foot in her mouth. What’s another one? “I might have driven all the way out here, in hopes to see you.”

Calum nearly chokes on his drink. An hour to potentially run into him? Calum’s always the chaser, always running after someone else. He’s never once stop to think about how nice it is to actually be persused just a little. She hands him a napkin, laughing at the wide eyes. “A shock I take it?”

“Sorry. But I hate to think you could’ve wasted that time and gas.”

Her eyes twinkle, the skin crinkling around her eyes just a little as the smug grin crosses her face. “But I didn’t.”

Turning to her, Calum thinks he’s done enough for tonight. Those people won’t disappear off the face of the earth. He can always find them tomorrow. He reaches out, brushing her cheek with the back of his fingers. “No, trust, you didn’t. I live three blocks from here.”

The walk to Calum’s place isn’t long. They keep mostly to themselves, talking about random things, Calum tells a story about the dinner they passed on the way when he got a face full of burger by accident. Ruby tells a story in rebuttal how she used to be a waitress and spilled coffee on someone once. As they reach the steps to his apartment, Ruby reaches out, nails scratching right at his scalp. Calum pauses his work at twisting the key, eyes closing. A small shiver runs down his spine.

Her tone is dripping with desire as she speaks, “Cat got your tongue.”

“No, but my tongue will have something else,” he quips.

There’s no wasted time when both of them cross the threshold. Calum pins Ruby to the wall, kissing across her jaw, fingers make quick work of her belt and pants. His fingers trail the band of her panties. His lips find her collarbone, sucking purple marks into the dark brown flesh. Her fingers dig into his shoulder beneath the leather jacket, before trailing back into his hair. The air is filled with her soft moans.

She works at getting his belt undone as his fingers trail down into the thin material of her underwear. Lace by the feel of it. She’s not quite soaked-- there’s some slickness there. Calum knows all too well what buttons to push though. He brings his hand back up, trailing over the hem of her shirt. She’s pulling his belt free from his jeans, shoving down the denim. Her fingers trace over the tops of his thighs.

“Eager, aren’t we?” Calum teases, pulling back from her. He slips the jacket over his arms, pulling the shirt up and over too.

Her eyes dart over the two tattoos right along his collarbones. She watches him pull his shoes off and toes hers off herself. His pants are the next to go as well. Her jeans are tight. She hates the way they catch sometimes around her hips and thighs. Before she can get them down to her knees, Calum takes both her wrist and pins them to the wall above her head.

Ruby huffs, hating the fact she can’t touch his skin, can’t pull him in close. She bucks and he presses down harder. He can’t press down too hard, or he’ll actually hurt her. “Relax,” he commands. “You’ll get a taste.”

A low growl escapes her throat, chest heaving as she tries to pull against his hold. God, he’s strong and that turns her on more. She clenches, squeezing to relieve the ache building. Both of them gaze at each other. He waits--she must say something. But her lips don’t so much as quirk. “Cat got your tongue?” Calum quips.

“Your mouth is doing a lot right now but it could be doing better things.”

Calum’s laugh is dry, more of a bark too. “My dear, I’m not the one who drove all this way.”

“You’ll be glad I did.”

“You’re almost too sure about that.”

She shakes her head, hair shaking with the movement as well. Calum runs his fingers through it of his free hand. The strands are soft and silky, the black a contrast to his skin. “I’m not being cocky about this.” His hand slides across her chest, over the scratchy material of her shirt before closing around her throat.

“I wonder if you’re a beggar.”

“Beg? For you? You’d love that, wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t that just make your cock twitch?”

So, she’s a brat. He likes a brat. A bit of a challenge. Most women he goes home with like one thing. To get straight to the point. But there’s something to Ruby, this sweet girl with a pointedness. Not quite socially awkward, but still reserved in a sense. But now here she is, pinned to his wall, throat tucked neatly under his palm. She doesn’t shy away from it, she doesn’t look away. She stares directly at him; she waits. There’s no fear.

“If you so much as think about lifting your arms from the wall, you’ll be sorry. Understood?” He adds a little more pressure to her throat, watches as her eyelids flutter.

She speaks, albeit in a whisper because of his hand. “Understood.”

Calum releases her wrist, and slowly peels his hand from her throat before sinking to his knees and tugging the jeans down and off her. Her thighs are soft in his hands, a prominent jiggle when he gives them a stern slap. A laugh falls from her throat. Calum looks up to see her eyes closed, arms still pressed into the wall.

He half-way expected her to grab his hair, disobeying his order. But then he thinks back to the bar. The way she snapped up straight when he told her not to apologize. She gets off on obeying. But enjoys the rile, seeing someone worked up. Her skin reddened from his palm. Ruby lets her knees buckles just a little when Calum kisses her thighs. He can see now a small wet spot forming at the crotch of her pink panties. He finds the mix match endearing. But doesn’t dwell too long before pulling them down her legs.

She glistens and all Calum wants is a taste. When his mouth connects, Ruby’s whole body relaxes. The apprehension finally cut. Though his tongue flicks at her clit and the pleasure courses through her. Her muscles tense. His large palm cups her ass, pushing her off the wall. The noises are sinful as Calum holds her closer to his tongue. Her pants bounce off the ceiling. A string of curses falling from her lips.

Her hands eventually fall from the wall. Her nails trailing over his shoulders but never daring to delve into his hair. He pulls from her core, tugging lightly on her clit before releasing it. “Scared to touch me now, sweetheart?”

Her only response is to grip his hair, pulling his mouth to meet her center. His laughter vibrates against her. A yelp falls from her lips at the sensation. Calum hums when her grip tightens. He’s always liked a little bit of pain. It’s always sparked a fire deep in his gut. So he doesn’t shy away from her harsh grip. A moan falls from her at a moment or two later Calum replies with his own. Her thighs are shaking in his hands. Ruby’s arched into the wall, to keep some balance. Calum can sense she’s wobbling. Wrapping his arms around her legs, he pushes her into the wall, legs thrown over his shoulder. Most of her weight now pressed up into the wall, but he helps keep her supported.

When she comes, it’s with a whine and a chorus of swears. Calum pulls away from her. She could keep herself up if she wanted, but instead Ruby lets herself slide down the wall. “Got anything else smart to say?” he questions.

His remarks earns him a shove to the shoulder with her foot. “I always have something smart to say.”

He captures her ankle, kissing the joint and the trails butterfly kisses up the inside of her calf. “I’d like to hear them.”

Ruby pulls her leg back and Calum watches as she pushes to her hands and knees, crawling, though the distance is short, to him. “I bet.”

Calum scoots back, butt sliding over the hardwood floor with ease. She follows. He scoots again, pushing to his knees. Would she actually crawl all the way to his bedroom? From his knees he stands, walking backwards. She follows, grinning. “What? This get you off to? Someone on their hands and knees for you?” Her voice is still breathy.

“If I said no, I would be a liar.”

They walk, and in Ruby’s case, crawl to the bedroom. Right outside the threshold, Calum extends his hand. She takes it, only a few pops can be hard as she straightens. “You didn’t hear anything.”

“Not a single sound.”

Up close, she can still see her mess on his face. It’s not easy, but she gets up on her tippy toes and swipes her tongue over his chin and lips. Calum holds her face with his hands, keeping her there as they kiss. Somewhere in the heated touches, her shirt and bra are discarded. The air feels different now. Electric but somehow a vortex spiraling her further and further down. Calum is the only thing that keeps her grounded, kissing his warm skin, biting at his muscles.Her arousal is leaking from her again, he can feel it.

He kisses up her shoulder, over the side of her neck. His breathe right in her ear. “Since you like being on your knees so much, why don’t you kneel for me, face down, ass up?”

Arching up, Ruby situates herself in the middle of the bed, ass up, face pressed down into the mattress. It’s a gorgeous sight, Calum thinks, tearing open the foil packet. He gives each of her cheeks a swat, watching as they turn red and bounce. “You hit hard,” she pants. Nerves strike his chest. Did he really hit too hard? “I like it.”

He exhales, slipping the latex over his cock and gives her another two swats. “Since you like it so much.”

Her laughter is muffled, but still audible. “Thank you.”

Calum lines himself up, slowly pushing into her. He’s used to always taking the intial thrust slow but Ruby settles back onto him. Clearly he is wasting too much time with being gentle. He gives her another swat to her right cheek and then another to the left. She doesn’t try to outpace Calum, though, occasionally she bounces back. He has none of that. He takes his hips into his hands, stilling her. Her arch never falters, face pressed harder and harder into the mattress by Calum’s sharp thrusts. Her hair, all too inviting. Calum reaches for the ends, just to play with it before finding the hold of the ponytail. He pulls her upward, her hissing is music to his ears.

“Fuck,” she sighs, arching more to keep the angle.

Her curses are matched by Calum’s own. “Look at that ass bounce for me,” he growls. He slows on purpose, just to give her another swat. But she can feel the fire in her gut. She is not in the business of playing too many games. Pressing herself back, she tries to encourage him to go faster again. All it does it make him slow until she’s fucking herself on his sock. “Such a good girl,” he mutters.

His hold is still wound around her hair. Her moans reach a higher pitch, beginning to sound like a bit of a whine. But her hips never slow. “God, fuck,” she sighs. Her orgasm falls over it, thighs shaking. She wants to collapse, to just give in. But she hears the way Calum groans, the quiet, ‘Oh shit’ he breathes and she pushes herself up. She knows one thing she wants more than sleep, his release.

Pressing back hard, she arches a little more. “Cum for me, Calum. You know you want to. You know you need it.”

Need it--what he needs is for her to never stop riding him like this. God, what he needs is her whines imprinted into his brain. “You gonna make me cum?” he returns. She says nothing, and needs not say anything as she snaps back and forth of his cock. “Oh my god,” he groans, letting go of her hair. His release is close. He can feel it in his toes, the way it’s knotting in his stomach. “Just like that, baby,” he breathes.

“That’s right,” she encourages. “Cum for me.” She can’t quite feel the start of his releases, but he hears it as he comes, the way his hips rut up. He holds her by her hips, buried deep inside her. His cry is a grunt that’s choked out towards the end.

Ruby finally lets herself fall into the bed, Calum’s weight mostly on top of her. He kisses down her spine before pulling out gently. She pushes herself up, laughing as she asks which way to the bathroom. Her clothes are everywhere after her trip to the bathroom. But she finds her underwear and jeans up front and walks back into the bedroom to find her bralette.

“Dressed already?” Calum’s spread on the bed, his boxers pulled back up over himself. But that’s all. Ruby doesn’t speak. It should be obvious that she can’t say. “You’re an hour from your house. It’s almost two in the morning.”

“I’ll be fine,” she assures, pulling the straps up.

“You have to walk three blocks just to get to your car. I’m not letting you do that. Not this late at night and definitely not by yourself.”

“What are you going to do? Walk back with me to my chair?”

“Yeah. In the morning.”

“That’s going to be awkward.” She doesn’t miss the eye roll. Somehow it stings. She knows it’s probably a better idea to just wait until morning.

“It won’t be awkward. Take those jeans off, put your shirt down and lay down.” Ruby tosses the shirt onto the chair in the corner of his room. Everyone has that chair where clothes, jackets, and junk are deposited. Shimmying down the jeans a second time tonight, she steps out of them, throwing them onto the chair too. As she settles onto the mattress, Calum brings the sheets up. He doesn’t miss that she wears her bra and panties still.

“I’m a side sleeper, so I’m not ignoring you I promise,” she laughs.

“Noted.” Sleep never finds Calum anymore. He’s never needs it anymore. But he lets himself fall into the springs, eyes closed. He lays, arms folded behind his head and keeps himself still. For the moment. It’s not too much longer that he can tell she’s asleep, the sheets move slower now. Her breathing deeper now.

This isn’t how these nights usually go. He’s never really brought someone over to his place. But he finds a certain spark of joy in having someone in bed next to him. Yes, they’re practically a stranger. But for the small moments before he slips out of the bed, it’s nice.

___ That would be the end of his story with Ruby if not for a week later, he runs into her. On her side of town. The girl he’s after is crafty. She’s changed her hair since they last time she was spotted. But he knows she hangs around the beauty salon as a nail technician. So he decided to make an consultation. He’s no stranger to a hair salon and isn’t afraid to use whatever means necessary. From the front entry, he can almost see clear to the back. There’s something behind part of the wall, he can’t see, but as the door chimes and he steps in, he figures once he gets into the ladies chair he can scope it out.

There’s a chorus of a welcome from the women working. Some ladies sit off to the side, waiting as well. He walks up to the front desk, smiling at the young girl there. “Hello, how are you?” she greets.

“Good. You?”

“Well. How can I help you today?”

“I have an appointment with Dione,” he answers. “Under Hood. Calum.”

She looks over the book and nods. “She’ll be with you in just a moment. Feel free to have a seat.”

Calum nods before walking over to the seating area, and plops down. From this angle he can see the nail area. Though it’s empty for the time being. But from the back, he spots Ruby, walking up front, someone behind her. He must’ve called her name because she looks up, brows pulled together in confusion. Her features soften after they settle on him. Of all the places the girl could be, he’s shocked. No, scratched that he’s floored.

He can’t help but think she’s gorgeous even in the black apron and crocs. He snorts, mostly to himself when he sees them. She turns back to client. They talk lowly and after she’s paid she turns back to Calum. “Well this is a surprise,” Ruby laughs. “How’d you find me?”

“I didn’t. I just needed a good stylist.” He could ask her. She’s sure to know everyone that comes through this salon. But before he can ask his name is called.

So he stands. But stops pulling Ruby in close. “Can you squeeze me in after this?”

“You know I do brows right?”

He grins. “Have you seen these caterpillar? I need it.”

“Yeah I can squeeze you in.” The hair consultation doesn’t take long. But he’s hoping that if he lingers just a little longer that she’ll show up. When it’s done, Ruby waves for him to follow. They walk down the corridor. She’ll have no questions no doubt. But he’s less concerned about that. He needs answers and fast.

Calum settles into the chair but Ruby doesn’t recline it. She studies him for a moment, brows knitting back together.“Do you really need your brows done or is this some sort of excuse?”

“In all honesty, I need your help.”

“With what?”

“Niq. I need to know when she comes in again, or if you know about were she hangs out.”

“Niq keeps to herself mostly. She works everyday the shop is open. She’s a good kid.”

They’re all good kids he thinks. They always are on the second or third leg. He can feel the sincerity off her. The concern. He wonders for a moment if she’s older than he figured. He aged her at about early twenties, the physical age his human form stopped aging. “Look, she’s in some trouble. I’m just trying to help her.”

Ruby’s features soften. She’s worried. Niq isn’t the type to be in major trouble. Granted, she doesn’t talk about her past. She just needed a place to lay low she said, make money to make ends meet. And that’s all she ever did. They didn’t hang out on the weekends but she never fussed with anyone. She never went out of her way to be spiteful. “She’s out getting lunch for us.”

“When will she be back? I really need to speak with her. Keep her out of trouble.” The words fall so easily. Calum doesn’t even have to think about what he’s saying. From the front, the door chimes. Ruby holds up a hand for him to stay seated and she peeks out the door. Niq stands at the door, bags and cup holders in her hand. Whatever trouble she’s in, Calum will surely help her out.

Ruby turns around. “That’s her. She just walked in. Should I get her to come back here?”

While Calum knows Niq to be evasive, she’s never been hostile. He shakes his head. “We’ll go up front, I’ll pay, like nothing happened. She knows who I am.”

“Okay. Is she gonna be alright? Like what’s going on?”

He keeps quiet, just stands from the seat and waves for her to walk first. He won’t answer her. She takes it as she’s better off not knowing. Her heart hammers in her chest when she starts to the front of the salon. What trouble had Niq gotten into to? Ruby knew gang violence was huge in the surrounding area. Had Niq gotten involved with the wrong guy? Was Calum connected? All her thoughts raced along with her heart but she tried to keep up appearances.

Niq smiles at Ruby and even at Calum. He nods in return, sliding Ruby a twenty. A silent conversation in nods occurs between Calum and Niq. He heads out the front door. He considers the possibility that Niq could try and bolt out the back door. So he pats his pockets, snaps his fingers and spins back around. Calum knows he hasn’t forgotten anything. But if he can keep his cover for just a wee bit longer, he can walk back into the salon without a single batting lash.

“Forget something?” Ruby asks.

“Keys,” is Calum’s simple reply, noting Niq shuffling towards the back of the salon. She’s making good distance before Calum figures he’ll have to be had.

Ruby feels the hairs on her arms stand up with Calum behind her. The air buzzes, she can feel it in her chest. Calum’s never going to catch her if Ruby is in the way. Niq won’t make it far. Ruby veers into the room to double check the seat for any sign of keys when something cracks, a deafening sound with a flash.

She turns around and Calum’s holding one hand up, something black wrapped around it. “So that’s where my whip went?”

Whip? What the hell is he doing with a whip?

“I’m not going back,” Niq hisses.

“On the contrary, I’ve got direct orders to take you back. DOA. So this is really your choice.” A swift yanks brings the whip and Niq closer to him. It burns as the handle leaves Niq’s hand. It burns her everytime she touches it, it knows who it belongs to. But she figured if Calum were so powerful to hold it, it would make her powerful too. And it did, minus the burns. Calum brings the hilt to his hand. Her flesh still melting into it.

Is this his idea of helping, Ruby wonders This can’t be it. If so, he’s got a fucked up idea of reality.

Niq figures this is her last shot of escape. The next time it won’t just be Calum. It will be him and the hounds. She knows if she faces them, there is no chance of being brought back alive. But she’d rather be brought back dead. “You’ll have to kill me,” she says and attempts to turn.

Another crack sounds around the salon, a stripe across her body. It burns, not even because of the poison leather, just the sting of her pride. Niq knows she fucked up, that she broke her word. But she really deserved a second shot at life. It wasn’t her time to go. She figured this would give her that second shot. She didn’t think Lucifer would take so strongly to a verbal agreement.

Calum would rather not kill her. She is, as Ruby called it, just a kid. She’s a got caught up. She was given a deal and when Calum discovered his whip missing, knew she had to be the one that had taken it. Always had sticky fingers. He was willing to let it go, but he wasn’t the one to call the shots. Lucifer demanded she be found and brought back. Scarred. To be made a lesson of.

Niq touches the blood, making sure it’s real and hers while collapsed onto the floor. Calum winds the whip back up, pulling out the bag from his jacket pocket. “You said you were going to help her?” Ruby snaps.

Calum walks past her, not even blinking at the punch she throws. It connects, even has some power behind it. “I am helping her,” he returns.

His tone is too even keeled. “This is not helping her!” She shrieks. She’s helpless as he lifts Niq over his shoulder. “I don’t know who you are. But this is kidnapping. I will call the police.”

“Call ‘em babe. “ He spins around. Eyes blacked over, a grin on his face. Ruby wishes she could wipe it off his plump lips. “And when they ask for a description of the man, tell them. not a man, not a who. But a what.” He tongue flicks out, forked like a snake. When he turns again, she notes a black tail, slender with a spear at the end. It waves as he pushes open the back doors.

Ruby doesn’t run into Calum after that. At first, she wants to confront him. Demand all the answers, even attempt to kick his ass for lying to her. She hangs around that bar. She drops by the apartment building only to find that he broke the lease and left. Every search on Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter yields her nothing in the wake of a Calum Hood. It’s as if he isn’t even real. As if he didn’t exist for those two weeks to her. She knows he did though. He can’t escape without a trace. He has to exist somewhere, to somebody. Even if he paid everything in cash, there has to be something left. Something that will bite him in the ass.

Calum watches her. Sometimes from Lucifer’s viewing room. Other times from right outside her windows. He watches the way she combs through the internet, telephone books, leases to see if there is anything left. The number he used was from a burner phone, one anyone can get from a local gas shop or WalMart. He broke his lease, but it’s easy enough to forge legal documents after doing it for so many years. The thing is, he’s no stranger to a lie. There’s something in his gut that feels for her though.

Sure Niq might’ve been a good kid to them. But she broke a contract with Lucifer and it’s in Calum’s best interest not to question him too much. It’s not that he feels awful for having to use Ruby. But he feels something. Ruby cared. One of the few people in the last few decades that seems to give a shit about anyone. For fuck sake, she couldn't even hit the creep that was harassing her in the club.

Calum grins, thinking about the punch she landed on his ribs. No, it didn’t hurt but there was a fierceness behind it. In that moment, she probably didn’t care because all she was worried about was the girl. Calum can give Ruby that much, give her props on that she actually cares about people. He wishes he didn’t have to manipulate that. He wishes he could’ve let her still have that much--that giving a shit wouldn’t backfire on her.

He knows he’s an asshole. Just wishes he wasn’t an asshole to those that give a shit. He preferred being an asshole to those that deserved it. That’s his thing. Ruby didn’t deserve it. But he had a job. “Watching her again?” a voice hisses behind him.

Calum’s all too familiar with the high octave. “Just making sure she’s not potentially blowing any still usable covers.” It’s an easy enough lie.

“Oh, she’s nothing special. Even if she opens her mouth, she won’t a second time.”

His fingers curl into a fist. He won’t let that happen. Ruby is not someone that deserves damnation over him. “She won’t be a problem, my liege. I can assure it.”

“Be careful of her, Hood. I need your head on straight. Or it’ll be your head staring back at you. Now wouldn’t that be a sight? If only you’d be able to see it,” Luckifer laughs.

Calum watches him leave. It felt like a threat, but there is something in the laughter that makes Calum wonder just how serious Lucifer is about that.

___

Ruby groans when there’s a knock at her door. Having just settled for the next three episodes of her latest Netflix binge, she’s not pleased at the unplanned guest. As she gazes through the peephole her heart skips. That is most definitely not who her eyes are telling her is standing right behind her door. “Shit, no,” she whispers, pressing her forehead into the door. Maybe she can just avoid it.

“Your car’s parked outside. I can see your feet under the door.”

Hearing his voice reignites the anger in her. She thinks about the lies. The way Niq was limp over his shoulder. She unlatches the hook, swinging the door open. “You asshole. What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Attempting to apologize.”

“You can’t apologize. Not for lying, not for using me.”

Calum holds his hands up. “I technically, can apologize. You just may or may not accept it.”

“Fucking asshole. Does it look like I care what you can technically do?”

He looks over her attire, the sweatpants, camisole, the silk scarf around the edges of her braids. It’s a new style after the ponytail. The chunky box braids still look good on her. She’s had them for two weeks now, he’d figured. He’s lost all track of time really in Hell. It’s not important there anyway. “Looks like you’re about to settle in for the evening.” He steps closer, the leather jacket rustles just a little. “Mind if I join?” It’s not truly a question as he slips inside. He knows he really shouldn’t be pressing his luck. But he really does need to apologize to her.

She stares at his once occupied space and nearly shouts. Instead she closes the door and continues to stare at all the chips in the paint. “You really need to get the fuck out of my house,” she sighs, whipping around. The braids fly up with her action.

Calum’s already settled into the cushions, boots slipped off, the jacket halfway down his arm. “What are you watching?”

“Get the hell out of my house.” Her voice is calm, though she pushes it out between her teeth.

“Can I just explain?”

“No, you can get the fuck out of my house!”

“Ruby, look, I-I know I was an asshole. I’m a Hunter. It’s my job. I don’t always like it. But I do what I must.”

“You could be blue, red, or purple, Calum. I don’t give a single fuck what your job is. I don’t care what you are, the truth is you lied to me. You used me and I don’t want to see your face eva’ ‘gain.”

“I apologize. You really didn’t deserve it.”

Her voice is nothing but a shout, a curdling cry in the air of her apartment, “Get the fuck out of my house!”

He doesn’t bother sliding his shoes on, just grabs them and turns the door on the knob. He pauses, goes to give it one last try, but she shoves his back. The only word leaving her lips is, “Out.” So Calum dares not push it and slips between the small crack of the not fully opened door. He leans against the wall, listening to her shout. He has half a mind to tell her be mindful of her neighbors. When the door across the hall creaks open, he apologizes.

“Sorry. I fucked up. She’ll be okay in a second.”

The elderly gentleman looks to Ruby’s apartment door. “Must’ve messed up real bad there. She been living across from me for four years and I ain’t ever heard so much as a peep from her, besides the occasional song.”

Calum nods, tossing his head back into the wall. “Yeah, yeah I did.”

“You apologize?”

“I did.”

“Well, sometimes that’s all you can do.” He can see the boots in his hands. “You can bother me for a seat, maybe even a cup of joe if you want to give her some time.”

Calum shakes his head. “Thank you though.”

The old man nods before giving a wobbly smile. “Try again ‘morrow, yeah?”

Calum likes the idea of hope. The idea that he might have a second chance at this. “Yeah. Tomorrow,” he whispers. The shouting has stopped, nothing left but a faint sniffle behind the sounds of talking. She’s probably started whatever show. There’s no fixing this. He tried, that’s all he could do. Not that he really deserves a second shot. But he had hope maybe, just maybe he could get it.

Calum did always feel hexed. Everything good that happened, he somehow always managed to fuck it up. He at first just blamed it on the universe, that time and fate had conspired against him. But he realized it was just him. He was always the asshole that managed to fuck up nice things. And his powers seemed to have struck again.

___

He’s not even supposed to be over on this side. He’s not even supposed to be in this state. But he takes the risk, just to make sure she’s okay. Calum tries to tell himself he’s only checking in so his cover isn’t blown. But there’s something else. He won’t admit. He refuses to admit the pain in his chest when he notices her leaving a date. It has to be a date. There’s no other reason for a sweater dress and heels. She’s tying the coat close as the door shuts behind her.

She looks good, finally wearing her natural hair out. It’s cut extremely short on the sides and back. The top straightened, but the ends curled just a little. He realizes then, it’s just a grown out and better styled version of his hair cut. The short looks really suits her face though, he thinks. It helps with her strong jaw line.

But something is wrong. From the porch of this classy bar, he can see the way she shuffles down the sidewalk. The guy is trying to catch up, shouts out her name. Calum appreciates the darkness and the drunkenness of most of the people here. He sets his drink down, arms resting onto the railing and lifts up. His descent is fast and if it weren’t for his demonic status the sharp landing in a crouch would surely break his ankles. The street is clear of cars, so Calum jogs across, catching up easily. “I thought we were having a good time together.” The closer he gets the more he realizes that is not a man.

He’s shocked for a second but that doesn’t stop the fact that this person is clearly pushing the boundaries. Ruby doesn’t slow, heels still clicking against the pavement. “Dinner was great, Tre. But I just--”

The last part of her sentence is cut off by the other woman’s retort. “You owe me!”

This stops Ruby in her tracks and Calum leans against the brick building, pulling out his phone. The blue light fades in his vision as he listens in. Just in case things do go south. “I don’t owe you anything. Not a goddamn thing. A date isn’t a ticket for sex. If you wanted a fuck, you should’ve just asked for one. I’m sure someone would’ve been okay with it you piece of shit.”

“I hate bitches like you. Y’all so stuck up. Just give me my money. All I’m looking for is a good fuck.”

There’s rustling; Ruby’s blood is boiling. And she hasn’t missed Calum’s figure still leaned up against the building. She throws the two twenties, enough to cover her half of the bill in Tre’s face. It falls to the ground. “Next time, open with that. Don’t pressure anyone into anything you cunt.”

“All y’all bitches are crazy. You not even worth it no how.” She picks the cash up and walks back towards the restaurant.

“I don’t need saving, Calum,” Ruby states.

He looks up. His smile is tight lipped, almost as if he’s too scared to actually look her in the eye. Thankfully Ruby doesn’t sound pissed. Just tired. He clears his throat. He should say something. Anything. Well, maybe not anything. He can’t risk sounding like an asshole again. “The haircut looks nice,” he finally speaks.

“Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” He gives just a curt nod before turning around. Ruby watches him, the jacket is longer this time. Goes down to his nearly the tops of his thighs. The boots are a little different, but he’s dressed in all black like usual.

“Traded in the leather jacket, huh?” She calls out to his retreading figure.

He stops, a small grin lifting his cheeks. “Too cold.”

She pulls her coat tighter around herself. “Used to warmer weather, I assume.”

He laughs. A genuine from the gut laugh. “Yeah you could call it that.”

She nods over her shoulder. There’s nothing but darkness cut by streetlights and storefronts. “What about a cup of coffee? Or tea? Whatever your heart desires.”

Maybe he hadn’t jinxed it. Maybe this is a second chance. He never gets them often. “You sure?”

“I’m sure.” They walk in silence to an ice cream shop nearby. He gets nothing but does pay for hers. “Thanks. For being there.”

“Looks like you didn’t need me.”

She sets the spoon down. Takes note of the avoiding gaze and soft voice. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you feel remorse.”

This finally gets his gaze directed on her. “I’m an asshole. Not a psychopath.”

“Well,” she teases, voice tittering higher up.

“Okay, okay,” he huffs. “Maybe I deserve that. I also realize it’s creepy as fuck to be keeping tabs like this.”

“Creepy indeed.”

“Sorry. There’s no sane excuse.”

“There isn’t. But I guess if you’re lingering around this long, it might be for a reason.”

He twirls his rings around his fingers. It sounds insane when he goes to utter it over his lips. “Was really hoping you’d accept my apology.”

“You know me. Lover, not a fighter.”

“Could’ve fooled me. Got a mean left swing.”

“I deserve that, I guess.”

Calum wonders, looking at her downturn gaze if this is over, if he’s pushed his luck. He might have. But he’s glad that they are able to clear the air. They talk until closing and the air has dropped again in temperature. He walks her to her car, occasionally bumping her elbow. She huffs, before bumping his in return. At her car, she leans into the driver side door. “Where you headed?”

“Back.” Just one word. But there’s something in her gut that knows where back is. Back is below. Back is Hell. But she can’t bring herself to utter the words. “You know normal people run away. Most people find out someone’s not what they thought they were and they leave well alone.” There he goes again, sticking his foot in his mouth.

“Not most people, I guess. In this reality, monsters are all around us. They don’t need whips or horned tails. They speak with forked tongues and are just as human as me.”

It’s an honest and sometimes hard take to have, to know the veil between human and supernatural isn’t as thick as one thinks. “Is this like, over? Did I cross the creep line?” Calum’s never been this honest, this vulnerable.

“Cross the creep line, yes. But over, no. I know you mean well. Just next time you’re around, just send a quick message, snail mail or something. Don’t jump from the second story.”

Calum grins, it’s small. Nothing big. Just a quick upturn of his lips. “Thanks.”

Ruby looks out into the still night. She hasn’t reached for her car door so Calum doesn’t move from his spot. “Tiff doesn’t remember what happened at the shop. No one does. Why’s that?”

“Clean up,” Calum explains. “Crew told me that one person fled the scene before they could get there.”

“Guess you caught me. So why haven’t they track me down? Do the whole Men In Black erase thing?”

“I lied.” He says it so easily. Not even hardly a blink or the gaping second before the words gather. Just a simple fact.

“So you lied about me?”

“I fudged the numbers. Made an eight look more like a nine. It happens. My handwriting is shit.”

“Was I that special?” Her throat thumps. She can feel the pulsing in her neck. Her mouth dries a little. Would Calum lie to her right now?

“You are.”

“Aren’t you worried? Shouldn’t you be concerned about getting into trouble?”

Calum shrugs. “Boss man only knows that you saw me at the club. When clean up said that they were missing one, I went back to the shop, staked it out. Only one missing was you. Went back, said that I had found the missing one and covered our asses. Never mentioned you were in the shop.”

“Do you normally keep tabs on the women you take home?”

Calum quirks an eyebrow. “This a conversation best had over whiskey, don’t you think? I’d offer more ice cream but I think every shop in town is closed.”

Ruby runs her fingers over her key fob. She finds the button, eyes never faltering from Calum’s. The headlights blinked, the doors unlocking. She throws her head back, a gesture for him to hop in. “Luckily we’re on my side of town. Fifteen minutes out from my place, if you care to bum a ride.”

Calum half jogs, noticing the shiver that runs over Ruby. The night has gotten colder since they got ice cream. He’d rather her not freeze. The heat is blasting before she pulls out of the parking spot.

“I should probably explain what I do,” Calum starts, knee and leg bouncing a little in the passenger seat. How does he explain with words what he does? He prays it doesn’t scare her off.

“I don’t care,” Ruby says. “Honestly, I don’t.” That feels like too much knowing, too much weight if he dulvges it all to her. Some things are better left unknown she figures.

Calum nods. Not what he expected but he likes that she just accepts things for what they are. “Well, I don’t keep tabs. To answer your question. I just noticed you looking me up. So I had to tell Boss that it was nothing. And eventually, you stopped. But I really did want to apologize. You give a shit about people. You don’t run across that a lot. I did use you. And I wish I hadn’t. I wish I didn’t take advantage of that. I could I wish I didn’t have to take advantage of it and blame my job. But the truth is, I’m so used to people doing whatever to get over that I just thought you were like that. And you’re not.”

Ruby is silent. At least he recognized the wrong doing. At least he’s not a complete soulless asshole like many others out there. “What do you say if we start again?” Her question comes after a minute or two of silence.

“I’d like that.”

Inside Ruby’s apartment, she drops her coat and purse onto the couch. Calum watches her immediately head over to her dining room table. It’s a high table, pushed up against the wall next to a window. She grabs one of the barstools and moves it a foot or so away from the table. Calum grabs two and pulls them away. She grabs the corner of the table and looks over to Calum.

He grabs the other corner and lifts. Ruby realizes she’s not even helping as he pulls it out from the wall withouth having to drag it an inch. Pulled away from the wall, she moves two stools behind it into the gap. Her next stop is to the kitchen, grabbing whiskey glasses. “I like the mason jars better,” Calum says from behind her.

“Mason jars it is then”

“Don’t have whiskey. Will Hennessey do?”

“I’ll have to rectify that error later.”

Ruby pours two glasses and gives one to Calum. It clinks against the metal of his rings when he grasps it. He’s glad he didn’t take the jacket off or the beanie. She grabs a third glass and pours straight cranberry juice. She can forgo alcohol for the night. “All actors ready?” he teases, lips sealing around the screw top rim. The dark liquor is warm as it goes down.

“Ruby and Calum meeting at the bar, scene 1, take 2,” Ruby laughs.

Calum settles into one of the barstools behind her table, watching her in the kitchen. “We’re missing music,” he muses.

“My neighbors would kill me if I played club music this late. They’re all old. Let them rest.”

Calum decides he likes Ruby’s smile. Even the shy quiet ones. “Since you asked so nicely.” He looks away, taking another sip and hears her giggling. “This is serious,” he reprimands, still staring out into her living room.

The dark gray couch looks nice with bright yellow throw pillows. Her coffee able is black metal, a simple chic design. The entertainment stand is metal too. Her rug is black with dark gray trim. The art on her walls are of plants, a soft dark green but not distracting. He doesn’t miss the record player sitting on her bookshelf.

He’s tempted to spin a record. But when the glass lands on the table in front of him, he forgets about it. “Come here often?” Ruby asks, a tuft of laughter escaping her.

He grins behind the first glass before putting down onto the wooden table. It’s a pretty dark gray stain over the wood. She’s careful to slip a coaster under the glasses too, Calum notices. “First time around here actually.”

As Ruby climbs into the chair next to him, she laughs even more. “Well, let me show you a good time then. Name’s Ruby.”

“Calum,” he gets out over his fit of giggles. Ruby falls into his shoulder, the wool a little stratchy against her face. Her laughter spills from her lips too. “Tell me would you have really used that line with someone?”

“Hell no. It’s cheesy as hell.”

“Then why did you use it just now?”

She shrugs. “I figured why not. We were starting over. What harm would it cause to try it out?”

“A lot. Especially if this weren’t our first meeting.”

“Good thing it’s not.”

Soon Calum’s slipping out of coat, nursing one glass. He could have both. They’re not strong to him and he does feel bad since she poured both. “You don’t have to have both. I just--it fit the scene.”

He nods, slouching a little into the seat, arm thrown around the back of her chair. Ruby reclines back, head falling onto his shoulder again. He gently brushes over her shoulders. “Do you sleep?” The question falls before the yawn from Ruby’s lips.

“Technically, no I don’t need it. I do rest, I guess. But I don’t sleep like you’d think.”

“So I guess I don’t need to offer my couch to you then, huh?”

“I should probably get back.”

“You know where to find me though,” Ruby counters.

“I do. And I’ll send snail mail the next time I’m around.”

Calum keeps to his word and slips a letter under her door when she’s at work. So by night time, if she has the energy, she can call. The number is different at the bottom of each letter. But Calum’s always on the other end.

They meet sometimes for ice cream if it has to be a quick stop. Other times they might meet at her place, sipping a combination of alcohol and watching the latest episode of her shows. Those nights Calum stays, never terribly late. Just long enough into the morning that she knows he’s leaving. He makes sure to give warning of his departure.

“You really have completed the whole aesthetic,” Calum comments, refilling his glass. He won’t admit that he’s partial to the mason jars as cups. Instead he pokes fun at it.

“You leave my interior decoration alone. Lest we not forget the state your place was in,” Ruby shouts from the couch.

“It doesn’t count,” Calum counters. “It was temp. This is your home.”

“Fuck off. And hurry, I let ads play for you to you mess around. You’ve got thirty seconds left and I won’t pause.”

“Please leave my chocolate pretzels alone,” he huffs as he watches her grab a handful from his bowl.

“Whatcha gon’ do about it sweetheart?”

When weeks roll into months, and months roll into a year, it feels unreal. That somewhere in all this of the time he’s been blessed with a friend. He stays a little longer behind. His captures are no less perfect. But Lucifer is not necessarily pleased that he does take longer. But Calum’s doing his best to keep him at bay. He suspects it won’t be much longer before some sort of punishment will be dished out. There always is.

At her apartment door, he knocks. He thinks he should’ve brought a carnation to replace the last one he bought. Though he figures, she’ll be asleep in a couple hours and he can sneak out and find one. Before the door opens, he notes the change in the air--it feels warmer.

Ruby opens the door with shaky hands. Before Calum can ask what’s happening, someone else walks up behind him. Lucifer. Immediately, he can feel the shift happening, his blackened eyes taking over. “My liege,” he answers with a curt nod.

“Oh, if it’s not my favorite Hunter. Come in, come in,” he urges. Calum steps inside. If his heart still pumped the same, it would be racing in his chest. He steps in front of Ruby, watching as Lucifer strolls about, tail whipping about. That is not a good sign. “I love the decor. Very chic. The pops are color are divine, don’t you think?”

“It’s a wonderfully decorated home,” Calum returns.

With a dazzling smile behind pink lips, Lucifer points to Ruby. “She’s got a great eye. I’d hate for something to happen.”

Calum takes a step back, pushing her further into the door. A silent plea for her to run if she can take it. Ruby clings to his jacket. She doesn’t have to be told something is going to happen. She can feel it in her bones when his gaze lands on her again. “Is there an issue, sir?”

“An issue? Hm, yes. My issue is that my best Hunter is out here falling for a human.”

“It’s not like that. We are just--” Does he say it? Does it dare let the word cross his lips. “Friends, sir. Just friends.”

She exhales. They’ve never really labeled whatever this was. But she likes hearing him say it. Friends is nice. Lucifer hums again. “What a nice thing to say? But I don’t like is that your friend is messing with your work.”

“Sir, I am perfectly capable--” The sentence is not finished when Lucifer’s tail wraps around his throat.

“I don’t give a shit. I know you’re capable. Why the hell else would you have such an esteemed title? But we don’t get cozy with humans. There are rules for a reason. Understood?”

A choked, “Yes,” falls from Calum’s lips before the hold is released. He wants to reliate, lash out. But that’s frowned upon. Calum bites his tongue.

“Move for me.”

Calum doesn’t like that tone. That gleam in his eyes. Ruby’s the first person to listen to him, to give a shit about someone other than herself and even if Calum’s an asshole, she gave him a second shot. What she does not need is whatever Lucifer has planned up his sleeve. “My liege. With all due respect, she’s just human. She’s not worth it.” He winces a little as the words leave his lips. He doesn’t mean it like that. Doesn’t mean that she doesn’t hold value to him. But she is not worth Lucifer getting bent out of shape over.

“Oh, but she’s your friend. She is worth it. Now you will move, or I will move you.”

“Sir, please. I’ll leave with you right now, just please. Leave her out of this.”

“Don’t be silly, Calum. There’s no way to leave her out of it. She knows too much.”

He gets it now. This isn’t about Ruby. It never was. It was solely about him. She never had to open her mouth. She never had to slip up, say the wrong thing. All she had to do was get close. She had to witness once or twice his true form and it was over for him. There was a warning that had not been heeded.

There’s no way to trace a ghost. The fortunate thing for Lucifer here. It’ll be like Calum never existed. Though he hasn’t for a while now. This was just a shell. Still powerful but effectively empty. Calum’s flesh is temporary and what’s beneath cannot survive on the surface.

Calum takes a small step forward. Ruby holds onto his wrist. “I won’t tell a soul. I haven’t told anyone,” she pleads.

Calum’s chest caves. He hates the way it cracks. This isn’t about her. He pleads with Lucifer, but there’s no sympathy. He steps forward again, squeezing her hand one last time before their connection falls. “Calum, what-- No, please, I haven’t done anything.”

He speaks to her without looking away from Lucifer. “No, you haven’t. I have.”

It finally clicks. “Calum, no. He can’t. That’s not fair!”

When she finally steps forward, a black tail stops her. Calum. He can’t risk her getting in the way, getting hurt. The tip hurts, even though there’s no pressure behind it. It’s sharp just resting against her skin. Lucifer makes a circling motion with his finger and Calum closes his eyes as he spins. His tail drops and Ruby is frozen as he strips his leather jacket, pulling the beanie from his dark curls. He just shaved the sides down, she notices, the top still long. He peels his shirt over his head, dropped into a heap next to him.

Everything in her body is telling her to look away. But she can’t. His normal brown colored eyes are blacked out. Wings appear from his back, smoke billowing all around them. She wonders for a fleeting moment if the smoke alarm will sound. They are beautiful, black, with tufts of smoke blowing from the feather tip. He furls them, reaching into the pile of his clothes and brings out his whip. He drops to his knees and lifts the sacred leather whip up. It will soon no longer be his.

Ruby sinks against the wall, her eyes are swimming. “This can’t be happening,” she whispers. “You can’t do this!”

“Sweetheart, I can. And I will,” Lucifer grins, cracking the whip. A red welt appears across Calum’s chest. The only sign of pain is the muscle the jumps in his jaw. She pushes herself up to her knees. If she could plead to any god willing to listen, she would. But there’s no god here. The whip sounds again, an X appears in angry red across his chest.

Ruby crawls to him. Part of her brain remembers the last time she did this and she cracks a watery smile. Calum sees it, knows what she’s thinking. “Don’t you dare,” he threatens, clearing his throat.

“What? Telling me now is an inappropriate time to ask if someone on their hands and knees gets you off?”

Calum shakes his head with a quirk of his thick brow. “Very inappropriate time.”

Lucifer watches the exchange with a smile. “Well at least you two had some sort of history.”

No one pays him any mind. Calum focuses on her, the way her hair is still cut short on the sides and back. The curls on top are tighter now. She raises to a kneel on her knees in front of him, hands trembling as the cup his jaw. “You’re a good friend, you know? An asshole, but still a good guy.”

Another crack of the whip sounds in the room. The blow across the bone where wing meets Calum’s vertebrae. He tries not to groan, tries to swallow down the pain. But another blow comes and he buries his face into her shoulder. “I tried,” he whispers. “I’m hexed though. Jinxed, something.” Lucifer brings the whip down again, the bone is snapping, blood trickling down his back.

“No, you’re not hexed,” she whispers. “You’re a good guy.”

The final crack of the whip brings the last of the wing away from his spine. He lets out a grunt into her skin, arms winding around her dark flesh. The room is spinning for Calum. This is way worse he thinks. Having her here to witness. He wants to push her away, tell her to get out of here before it happens. But a larger part wants her in his arms. He wants someone to lean into.

“You-you shouldn’t be here for this,” he breathes. It’s hard to focus on anything other than the way she smells like pressed hair and a hint of apple. Maybe from her body wash.

“No, no, I’ve never left a man behind. I wasn’t raised that way. Dad’s Ex-SWAT remember.”

Lucifer brings another blow against the open wound. Calum lets himself cry out that time. She holds his head, forearms blocking it from the blows. She knows she could get hurt. It doesn’t matter. All she’s focused on is how Calum’s grip is loosening around her waist. “Tell me,” he pants. “Why Ruby?”

“Why the name?”

“Not your real one.”

Snot drops onto her lips. “No, it’s not. To make a long story short, my mom was abusive and manipulative. I hated the way she screamed my name. She always said it so nasty, like it was poison. So I had people call me Ruby. After my dad’s birthstone.”

It may not be solace. It may not bring her peace. “We sent her below,” Calum wheezes after another blow.

“Below? Like Below Hell?”

He gives a small nod. It’s hard against the tight squeeze of her forearms. Ruby kisses the top of his head. The whip falls to the floor before Lucifer hovers over Calum’s tail. He lets his tip hover, a warning for Calum of what’s to come. “We have our own sense of morals,” Lucifer interjects. “We’re not all bad.”

“Fuck off,” Calum spits. He turns his head, his lips brushing against the skin of her neck. “We are. We are bad.”

“No,” Ruby protests. “You’re not. You are not all bad, Calum.”

Lucifer drops his tail, point severing Calum’s. “Speak out of turn. This will be your final chance.”

Calum pushes himself up, it’s a slow process. But he does. “I had a sister. When you see her, on the other side, tell her I loved her. That I remembered everything she taught me.”

Ruby holds his face, cheeks squishing in the strong hold. “I will.”

“It’s gonna take you a few decades to meet her. But you’ll know her when you see her. Now, don’t watch this part.”

“Calum I can’t leave you.”

“You won’t be. Just close your eyes, face the wall. You’ll be right there. Just don’t watch.” He knows the gore, the shock that overtakes someone when the final blow is delivered. He can spare her that. He can do one last good thing. “Ruby, I’m not asking.” His breath is labored. “Don’t. Watch.”

Her eyes dark around his face, trying to remember the moles on his cheek, the way his nose sat, how plump his lips are. She kisses him, a short peck. Resting her forehead to his, she lets her tears fall. “I love you. I never said that. Didn’t know how you’d react.”

He takes his hand, curling it around hers, and motions for her to turn. “I love you.”

It’s a platonic love. A love that made Calum feel human again for just a little over a year and a half. He will go, remembering the way she laughed, and how to never drank coffee with no less than three sugars. He will go remembering that someone saw something more in him. Calum’s wasn’t looking for companionship. But he found something better.

She doesn’t turn fulling away, more like three quarters, eyes closed. But she reaches out her hand. He takes it. They give each other a squeeze. He won’t make a sound for her. It’s hard. His breathing already ragged. But he inhales once.

Ruby’s holding Calum’s hand one moment, squeezing with all her might. She can feel him squeezing back and then it feels like hours. She’s waiting for it go limp, praying to every god that something changes this outcome. The pressure disappears and then so does his warmth. Nothing just dust settling into her palm. A sob pierces her chest, scratches over her lips and when she turns, there’s nothing but his shirt and jacket left. Not even dust is left but the little that she clutches in her hands.

Ruby cries, clutching his t-shirt in the middle of her living room. If she could go back, and tell herself not to go into that bar again, looking for Calum, she would. She would in a heartbeat.

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