#just...yearning. just wanting to be with him through it | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

a99jazzybean · 2 days ago

Note

HIIIII! I just binge read your date everything fics and I love them! May i ask for yet another Chance fic, where y/n is familiar with g&g and used to play with their friends from time to time - using his dice of course! And... y/n used to kiss the piece for the "lucky shot", doesn't matter if it worked or not. So now, with Skylars help, y/n can speak with him and even play a session or two and it is so much fun! But she is completely oblivious to the fact that he remembers every time y/ns lips touched his dice-y form and each time he silently yearns for her lips to touch him once again... The rest is up to you, lots of love!

I love this prompt so much! Thank you for the request!

With a Taste of Your Lips...

synop: You and Chance decide to play another session of G&G. Little do you know, a special tradition of yours has him feeling all sorts of hot and bothered. i.e. You discover Chance can feel when you kiss his die.

words: 4.7K

includes: chancexfem!reader, ttrpg playing, making out, fondling an object?, cumming untouched kinda, smut

a/n: I might make a part 2 to this one, thoughts? Also, its got smut. No minors!

“You feel yourself growing weaker. The spell the lich cast on you drains your life force. All of your comrades are downed. You are their final hope.” Your GM stares you down, brow raised. “What would you like to do?”

Looking around the table you see all of your friends' faces are grim. All eyes are on you. Taking a look at the battlemap before you, your eyes widened.

“Past the cliff, it’s the Abysmal Pit, correct?” You asked the GM.

“Correct.”

“And anyone who falls in is erased from existence, right?

“Correct.”

“No!” Sam shouted. “I know what you’re thinking. You can’t do it!”

You give her a solemn look, eyes filled with sadness.

“I’m sorry.” You pick up your red D20. “But you can’t stop me. I’m going for a grapple on the lich, then I’m dragging him over the edge with me.”

A chorus of gasps erupts from your party members. Some are getting teary-eyed.

Two years of a campaign filled with adventure, friendship, romance, and tears. This is how it ends. Perhaps it was destined to be.

“Make your roll.” Your GM feels tears prick in their own eyes. Not knowing whether they want you to succeed on this or not.

As is tradition on major rolls, you bring your trusty die to your lips. Pecking it softly, you pray that this works.

“Lucky shot,” you hear Sam say under their breath.

Cupping the die in your hands, you give a good shake. Then you release it onto the table. Everyone in the room is holding their breath as it rolls. Finally, it stops. Natural 20.

Normally, the table would erupt with cheers. This time, it wasn’t proper to celebrate.

“Prim,” your GM took in a shaky breath as he spoke your character’s name. Trying to hold back tears. “You muster up the final dregs of strength within you. Pulling yourself up with a groan. Everything hurts, but your mind has been made up. Pushing through it all, you start to run. Taking one final look at your fallen teammates. This is the last time you will see them. Tell me how this ends.” Their voice wavered.

“As I run toward the lich, I let out a final ‘goodbye’. I grab it around the waist, then throw both of us off of the ledge. No matter what it does I keep ahold of it. It’s coming with me.” Your own eyes fill with tears.

“As you fall, the lich tries to get you off of it, but to no avail. For a brief moment you can see a flash of its past humanity. Fear filling its face as it realizes the one thing that it tried to run from has finally arrived. Death in the shape of a half-elf rogue who risked it all to defeat it.”

Chance sighed dreamily, remembering your great sacrifice. Seemed like you frequently played characters that laid their life on the line. No wonder he was absolutely smitten.

While you weren’t able to see his personified form at the moment, he was able to see you. Back hunched over as you typed on Mac. The computer feeling pretty good about themselves as you cranked out your latest self-insert fanfic. What else were you supposed to do when an AI took over your job?

Chance wasn’t able to see what you were writing, but could see Mac occasionally blush and chuckle at the words you were typing onto them.

“Care to share?” He asked the computer.

Mac glanced over at him, then back to one of the screens in front of them.

“I’m not so sure that’s a good idea. She’s kind of mortified that I’ve even read this stuff.” Mac turned back to read what you had just typed out, red blooming on their face. “Yeah, no. You don’t need to know about this.”

Chance grumbled to himself. It didn’t feel fair that Mac got to see the sexiest innermost thoughts of yours. Actually, he was kind of jealous of many of your objects. Betty slept with you every night, witnessing the limited sexual exploits of yours. Johnny, he wouldn’t talk about it, too much of a gentleman. But the massage setting on his shower head? He might have alluded to activities you had accomplished with that.

It was frustrating to say the least. Seeing how much better the other beings in the home got to know you intimately. All Chance wanted was a taste of that knowledge.

He hoped you’d put your Dateviators back on again. Now that you had been able to see him, all he wanted was your attention. It didn’t help that you enthusiastically offered to play G&G with him. Only feeding into the ever-growing obsession with you.

It didn’t start when you put those glasses on, no. It started when you came up with that damned tradition. Kissing the 20 side of his die body. You didn’t know, couldn’t know, really. But he felt it, every single time. It was special, something you only did when making a major roll. And you always picked him. Your “lucky shot” for your “lucky die”.

The thing was, you hadn’t ended that tradition. When you began playing with Chance, you continued to make your lucky shots. Not realizing that although the personified version was sitting in front of you, Chance was still very much connected to the object he was. He would have you roll on something difficult, and as if it were instinct, you pressed your soft lips right on the20 side. Thankfully, Chance had been able to maintain his composure as you watched the die roll. However, it was beginning to become too much.

Each press of your lips to the die had him falling for you harder and harder.

With a sigh, you pushed away from your computer. Eyeing the die beside you with a smirk. Tapping on the desk, your gaze flitted over to your glasses. It had been a few hours since you had them on, couldn’t hurt to say hi to your office. And there might have been a specific object that held your affections.

“You know. I can feel you looking at me, right?” You teased the die before putting on the Dateviators.

Chance’s face was ruddy when you looked at him, caught red handed. Rubbing his neck sheepishly, he gave you an apologetic look.

“What can I say? You’re nice to look at.”

Now it was your turn to blush. The damned man always seemed to fluster you in such innocuous ways. Somehow always polite with his flirting.

There were times he could be fairly forward, but he never pushed. It was sweet.

Thinking about it, you could go for something sweet now. But nothing that was consumable.

“Do you have a session prepped?” You asked.

Immediately, he perked up. A bright smile on his face complimented by an enthused flush.

“Of course! Ever since you’ve come along, I’m like ten sessions ahead!” He leaned toward you, bouncing on his toes.

“I’m glad that you’ve been so inspired. I love your stories.” You gave him a soft smile.

His eyes widen, practically sparkling at your words.

“Y-you love my stories?” He held his hand to his heart, feeling the muscle pump faster at your compliment.

“Why do you think I want to play with you so often?” You pulled his die over with a finger, rolling it around. “I have a lot of fun with you.”

“We could have more fun.” He raised a brow suggestively, looking over his glasses at you.

Red in the face, you waved him off with a giggle.

“Do you have time to play now?”

“I always have time for you.”

You were sure you heard Timothy scoff somewhere in the distance. That was no matter though, for now you had the full attention of your favorite die.

“Shall we play, then?”

Chance nodded enthusiastically, then proceeded to get his GM station set up. When his screen and notes were all in place, he gave an approved nod. Looking up, he beamed at you again. Feeling his heart squeeze at the content smile on your face as you sat on the other end of the table from him. Oh how he wished to always keep you happy. He would play forever with you just to make sure that smile never fell from your lips.

“Alright, where did we leave off?” He glanced over his notes.

“I managed to talk myself out of being eaten by a giant.” You had your own notes pulled out.

Chance felt his heart swell again. You took notes! Oh, you truly were the perfect player.

“That’s right! My charismatic girl!” He chuckled as your face grew red.

He was glad that he managed to make you as flustered as you made him. Equal opportunity flirting to make the other squirm. Again, perfect.

“You’ve gotten away from the giant, but you still have yet to find the gilded egg laying hen.”

“Thankfully, you have quite the wise girl as well!” You let out a satisfied huff. “Can I make a perception check to see where the chicken is?”

“You may.” He motioned for you to continue.

Shaking the die in your hands you urged it to roll well.

“C’mon D20, show me what you’re made of!”

You released the die, it clattered into your dice tray. After a moment of circling, it landed on a 16.

“Nice! And that’s a plus four to my perception!”

“Wonderful!” He cleared his throat, continuing his tale. “As you look around the foyer of the giant’s castle, you aren’t finding any indications of where a hen might be roosting. However, after a moment of hearing silence, there’s a new sound filtering down the hallway to the north.”

“What’s the sound?” You ask with a knowing smirk.

“It’s soft harp music, almost dreamlike.”

After your previous character died valiantly saving a village from a dragon, Chance asked if you would mind experimenting with a fairytale themed game. Of course, you agreed, excited to see what he would come up with. While some of the quests you have been on so far were a bit predictable, he had many twists and turns added in.

Like Cinderella’s slipper turning out to be a baby mimic. When you had managed to aid the prince in finding his lost love, the mimic revealed itself, chomping down on her foot. However, she didn’t scream. It turned out, Cinderella’s ballgown had already consumed her and was using her head and limbs to blend in. The fairy godmother revealed herself as a demon looking to collect on the souls of the kingdom. All she needed was the prince to disappear so she could take his place.

It was a lovely twist that ended with a fairly hard battle. Thankfully the prince that accompanied you turned out to be part of the bloodline of very powerful sorcerers, so he was able to aid in the defeat of the fairy godmother.

The prince tried asking for your hand in marriage, but you had other adventures to go on. Instead, you left with a hefty amount of gold. A token of appreciation for saving the kingdom. The engagement ring hidden amongst the coins didn’t go unnoticed, Chance giving you a cheeky wink when he mentioned it.

You had noticed the man had been throwing romance options at you throughout each of the fairy tales. Many of them were love stories, sure, but it seemed like he really wanted you to get with someone. Little Red Riding Hood, growing smitten with you after you saved her from the belly of a wolf. A huntsman asking for your hand after you aided him in saving the kingdom from a corrupt king. Snow White practically begged you to marry her after you turned out to be her “true love's kiss”. He was laying it on pretty thick, so to speak.

Truthfully, the reason why you never accepted was because you wanted Chance to stop hiding his affections behind characters in your game. The two of you had constant flirty banter, but it felt like he could only speak through innuendo when hinting at wanting anything more. While it was endearing, it was starting to become tiring.

Though admittedly, you were a coward too. It would be hypocritical to judge the man considering you couldn’t muster up the courage to do anything either. Instead, you sat in a flirtatious purgatory. Something that could be viewed as a comfortable platonic relationship, but in reality had very, very heavy overtones of desire.

Neither you or Chance could be subtle. There were times where you could feel the hunger in his eyes as he ran your game. Usually when you did something quite clever.

That time when you answered his Latin riddle? The man was very glad he had baggy pants on.

Then there was you. Easily bending to his dominating whims when he was GMing. Something about him having that kind of authority over you often had you clenching your thighs and squirming in your chair. And don’t even get started on the villain monologues. He pulled one of those out, you left the gaming table with your panties soaked. Giving Betty quite the show when you couldn’t get to sleep.

Back to your current game, Chance asked for your next move.

“I follow the sound of the harp.”

“You feel almost entranced at the music. Your steps pulling you to the north hallway. After about an hour of walking (remember, this is a GIANT’S castle) you made it to the room the music was coming from. Peering inside, you see a giant sitting on a bed. She appears to be much shorter than the one you first encountered, but still clearly a giant. You can tell she is related to the other giant, both sporting the same nose shape. The giant girl is playing the harp, her fingers delicately plucking at the strings. You look across from her and see what you’ve been looking for. A hen nestled in a nest of straw. Its body swaying side to side with the music. Below it you see a peek of gold. What would you like to do?”

“I’m not going to try and hide.”

Chance looked at you with wide eyes, surprised at your blatant move.

“I handled the other giant with my words, I can easily do the same again.”

Oh, he loved your confidence. Your willingness to dive in despite the consequences. He just hoped that it wouldn’t end with your bones ground up to make bread. Quite the horrific way to depart this mortal realm.

“If you say so. You stride inside with confidence. Hyping yourself up from your previous encounter with a giant.” He rolled a die, giving a grimace. “The giant girl doesn’t appear to see you. She’s looking right at the hen, swaying side to side as she continues to play the harp.”

“I try to catch her attention by clearing my throat loudly.”

“You clear your throat, and she stops playing. A sour look grows on her face as she looks for the source of the sound. Looking down, she finally spots you. Crossing her arms, she gives you a pout.”

“You know, it’s quite rude to interrupt a performance.” Chance put on the voice of a little girl, making you chuckle. “What’s so funny?”

“Chance, you know that wasn’t in-game.” You gave him a stern look.

“I know, I’m just messin. Anyways… she looks at you, waiting for you to respond.”

“I apologize, your music is lovely.”

“Then why did you interrupt me?”

“Well, I have some important matters to discuss.”

“Important matters? What’s important is that Bailey gets her proper rest.” Chance returns to his normal voice. “You follow her gaze to the hen in the nest.”

“Is Bailey your hen?”

“Obviously!” The character voice returned. “And she won’t lay eggs unless I play for her.”

“I see.” You ponder on that information for a moment, then ask. “Is the harp huge?”

“It’s giant, so is the hen.”

“Didn’t the asshole who hired me say he had been here before? Why send me up if there’s no way to bring the items down?” You huffed in frustration at the quest-giver.

“Who said there wasn’t a way to bring them down?” He clicked his tongue at you, admonishingly.

“Hmmm. I think I'll talk to the girl some more.” He motioned for you to continue. “I’m sure Bailey loves your music.”

“She does, she always lays an egg when I play! My daddy says I’m gettin just as good as my mama!” Chance goes back to narrating. “After she says that she goes quiet. Her eyes widening as if she’s just realized you were here. There’s a darkness in them that surprises you for a girl so young.”

“I don’t have a good feeling about this.” You bit your lip nervously.

“You’re a human. Humans aren’t allowed here!”

“Um, you’re dad let me go. At least I think it was your dad.” You give Chance a nervous glance.

“Roll on persuasion.”

Shaking the dice, you let it drop. Watching in fear as it lands on a three. Chance’s gaze grows dark.

“You only think you know? How can I know if you’re telling the truth?” Chance narrates again. “The giant girl stands up, towering high over you. A glare on her face as her eyes narrow. But you spot something odd, her eyes are watering.” The little girl voice is put back on. “All humans lie! I bet you’re no different!”

“I decide to stay quiet, letting her speak.” You say to Chance. Again, he’s surprised at your action.

“Your people killed my mom!” He switches back to normal. “You now see tears falling from her eyes. She’s going to reach for you.” He rolls a die, eyeing you expectantly. “Would you like to do anything to stop it?”

“No. I let her.”

“A large hand grabs you with a crushing squeeze. You feel the air forced out of your body by the strong grip of her hand. She lifts you to her head.” He clears his throat, going back to the girl voice. “I should just eat you, show you how it feels.” He gives you another expectant look. “Are you going to try and do anything?”

“Nope. I’m gonna close my eyes and accept my fate.”

Impressed, Chance sits back with his arms crossed. Pondering on what to do next. While you had managed to talk your way out of the last giant encounter, he thought you would at least try to fight your way out of this one. The giant child’s stat block was something that you could manage on your own.

“Okay. I want you to roll persuasion, and I’ll be nice and give you advantage for what you’ve managed to do so far.”

Pumping your fist in the air, you reached for the die. This time, you brought the D20 to your lips, giving it a light peck. This was a roll that was gonna need it.

“C’mon lucky shot, don’t let me down now.”

The first roll landed on a 6. Again, you brought the die to your lips. The kiss to the dice slightly lingering, just for good luck. You shook it in your hand and released, crossing your fingers for a good roll. Slowly, it spun to land on a 20.

“Nat 20 babee! Let’s gooooo!” You stood up and cheered, your character saved.

Chance remained seated, face beet red. His breathing had become labored. For some reason, he couldn’t get himself to calm down. Maybe it was the fact that you had kissed the die in succession. Something he could feel burning through his body.

Coming down from your high, you realized Chance hadn’t continued. Turning, you gave him a concerned look. Walking over, you eyed the state he was in. Face still extremely flushed.

“Are you okay?” You leaned toward him, trying to figure out what was wrong.

“I-I’m fine. We can continue!” He rubbed his neck nervously.

“Are you sure? Your face is really red.”

“What did you expect after kissing me like that!” He clamped his hands over his mouth, face turning another shade darker.

“What? I didn’t kiss…” You looked over to the die, feeling a heat crawl up your neck. “C-can you feel that?”

Hands still over his mouth, he nodded. You realized you had been performing your luck ritual the entire time you had been playing with Chance. He could feel it. Every. Single. Time.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” You felt terrible, doing that to him without asking.

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” He said softly.

“But then I kept making you uncomfortable! Kissing you without your consent, ugh. I’m so sorry, Chance.” You gave him a sad look that pierced his heart. That wasn’t what he meant at all!

“I never said I was uncomfortable.” He composed himself somewhat.

“Huh?”

“I might have liked it…” He trailed quietly.

“What was that?” You couldn’t make out what he said.

“I like it!” He blurted. “I really like it when you kiss me.” His face grew red again as he waited for your response.

“Y-you do?”

He nodded sheepishly.

“Yeah. It feels… nice. Really nice.” He bit his lip nervously. “You’re always so soft and sweet.”

“Oh.” Your face was burning.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you sooner.” He gave you an apologetic look.

“Chance…” This time you were nervous.

“Yes?”

You leaned down toward his face. Arms planted on the headrest of his chair.

“Can I actually kiss you?”

“I-I mean technically you are ‘actually’ kissing me…” He stuttered out, eyes flitting between your eyes and lips.

You gave him an unamused pout.

“You know what I mean. How’s about this? Can I give you a reciprocated kiss? One that you also participate in?”

“Yes. Please.”

With that, you pressed your lips to his. Chance froze up at first, eyes wide at the fact that this was happening. Leaning into the kiss, his eyes fluttered shut. You let out a content sigh at the feel of his lips against yours. Soft and plush, perfectly meldable with your own.

With your tongue, you teased at his bottom lip. Gladly, he slightly opened his mouth for your tongues to intertwine. A low groan left him as he tasted you. So fucking perfect.

The man pushed the chair away from the table, letting you sink onto his lap. Your hand trailed up his neck, fingers lightly scratching at his scalp. He moaned against you at the action. His own hands trailed over your body, mapping out your slopes and curves. Ultimately they landed on your ass, giving it a quick squeeze. You giggled against his lips, pulling away to get a good look at him.

Face still flushed with kiss bitten lips and blown out pupils. He stared up at you like you were a goddess that was granting him a blessing. That was sure how this encounter was feeling. Something that he had only dreamed of.

“You’re so handsome.” You pressed kisses against his jaw and down his throat, making him shiver.

“And you’re beautiful. So perfect.” He pressed a kiss to your lips.

Leaning your forehead against his, you smiled. Then an idea came to you. Biting your lip, you wondered if the man beneath you would oblige to your whims.

“Chance…”

“Hmm?”

“When I kiss your die, where do you feel it?”

“Oh, um, I guess on my face? Like a whisper against my cheeks and the corner of my lips.” He let out an awkward chuckle.

You shifted off of him to grab the die, then returned to his lap. Holding the die in front of you, you looked over the numbers.

“So what would happen if I kissed the other numbers?” You asked, gaze hungry.

Oh, oh, this was hot. So fucking hot. Chance thought just kissing you was a dream come true. You wanting more from him? That was merely a fantasy.

“I suppose I would feel you kissing me on other parts of my body.” He answered. Truthfully, he had no idea what would happen. You only ever kissed the 20.

“So if I kiss the one.” You brought the dice to your lips, pecking the side.

Chance giggled at the feeling. Right on the bottom of his foot.

“I take it that was your foot?”

He nodded, excited to see where this was going. Already feeling himself growing semi-hard in his pants as he watched you in anticipation.

You pressed a kiss to the five, eyeing Chance’s response. He twitched under you with a whimper.

“Where was that?”

“My left thigh.”

Okay, so if five was the left thigh then… you pressed a kiss to the six.

“R-right thigh.” He groaned out. Having your lips on him like this was something else.

It was probably a good thing you never kissed the other numbers. He was sure you would make him cum from just kissing him alone.

“So if six is your other thigh then that must mean seven or eight is likely your-”

“What if we avoided that area?” He cut you off, a nervous sheen of sweat on his forehead.

“Why’s that?” You leaned in, giving him a deep kiss.

“I-I just…” He couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Chance, would me kissing the dice equivalent of your crotch make you cum?” Wow, just right out with it.

“Y-yeah, yeah. It would. I’m gonna be honest. With the way that you’re already going at it, I’d probably cum just from you kissing me.”

“Really?” You sat upright, eyes sparkling.

He nodded, blushing furiously.

“Could we try it?” You bit your lip.

The thought of having the man fall apart just from you kissing him had you riled up. You could feel yourself growing wetter at the thought. Seeing him squirm from your kisses before coming undone. Oh, that was very appealing.

“You want to?” He was surprised.

“Yeah, I do. Only if you want to.”

“You don’t have to ask twice.” He wrapped a hand around your neck, pulling you in for a kiss. Your tongues tangled with each other as you moaned.

Pulling away, you brought the dice back up to your face. Eyeing the numbers, you decided to go for the 19. You gave it a slow kiss, watching Chance as he shivered and moaned. The feeling reached a sweet spot on his neck that had him keening. He was pretty sure he was addicted to your lips now.

You continued to press kisses to various numbers. Loving every whimper and moan you managed to get out of the man. Occasionally you would lean back in to give him a proper kiss on the lips, only to return to tease him with the die.

Chance could tell you were avoiding the seven and eight. Eventually, he couldn’t take it anymore.

“P-please.” He groaned through gritted teeth as he felt your lips on his chest. “I need you…”

“Need me to what?” You teased with a smirk.

“Kiss the seven and eight. Please.” He begged, squirming beneath you.

“Hmm. Good boy.” Oh fuck. That had his dick throbbing.

Slowly, you brought the die to your lips. You pecked all over it, then finally pressed a kiss to the seven. Chance cried out at the feeling. Your lips right where he needed them. Feeling them press against his throbbing length. He was sure the next one would be the last he needed. You gave another slow kiss to the eight. It was his undoing. Cock twitching in his pants, releasing a sticky load into his boxers. His hands gripped at your hips as he rutted against the feeling of your lips.

“Oh f-fuck.” He stuttered out.

You pressed your lips to his, then kissed all over his face. The man melting into your affection.

“How was that?” You asked softly.

“Amazing. Perfect. Wonderful. Perfect. Did I mention perfect?” He chuckled.

“I’m glad I could give you that.” You picked up the die again, giving it a peck on the 20.

“Guess I’ll be keeping my lucky shot tradition for our other games.” You gave him a sweet smile.

“Oh sweetheart,” Chance pulled you back to him, “did you think playtime was over?”

#a99jazzybean #date everything x reader #date everything #chance date everything #chance x reader #chance x you #D20xreader #date everything fanfic

296 notes · View notes

midnghtprentiss · 2 days ago

Text

Domesticity - Jack Abbot

pairing: jack abbot x doc!f!reader

summary: four times absolute love the domesticity of living with four women.

a/n: i was watching mamma mia and this idea came through my mind and now i’m crying cause it’s cute. in this scenario, Anna is 17, June and Emma are 13.

anywayyyy, sorry for any misspellings, english is not my first language. hope you enjoy! any comments are welcome!

ONE

The mundane and extraordinary aspects of living with women were the reasons Jack became a happier person, more inspired, and willing to live his life in a more fulfilling way.

Jack was accustomed to the noise of your house. There was always a song playing, singing, and gossiping. For him, the comfort of knowing that the darkness that once surrounded him was gone, replaced by the light of the people he loved the most, mattered more than he could explain.

He expected to come to a quiet house when he came through the door in the morning, but instead, he found you doing breakfast and the girls laughing while Emma rehearsed her school presentation for them before class. Jack felt the chaos and stress of his shift melt away while silently watching the scene unfold.

“I can’t do that if you keep laughing at me.” He chuckled, seeing your face to the two girls.

“We aren’t laughing at her, it’s cute she’s nervous around us, but if you put her on the stage with a microphone, she’s a different person.” June tried to make a point and you shot her the same look you give to Jack when pisses you off. “Our own Hannah Montana.”

Even tho Emma and June weren’t Jack’s biological daughters, he knew them even before they were born when you were pregnant in your resident years, but he loved the girls like his own. They loved him for all the right reasons, and he never treated them with any less love. June could always count on Jack to help her practice for games, cheering and acting like a real father, and Emma knew Jack would listen to her endless musical rehearses in the car, being present at every event she would sing.

Anna felt the same about you. When you met Jack, she was four years old and had lost her mother recently. You never tried to steal her mother's place; everybody was aware of it. But you were there for every little thing. School plays, birthday parties, and teenage years. Fulfilling a part of her life that was missing, always remembering her late mother with honour and respect.

When you and Jack (finally) started dating, after a few years of yearning, she was so happy that it finally happened. It wasn’t a surprise you liked each other; the more you denied it, the more complicated the situation became until you both admitted it.

“If you’re worried about impressing us, you shouldn’t.” You caressed her hair, “Jack still gets nervous when he’s working next to me. That’s why I’m the smarter one in this marriage.”

“Ouch.” Jack finally entered the kitchen, pretending to be upset by your words.

“You called the patient by the wrong name four times two nights ago just because I was in the same room, Jack.” You shook your head, pouring yourself more coffee.

“That’s peak romance, mom.” Anna giggled, nodding her head.

Anna started calling you mom a few years after your marriage to Jack. She was so afraid of you rejecting her that when it came out first, she froze, and you cried a lot. It means so much to you that she trusted you enough to call you mom, a place you needed to earn, and you do.

“In my defense, you were looking hot, covered in blood, and bossing me around.” You rolled your eyes, and he laughed, kissing your cheek. “My brain doesn't work around hotties, by hotties I mean you.”

“It’s seven in the morning, c'mon guys!” June pretended to be disgusted, covering her eyes.

“You shouldn’t be going to school right now?”

“We wanted to wait for you to let you know that we may have a girls' night friday.” Jack poured himself some coffee and leaned over the counter next to you.

“Friday? The same day your mom and I have a shift together?” He raised his eyebrows, and the three girls nodded at the same time.

“Musical night. All the girls had already agreed.” Anna blew you two a kiss before they all left the room together. “And! We’ll clean before you even come back.”

“Do we have a choice?” He asked you, speechless about the conversation he just had. “A lot of girls will be sleeping in our living room while we work. I don’t think we need to worry about a thing.”

“I don’t think so.” You touched his shoulder, laughing quietly. “Anna’s going to college soon, we should have her do that, make some memories with her sisters. It's going to be good for them.”

“You’re right, we just pray that they don’t burn the house.”

Friday night, you two ended up in your living room full of girls dressed up as musical icons, a microphone, snacks and a lot of glitter. You held his hand and left the house faster than a bullet while their friends started to sing to you and your husband.

TWO

Jack was an insomniac. You knew it, the girls knew it, even the cat was accustomed to it.

Maybe it was because of his work or ‘cause his mind never fully stops.

He enjoyed the quietness, the peace of the home when no one was awake. He spent hours lying in bed just watching you sleep peacefully, how messy your hair was, legs tangled around him, the warmth of your body cuddled in him. He loved the idea that you needed him around even in your sleep.

When he didn’t want to stay in bed, he quietly left the bedroom and stayed in the living room. Sometimes he would stay at the back porch, reading or just watching the quiet. His only companion was your cat, who despises him when you’re around, sleeping soundly between his tights. But sometimes he encountered Emma, quietly making space for herself at the armchair facing the stars outside.

“Bad dream?” Jack put on his readers, holding the book you bought him the other day.

“Couldn’t sleep.” She sighed, looking at him.

He saw you in Emma. The messy hair, puffy eyes, the traces of her pretty face, and cranky voice, exactly like yours when you don’t sleep nicely. She was holding a book too, looking a little ashamed for being caught awake this late at night.

“Do you want to talk about it?” He made his way to the couch next to her, leaning the crutches on the floor.

“It’s not a big deal.”

“If you’re awake at three in the morning, it’s a big deal.”

Jack loved being a girl's dad. He never fully understood how he was going to raise a girl, be a man and at the same time, protect her from the madness of the world. His heart aches every time he thinks about not being the person his kids needed him to be at the right moment.

Thankfully, he always was. He’s the one all of his girls call when something is not right. He’s the person you call when the world seems to disappear from your feet.

“There’s this guy, he’s friends with June.” Jack raised his eyebrows, watching the girl. “We’ve been talking for a while now, and I told him I liked him and ran away.”

“Oh, Em.” He reached out for her hand. “You think he likes you back?”

“I don’t know,” Emma admitted, looking embarrassed. “He called me cute the other day, gave me his jacket when I needed to run to Anna’s car in the rain, and he kept texting me to know if I’m alright. He sent me flowers the other day.”

“When I met your mother a few years ago, I used to get so nervous around her that I put her in triage for a few weeks to not be around her, just the sound of her voice was enough to make me dizzy.” He laughed at himself. “I realized I was in love with your mother when she went on a date with another guy, and I panicked at the idea of her being in love with somebody else.”

“Really?” She asked.

“Definitely. I did things I’m not proud of before telling her how I feel, and I’m glad for finally saying something ‘cause look where we are today.”

“Thanks for that, I needed to hear this.”

“If he won’t treat you right, you can tell me and I will proudly try to scare him.” Emma laughed, nodding her head. “Besides, your mom can be intimidating when she’s mad.”

“You remember Disney World, right?” Jack chuckled, letting her hand go.

“You should see her working doubles, that’s scary.”

THREE

You were lying on top of Jack while the movie played in the background. Neither of you was paying attention, too invested in being close. His hands rested underneath your shirt, pulling you closer to him as your face was buried in his neck.

The girls weren’t home, and after two glasses of wine, you couldn’t contain the excitement in your voice while you spoke. Jack found it funny how the idea of enjoying each other's company involved takeout, wine, and some movie you’ve lost interest the minute his hands were on you.

You got too excited about being alone with your husband after a few days of working nonstop, when the front door opened, revealing three girls laughing. Immediately, you sat down looking like teenagers who got caught in the worst possible moment. Jack was flustered, your hair was messy and your blouse was unbuttoned.

“We had the most amazing night today!” June exclaimed, walking towards the other couch with her sister beside her.

“Really sweetie? Where did you go?” You asked, leaning against Jack, holding his hand, and trying to look like a normal parent, like you weren’t on each other seconds ago.

“We went to that Twilight drive-in we told you about and got some cookies in that new place next to the hospital,” Anna said, watching you with a funny face. She knew what you were up to. “How was your night?” Jack squeezed your hand slightly, noticing what his daughter was doing.

“We were watching a movie, had sushi for dinner and some wine. Nothing new.” You imagined you sounded cool, but in reality, you didn’t.

“I can see that your night was funny by your hair.” Anna crossed her arms, looking away to laugh.

“Disgusting, guys! Really?” Emma and June got up instantly. while Jack burst out laughing.

“You weren’t even here, girls. Don’t be that dramatic.”

“Dramatic? Dad, you have a hickey on your neck!” Anna screamed, making her sisters gasp.

“I think I’m killing myself after this.” June pretended to pass out.

“We never had the chance to do anything.” Jack had a smug smile on his lips, making you blush as he watched your face. “In this hour.” He whispered to you.

“We thought you’d come home later.” You admitted, crossing your arms.

“I need therapy after this.” Anna sat in the armchair, snickering at the situation she created.

“The worst thing that can happen is another child.”

“Jack!” You smacked his arm, resting your head on his shoulder.

Slowly, the girls stopped teasing you two and got comfy around the couch, pulling some blankets over them and eventually falling asleep without the movie ending. Your family was chaotic, but Jack couldn’t imagine his life without this anymore.

FOUR

The house was awfully quiet when Jack walked in. He looked at his watch, trying to understand why the a sudden silence. He found you and Emma in the kitchen baking some cookies, the ones you did only when something bad happened. You looked at him with a worried look, and he immediately felt something was off.

“What happened?” He asked, looking at his daughter.

“Emma and June are sick. They’ve been throwing up and with a fever since last night.” You speak, putting the cookies in the oven. “Heather came here with Dana to medicate them; they’re sleeping now.”

“Why didn’t you bring them to the ER last night?” Jack’s voice was a little mad, and you couldn’t blame him.

“Four traumas, Jack. They needed you, and I am a doctor too.” Emma looked at both of you, leaving the room. “I am pretty capable of making decisions about our kids' health.”

“What if something bad happened when you’re not looking?” You pointed to the baby’s monitor next to you.

“I’m always watching them, and I haven’t slept since the first symptom.” Jack tried to be reasonable about the situation.

He hates it when the girls get sick and he isn’t around. He felt impotent and frustrated; he couldn’t help like a real father, feeling anxious and preoccupied. The last time that happened, he hadn’t been able to work until he went back home to be with his girls.

“Dana and Heather came over? You should’ve called me.” He was pretty upset and his face was giving him away.

“Jack, I tried to call you, and then I called Ellis and she told me you had four active traumas.” You knew he was annoyed when he just passed you in the kitchen, going straight to the girls’ room.

To his surprise, he found Anna and June intertwined in bed, covered in the coziest blanket you've ever owned. The nightside had two cups of water and some painkillers that your friends brought earlier. He came closer to them, slowly feeling the heat of their foreheads, watching them relieved that they’re fine.

He went back to the kitchen to find you having a cup of tea, eyes closed, and your back resting on the chair. You noticed him before he said a word. You were exhausted, and you had a migraine. Jack approached you slowly, touching your shoulder before sitting down next to you.

“One of the traumas involved three girls. Sisters.” He states, making you look at him. “I almost froze, it reminded me so much of them, and when I got home, you told me they’re sick.” You reached out for his hand. “I’m sorry I was an asshole.”

“It’s fine, Jack.” He put his hand on yours. “Go take a shower and sleep a little.”

“I’m good, honey. Go rest, I’m not tired at all.” He reassured you. “Emma is awake and we can watch a movie while the girls don’t wake up.”

“You sure?” He nodded. “Alright.” Jack kissed your cheek, hugging you tightly before you walked away to your bedroom.

Jack admired you for all the things you already know, but he loved how you were always true to your words. He knew you hadn’t slept, he knew you paced around the kitchen in silence the whole night to not disturb Emma, and he was pretty aware of how you held the girl's hair when they were in the bathroom. He wished he were more like you every day, strong and tough.

You, on the other hand, wished you were more like him. He had no idea how many times you cried during the night, holding the girls, reassuring them, and trying not to break down more. You wanted to be cool like him, calm in the moments you couldn’t.

When you woke up, your girls were nestled into you, safe and protected. They looked better, less pale, and by the smell of their hair, Jack must’ve helped them take a shower. You leave them in bed and go upstairs to find your husband making dinner quietly.

“Hey, sleepyhead. How did you sleep?” He asked, looking at you with a bright smile.

“I sleep well. How do the girls behave?” You sat down, watching him.

“They woke up a few hours ago, I gave them more medicine, Emma helped them shower and they wanted to sleep with you, so I let them.”

“They looked pretty cozy wrapped around each other.” You comment, resting your head on your hand.

“We can let them sleep in our bedroom and watch something later.”

“You just want an excuse to sleep on me, Abbot.” He laughed, looking offended.

“It’s not my fault you’re comfortable sleeping.” Jack put the knife down, glancing at you, “Besides, the ring on your finger kinda allows me to do that.”

“You’re trouble, Jack.”

“And you love me too much.”

#dr abbot #dr abbot x reader #jack abbot #jack abbot x reader #the pitt #jack abbot imagine #jack abbot x you #dr abbot x you #dr abbot fic #jack abbott

258 notes · View notes

carryberry · 19 hours ago

Text

robert reynolds x afab!reader

(cw: smut, discussions of cockwarming, 'pussy' used to describe reader's genitalia)

Thinking about cockwarming with Bobby who blushes, all over, breath stuttering just from wanting to be close with you. He approaches you, torturously slow because he still can't convince himself that you want him as much as he wants you. He just wants, wants and wants... Even if its just a look, a brush of your hand, your voice. He wants it all. Most of all, he just wants to be with you, all the time. Feel your presence wrap around him.

It makes him go insane, actually. He needs to be close to you. He craves it, deep inside his bones, the need to be close to you is constant. He yearns for your warmth. He needs to feel it in every part of his skin, including on his now full on hard cock.

So he gets closer, closer and closer. You let him. God, you always let him.

When he gets like this, when he is clearly uncomfortable under his skin, when every little thing seems to set him off, eyes twitching, fingers fidgeting, his sole solution is you. And you are painfully aware.

So he puts his hand on your hip, eyes searching everywhere but your face. He is shy when he wants this. Pulling you closer by the hip, chests now touching, you can feel he hardness of his cock through his sweats. He rests his head between your shoulder and neck, noses along it, inhaling your scent. He rubs his head on your neck, then your cheek like a pup, and honestly, it is endearing how much he loses himself in you. How he is so needy, so desperate.

He stops for a moment, putting his entire weight on you, and lets out a sound that is close to a whine. He whispers, quiet and small, "Can we... Can I... I need you, love. Please."

He gets overwhelmed easily. You tease him about it, how he goes dumb, how he cannot form a sentence when he gets like this. But you know what he wants, you can feel it in his skin. You can feel it on your skin too, because you can feel the wetness on your panties start to grow by the second. You can't resist him.

"Yes, baby. Get comfortable for me, yeah? Be good about it."

He thanks you repeatedly, calls you love, and kisses your neck as he gets up a little. His hands start wondering under your tshirt, and slowly starts to reach for your panties. When he realizes you are wet, he groans loudly and curses under his breath. He palms himself through his sweats and after a moment he pulls it down, revealing his hard, weeping cock. His tip is flushed red and shiny.

He is not going to last too long being still, you think to yourself. He loves being buried inside you, loves how you envelope him in your warmth, both in your pussy and in your arms. It soothes him, makes his head clearer, thoughts silent. But he always gets needy after a while, always.

He pumps his cock a few times, spreading his slick along his length. With his other hand, he touches your panties where there is a wet spot and pants loudly, like a needy dog. He slips your underwear to the side, reveals your aching and glistening pussy. The sight makes him bite his lip, stopping the embarrassing sounds he was going to let out.

"Come on, Bobby. Don't make me wait." Your breaths were starting to come out shaky from the expectation. As much as Bob needs this, you love it too. Love seeing him this desperate for you, love keeping him inside you, filling you up, making you whole.

He apologizes a few times, and lowers his head to give you a kiss on the lips. You brush your hand along his curls, always loving the soft feel of his hair along your fingers. At the same time, you feel the head of his cock against your entrance, making you tense up momentarily. His cock slips, catches in your panties and slides over your hole to your clit. You exhale loudly, Bob groans at the same time, then quickly apologizes for it. You hold onto one of his arms, nails digging into his bicep. "Baby..."

Bob shakes his head, curls going around, face going redder, and ruts his hips again, this time entering you slow, so slow. Your hole welcomes him gladly, he moans and grips your hips in a soft hold, head going to rest on your neck again. He buries himself in you, gently, feeling the warmth of your walls around his cock, relief going through his spine. When he is buried to the hilt, he sighs and puts his weight on your chest, body going loose. You starts to pet his hair again, listening to his (and your own) breathing getting steady, melting together. He kisses, kisses and kisses your neck, lips constantly seeking your skin. He holds you closer, caging you in his unrelenting but gentle hold.

This is what he wants.

To be with you, to be one with you. He wants you to keep him inside forever, maybe live under your skin, wants you to own him, never let him go. It makes him feel safe, in a way, safe and wanted.

You know he is going to start moving soon, getting needy like a bad little pup. But you are going to keep him like this, as much as he wants.

You know he deserves it.

110 notes · View notes

aesapresmoi · 2 days ago

Text

so this is love

aizawa shōta x fem! reader / hcs and drabbles

who knew the stealthiest hero would have a lover of whom he melts under the gaze of? / insp. he’s my man by luvcat / so this is love, disneyᥫ᭡.

slow burn type of love. aizawa is a man who doesn’t rush into things, especially with the type of field he’s in. doesn’t do hookups or situationships, very straight forward with what he wants.

while in the time of trying to understand his feelings, he would often dodge the idea of starting something with you. his sweet acts of service speaks volumes over his words, no matter how much people question your friendship in the beginning.

memorized your coffee order, takes notes of the shows you watch so he could check it out for himself, begins to learn your schedule like it’s second nature for him. at first, he believed it was because he enjoyed being your friend.

you fell first, but he fell harder, type of love. you fell gradual, unsure of whether or not this is a crush. gradual of months, weeks, and days of open friendship and genuineness to each other. was it still normal after you gave him your apartment code for the lock? was it still normal after you cared for him after the villains invaded ua? was it still normal after you found yourself packing him lunch as when you go to work — he’s going to work — and he picks you up because it’s along the way?

gentle brushes of your hands, yearning for some contact, but both of you are unsure of what this could end up being. you knew it was much more than a crush when you found him fast asleep on your couch — after he promised to stay up and watch the movie with you: gentle breaths and messy hair. you would help him lay properly before bringing a spare blanket down

you became the mysterious woman he greeted after work after some time. this was after a shift you had finish quite early, contemplating just to walk over to ua and greet him outside those large, security, walls. you knew he’d be off by the time you got there, so that’s what you did.

young, curious eyes watched aizawa approach you. he was slow, unknowing at first, but as soon as you made yourself known that you were waiting right outside on the sidewalk? he walked faster with reason, nearly jogging right up to you with a gentle hand grasping for your shoulder.

“did you walk here?” his tone was gentle and curious, his expression melted and soft.

your gaze met his, a sweet smile pulling at your lips. “guilty — i was wondering if you would want to go grab something to eat?” instinctively, your timid hands came up to his scarf to adjust it. “what do you say?”

“sounds great.”

maybe that’s when he realized he fell for you. the evening sun kissing your features gently, like pools of honey just washed over you and made you golden. he was almost jealous of the sun for kissing you before he had.

he’s not one for public affection, or is he one to make a grand announcement that he’s dating someone. it would come up in casual conversations with friends: “oh yah? i got’ta talk to make girl first to let her know.” “i have someone waiting for me, i can’t tonight.” “no, i have someone to patch me up.”

in private, he’s all yours. tired and worn, often laying on top of you when sat on the couch. he melts when he feels you brushing through his hair with your fingers, untangling the knots that could have formed throughout the day. he sighs with content when you hum, it’s simple, but it reminds him that he could still have a simple life outside being a hero

#aizawa #aizawa x reader #aizawa shota x reader #aizawa shota x you #aizawa shouta #aizawa shouta x reader #mha x reader #mha aizawa #bnha x reader #bnha fanfiction #bnha aizawa

114 notes · View notes

writingsonsaturn · 10 hours ago

Text

long story short

{ masterlist } { the 'taylor swift' series }

🪐 - yall this is my longest fic to date, i love you guys

wc - 5.5k | content warning - attempted suicide, vomiting, reader has a bad mother, non-sexual nudity, panic attack, mental health talk, please if this is a trigger for you do not read this, I have other fics and will be putting more out, take care of yourself

summary - when the weight of the world falls on you, Jack is there to dust off the rubble

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

Life always seemed to either move too fast or too slow, never in-between for you. Your body felt as if it was floating through time, never giving you a second to breath in the air around you.

When you were little your parents wanted you to be great, to be what they couldn't since they had you so young. Your mother encouraged you to be a doctor, always telling you how sharp your senses were, or how beneficial your steady hands would be in the medical field.

You would argue there was never a choice as to what your job would be, you didn't get to dream about being a chef, or a hair stylist, only a medical physician. Now in all fairness, you weren't completely uninterested in this career path — infact you truly loved learning medicine, you just wished you had more of a choice.

Throughout medical school you went through ups and downs mentally, the never ending stress that being in this profession gives humans can be unbearable. Exams, clinical rotations, and so much more had began to weigh on you heavily — so much so you started contemplating taking your own life.

Assuming it would be easier to do that then disappoint your parents.

You were a fourth-year med student when you attempted, working at PTMC. Your attending Dr. Jack Abbot told you to go home early, he noticed your distant stare, the way you refused to look anyone in the eye, he saw all the signs he experienced himself; still he sent you home.

Dragging your feet up into your small apartment, locking the door behind you, setting your stuff down on the floor next to the door and walking into the bathroom. You met your own eyes in the mirror, the dark circles embedded themselves in your sockets and you sighed.

There was no will left in your body, so you reached a hand into your medicine cabinet and took a handful of pain meds you had been prescribed a year ago after hurting your shoulder. You choked on the pills as you swallowed them dry, then sat yourself on the bathroom floor waiting for darkness to wash over your body.

Jack felt it in his stomach that something was off, he knew he shouldn't have sent you home alone.

He saw it in the way you were holding yourself up just enough to get through the shift. He was beating himself up for it, so he decided to go check on you after work; you had only gone home an hour before your shift was set to end, and he is praying to whatever will listen that he won't be too late, that he was just overreacting.

The two of you were close, he had grown fond of you — more specifically your kind personality. You were always ensuring good bedside manner, even when Gloria was on his ass about you working quicker to get more patients into beds.

After losing his wife Jack swore he'd never love again, then he saw you and everything changed. He yearned to get to know you, he needed to see what you looked like when you woke up in the mornings, if you sung in the shower, your comfort foods, any and all things that had to do with you he wanted to know.

The inner voice in his head shamed him for liking a woman that much younger than him, nearly 20 years her senior, but she was perfect. In everyway possible Jack could not find anything to reel his feelings back from you, he tried everything but he just wanted to pull you closer every time.

Jack made his way up the rickety stairs of your old Pittsburgh apartment, rubbing his cold hands together as his achy knees counted one step at a time before finally reaching your door.

Three knocks echoed through the hallway

"Kid? It's Jack, can you open the door?"

Silence.

Jack knocks again.

"Y/n, open the door please! I know you can hear this!"

He knocked one more time, banking on the possibility you were asleep.

"I'm gonna break the door down if you don't open up, hon"

Waiting a few moments, he pressed his ear against the door trying to listen for any movement but was only met with the sound of his own racing heartbeat.

Jack's hand's begin looking for an extra key anywhere outside of your door, but found nothing. So, Jack proceeded to the next step which was breaking your door open, one of your neighbors had come out to inspect the commotion in the hallway and saw your door with split wood coming from the siding.

Wandering into the house Jack yelled your name out, seeing your purse and coat laying down on the floor next to the door, he knew you were home, it was just the matter of finding you.

"Y/n? Where are you, kid?" he whispered the last words more to himself as he walked through the kitchen and towards what he assumed was your room.

There was an eerie sense of stillness in the air when he walked into your room, as he looked around he saw the lighting of your bathroom illuminating the wall. Jack felt his heart plummet towards the floor, he hurriedly walked over to the slightly ajar door and saw your limp body laying there.

"Holy fuck, hey! Baby, wake up!" Jack's voice cracked as he knelt down next to you, Jack put his pointer and middle finger on your carotid feeling for a pulse.

It was faint but there.

Your neighbor had come in when he heard Jack screaming your name, Jack was startled at first before begging for the man to call 911.

"Tell them we have an overdose, faint pulse, and slowed breathing!" Jack yelled over the sound of his own erratic pulse.

"Please baby, please be okay." He picked you up bridal style, and carefully rushed you down those hazardous stairs to meet the paramedics. They arrived swiftly 8 minutes later, Jack was eternally grateful you had a place so close to the hospital. Rushing out a bunch of medical jargon, making sure they understand how serious your condition is.

Jack rode in the ambulance with you, holding your hand the whole time. Doing his best to comfort himself with comforting you, his thumb rubbing rhythmically over your knuckles.

He couldn't bring himself to look at your face again, the lifeless expression it rested at was enough to make his lip quiver in agony, your cheeks were stained with dried tears — he couldn't wipe your sadness away, only forced to meet the possibility of your death.

Everything became a blur to him, the moment the gurney wheels hit the ground and entered the ER it was chaos. The moment Dr. Robby's eyes laid upon your unconscious form he stuttered, which was unusual for him, when you were working the day-shift Robby was your guiding light; he always had the answer to your question, and never once hesitated.

This was different. You were the patient now, you were the life he is supposed to save.

"You gotta save her, man!" Jack yelled out a plea to Robby.

"I need you to go, brother!" Robby replied with haste, as he got the charcoal drink prepared while the nurses pump your stomach.

Dana started pushing Jack out of the way, as much as Abbot tried to hide his feelings for you, everyone, and truly everyone, knew how he felt about you; except for you.

"C'mon hon, lets get you a chair" Dana was nursing a motherly tone, she was doing her best to keep Jack off the ledge while still doing her job.

"She was so fucking c-cold" Jack's voice cracked under the pressure of the tears he was holding back.

There was nothing for him to do except wait, and that was the most agonizing part of all, he wasn't aware of if you were coding, or if the charcoal was working, or hell if a white sheet was being placed over your dead body while they solemnly called your time of death.

God, you are so loved in the ER. Everyone loved the cookies you would bring every other Saturday, "just cause." The radiance and sheer excitement only a med student has, but it was all a facade, you were internally crashing in front of everyone and Jack was the only one who noticed the light fading from your smile.

Yet, he still let you fucking leave alone.

Word after word went through Jack's mind, every sentence he said to you that shift and how he felt he had been a little harsher on you today because you weren't giving your full potential. He thought if he could just break you in, just a bit, you would give the fire in your hands the opportunity to escape.

You were good, so, so fucking good. Everything you did was smart and well planned, your answers to on-the-spot questions were quick and concise. This career was practically born with you, your care for humans was unmatched, and he hated himself for never thinking about what you were over-compensating for.

He was stuck sitting in this lousy , uncomfortable, professional lawn chair re-thinking all the outcomes that this could lead to — the worst of them being your death.

Robby walked in with a sigh and quickly explained your situation to Jack before being talked over by a million questions.

"She is going into the general ward upstairs, we have not detected any neurological anomalies, however, we are still waiting on the CT-" Robby takes a breath before continuing "-she is really fucking lucky you found her when you did, you can see her when you're ready," he finished.

Jack went in for a hug, an unsaid 'thank you,' and rushed to the elevator to get right back to his rightful place next to you.

The day was long and Jack didn't get a wink of rest, every twenty minutes he looked at your vitals himself even though there was a nurse routinely checking them as well, he needed to check for himself.

Robby had come up after his shift ended, he had tried to get Jack to go home. Telling him "she likely won't wake up for another couple of hours, you should go home and change." Jack only then realized he still had his scrubs on, but he didn't care, he wasn't going to leave you alone again, not now.

With a shake of his head, Robby patter Jack on the back and left without another word.

Then at around 11:27pm, your hand twitched, and a groan escaped your throat, slightly panicky as you realized where you were. Jack was quick on his feet, bringing his face into your view so you would calm down, "hey, hey shh, it's okay" Jack rushed in a whisper, trying his hardest not to startle you.

Your hand searched quickly for his and he was even quicker to grab a hold of it. First has pushed the call button to get a nurse in, then he asked you a question-

"Honey, do you remember what happened?"

The look in your eyes was enough of an answer for him, you remembered everything.

"Oh, baby" Jack's other hand gently caressed your head, smoothing out your hair. He saw a tear stream down the side of your face and quickly wiped, selfishly happy he was able to. He swore to himself you would never experience this alone ever again, he was gonna help you through this.

You winced as you swallowed, your throat raw and scratchy with the amount of trauma caused. Jack noticed your painful action and went to grab you some water in a dixie cup, and while he did this, the nurse also had come in to check on you.

"Hey sweetheart, how are we feeling? Any pain I should know about?" The nurse, Stella, asked kindly. You shook your head, not yet trusting your voice to speak.

"Her throat is bothering her, but that's to be expected" Jack told Stella, Stella nodded in agreement with a soft smile directed at you that made you feel safe. After Jack gave you the water, Stella gave you a little while to get your bearings before explaining any next steps to you.

You knew what was to happen next, likely a 72 hour hold in the psychiatric ward. Kiara had come to talk to you, first asking if you would consent to inpatient — which you did — and than walking you through your next course of action. You asked if you were at risk of losing your position and were ensured you would be okay, Jack insisting he won't let anything happen.

Jack went over all the paperwork with you, making sure you understood everything and reassuring you that he would be there everyday to during visiting hours. You were terrified, this wasn't how you thought things were going to lay out.

After all papers were signed and sent to the system you and jack waited together for an available room, you gasped when you realized your parents were going to have to know eventually. Tears gathered in your eyes once more, thinking how disappointed they'll be.

"I'll take care of it, okay kid?" Jack said, pulling your head into his chest and rubbed your back carefully. He wanted nothing more than to take away all the things burdening your thoughts, he continued assuring your worries as you gripped onto his scrub top like a vice.

"Alright dear, are you ready?" A new nurse, Erin, asked.

You nodded numbly, hugging Jack and him kissing your forehead, telling you he'd see you tomorrow, then you went of with the nurse.

Those three days were horrible for you, you couldn't even piss alone.

You were absolutely elated to be going back home, you were prescribed anti-depressants and mandatory 2 months therapy. Jack drove you home, taking your little things he brought to you back up. Jack had looked through all of your stuff — with your permission — and took away anything you could use to harm yourself that was not necessary to life.

He also had stocked up your fridge with a weeks worth of food.

You felt a little light return to your body at seeing how much effort this man put into making you feel safe, your eyes landed on air mattress that was neatly laid out on the ground in your living room.

"Uh, I hope you don't mind, I figured the first couple of days I could stay with you" Jack reasoned.

"Yeah-yes, of course" You spoke a little too fast, thankful you won't have to be alone.

That night was quite, Jack made dinner for the two of you and he enlightened you with the knowledge that '10 Things I Hate About You' is his favorite rom-com, that brought a genuine smile to your face.

To jack though, that smile was equivalent to a star exploding and creating a new galaxy.

After you went to your room for the night, you lingered a little bit on the other side of your door, taking a deep breath and wondering how you got this lucky, maybe, just maybe, the universe decided to cut you some slack.

Unfortunately however, you had a rough night sleeping.

Your back was turned away from your bathroom since you couldn't quite get yourself to go in there yet, Jack mentioned he cleaned it up a tad while you were in inpatient, but you still couldn't find the strength. Sadly for you, that meant sleeping on the side of your body that was least comfortable to you, just to get away from facing the music.

You sat up straight in bed and looked over at the clock that now blinks a harsh red light of 5:15am. Your warm feet hit the cold floor as you got out of bed and made your way into the short hallway towards the living room, you secretly hoped Jack was awake — to your genuine surprise, he was.

"Hey, you okay?" he asks sincerely sitting up from his position on the air mattress, "this is weird, but- uh, I don't wanna sleep alone" you finish weakly.

Jack is quick to lift the blanket up on the side that is empty, a gesture to invite you in. You felt ashamed to be doing this, having to sleep in someone else's bed to keep the bad thoughts away felt childish, stupid even, but as you climbed in next to him you felt the warmest you ever had.

You curled into his side, seeking comfort in his arms,

In return he pulls you taut against his chest while rubbing your arm, giving you a quiet "I got you" before you were finally taken away to dreamland. Jack stayed awake a little longer after you, memorizing the way your body felt against his with each breath you took.

The both of you woke up roughly at the same time, tangled in each others limbs. Jack pulled you against him with a gentle squeeze, "Sleep well?" he asked with a sleepy smile. "Yeah, thanks" you responded than got out of the bed and padded towards the kitchen where your toothbrush sat next to the sink.

Unconventional sure, but so was a lot of what you did these last couple of days.

Jack also brushed his teeth in the kitchen along side you, hoping it made you feel less weird with someone else doing it to. "So, I have to go to the hospital to grab something, you gonna be okay here?" Jack's concern always melted you even though it was common human decency.

"Oh, yeah, I'll be okay, swear" you said with a reassuring grin that didn't meet your eyes. You understood why he was hovering, and you weren't upset about it in anyway, but you were thrilled to have just a little time to yourself. You were watched for 24 hours straight for three full days, finally being able to breath with no lingering eyes was going to be great.

Once Jack left you felt weird, you hadn't been alone in a room in what felt like an eternity and you weren't quite sure what to do with this refound freedom. So, you did what you always did when you were overwhelmed and cleaned, the kitchen had a few things out of place from dinner last night. Your room was a disaster with what looked like a laundry bomb had exploded and covered your sanctuary in dirty clothes, so you decided what a better way to distract yourself then to do laundry.

You knew you needed to take a shower, and you were hitting yourself for not getting the other floor plan of "2 bath 1 bed" option but you figured you wouldn't need it. Now you were here, trying to hype yourself up to shower in the same bathroom you thought would be the last thing you ever saw.

Luckily for you there was a knock on the door, well you thought you were lucky.

"Mom? What are you doing here?" You were shocked to see your mother who lived halfway across the country to be at your doorstep. "What were you thinking?" she greeted with an angry tone bubbling under her voice, normal mothers would be over the moon at their child still breathing, but not her.

"Mom, please I don't want to argue about this" You pleaded with exhaustion, this wasn't a confrontation you wanted to deal with right now. You were physically and emotionally drained from the last four days and you just wanted to turn your mind off and give your body rest.

"How could you be so stupid, you have your whole life ahead of you, and you want to make a selfish decision like that?" Her voice echoing through your mind.

Selfish.

Stupid.

Every horrible adjective she could think of she was hurling at you.

"Please leave, I can't do this right now" You tried to shut the door on her but she held her hand out to block it, she forced her way in and continued to exclaim how much of a disappointment you had become, which had been exactly what you were most afraid of.

You couldn't think as you tried to get her out of your apartment, begging her to jut leave and that you would call her later. She just wouldn't listen, wouldn't agree to let you be.

That was when your saving grace came in, Jack had quickly opened the door when he heard voices reverberating throughout the building, "what the hell is going on here?" he exclaimed loudly over the voice of your mother.

"Who are you?" your mother asked, wide eyed at the foreign man in her daughters apartment.

"He is the only one who has actually gives a single shit about me being alive, so please mom, get the fuck out of my home" you said sternly, now crying.

She looked at you with a disgust in her eye before huffing and leaving your apartment, pushing past Jack aggressively.

Jack was stunned to say the least but that didn't last long before he was closing and locking the door then walking over to your shaking form. You were sobbing hysterically, your breathing was unstable and you couldn't catch your breath. "Baby, you gotta slow down, you're hyperventilating" Jack said steadily trying to calm your unsteady breaths.

"I-I think I'm g-g-gonna be sick" You gagged out, Jack was fast to react and quickly lead you to the bathroom.

The bathroom.

Everything was so overwhelming. Mind was racing with a million thoughts a second, dry heaving into the toilet. You could feel Jack's hand rubbing circles on your spine, "I know baby, I know" He comforted you, wishing nothing more than to take you away from this pain.

As you finished up you leaned back into Jack's chest, you had long stopped crying. The feeling only being replaced with exhaustion, Jack talked you into getting up off the floor.

"I need to shower" you say plainly, no emotion found in your raw voice.

"Okay, I'll leave you to it, holler if you need-" Jack was caught off by your small voice, "could you help me?" your eyes never met him as you requested his assistance. "Of course" He replied.

There was nothing sexual about this, you were distraught and just needed someone to wash your hair and keep you afloat. Jack suggested a bath for you instead, to which you agreed, feeling stupid after forgetting his leg. You tried to apologize but he refused to hear it, joking about how he's learned to walk on the prosthetic so well you forgot it was on him.

It drew a quiet laugh, a sound only meant for him to hear.

He took his time with you, keeping your comfort at the forefront of his mind, letting you wash your own body and eyes never once wondering. Focused on the mission at hand, like he was back in the military.

You sat in the warmth of the bath for a while with Jack sitting right there next to you, he opted in reading a book — the one that rested on your nightstand — aloud.

He got through three chapters before you mentioned you wanted to get out.

Jack held out his hand for you to take, helping your unstable legs out of the tub and wrapping a towel around your midsection, covering your naked body. He left the bathroom to allow you to dress yourself whilst he patiently waited on your bed, Jack knew you were going to be exhausted so he got your bed ready to slide into.

You crawled into bed sluggishly, your body giving out the moment it hit the soft silk sheets. Cold hands touched Jack's skin making him jolt slightly at the unexpected touch, quickly though he knew what you wanted and he settled in right beside you.

"I don't wanna feel like this anymore" your words rang through Jack's ears like the sound of a gunshot, sharp and painful.

"We'll get through this, I'll be here for you the whole time" Jack responded.

"What about after I feel better?" you wondered.

"Let's talk about that when you're feeling better, okay?" he smiled at you then kissed your forehead and urged you to rest.

The world around you became more bearable with every moment Jack spent with you, giving you a support system to lean on had been detrimental to your recovery and mental health.

Jack came by your place nearly everyday after staying with you for about a week and a half, coming to kick it and watch a movie while debriefing about the shift, or bringing you some food on your days off — you knew it was his way of making sure you were properly eating, but you didn't mind.

After six months of mandated therapy you were finally back to working your normal shift schedules, back to the high of being in the ER. You graduated med school last month, and luckily matched with PMTC for your residency in emergency medicine.

You jumped with joy when you got your match, Jack attended the ceremony with you and helped calm your nerves of not getting the program you wanted. He explained that no matter what happened you were going to be okay, and it would be great for you — but secretly he was hoping more than you were that you would stay at PMTC.

The night had been a drag, nothing adrenaline inducing was introduced.

Shen was on his way to get yet another iced coffee when a trauma came in, your feet were in front of you before you could think about the idea of walking. Quickly racing over to your new patient and began accessing for external injuries.

However, as you heard the paramedics talk to Jack, you heard one word.

Overdose.

Everything all around you went quiet, loud ringing replacing the continuous beeping of vital monitors and groaning patients.

You removed yourself from the situation having Ellis take your position, she didn't complain or wonder — not that there was anytime to do so — she just nodded her head and gave you a subtle reassuring arm squeeze while you went to the closest private spot in the hospital, which was a single empty employee bathroom.

Your chest was heaving in a way you knew all too well, uneasy and hard.

Suddenly, your body was warm with sweat, everything felt like it was closing in on you, the room felt like it was getting smaller.

Was it getting smaller? No. No, of course not.

Trying to ground yourself you gripped the cold ceramic of the sink, the sensation feeling like a shock to your system at the night and day difference. Deep breaths were fighting through your airways to escape, but they just couldn't get out — your eyes were beginning to grow dark in the peripheral.

A knock at the door bounced against the walls of your head but you were too far away to acknowledge it, you wanted to open the door but the idea of moving anywhere felt like a death-wish.

You gently sat yourself down on the cold tile of the floor, not quite caring how unsanitary of a place that would be for you. All you could think about was the night you were brought in that horrible night 6 months ago, wanting nothing more than your time of death to be called.

Now, you were here. On the other side of what could've been, forced to look at the very same fate you had chosen for yourself. Too much. That was all you could think. This is too fucking much.

The door was opened gently, a muscled figure appeared in front of your eyesight bending down next to you.

First you felt his warm hand on your own, bringing your wondering mind back down to earth with his. Gently, Jack brought your hand to his chest; forcing you to feel the way his body inhaled, then exhaled, inhale, exhale. He didn't speak, didn't need to, the man was well aware of your mental state at this moment and you getting enough oxygen to your head was more important to him.

It took you a few more minutes of the continuous guidance before you finally came to. "I'm sorry" You whispered, feeling like more of a burden than ever, you can't just breakdown in a place like this, it's unethical.

Jack thought differently though, "don't you dare, it's only been six months sweetheart." He paused for a minute, bringing your face right in front of his, "this is a very, very, valid reaction to seeing a situation you were just in not long ago."

He took a deep breath before speaking again.

"The first time a patient came here in need of an amputation, I reacted the same way, knowing what this kid was going through. It killed me." His voice cracked but he stayed firm, "You are allowed to feel things, you did the right thing by stepping away, there is nothing, and I mean nothing, wrong with you."

You held his gaze for a while, maybe searching his eyes for annoyance but you never found it. All he held for you was love.

Taking one final deep breath and closing your eyes with a new found acceptance of your feelings, the two of you got up from the hard tile and left the bathroom together. Luckily, no one was around to gossip about Dr. Abbot and the new resident suddenly leaving a lockable bathroom together.

As the shift carried on you overheard a nurse talking about the patient who overdosed on some opioids, saying how she would make a full recovery. Realistically, she wasn't your patient therefore you had no right to go into the room they settled her in but you made the decision to do so anyways.

Stepping into the quiet room you immediately felt the heaviness way down on your bones, you looked around the curtain to see a young girl, no older than twenty, looking at the wall with no expression on her gray appearance.

"Hello, I'm Dr. L/n, I came in to check on you. Any excess pain anywhere, or confusion?" You asked timidly, this isn't what you came in here for but you needed to make her feel safe.

She answered with a slow shake of her head, still not acknowledging you.

You took a seat in the room with her, though you did decide to check and log her vitals you took the next step in talking with her more in-depth.

"You know, we aren't really supposed to come in here and talk to patients like this, but you remind me of myself and I want you to know if you wanna talk, we can" You paused for a beat, letting the woman digest what you were saying. "I can also leave you alone if that is what you would like, I just figured, maybe having someone who was in this position to talk to would help you not feel so isolated, if you need absolutely anything do not hesitate to hit that call button" finishing your spiel, you definitely didn't mean to go on and probably wasn't very helpful to the patient, you got up and began making your way towards the door.

"You ever feel like, like you're drowning?" a small voice filled the silent room.

"All the time" you replied stopping short and sitting right back down.

"How do I stop feeling like this?"

Her question broke your heart, not only because of how hopeless she sounded but that you didn't know the answer, you were still trying to figure it out yourself.

"I still feel it sometimes, that growing ache in your body and the voice in your head that just won't stop, but you find something or someone to grab ahold of, to keep your head above water and hold you afloat when your legs ache from fighting the waves. I wish I could tell you there was a cure, but I can't." The back of your throat became dry but you fought through it, "life is an abusive piece of shit, but you can fight it, there is people who haven't met you yet that will love you till their heart gives out, you just have to hold on."

She looked at you like time had stopped and only the two of you existed, like something clicked in her head. "What happens now?" she asks, voice less constricted than it had been.

"You will be taken to the psychiatric ward, if you consent to that, and you will fight through this" the hard truth slipped out at the end, soft isn't what this girl reacted to.

"Is it rude to ask you, what happened to you?" she queried.

"Long story short, it was a bad time, but I survived it, and so will you."

#reader insert #the 'taylor swift' series #jack abbot imagine #jack abbot x reader #the pitt fic #the pitt x reader #dr jack abbot x reader #michael robby robinavitch #jack abbott x reader #jack abbot #the pitt #writingsonsaturn

106 notes · View notes

bebop-haiiiiii · 8 hours ago

Text

I Trust You Sylus

⁀➷ Sylus x Reader, slight nsfw, yearning!sylus, gentle!sylus

Sylus has always kept a careful distance — not because he didn’t want you, but because he cared too much. Tonight, with you wrapped in his shirt and in his bed, the line he’s held for so long finally starts to blur. He touches you like you’re something fragile, like he’s afraid to break the moment. He wants to be good to you.

Word count: 1.4k

Sylus sat on the edge of the bed, fingers restlessly picking at the hem of the blanket. You were curled up under the covers, his sheets soft and still warm from the dryer, watching him in the low light of his room. After today’s mission, the two of you agreed it was safer to stick together for the night. He’d offered up his place without hesitation — gave you the bed, too, while a small stack of spare blankets waited for him on the couch beside it.

You didn’t get a chance to grab your things before you left, so one of his old t-shirts hung loosely off of your shoulders. It smelled like him — clean and familiar. “Sylus, I feel horrible. Please just share with me,” you said softly, shifting to make space. He scoffed, barely sparing you a glance. “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course you take the bed. I’ll be fine.”

The desk lamp beside him cast soft shadows across his face, catching on the sharp line of his jaw and the tired furrow in his brows. There was something heavy in the air between you. You could feel it in the way he wouldn’t meet your eyes. In the way he gripped the blanket like he needed something to do with his hands or else he might give himself away.

“Sylus…” you said again, quieter now. “Please just come here.” His gaze flicked to yours, unreadable for a moment. Then slowly — reluctantly — he shifted onto the bed beside you, leaving more space than he had to. He couldn’t sit closer. Not when you were in his bed, wearing his shirt, looking at him like that — like he was something worth reaching for. And gods, he wanted you.

Not just your body — though the sight of you wrapped in his clothes nearly broke his self-control. No, it was more than that. It always had been. It was the way your voice softened when you were tired. The way you smiled like it was just for him. The way you had just said his name and made it sound like it mattered.

He knew it was dangerous to be this close to you. Because he didn’t just want to touch you. He wanted to be good to you. Gentle with you. Wanted to hold every piece of you in his hands and make sure you never had to question whether you were safe. “I just… I want you to have the best sleep you can. I don’t mind the couch — seriously.” His voice was gentle, honest.

You looked at him then — really looked — and your chest ached. His hair was slightly messy from running his hand through it. His jaw was tight. But the space between you hummed, tension between the two of you grew stronger. Your body moved before you could think. You reached out and grabbed his hand which was rested on the bed beside you. Your fingers curled gently around his hand, his skin was warm under your touch. He looked at you like the air had been knocked out of him.

“…Sylus,” you whispered. “Can I kiss you?” Sylus froze, like time itself had caught him off guard. His eyes widened just slightly — not in shock, but in wonder, like he couldn’t believe you were really asking. That you’d want that. Want him. “Of course you can,” he smiled, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. “Are you sure this is what you want?” He said in a low tone as he looked up at you, his eyes filled with so much need.

You kissed him — softly at first, your lips brushing his. He didn’t move for a heartbeat, frozen under the weight of it, like he wasn’t sure it was real. But then his lips parted slightly, breath catching, and he leaned into you like gravity had finally won. His thumb brushed the edge of your cheekbone. The kiss became deeper with every second. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t messy. It was craving.

He sucked onto your bottom lip, your tongue pressing into his mouth looking for an invitation. And he let you. God, you drove him insane. He pulled you closer. His hand found your thigh, fingers curling gently against your skin, his other hand brushing under the hem of the shirt you wore — his shirt — knuckles grazing the warm skin just beneath it.

A small whimper escaped your lips. The kiss deepened. Hungrier now. The kind that made your stomach flip and your skin burn in anticipation. Then his hand slid up a little higher, his palm splayed wide across your side — and your breath hitched. Not out of fear. Not discomfort. But because you wanted more. Because it felt good.

Sylus didn’t know this though. He froze. He pulled back instantly, eyes wide, hand recoiling from your waist like he’d just realized he’d stepped somewhere he shouldn’t have. “I—” His voice cracked. “Fuck, I’m sorry.” You blinked, lips still parted, heart thudding. “What?” “I shouldn’t have—” He backed up, just a little, but it felt like he was miles away now. “You—your breath caught and I thought— I thought maybe I crossed a line.”

“Sylus…” your hand came up to cup his cheek. “I liked it. I didn’t want you to stop.” His gaze flicked up to yours, his eyes wide with surprise. “I thought I scared you,” he said. His voice was low, unsteady. “I thought I pushed too far.” You shook your head, heart thudding. “No. I—I just felt how much I wanted you. That was the only thing that caught me off guard.”

Then Sylus let out a shaky breath and said, “Tell me what you want, and I’ll give you everything.”Your fingers slid down, wrapping around his hand, guiding it back to your waist. “Touch me,” you whispered. “Like you were.” His lips parted just a little, then curled into a small smile.

He leaned back in, this time slower. His hand found your side again — a little firmer now, braver — and his mouth returned to yours with a heat that left you dizzy. You shifted up into his lap. His breath caught as you settled yourself, your thighs braced his hips. Then you rocked your hips. Just slightly. He groaned. He cupped your face with one hand, the other sliding under your shirt, palm splayed wide over your lower back.

“Fuck baby…” he whispered “You don’t know how long I’ve been wanting you like this. In my arms. In my shirt.” He kissed you again. Longer this time. A little hungrier. And when he pulled back to breathe, your noses brushed. “Stay with me,” he said, voice thick. “Tonight. Right here. Just… stay.” You nodded, eyes already starting to mist. “I wasn’t planning on leaving.”

: ̗̀➛ Author's Notes: im sorry guys i need to keep writing about him because im trying to heal from my last horrible relationship and im finding comfort in his gentle side 😩

#lads sylus #love and deepspace sylus #lads x reader #i need him so bad #i love gentle sylus #sylus pls appear in my room #sylus fluff #sylus x you #lads

73 notes · View notes

godmadeaterribleerror · 2 days ago

Text

Chapter 26 - Worth the Fight

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Dean about to take gold in the Yearning Olympics.

Chapter Title from Nettles by Ethel Cain

Word Count: 19.7k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: Dean picks you and Adam up, and everyone makes some choices. Usual Warnings.

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

Chapter 25 - Chapter 27

Read on A03!

There are a lot of different types of fear, and Dean Winchester has felt most of them.

There’s the white-hot, fury-made fear he feels during hunts. That one is useful. It’s a fuel. He can brace his body and fly through the fight with ease, swinging and shooting and marching right to the other side. Just like Dad taught him.

But then there’s the rotting fear, and that one is just annoying. It sort of festers in his throat, and then he can’t damn breathe out of nowhere, the fear having taken months to root with no clear way of how to get it out.

Sammy’s moping in the corner about unleashing the apocalypse, can’t figure out the right words to tell the kid it’s not his fault, and it’s electric under his skin that something horrible is going to happen. Bobby’s trapped in the wheelchair, and Dean isn’t a doctor, but one day that’s going to end in an empty chair and another funeral pier.

But this is the worst fear. The frenzied, wired one, that means something’s gone wrong—why the hell does something always have to go wrong—and Dean won’t be able to feel okay until it’s better.

That one can be about Sammy and the demon blood. About being forced to his knees while Anna sliced Jo’s neck open.

But it’s mostly about Her.

In pain in his arms. Calling him and saying She’ll be in Michigan, but then Dean got to Michigan and all that was left was the Firebird. Then hunters get the jump on his and Sam, because this fear doesn’t make him useful, or delay until he can’t ignore it anymore. It’s demanding, and painful, and every single time they’d walked into a memory of Her in Heaven, Dean had wanted to grab Her and never let go. Even when he damn well knew it wasn’t Her—the memories didn’t smell like fruit, and he should’ve gotten that it was Her in the blanket fort in the first second, because She’d smelled like fruit there—Dean had felt all the air tighten in his lungs.

Then he’d lost Her.

He’d grabbed the real Her—not dead, just walking through heaven like it was nothing, because she was a freaking angel—and then watched Her vanish with Zachariah.

The rest of the night had been a blur. A lot of Sam and Cas trying to calm him down, things breaking, and graphic threats that he wouldn’t actually inflict on them, but likely on himself. He’d roared at the sky, begging it to split open and Dean catch Her. He’d somehow lost Her again, and there was no damn point in being Her shadow or guard or friend or anything if Dean just kept fucking dropping Her, when She needed to be held like it was the world and all the stars in his hands-

“Dean.” Bobby had frowned at him from the doorway of their room.

Her room. Her room, that She trusted Dean to share. That had all his clothing, because they’d all stopped pretending Dean would ever be able to sleep without Her. The sheets still smelled like Her. Dean was holding one of Her notebooks, all the words in Enochian, like he could somehow read it and find a way to bring her back.

“Don’t say anything,” Dean had muttered, closing the book. “I don’t want to hear it, Bobby, I freakin’ know-“

“She called, ya idjit.”

His head had shot up. “She-“

“Sent a text first.” Bobby had grunted. “Called ‘er, we figure she got dropped somewhere in Northern California. She’s tryin’ to find somewhere to lay low ‘till you get her, but she’s stuck luggin’ that Adam kid with her. I were you, I’d get her fast.”

The fear had been clouding his brain. She’d gotten out, with Adam, but that didn’t mean she was safe. They didn’t know what the hell the angels had done to Her, if they’d hurt Her, if She’d needed Dean and he hadn’t been there. And California was far, and-

“She fucking hates California.” Dean had said, the only thought able to get itself out of his mouth, and Bobby had only shrugged.

“Then you’d better drive fast.” He’d paused. “Don’t get arrested. I ain’t got the time to bail you out.”

Dean had nodded, and sprinted out of the room. No need to wake Sam up for this, not when they were still a pissed at each other. All of Sam’s Heaven’s had been fucking bullshit—times he’d left Dean, shit he’d pulled off that had spurred memories of Dad spitting in Dean’s face and bruises on his jaw—and Dean had thrown a few chairs after Sam told him he couldn’t just go back to Heaven and get Her.

They fell the fuck apart, without Her. And Dean needed Her back now. The fear had turned almost numb and electric, and slowly ebbed out the closer he got to the address Bobby had given him.

But it gave way to new fear.

Cold fear. He could sort of feel it in his bones, and he’d been able to feel it since Mom died. He’d felt it every time Dad had gone out for a hunt, and Dean hadn’t been sure he’d return—and whenever he’d fucked up while Dad was on a hunt, and he hadn’t wanted Dad to return—and he’d felt it when he’d been in the demon deal, and She hadn’t known. Felt it every damn month She’d been gone, he’d called Her, and it had twisted in his stomach that this might be the time She didn’t pick up.

Dread. It was dread.

And as he pulled up the final dirt street—he’d been driving for over a day without sleep, but he didn’t need sleep, he needed Her—that was the fear that sunk into his body.

The fear that She’d be in pain when he saw Her, and this time, he wouldn’t be able to fix it.

Dean shut off Baby’s engine, but this would be quick. He just needed to grab Her—and Adam—and get home. And this was the address, but it was a dusty, abandoned looking cabin on the edge of some farmland, so-

Something tackled him from behind, arms wrapping around his chest and a face pressing into his back.

Anyone else, and he would’ve shot without thinking. But somehow—maybe the smell, maybe the feel, maybe just a deep instinct that told him don’t shoot the best person you’ve ever loved, dumbass—he knew it was Her. So his arm dropped to keep Her’s around him, and he let out a heavy breath as they swayed on the sidewalk.

Dean muttered Her name, craning his head back to meet Her gaze, and found her face still buried into his back. Her cheeks were smushed, and Her hair was a mess—but still somehow shiny, even in the dust of California—and when Dean repeated Her name, she just held him tighter.

“You found me.” She mumbled against his shirt, something soft and choked in Her voice, and Dean twisted fully in Her arms. He needed to hold Her back. To make sure she was real.

“Course I found you,” he kissed the top of Her head—that was allowed right now, she was crying—and she was going to suffocate him. He didn’t mind. “You-“

“I’m okay.”

Dean sighed, and took Her face between his hands, tipping it back to meet his gaze.

Her eyes were almost blinding, and glossy. Tinted red with tears, just as her cheeks were flushed and Her lips were swollen, likely from chewing. And there was that little, worried furrow in Her brow.

She wasn’t okay.

Dean ran his thumb down the bridge of Her nose, and tried to make his voice as gentle as possible. He didn’t know how to fix whatever was getting to Her. He had to fucking try.

“What happened?”

She shook Her head, hair sliding over her face that Dean got to brush away with his softest touch.

“I-“ She took a shaking breath, leaning into his touch. And he really was a piece of shit, because that was going to replay over and over in his head for the rest of his damn life. “I’m-“

Someone called Her name, and Dean tugged Her forward, wrapping an arm back around Her and raising his gun. He got Her, he had Her, she wasn’t anybody’s but Dean was Her’s, and they’d have to kill him to touch Her-

“What’s-“ Adam’s head poked out from behind the cabin, and his eyes widened, flicking between Dean, and Her in Dean’s arms. “Oh. Dean, you, uh- I thought Sam was coming?”

“Sam was sleeping.” Dean grunted. “And I’ve got the freakin’ car- Shit-“

Dean groaned as She shoved him, right in the gut, and leaned back with a glower.

He tried to give Her a winning smile, but it was more of a wince. “Ow, Princess-“

“Don’t Princess me, Winchester.” She snapped, and Dean’s grin felt a little more real. He was either going insane, or the hours without sleep were finally getting to him. She was so pretty, and the sun was rising, and all the light seemed to only shine for Her. Making Her almost freaking glow. “Put the gun down.”

He hadn’t realized he was still holding it. But he listened, raising his brows as he tucked it away.

Her scowl didn’t waver. “Where is Sam.”

“I told you, sleeping-“

“So you drive here alone?!”

“Uh,” Dean rubbed the back of his neck and glanced to Adam, but the kid was just staring at Her. “Maybe. But you needed help-“

“Not drive all night help, Dean!” She grabbed his face between Her hands, and Dean didn’t even bother to fight it. He was pretty sure she could try to stab him for real this time, and he wouldn’t do a damn thing about it. “When was the last time you slept?”

He wasn’t sure. He knew he hadn’t slept on the drive to Michigan, then he hadn’t slept in Heaven, but he’d been dead. That didn’t count. And She’d been missing for about a day and a half, plus the drive-

He was well over thirty-six hours.

Telling Her that didn’t seem like the best idea.

“I dunno,” he mumbled, and Her hands were so soft. “I’m fine, Princess-“

“Dean Winchester.” She hissed, and he might have lost all the blood in his face, rushing to other places in his body. She needed to keep looking at him like that. Forever. Like his health was something that really mattered to Her.

He drawled Her name back, but he sounded a little drunk. This wasn’t working in his favor.

“When did you last sleep,” She hissed—now didn’t feel like a good time to kiss Her—and he sighed.

“Connecticut.”

Her eyes flashed, and before he was sure what was happening, they were moving. She’d grabbed Dean’s hand and was tugging him around the back of the cabin, and he was Her shadow. He didn’t know how to do anything but follow Her, wherever the hell she wanted to take him.

Adam mumbled Her name as they passed him. “What-“

“We’re sleeping.” She snapped, and Adam frowned.

“But-“

“Dean can’t sleep in the car.”

That was true. He couldn’t. And he didn’t know how the hell she knew that, but it didn’t matter. She was holding his hand. Half shoving him into some sort of makeshift bed before crawling up to his side, like She couldn’t bear to be away from him.

“Uh-“ Adam cleared his throat from somewhere near the door. “I thought we were going somewhere safe-“

“We’re safe here.” She shrugged, and Her hand was in Dean’s hair. He wasn’t sure She knew she was doing it. He never wanted Her to stop.

“Oh- okay.” Dean let his eyes flutter open, and Adam was frowning between them.

Dean let out a slow breath, and Adam’s attention settled on him. “We’ll drive in the morning, dude. I’ll call Sammy to get a room ready for you.”

Adam blinked. “For- me?”

“Bobby’s got a lot of rooms.” She hummed. “You can take Dean’s old one. We’ll figure the rest when we get home.”

Adam nodded nervously, and Dean felt a little guilty. He should be doing more, but his thoughts were only circling around old room. His old room. Because now they shared one, and didn’t bother to pretend.

But that wasn’t important. And even if Adam wasn’t Sammy, they were still family. Dean was the big brother. He should be helping Adam. Telling him that he was going to sleep because telling Her no took all the willpower in the world—and with Her hand in his hair and his head on Her thigh, Dean didn’t have any willpower—but then they’d go to Bobby’s, and everything would be fine.

But he wasn’t sure. He didn’t know what had happened to them, in those two days. And Adam was looking at him strangely, the same way Dad used to look at him. The way that made Dean feel like he was doing something wrong, when he was doing nothing at all. And Adam wasn’t Dad—he wasn’t going to hurt Her—but Dean didn’t like the way the kid’s eyes kept flicking between Her and Dean.

Mostly Her. Adam kept looking at Her with an expression Dean knew from the mirror. Like She was the most beautiful thing in the universe—She was—and just a brush of Her skin against his would be a high better than goddamn heroine.

Dean could understand a crush. Adam was just a kid, and She was magnetic. But She was sitting with Dean. And he was Her shadow. Adam could want Her, Dean wasn’t going to be weird about that. Dad might crawl out of the grave to strangle him if he ever chose a girl over family—even though She was family, and he’d only just met the real Adam—and Dean didn’t have any right to get possessive. She wasn’t Dean’s to possess. Only to protect, and hold, and maybe touch wherever he was allowed.

Another selfish thought. He should be focusing on Her and Adam’s safety and stability. On how there was a hollowness to Her features that told him something was wrong. But She was warm, Dean was exhausted, and this cabin was safe. Dean could recognize Her handwriting if he was blindfolded, even when said writing was in Enochian. Those were Her wards, the ones She’d put up at Bobby’s, and they’d had to toss three kinds of salt over Cas’ shoulder, dump him in holy water of the spring—rose water that Bobby had blessed with an eye roll—and let Her burn a lock of his vessel’s hair for him to be allowed into the yard. They’d be fine.

Dean could turn his face to rest on Her abdomen and hear Her breath hitch, grinning to himself at the sound. He’d like to stay here for a while. Maybe damn the world and rest here into the apocalypse and after. Her fingers combing through his hair and making him feel like a dog, the smell of fruit all around him, his body relaxing because it was Her.

And She was humming softly.

That wasn’t the voice of a siren, or an angel. It was whatever starlight sounded like, humming Ramble On just so Dean could sleep.

He passed out faster than maybe ever in his life. He didn’t dream. And when his eyes blinked open to hazy, golden sunlight, She was watching him.

She was so beautiful. There seemed to be a halo around Her head, and Her skin was still glowing, and Her eyes were so bright Dean was pretty sure he’d be able to see them guiding him home in the darkest storms.

He loved Her.

She looked so tired.

Dean reached a hand up before he could think better of it, and traced his fingers over Her cheeks. She blinked at him, leaning into his touch as Her eyes went glossy again, and something was wrong. He’d been an asshole, he’d known something was wrong, and he’d just fallen asleep like she hadn’t just been an angel prisoner-

“Feel better?” She whispered, and Dean voice was barely a rasp.

“Now I do, yeah.” He sat up slowly, keeping hold on Her careful. Tight enough that he could shift Her into his lap. Lose enough that, if She wanted, She could leave.

But She didn’t.

She just wrapped Her legs around his torso, and dropped Her head to his chest. His arms flew up, caging Her back to keep Her steady, hands tangling in Her hair because he could.

Dean muttered Her name, and She held him tighter. “What the hell happened, after we got zapped.”

“I- I can’t-“ She curled further into him, and Dean knew that strain in Her voice. She was trying not to cry. “De, I don’t know how to- I don’t know what to do- I- I’m not-“

“It’s okay.” He kept his voice soft, swallowing down another baby. It wasn’t the time. “I’ve got you, Princess, you’re safe-“

A sob shook Her body, and Dean just held Her. If that was all he had to do right now, to be worthy of being Her shadow, he’d do it every damn time. Until Her breathing was even, and he could carefully tip Her head back and give her a sad smile.

“I’m here.” He murmured, and She blinked at him through Her tears.

He wiped them away with his thumb, then let it drift to the bridge of Her nose once more. Her eyes fluttered shut and She let out the best, airiest sigh he’d ever heard in his damn life. Dean could die here. With Her relaxed in his arms, their bodies tangled together, and nothing real in the world but the feeling of Her against him.

But Adam. The end of the world and Adam.

Dean kissed Her brow, fought the urge to just kiss Her when She made another soft sound and curled her fingers on his chest, and forced himself to get up. He kept Her in his arms—She didn’t fight it, another bad sign—and walked Her outside to the Impala. After She was safely in the passenger’s seat, he went back for Adam. The kid had been sleeping in the room over, and it wasn’t hard to get him moving.

He just had to say She was waiting in the car.

They were on the road quick. And it was a day long drive, but that was for assholes who obeyed things like speed limits.

Dean didn’t have time for that. She was being too quiet, Adam kept opening and closing his mouth like he wanted to ask questions but wasn’t sure how, and Dean could feel that cold fear again. Something had happened. Something had to have happened. Ellen was gone, all She had was her knives and a jar with something brown and sludge-like in it, and She kept looking at the skyline with that small wrinkle in her brow.

It was going to drive him insane. He could beat his own muscle and soft tissue going black and blue over it, how he’d just fallen asleep at Her request, like he wasn’t supposed to be the one taking care of Her-

“Dean.” She mumbled, after they’d stopped for gas somewhere in Wyoming, long Adam knocked out in the backseat. “I called Sam. I think Adam’s a little sick, so they’ll be ready to look at him.”

Dean glanced at Adam in the rearview. “He looks fine-“

“He’s got a bite mark.” She was picking the skin on Her nails again, and gave Dean a sad look when his hand shot out of cover her’s. “I-“

“Don’t do that.” He muttered. “How the hell’d he get a bite mark, a freakin’ snake?”

She shook Her head, her hair falling over Her face and Her voice almost a whisper. “Me. I- I’ve never resurrected someone before. I think I did it wrong or something, because it looks like a ghoul bite, and it’s right here.” She reached up and touch the soft skin under Dean’s collarbone. A little electric shock ran through his body at the contact. He was worse than a damn teenager.

He took a steadying breath—he was a grown man, he’d just slept in her lap, he could handle her touching him and talking to him all gorgeous and awesome—and shot her a small frown. “You’re the one who brought him back?”

She only nodded, and Dean felt the dread move deeper than his bones. Into something colorful and vital and shimmering, that knew Dean was just another thing in Her orbit, but he still had to keep Her safe.

Dean said Her name, and Her fingers twined with his. As if She was afraid he was going to let go. “Tell me what happened, sweetheart. Please.”

Her grip was death like. And it didn’t loosen, as She turned to press Her face into his arm. Her breaths muffled in Dean’s body, but She was also clinging to him like he was a buoy in a hurricane, so he just squeezed Her hand once.

There was a pause, then three squeezes in return. She didn’t seem fine. But before Dean could push it, she was talking.

“I- I need to tell you most of it later.” She mumbled. “With everyone else. But, I – I don’t know what to do.”

He sighed. “I know, but-“

“I met Michael.” Her words were quick, and the dread was going to eat him alive. “He- He was yellow. And big. And he- he said that I-“

She made another weak noise, and Dean muttered Her name. “Breathe, Princess, I’ve got you-“

“Dean.” She whispered, Her chin propping on his shoulder, and when he shot Her a glance, Her eyes were big and bright on his. “Michael told me something.”

Dean frowned. “Like what? His evil plan?”

“No. Not his.”

“Wha-“

“He said I was the bride of God.” She whispered. “He- He said that’s what I was made for. That it’s why I’m like this.”

Dean couldn’t really hear anything. Couldn’t really see anything, either. It wasn’t a safe way to drive, but he didn’t care about driving right now.

He cared about Her, half clinging to his side, Her voice far too fucking small and defeated. He cared about why She’d say like this—She was perfect, if anything, everyone else should want to be more like Her—and that Michael would call Her that.

Bride of God.

“What the fuck does that mean.” He muttered, and his knuckles were white on the wheel.

“Probably what it sounds like.” She mumbled, blinking up at Dean with a nervous expression. “Dean?”

He grunted—he felt like he was drowning without any water to blame—and glanced back to find Her watching him with an open, nervous expression.

“Are you mad at me?”

Dean stared at Her for a moment. That was insane. None of this was Her fault, it was God and the Angels and Hell and all these stupid fucking games with people’s lives that didn’t make sense, he understood it but he couldn’t let it make sense-

She opened Her mouth, and Dean shook his head. Her shadow. The most important thing was being Her shadow, and keeping Her safe.

“I’m not mad at you, sweetheart.” He muttered, kissing the top of Her head and forcing himself to not crash the car when She made another little sound. “We just- Guess we got work to do. We’ll call Cas. See what he knows.”

“Okay.” She dropped Her face back down to Dean’s shoulder. “Thank you.”

“Course.” I love you. I just want to love you Princess, cryptic douchebag archangels or not. “You’re gonna be alright, Princess. Pinky promise.

He turned his hand in Her’s, hooked their pinkies, let out a slow breath as She hummed into his side.

Bride of God.

She was the Bride of God.

Son of a Bitch, he wished that didn’t make sense. That he could just call Michael a lying asshole and be done with it.

But She was divine. Dean had always known She was divine. Ethereal and blinding, made of something he should never be allowed to touch. Something nobody should be allowed to touch, something that was too good to be stuck in the mud with the rest of them. Not just hunters and people born with no way out but a bloody one. Everyone. Even the fanciest asshole at bars—hitting on Her while Dean had glowered at his beer and shoved down the urge to march over and slam his lips against Her’s—had been beneath Her. Dean had just gotten real damn lucky, being the animal that She grew fond of.

Or unlucky.

Because if She was the Bride of God—if that was a real thing, and She was it, and She might as well be because Dean had always worshipped Her all the same—that meant She could never be Dean’s. That the most he would ever get was this.

Her head on his shoulder as they drove, fast asleep and peaceful. Her hand was still in Dean’s free one—he could drive with one hand, he wasn’t a fucking idiot, and when he kissed Her knuckles she made another soft, sweet sound he wanted to devour—as he listened to the music, and got them home.

Sam was pacing outside, when they pulled into the yard around midnight. She and Adam had both been knocked out for a few hours, and while She didn’t jolt awake as the engine turned off, Adam did.

“Wha-“ The kid blinked around, rubbing his eyes as Dean adjusted Her in his lap. “Where are we?”

“Bobby’s.” Dean muttered, glancing in the side mirror. Sammy was coming over, he could help Adam while Dean took care of Her. “It’s safe. He’s family, and the place is warded to freakin’ hell.”

Adam paled. “Like- Literally?”

“No.” She made a small noise as Dean wrapped Her arms around his neck, but didn’t try to pull away. He was the most selfish asshole in the world. “Sam’ll help you with that bite, then we’ll all meet up in the morning.”

“How’d you know about-“ Adam paused, then said Her name. “She told you?”

“Yep.” He glanced up as Sam knocked on the window, and nodded his head to the backseat. Sam understood—thank Fucking Christ—and opened the back door.

“Hi, Adam, I’ve got the medkit, and- Dean?”

Dean grunted, and glanced back to see Sam frowning at Her.

“Is she-“

“She fine.” Bride of God. “Need to get her to bed, can you-“

“Yeah, I’ve got it. You want me to-“

“Call Cas. Tell him we’re gonna talk in the morning. Is Bobby-“

“In his office. I’ll tell him you’re home.”

Adam cleared his throat, and they both looked to him with a frown.

“Sorry.” He mumbled. “That’s just- It’s kinda freaky.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean adjusted Her fully, and he’d be able to carry Her like this. He’d always carry Her. “Lot more shit where that came from.”

He was being an asshole. Dean knew he was being an asshole, but he couldn’t bring himself to give a shit. He needed to take care of Her.

Their room was untouched, from when Dean had left it. Her notebook was still on the floor. Everything was in its place.

Including Her. Fit perfectly in Dean’s arms.

Bride of God.

Maybe it wasn’t Her place. Maybe She should be sleeping on a freaking cloud, or on vacation in Jupiter, making angel babies. Dean really didn’t want to think about Her making angel babies. It didn’t matter if it was Her destiny, he didn’t want Her to be anywhere that he couldn’t follow. Because even if She was the Bride of God, God wouldn’t hold Her like Dean could. It was an insane, absurd thought—it was fucking God—but it was the only thing that eased the frozen dread in his body. If God was out there, he hadn’t done shit for Her. Dean would do anything. He loved Her, and he loved Her like it was written into his fucking DNA, and when he eased them both down onto the bed, She wrapped herself around Dean’s body.

Michael might have been lying.

Dean wasn’t that lucky.

That could be what being Her shadow was. Her lover in the corners, and Her guard dog, and nothing more than just the luckiest son of a bitch alive, there for Her in all the ways God couldn’t be.

God.

Fucking God.

What chance did Dean stand against God-

She made a soft, sleepy sound, and Dean glanced down. She was drooling, right onto his chest. Her nose was nuzzled into his throat, and son of a bitch, of course She was the Bride of God. She was perfect.

But She was still sleeping on Dean. When he so much as shifted, Dean was the one who got a distressed sound and tight grip around his neck.

Dean was Her’s. He loved Her, and he’d love Her all the way down.

He shouldn’t have been able to sleep, with all the lingering dread. But She smelled like fruit, and She was warm around him, and-

This place was creepy.

The ceilings were too high, everything was too clean, and the polished floor had some sort of weird engraving on it. It looked like Enochian, when Dean squinted and tilted his head. But the people around him couldn’t be angels. Angels didn’t wear fancy clothing like that, and while they did have cold, unforgiving features, they didn’t lurk in dark corners. The only angel Dean had ever seen lurk in a corner was Cas, and Cas wasn’t a normal angel.

Angels didn’t whisper, and all these assholes were whispering. Slowly milling about until they’d formed some big sort of circle, and shooting glances at the center of the room.

Dean felt like he was supposed to go somewhere. Maybe anywhere but here. He was like a freaking match in a needle stack, surrounded by sharp, polished people, while he wore a leather jacket, jeans, and mud-caked boots.

At least he wasn’t tracking the mud, as he tried to push through the odd crowd. Given how clean these people were, that would probably be a whole thing.

He should just leave. He was definitely intruding on something that he wasn’t supposed to see, and didn’t really want to anyway. But something was calling him. Pulling him forward like a magnet, tugging on something just to the right of his heart and telling him to fucking go-

He stumbled forward as the crowd suddenly ended, and there She was.

A smaller version of Her—a little doll-like with her black dress, perfectly styled hair, and blank expression that made Dean’s gut twist—but Her. Dean would know Her anywhere.

She wasn’t looking at him. Her eyes were fixed on the old man standing over Her—he had the same nose She did, and different coloring, but an almost identical posture—and the blade in his hand.

It looked like an echo of Her blade. A crude replica. And She stared at it as the man took Her hand, and flipped it palm up.

Dean wanted to call Her name, but his voice was stuck in his throat.

The old man beat him to it.

“First born daughter of the coven’s last born daughter, you have bled for the first time. Your second blood will be spilt in his name, the great one, Yahweh, the creator, who has promised us greatness in his service. Do you offer yourself to him, in entirely, should you be the Bride?”

He had to do something. Dean was just goddamn standing here, and She looked so young, and her voice was so soft and small and this felt like something someone should get shot about-

“I do.” She bowed Her head, and the whole room started whispering. There were some barely muffled laughs, too. As if they couldn’t believe what they were hearing. They were lucky to even be in Her presence, but Dean still needed to do something, why couldn’t he fucking move and do something-

Her name escaped his throat, his voice hoarse, and Her head whipped to his. For a second, She was the version of Her Dean knew, and loved, and would drown in the mud or the ocean or pits of hell for. Then the old man sliced the blade deep into Her hand, and she flickered back into the little girl.

It was only for a second. As Her hand was twisted so the blood fell to the floor, and the room filled with some creepy chant that nobody seemed to be trying all that hard on. Then She was back to herself, yanking Her hand away from the old man and sprinting over to Dean. She slammed into him with an almost frightening force, but Dean didn’t flinch. His arms wrapped around Her and he lifted her off the ground, their faces inches away, Her eyes blinding on his and Her lips parted with a small flush-

The room shook, and a few people screamed. Dean’s grip tensed around Her, his hand shooting to his jeans for his pistol, but she caught it first.

“It’s fine.” She mumbled, squeezing his hand three times and pressing Her face to the crook of his neck. “I- I’m glad you’re here, De. I hate this one.”

“Course I’m here, Princess.” He muttered, even though he didn’t like this one either, and he didn’t even know what ‘this’ was. “Always here.”

She let out a soft laugh, and just held him a little tighter. But Dean’s eyes were trapped on the sight before him.

Her blood, no longer just a single stain of red in the Enochian carvings.

It was a river, running through the sigil, fucking glowing silver. Like someone had sliced a little bit of starlight, and dumped it over the fucking floor. It looked molten and dangerous and alluring, and the whole fucking chamber smelled like fruit to the point that Dean was pretty sure it wasn’t just her hair near his nose.

Dean said Her name carefully, and She shook Her head.

“I don’t wanna talk about it.” She mumbled into his skin. “I- I don’t want it to be real.”

And he didn’t have to ask what. He knew. That cut had been exactly where Her scar was, and She’d always told him that her family was full of cultic assholes. That they’d thought She was destined to marry-

Son of a bitch.

She’d been right. Dean didn’t really want to talk about it either. He just wanted to hold Her a little tighter and bury his face in Her hair, as chaos broke out around him. People were shouting and screaming like this hadn’t been the whole purpose of the stupid thing, the Silver was only growing brighter and brighter, and Dean just kept holding Her.

He’d hold her like this when the real world ended too.

He’d hold Her until she was ripped from his arms, and he was left in the mud.

His eyes blinked open to harsh light through the windows, and they’d shifted in their sleep. Dean was still holding Her, but she wasn’t straddling him anymore. Her face wasn’t his neck either, but pressed right against Dean’s as he lay on his stomach. Pinning Her to the mattress. Their legs tangled together and Her knee pressed dangerously close to-

Fuck.

Dean tried to shift away, but he was too slow. She mumbled something that sounded an awful lot like his name, held him tighter, and Dean groaned. Right in Her ear.

Another mistake.

She made the softest, most musical and intoxicating sound Dean had ever heard, and he definitely had to move now, but it was too late. Her eyes fluttered open and landed on his, and-

“Dean?” She mumbled, yawning right into his face, and Dean never wanted to move again.

“Hey, Princess.” He sounded like a fucking idiot. “You, uh-“ His boner. He was so hard it hurt, and She was right there and so pretty with glazed eyes and sleep swollen lips. And he was all kinds of fucked up for having a nightmare then getting a hard-on for his best friend, but that’s what was happening. “Breakfast?”

She hummed and nodded, but made no effort to move.

That was fine. Dean could move for both of them. He pushed up off of Her slowly, angling his hips carefully to keep them out of Her attention, and let just a little bit of his will falter. He ducked down at the last second, pressed a kiss to Her brow, and grinned to himself as She made a soft, sweet sound. Son of a bitch, he loved Her.

But he was still a piece of shit. He still brushed hair from Her face and ran his thumb down her nose, before shuffling to the bathroom, turning on the sink, and fisting his cock in his hand. Letting his thoughts wander to Her beautiful, heavenly features and soft skin and body tangled with his. The feeling on Her breath on his neck and the flutter of Her eyes in the low light of parking lots. The sound of Her voice saying his name in a tiny gasp and the phantom taste of Her from months ago, they haven’t kissed in over half a freaking year but Dean was still being haunted by Her touch and taste, and he could see Her sprawled out below him in bed, or maybe straddling his waist again and kissing his jaw-

He clenched his jaw as he came, choking on the groan of Her name and squeezing his eyes tight enough for it to hurt. He didn’t deserve Her. He still stopped at the edge of their bed after he cleaned himself up—their bed, he was standing at their bed—and stared at Her for a long moment like some stalker.

Breakfast.

He needed to make sure She ate, because that cabin hadn’t looked like a restaurant, and something told him she’d probably told Adam she was eating whatever rations they’d had, while giving them all to him. And the kid didn’t know how to tell when She was lying. So it was Dean’s job to make sure She ate.

He opened the door, and almost had a damn heart attack.

“Jesus fucking-“ He took a steady breath, running a hand over his face. “Son of a bitch, Cas, what are you doing-“

Cas frowned at him, as if the answer should be obvious. “Watching over you, Dean. Well,” Cas nodded past his shoulder, when Dean could hear Her shifting in the sheets. “Both of you.”

“Dean?” Her voice was still filled with sleep, Dean narrowed his eyes at Cas, and Cas paled slightly. “What’s-“

“Nothing, Princess.” He grunted. “Go back to sleep-“

“Cas?” Goddamnit. “What are you-“

“I told Dean already,” Cas said, his words slow. “I was watching over you both.”

Dean sensed Her behind him before he felt Her. And he could be normal about this. About Her standing right next to him, Her chin propped on his bicep, his arm braced on the door. He could be normal.

“But you were standing outside?” Dean glanced down to see the prettiest frown on Her face, and Cas shrugged.

“This seemed to be a private moment, I didn’t wish to interrupt it.” He glanced back to Dean. “You should change. We have been waiting for you to awaken.”

Dean sighed. He couldn’t punch Cas, even if he’d woken Her up. “Don’t say awaken, dude, you sound a million.”

“He is a million, Deano.”

Dean gave Her an exasperated look, and Cas frowned.

“I am actually over a billion-“

“Really?!” Her eyes went wide, and Dean sighed.

“Princess,” he muttered, letting his hand glide down to Her lower back. Her attention turned to him, Her eyes fluttering slightly, and two boners in one morning was too many. “They’re waitin’ for us to awaken. Go change.”

She glanced back to Cas. “But I wanna ask him about dinosaurs-“

Dean gave Her a flat look, and She sighed.

“Fine. But,” She shot him a glare. “Just because Cas said we need to change. You’re not my boss, Winchester.”

He chuckled. “Yeah, I got that, sweetheart-“

“Shut up.”

“Bossy.” He called after Her, watching Her stomp into the bathroom, and turned back to Cas with a sigh. “C’mon. Gotta make her majesty eggs.”

Cas nodded, following Dean down the stairs, and everyone was waiting for them. Seated around the table, frowning at Dean and Cas as they entered the kitchen.

Bobby cleared his throat. “Dean, where-“

“Getting dressed.” He muttered, walking over to the stove. “She’ll be down soon. You guys already gone over all the shit?”

“Almost,” Sam sighed. “We know that the Angels were going to use Adam as bait for us, that we all got brought back when Zachariah showed up, and Adam says that they were in some sort of magic room for a while.”

“I don’t know how long.” Adam jumped in. “It felt like it was a while? They took me, the brown-haired lady-“

“Ellen,” Sam muttered with a grimace, and Adam nodded.

“Yeah, her. And,” Adam said Her name, shooting Dean a strange look. “She said she had a plan to break us out. But I blacked out, and when I woke up she was fighting the bald guy-“

“Zachariah.”

“And she made him vanish, then sort of,” Adam placed his hand on his brow. “And I woke up on the side of the road with her next to me.”

Dean frowned. “Ellen-“

“Didn’t make it.”

Their attention all shot to the door, and She looked so small. Her arms wrapped around Her stomach and her words nervous, as if she was worried someone was going to try and kick her. None of them would. Ever. Even Adam seemed to understand that after a day, scrambling to his feet and pulling out the chair next to his. She shuffled over with a small smile of thanks��and a bigger smile to Dean, but he wasn’t going to let that go to his head—and dropped down with a long sigh.

“I- Um- I got Adam.” She whispered, Her eyes fixed on her hands. “But Zachariah came back. And he grabbed Ellen. I don’t think angels can kill souls, but he- he was going to do something. I couldn’t stop it, and she said it was okay, but- I-“ She swallowed, and Dean abandoned the eggs. There were more eggs in the universe anyway. There was only one Her.

He muttered Her name, standing right behind her chair, and Her head tipped back to meet his gaze. “You don’t have to-“

“Yeah, I do.”

She fucking didn’t. But he wasn’t going to win this conversation. So Dean just offered his hand.

She took it. In front of everyone. Squeezed it three times—She was fine—and took a shaking breath.

“I don’t know what happened to her. But I got Zachariah-“ She sat up suddenly, and Dean grunted as Her grip tightened. “Fuck- My jar, where the fuck is my jar-“

“I’ve got it.” Sam cut in quickly, pulling it out of his bag on the floor. “What-“

Cas cut Sam off with Her name, his eyes comically wide. “Is that…”

“Yeah.” She sighed, pulling the jar forward. “Say hi, Zachariah.”

There was a long silence, filled with only the sound of the frying pan sizzling and brown sludge slushing around.

Bobby cleared his throat. “Kiddo, you’re tellin’ me that you got an angel in a fuckin’ jar?”

“Yeah.”

“But-“ Sam shook his head. “I mean, how-“

“Don’t know.” She sighed, setting Zachariah down on the table. “I just… did. Then I ripped open a hole in the room, and walked out.”

“The room?” Cas frowned. “The green room?”

“I don’t think so. This one was in heaven and- Reinforced. With iron. It seemed like it was part of old Heaven.”

Sam raised his hand. “What’s old Heaven-“

“Heaven before God left.” Cas said, still watching Her. “Most of it is off limits to everyone, but archangels have access to certain areas. Did you-“

“Yeah. Micheal.”

Silence again, this time broken by Sam.

“You met Michael? Did he, like, want something?”

“Yeah. Um, a lot. He wanted a lot, and said a bunch of stuff and-“ She took a shaking, long breath, and broke into a frantic ramble. “He wanted my alliance. For me to tell Dean to say yes, just like Lucifer wanted me to convince Sam to say yes, and I know I should have told you guys that when it happened but a lot was going on and I- I don’t know. But Michael said he wanted me at his side when God returned, because I- He-“

Dean muttered Her name, and she shook Her head.

“I’m the Bride of God.” She whispered. “He said it was my destiny. That I should want to speed this along, because the sooner Lucifer is dead the sooner God will return.” She wrinkled Her nose. “For- For me.”

Dean was getting really sick of the silences. They let him feel his heartbeat in his fucking throat. And he didn’t even give a shit that She’d lied about Lucifer, because he’d known She’d lied. He just wanted that last part to be a lie, for him to have a single fucking chance of keeping her.

“The Bride of God.” Cas’ expression was strange, but Dean understood it. And the last bit of his hope sank into his gut like a stone. “That is supposed to be a myth.”

Sam frowned. “Angels have myths?”

“More like bedtime stories.” Cas sighed. “But I have to admit, it does make sense. You fall into every part of the legend, Heaven bent to your will, and you were able to enter the throne room. There is… no other explication. The only part I don’t understand is how you are also the Magdalene-“

“One angel- Joshua, he said it was a cruel joke.” She said quietly. “But Michael said it was on purpose.”

Bobby grunted. “Don’t think it matters. You wanna marry God, kiddo?”

Her nails were digging into Dean’s skin. “No.”

“Then you ain’t gonna. Any other archangels tellin’ you important shit?”

She nodded, and they all just fucking kept talking. About Gabriel, and how he’d explained a way for them to put Lucifer back in the cage, with the Horseman’s rings. And it was important, and Dean felt a little damn sick when She said they’d need to find a way to get Lucifer into the cage—there weren’t a lot of options, and Sammy’s expression meant he was thinking something smart and stupid—but they needed to go back. To stop talking about the last two rings, and start talking about how She was the Bride of fucking God. Destinies weren’t easy to avoid when it was just two archangels trying to ride Sam and Dean’s ass, there was no way God was just going to take Her no thanks and walk away.

And if She didn’t want to marry the asshole, Dean try his goddamn best to stop it. But it was fucking God. If the guy was still alive, he was going to be impossible to just sock in the jaw and kick to the curb. They needed a plan, to keep Her here. Talking to Bobby about the Horsemen—She said she’d tracked Pestilence to upstate New York as She twisted the skin of Her finger, and Dean knew She was lying, but he was already sort of having trouble doing anything except holding Her hand like she was going to vanish a flash of light—and explaining to Sam how She’d made a spell to track Eileen, but just had to alter it for Death.

She needed to stay next to Dean.

She needed to stay Her own.

“I’m sorry.” She mumbled that night, the day having passed in a slow inch of planning and trying to make sense of the whole, horrible situation.

Dean spat out his mouthwash, and frowned at Her, sitting cross-legged on their mattress. “‘Bout what?”

“Not telling you about Lucifer.” She frowned at Her hands, rubbing Her wrists. “And making things more complicated.”

Dean let out a long, slow breath. He wasn’t thrilled about the Lucifer shit, but there were other things to worry about. The end of the world. Getting all the rings. How there was an archangel in a box downstairs, because none of them had really wanted Zachariah hearing their conversations.

Her.

She was curling into Herself, and Dean was worried about Her.

He crossed the room to stand over Her, taking Her face between his hands and saying Her name as soft as he could. The way he’d say a prayer, if that was something he did. The way he’d always said it. The way that told him, yet again, that She was never his.

But She was leaning into Dean’s touch.

And he didn’t want to let Her go.

“Hey.” He murmured, and She looked at him under her lashes like some sort of perfectly designed sin. “I’m not pissed at you.”

She swallowed. “Why?”

He didn’t know. But he wasn’t. He couldn’t remember how to be, when Michael had offered Her paradise and she’d still chosen to be here.

“I lied.” She whispered, Her eyes wide and glossy on his. “And I- I’m not human, I’m just like them-“ She grabbed Dean’s wrists, Her words growing frantic. “Dean, I’m just like them-“

“Breathe.” He made his voice firm, commanding, and it wasn’t good for his health how She obeyed in half a second. “You’re not just like them, sweetheart-“

“Michael said I was designed to mirror god-“

“And I’m designed to be Michael’s favorite outfit.” Dean gave Her a pointed look. “You want me to be a meatsuit, Princess?”

“No.”

“Then that’s it.”

That was it.

Looking at Her, still clinging to his wrists and staring up at him like he was maybe the only planet in an infinite universe, Dean got what Bobby had meant.

It was just Her. She didn’t want to be the freaking Bride or whatever, She wouldn’t be. If Dean didn’t get to have Her just because he wanted Her, God didn’t either. Dean had put in close to a decade of fights and conversations and trust and teamwork into just getting Her to kiss him once. She was here because She wanted to, so Dean would fight until his guts were lining the walls of heaven to keep Her here.

He’d been right. He’d never been worthy of all Her light and life and smile, of the contact high he got just from being where she might smile at him.

But God wasn’t worthy of that either. And until She looked up at the sky and decided She’d rather be in the stars, Dean would care for Her in the warmth of the mud.

“Can we-” She took a long, slow breath, and Dean’s thumb paused on Her nose. He hadn’t even realized he was doing that. “Go for a drive?”

Goddamnit. He was going to get another boner. “In… the car?”

She gave him a flat look. “No, De, on a horse.”

“You got a secret horse, Princess?”

“It wouldn’t be a secret if I told you about it-“

“Thought you trusted me,” Dean gave Her a wide grin, even as he faked a wounded tone. “Safer together, sweetheart-“

“That in no way applies here.”

“Maybe. But you’re gonna feel real stupid when I die in a horse related emergency.”

“That means it’s an emergency with horses, Dean. Another one would not help.”

Dean laughed—She was back to being his girl, even if She wasn’t Dean’s anything—and helped Her to her feet. “C’mon, we can get a huge tub of ice cream and stick Zachariah in it.”

She sighed, but Dean could see the twitch of Her lips. She felt better. No longer shrinking into Herself, Her fingers laced through Dean’s as he pulled her outside with low whispers and Her pretty giggles carrying on the wind. They ended up at the convince store—armed, because they weren’t idiots—to get snacks, and sat in Baby’s front seat as the night crept on, and Her head landed on Dean’s shoulder.

He cleared his throat when he was about halfway through his bag of jerky, and She turned to him with that pretty, fluttering gaze. He almost forgot how to talk.

“I, uh-“ Dean coughed, and this was important. He had to ask, or it was going to drive him insane for the rest of his life. “What was Heaven like, before you jailbreaked?”

She stared at him for a beat before answering. “Different.”

He raised his brows, and She let out a slow sigh.

“I- I don’t want to talk about it.” She mumbled. “Please.”

Dean didn’t want to not talk about it. He needed to know if he’d been in Her heaven. If he’d haunted the edge of all Her greatest hits, the same was She’d lined his. Because half of Dean’s heaven had been the better times with Sammy, and his rose-painted memories of his mother, but the other half had been Her. Meeting Her. Hunting with Her, hugging Her, two out of their three kisses—the second one a harsh, bright loop, because She’d kissed him—and a lot of moments like this. Sitting in his car, talking like things weren’t complicated. In a way that, to anyone just passing by the window, would look like two normal people in love.

And that was exactly why Dean wouldn’t push it. He loved Her. It had been a long enough day as it was, and he didn’t want to end it in a fight.

“Alright.” He held out a gummy worm for Her, and tried not to jump on Her when she ate it out of his hand. “Who made the better case? Lucifer or Michael?”

She gave him an odd look, and Her voice fell to something soft. “Neither.”

“C’mon, sweetheart-“

“I’m serious.” She said, reaching into Dean’s lap for another gummy worm. She was trying to kill him. “They both sort of offered me the same thing. And even if I trusted one of them more than the other, and I fucking don’t, I’m not picking a side.”

Dean hummed. “What’d they offer you?”

She paused, scanning over Dean’s features so carefully, and he really hope She wouldn’t lie. Not because of the lie, but because if She didn’t want him to know what they'd offered Her, it was probably something he’d have to worry about-

“Paradise.” She whispered, and Dean swallowed. That was the truth. “Dean?”

“Yeah?” He sounded like an idiot. She didn’t seem to mind.

“Promise me you won’t say yes to Michael.”

Dean blinked. “Wha-“

“Please.” She held up Her pinky. “Promise.”

Dean had considered it a few times. When there looked to be no way out. But then Michael had kidnapped his girl and made Her cry. And Dean had made Her cry a lot, but at least he’d been sick with guilt after. Michael probably thought he’d been right to lock Her up. And Dean would never hurt Her on purpose. So he wasn’t going to say yes to anyone who hurt Her. Ever.

It seemed to mean a lot to Her that he promised, though. And it was an easy promise to make.

“Okay.” He hooked his pinky through Her’s. “Pinky promise, Princess. Michael’s too tall to get on this ride.”

She let out a soft, breathy giggle, but didn’t let go. “For anything, right? You’ll never let him in?”

Dean shrugged. “Yeah. Sure.”

She let out a slow breath, and nodded. It calmed Her down. Dean was helping Her, and right now, that was the most he could do.

They had work to do—planning and hunting and trying to stop the end of the world—but Dean most just had to help Her.

“I am not saying that.”

Dean glanced at Cas in the blue light of the TV, and found him glaring at a box in his lap. “Cas.”

Cas’ eyes shot up. “Dean.”

“What are you doing.”

“Talking to Zachariah.” Cas sighed, glaring back down at the box. “He was of a higher rank than I was. I was hoping he’d be able to tell me what Michael knows about the Bride of God, but he is being… uncooperative. And vulgar.”

She hummed, tilting Her head against Dean’s chest. She’d been lying there for an hour. He’d been very chill about it. “You can talk to him, in his jar?”

“Angel radio.” Cas muttered. “A one-to-one line.”

“Walkie talkie.” Dean offered, and Cas frowned.

“I do not know what that means.”

“It’s like a one-to-one radio,” Sam called from the table, not looking up from his book. “Dean’s actually right with this one.”

“The fuck you mean this one-“

Dean’s snap was cut off with an oof, and She’d shoved him back down onto the couch, giving him a firm glare before turning back to Cas. Dean was mostly just gaping up at Her like a dumbass. He wanted Her to shove him again, then maybe climb onto his lap and kiss him stupid, until he rolled them over and fucked Her into the couch-

“Do you think it’s important for us to worry about that?” Her voice was catious, and Dean let his hand trail up to Her waist. Just to rub small circles, and keep Her steady. “I mean, it’s not like I am God-“

“Yet.” Cas shrugged, and She tensed. “If both Michael and Lucifer want you on their teams, there may be other reasons than Sam and Dean. And if you are the Bride of God, maybe there is some sort of connection. My search has been useless-“

“Cas.” Sam cut in, his words soft. “I don’t think we should use her as just- A way to find God. This isn’t like Dean’s amulet, we need her-“

“And it’s not like God seems all that interested in what’s goin’ on anyway.” Dean grumbled. “He’s fuckin’ God, Cas, he wants us, he can make a house call.”

“No.” Her eyes were locked on to Cas’, and Dean frowned. That was a weird stare. “I- I’m with Cas. It can’t hurt to check.”

Dean sighed, “Fine.” And got a glare from Sam.

“Really, man? You’re just going to switch sides-“

“We lost, Sammy. Deal with it.” Dean looked back to Cas. “We bought ice cream, last week. We can shove him in there until he starts talking.”

Cas shook his head, and it was the only thing that saved Dean from getting hit. “That will not be effective. I do not believe he actually knows anything.”

She frowned. “Then wha- Oh.” Her eyes widened, and Dean sighed. She was going to say something stupid. “I have an idea.”

Dean needed to get better at saying no to Her ideas. They were always designed to try and fucking kill him. A good idea would be something safe and controlled, where the chances of it going wrong were slim and if it did go wrong, Dean could shoot their way out and carry Her to safety.

This was not that.

This was insane.

Raphael. She wanted to use one of Her easy bake magic spells to summon Raphael and interrogate him like it was a freaking job interview. And there were about a million ways that could blow up in their faces, but Dean used all his willpower to say no to Her hunting Pestilence with Cas and Sam. And that had taken a whole argument in the kitchen, that he’d only won because Bobby cut in, called them both dramatic, and told Her that while her magic shit was still haywire, she shouldn’t be playin’ with jumper cables.

And this wasn’t much better. But at least She didn’t have nightmares about Raphael.

So, small victories.

“It don’t like this,” Dean muttered, frowning at Her on the floor. She was knelt on the grass in the middle of the woods, drawing a sigil in the dirt. “I wanna go back to my ice cream idea-“

“If this doesn’t work, we can do the ice cream idea.” She stood up, wiping Her hands on her jeans. “Did you bring the mushrooms?”

Dean nodded, fumbling in his pockets with a small frown. “I want it down that I think there are other options,” he muttered, passing her the weird, moldy looking fungus he’d been tasked with carrying. “Jumping right in archangel wrestling is insane, Princess-“

“I’m not wrestling him, I’m trapping him.” She ground the mushroom in Her hand. “And I know you hate this, De, but I’d- I don’t want to do it alone-“

Her words ended in a squeak as Dean rolled his eyes, and tugged Her to his side.

“You’re not doing anything alone,” he wanted to say baby. Her eyes were so bright on his, and She’d chosen to be here.

He couldn’t get away with it.

So he just said Her name, and held her gaze.

“Safe together.” He grunted, and Her throat bobbed. “All the way down.”

She nodded slowly, the tension in Her shoulder loosening. “All the way down. Are you-“

“Light it up.”

Her hand locked into Dean’s, and She looked up to the sky as she said a word that had to be Enochian. Then another word, then–right as She called the last one—the sky split open and she tossed a match onto the forest ground.

A wildfire didn’t start. Lighting was striking the ground before him, but Dean wasn’t dying. Their hands felt fused together for a split second—skin melting into skin—but then it was over. The blinding light cleared, and there was Raphael. Frowning around the forest, then scowling as his attention landed on Her.

“Oh.” He let out a long, heavy sigh. “Of course it’s you. And the most frustrating creature on the planet. And Dean Winchester, I thought I promised to make you wish you were never born?”

Dean shrugged, tugging Her a little behind him. “You can try, buddy, but-“

“You’ve got me in holy fire.” Raphael drawled, giving him a flat look. “I am aware. And reinforced holy fire, too. You are smart to keep such insubordinate company.” His eyes landed back on Her. “Smart to bring the whore.”

“Listen here, you son of a bitch-“

“You want me to find God again?” Raphael cut Dean off with a bored tone. “Or maybe try to reason with Michael, when I have made it very clear I have no interest in doing so? Maybe you’re coming to your senses, and Michael’s blind faith in her,” he jerked his head to Her, and Dean was getting pretty fucking sick of how Raphael looked at Her like she was meat. “Isn’t misplaced?”

“We just want to talk,” She said, Her voice in a strange sort of song with the holy fire. “I- I have-“ She pulled Zachariah out of their bag, and Raphael’s eyes narrowed.

“You expect me to care about Zachariah? You brought him as leverage? The most irritating angel I have ever met, including your little pet rebel?”

Dean scowled. “Cas isn’t our pet, dipshit-“

“Ah.” Raphael cut him off with a smirk. “Not your pet. I mean. Maybe your pet. But I was talking about her.” He looked back to Her, and her breathing sounded too shallow. “The Bride. The little girl, running around with angels in her pockets and gallivanting with humans, when she could bring paradise all on her own. Michael doesn’t want to admit it, but he knows.”

“Knows?” She whispered, and Raphael’s grin grew.

“What you could be, if you weren’t you. He can see it. I can see it. But he will not accept that our father is dead-“

“He isn’t.”

Dean froze at Her soft words, and Raphael frowned.

“What.”

“God,” She said, taking a slow step forward. “He isn’t dead.”

Raphael flinches slightly, but scoffed all the same. “You don’t know what you speak of, girl. You are still in infancy, and I have seen false prophets before-“

“But I’m not a false prophet.” She whispered, and Raphael froze. She was releasing Dean’s hand, passing him Zachariah, and walking forward. “You know that.”

“Do not tell me what I know-“

“But you do know.” She tilted Her head, and Dean could swear all the colors on the forest were getting saturated. That Her skin was starting to glow from more than the fire. “Just like you know that if you do touch Cas or Dean, I’ll hurt you.”

That was fear on Raphael’s face. Real damn fear. And Dean understood it.

She’d stepped over the holy fire, and it had done nothing but dance along Her skin. Dean had a feeling if She turned back to look at him, Her pupils would be a brilliant silver.

“Nobody would ever hurt again,” Raphael said, taking a step back as She walked forward, the Blade spinning in Her hands. “That father of yours would walk, Castiel’s grace would be returned, that girl, on your fingers, we’d bring her back as well, and- I know what Michael promised you-“

“I don’t care what Michael promised me.” She hissed, and Raphael seemed backed right to the edge of the circle. “And I think I can give Castiel his grace back myself. Just as I can resurrect, and heal. I don’t think I need you.”

Raphael’s eyes darted back to Dean, then narrowed. “You don’t understand what you can do. And we have a backup, while you will not get the liberty of a second choice-“

“I don’t need one.” She shrugged, stopped barely a foot front Raphael, all the wind seeming to swirl around Her. “Tell Michael that I’m out. And if he tries to touch my d- family, we’ll find out exactly what does make God come back.”

Raphael opened mouth, and Her hand pressed over it.

Then there was a second where Dean couldn’t see anything but Her. Like a lighthouse in a storm, telling him to follow Her and dodge the swirling chaos of the lightning and thunder. It hadn’t been raining a minute ago.

But when his vision cleared, it was pouring. The water pressing the holy fire into smoke, Raphael had vanished and She was passed out in the mud.

Dean skid to his knees at Her side, pulling her limp body fully into his lap. She was infuriating, and if Her cheeks weren’t flushed, and if Dean couldn’t feel the heat of a fever, radiating from Her skin, he’d shout at Her for trying to give him a heart attack. He’d known this was a bad idea, and now he had to carry Her back to the car, through a whole ass forest-

The forest.

It was blooming.

Leaves larger than Dean had ever seen, and flowers with petals that he could swear were sucking up light like a void, then spitting it back out into the air. The grass seemed to be singing, and there were oddly twisted branches spreading over their heads as Dean carried Her, as if they were trying to shield them from the storm. Strange, iridescent apples hung over their heads, and whenever Dean glanced over to the side, he could swear he saw a flash of fur or feathers, just out of sight.

Not attacking.

Guarding.

Guarding Her. All the way to the edge of the tree line, when Dean stepped on concrete, and the rain seemed to triple in force. Dean half ran to the Impala, tucking Her into the seat first and pressing a kiss to Her brow before standing back upright. She was going to drive him insane.

He never really wanted Her any other way.

And he stared at Zachariah, in his stupid little jar, as he waited for the rain to lighten up. Baby could make it through the storm, but Dean didn’t want to risk the roads. Not when She was in this state, and seemed alright with just the heat of the car one, and Her body curled into Dean’s. He’d changed Her into the dry clothing he kept on the trunk, but kept his eyes off the goods.

This—Her in his arms, his hand tangled at the base of Her wet hair, and Her breath on Dean’s arm—could be enough. Dean loved Her, even when She pulled crazy shit like this, so it was enough.

He wasn’t going to say yes to Michael. And if that hadn’t made it clear enough to the feathered douchebags, he hoped this would.

Dean grabbed the angel blade Cas had given him a few months ago, kissed the top of Her head and stepped out into the storm. The sky lit up, and another clap of thunder rolled over through the air. If they wanted Dean, they could hit him.

But they didn’t.

So Dean slammed the jar down on the ground and drove the angel blade right into Zachariah’s ugly mug. He looked like a tiny, strange beast, reduced so small and pathetic it didn’t even make his eyes hurt to look at. And it flickered like a candle as the rain pelted down—cold and hard, like small bullets against his skull—but Dean didn’t move. Not until the light went out, and Dean got to slam his boot down, until Zachariah was nothing more than a shit-colored stain on the pavement.

The whole experiment had failed. But he’d still killed Zachariah. And when Dean finally got to drive Her home, he got to have Her cling to his chest. Got to carry Her inside, and bring Her right to bed. Their bed.

At least Sammy and Cas had some better luck.

“It’s just Death, now.” Sam said, frowning at the three rings on the table. “I think we have a little time, though. He seemed surprised to see us.”

“Their plan wasn’t completed.” Cas muttered. “He and Lucifer have been working on infecting humans with the Croatoan virus-“

Dean cut in with a frown. “Like when Zachariah sent me to the future?”

“Zachariah sent you to the future?” She gaped at Dean—wrapped in a fuzzy blanket he’d forced around her shoulders—and he sighed.

“Sorry, Princess, thought I told you-“

“No, you didn’t-“

“Dean got sent to 2014.” Cas said, and Dean was going to have to get him a gift for taking that bullet. “Croatoan had wiped out much of humanity, by causing them to kill each other, and Lucifer had won. Without Pestilence on the front lines that outcome may be delayed, but demons are not idiots. They will be able to finish what Pestilence started.”

“Great.” Dean ran a hand over his face, and the rings were fucking taunting him on the table. Unable to open the door with only three, unable to just grab Lucifer when the door did open. “So we got a game plan to stop the murder plague?”

Cas shrugged. “Imprison Lucifer.”

“By what, asking him nicely?”

“I- I have an idea.” Sam cleared his throat, and when Dean looked to him, he seemed almost guilty. Dean didn’t trust it. “I can’t think of anything better, and it’s- it feels fair.”

“Fair?” She was frowning, and Sam gave her an almost apologetic smile.

“I’ll let Lucifer in. Then jump into the cage before he can take over my body.”

There was a high ringing in Dean’s ears again. He needed to have a serious conversation with the people he loved about trying to kill him with stupid fucking ideas. “No.”

“Dean, I don’t like it either-“

“I don’t just not like it, Sammy.” Dean narrowed his eyes. “It’s fucking insane. Batshit. What if Lucifer gets the jump on you first? What if you can’t hit eject, and now you’re stuck in the cage-“

“He will be stuck in the cage.” Cas muttered, glancing to Her. “There is no external eject button.”

The color drained slightly from Her face. “What happens if Michael and Lucifer don’t get their vessels. Are they weaker?”

“Yes.” Cas sighed. “But we already know Michael has a backup plan. And I doubt Lucifer will want to fight in his current vessel, but he doesn’t need to. If he waits Michael out, he wins.”

“So we won’t wait him out, he’ll take me and then we can trap him-“

“Sam.” Dean snapped. “We’re not fucking doing that, so stop suggesting it-“

“But-“ Sam looked to Her, and said Her name in pleading tone. “Please, it’s the only way-“

She shook He head. “I- I don’t know. It’s a big risk to take, if we don’t know it will work-“

“It will work-“

“But Dean’s right.” She’d drawn Her knees up to her chest, rubbing at her wrists as she spoke. She was distressed. “What if it doesn’t work, Sam. Then you’re stuck with Lucifer and no way out, and Dean- The future you saw-“

“Lucifer had Sam.” He muttered. “Zachariah sent me there to show me what would happen if I didn’t say yes.”

“Where is Zachariah-“

“I smashed him.” Dean grunted, narrowing his eyes at Sam. “Don’t try to change what we’re talking about, Sammy, you’re not letting Lucifer ride you like a prize pony, and that’s it.”

“But-“

“No but. I said no to Michael, you say no to Lucifer, that’s how this fucking works-“

“They’re just going to try and take Adam-“

“Then we’ll keep him here. And if you don’t stop talking crazy-“

“I could do it, Dean.” Sam stared at the floor, his voice quieter than Dean had heard it in a long time. “I know you don’t want me going to hell, but you did the same for me-“

“That’s-“

“And I started this.” Sam looked up to Her. “I want to finish it. Please.”

She swallowed, Her eyes darting to Dean’s, then Cas’. And they lingered on Cas. Like they were having a silent conversation Dean didn’t get to be a part of, and he wasn’t sure what the hell they were up to, but he didn’t like it.

“There has to be another way, Sam.” She whispered, and Sam’s face fell. “I don’t think you should do it.”

Sam sighed, and looked back to the rings. “Just- can you think about it? Until we get the Death ring?”

She took a stuttering breath, and nodded. “Fine. I, um- I’m having trouble with the tracking spell, but I’ll get it soon. Then we’ll talk about it.”

Dean didn’t think there was shit to talk about. He wasn’t going to let Sammy just jump into Hell, when there had to be another way. She could kill Lucifer. Death could kill Lucifer. Fuck, Cas could kill Lucifer if She gave him another dose of steroids, like Heaven. They’d figure out another way.

They just had to find Death first.

She’d been staying up all night again. They’d watch TV on the couch, Cas frowning at it like it was something to study, Sam pouring over a book at the table, and Her at Dean’s side on the couch, scribbling down notes so fast Dean wasn’t sure how Her hands weren’t getting tired. Bobby would grumble that he was going to bed, Adam would drift in and out of the room like he wasn’t sure where he was allowed to be, and She’d just keep writing. Dean would have to pull Her to her feet, when it hit one in the morning and she wasn’t showing any sign of stopping. Then She’d just sit on the bed, Dean’s head pressed near Her thigh as he tried to sleep, and wouldn’t lie down until Dean pried the pencil from Her hands and tugged the covers over Her body.

He was worried about Her. She was acting like this started and ended with Her, when she was refusing to choose a side. She and Cas kept fucking whispering, and She’d been looking at a lot of books on angels, and Dean knew Her.

Knew when She was planning something fucking stupid.

“You’re not gonna use your, y’know.” Dean leaned down to whisper in Her ear, after almost a week of no progress on finding Death. “Thingy.”

She blinked up at him in the dark, and She was always so fucking beautiful. “My thingy?”

“Yeah. Your zap,” He poked Her side, and tried not to grin at Her high squeak. “The magic.”

She whacked his chest, before settling right back into his side and shaking Her head, twisting the skin of Her finger. “No. I’m not.”

Lie.

That was a fucking lie. And Dean didn’t know how to call Her on it, but he needed to figure it out. How to tell Her that, whatever She was up to, it was probably as insane as Sam’s plan. Maybe more insane. And She couldn’t just pull something without at least warning Dean, because Sam was still pushing the let Lucifer in plan, and if he lost either one of them, Dean was going to go insane.

But they weren’t making any progress. Cas said they had time, but it couldn’t be that much. They’d gone over Sam and Cas’ fight with Pestilence—he’d tried to make them sick, had whined about humans, and Cas had cut his finger off, nothing special—about a million times in the hope it would give them ideas about Death, or a bigger picture of Lucifer’s plan, but it hadn’t. And they were stuck right where they’d started. Holed up in Bobby’s cabin with only a few small cases, trying to figure out how to stop the end of the freaking world and keeping Adam away from Michael.

“Can you shoot an archangel?” Adam asked, and Dean shook his head, reloading his shotgun.

“Not in a way that’s gonna do anything.” He muttered. “But you can piss them off, if you want.”

Adam nodded, glancing down to his own gun. “So there are no protections?”

“Not for you and me, other than telling the douchebags to take a hike.”

“How come they’re not, like- Burning down the house, then? If they’re that desperate for us.”

Dean grunted Her name, and something to the right of his heart whined. She was in the freaking library with Cas. She was fine. “Told you, she’s warded the whole property. Nothing’s getting in that she doesn’t open the door for.”

“Oh.” Dean glanced over, and Adam was blushing. “She’s cool.”

“Yeah, she is.” He jerked his head to the lined-up beer bottles. “Shoot.”

He didn’t want to talk about how cool She was with Adam. Not when the poor kid had been making heart eyes at Her all week, and Dean had been trying to figure out if now was a bad time to try kissing Her again, every single waking moment. It probably was. Any time right before the end of the world was, She was still processing the Bride of God thing, and Raphael hadn’t been helpful in telling them about her destiny at all. All they knew was that She didn’t seem to have a 100% approval rating with archangels, she could be more, and God was alive.

Dean hadn’t loved how certainly She’d said that. He needed to figure out how to ask Her about that, too. As well as what the hell She was planning, and how to talk her out of it without caving, and—if She got the choice, and God returned—She wouldn’t just want to not marry God, but maybe stay with Dean-

“How did you guys meet her?” Adam cut through Dean’s thoughts, and none of the bottles had been shot.

“Case we worked in 2000. Then we just kept running into each other, and now we’re here.”

Adam frowned. “But isn’t she Bobby’s daughter-“

“Adopted.” Dean muttered. “It’s complicated. The bottles-“

“And she’s, uh- Just your friend-“

“Adam.” Dean snapped. “Shoot the fuckin’ bottles.”

Adam swallowed, and obeyed. He was an alright shot, but getting better by the day. He had asked if She could teach him how to shoot, instead of Dean, but She’d just shaken Her head and mumbled that she didn’t use a gun.

And Adam had a crush. Which was fine. It was a weird, intense crush that didn’t seem to let Adam notice how She was always next to Dean, but it was just a crush. Dean couldn’t be pissed about a crush. Not on Her. She was beautiful and smart and funny, and sweet in strange, small ways that he’d never really understand. Even when She was up until three in the morning—writing and reading in bed, swatting Dean’s hand away whenever he tried to get Her to sleep—She kept quiet so he could rest. And when Dean would roll around with a grunt, Her fingers would tangle into his hair, and he’d feel like a dog again. She kept getting all his favorite foods when She and Sam did their grocery runs. She always sat with him while he worked on Baby and the Firebird.

“You never named him, y’know-“

“I did, actually.” She was sat on the hood of Baby, parked across from the Firebird as Dean ran his maintenance. “I just haven’t told you yet.”

Dean raised his brows. “You gonna tell me, sweetheart?”

“Nope. It’s a surprise.”

“Pretty shit surprise-“

“That’s what you think.”

Dean snorted. “That is what I think. And you gotta tell me, Princess, it’s not fair to just tease like that.”

“I think I’ll tell you whenever I want.” She shrugged, leaning forward with a bright, pretty smile. “But you’ll like it.”

“I will?”

“Yeah, you will.” She glanced to Dean’s grease-stained hands. “Do you want gloves, De? It’s cold-“

He shook his head. “I’m fine. But if you gotta go inside-“

“I’m good here.” She said it like it was the plain, simple truth. She was good here. With Dean.

So he wouldn’t let Her down. And She was awesome, all the time, so Dean would claw himself apart to be worthy of that. He couldn’t be God, but he could buy Her all the root beers in the world, and make Her breakfast, and sit with Her while she did Her research. Soothing Her when she had nightmare. Pretending that the walls weren’t closing in on all of them, as they got closer to finding Death, and didn’t have a plan to get Lucifer in the cage.

“I can’t get it.” She glared at all Her notes on the kitchen table, shaking Her head. “Dean, I- I can’t get it-“

“Hey.” He grabbed Her hand, and She looked to him with big, glossy eyes. “You’ll get it. You need to go for a drive?”

She nodded weakly. “Or- Maybe a walk-“

“I could go for a walk.” Adam jumped in, his eyes shooting up from the lore book in his lap. She and Sam had been helping him catch up on everything, and he was taking well to it, but son of a bitch, Dean didn’t want Her to go on a walk with him. Not because of insane reason like jealousy, but the kid didn’t know how to take care of Her. How to defend Her if angels started raining down from the sky. If She started having a freak out, She’d need Dean-

“Okay.” She gave Adam a small smile, squeezing Dean’s hand three times as She stood up. “Let’s go.”

Dean gave Adam a small nod as they passed him, and he had to be fine with it. He had no real reason not to be. She’d be fine, Adam would be fine, and it wasn’t like they were storming a vamp nest. She was just being kind, and letting Adam go for a walk with Her. Probably just around the yard. Dean wouldn’t lose more family by letting that happen.

And Sam kept pushing the Lucifer idea, in the car and the morning and every damn second of peace Dean tried to get. Bobby had put them on ingredient gathering for Her spell—Sam and Dean found them, Cas ran the errand—and Sam wouldn’t stop bringing it up. All while Adam was still trying hit on Her, and Dean had to herd Her away for the ingredient work.

She was already doing everything. She didn’t need to do more. Dean couldn’t take Her hurting herself while Sammy was trying to fucking die. She—by some miracle—gave it up. And Cas was able to sweep up all Her ingredients in a night, so the moment She got it, they’d be set. Then a whole new issue would arise, but that was a problem for after.

She and Cas had been whispering. A lot. Sam and Dean left for two days, doing demon hunt a town over, and when they came back Adam was reading a book in the living room, Bobby was cleaning his guns, and She and Cas were talking in low voices in the kitchen. Sam shot Dean a worried look, and Dean sighed. He didn’t know what the hell to do about that. They were probably just talking about the Death spell.

Probably.

Son of a bitch, Dean hoped they were just talking about the Death spell.

Maybe Cas was helping with it, and they’d get this over with sooner, and She’d start sleeping properly again. Dean could see the bags getting heavier under Her eyes. She’d been eating less again, and all Her sleep had been nightmares he had to hold Her through—or, over the past nights, talk Her down from over the phone—and it was splitting him in half. She was going outside less, as well. Just a few walks with Adam, because the kid kept asking Her, and midnight drives with Dean. Every other moment had been research, teaching Adam about the lore, and whispering with Cas.

Dean said Her name, and She looked up at him with a wide, blinding smile. She looked exhausted. “Hey, Princess.”

“Hi,” Her smile didn’t waver as She glanced to Sam. “You guys-“

“One piece.” Dean dropped in the chair at Her side, and he might have gotten away with carrying Her out of the room for research, but carrying Her to bed with it was barely dusk was going to get him stabbed. “You eat yet, sweetheart?”

“She had yogurt.” Cas said, and Dean frowned.

“You make her eat the yogurt, dude?”

“Don’t answer that.” She gave Cas a firm look, and his mouth snapped shut, but Dean understood what that meant.

“Goddamnit,” he said Her name with glare, and She stuck her tongue out at him.

“Fuck off, Winchester, you’re not my dad.”

Sam snorted, and Dean shot him a glare.

“Shut your face, Sammy-“

“I didn’t say anything, dude.” Sam raised his hands, a shit-eating grin on his face. “I was just going to ask what they did while we were gone-“

“Death spell.” Cas said, and Dean narrowed his eyes. Cas had said that too damn fast. And Dean opened his mouth to push it, but he didn’t get the chance.

“Good,” Bobby grunted, wheeling into the kitchen. “You four travel like gazelle, you know that?”

Sam frowned. “What?”

“I find one of ya idjits, the other three ain’t gonna be far behind.” Bobby stopped at the head of the table, giving Her a firm look as he said Her name. “No knives at the dinner table.”

She frowned. “But-“

“No but. We’re eatin’ dinner now, together.”

Cas cleared his throat. “I don’t need to eat-“

“Then you can shove it down your throat and play pretend like it matters. I’m a cripple, Cas, let me have one dinner where none of us are tryin’ to run away.”

They all exchanged quick looks—Dean liked the idea, liked the thought of getting to sit with Her for a family dinner, even if it was forced, and everyone seeing his hand in Her’s or his arms around Her chair or something—and didn’t fight it. They didn’t know how many more times they’d get a chance to sit there, with the end of the world. With Cas still on the angel blacklist, Sam gunning to jump in the cage, and Her whole Bride of God thing.

None of them had been talking about that.

They didn’t know how. And God wasn’t going to just swoop down and take Her, so it couldn’t be the focus right now.

Dean really hoped God wouldn’t swoop down and take Her.

But it was a thought stuck to the back of his brain, now. All the time. He could defend Her from demons and monsters, and he’d bleed to keep Her from God, but if they guy just appeared and grabbed Her, Dean didn’t know what kind of line he’d be able to hold. Same as if Sammy decided to say yes to Lucifer, without any heads up, Dean wouldn’t be able top stop it. Then he’d lose both of them. And he couldn’t fully enjoy the mock family dinner, because all he could think about was how he didn’t know how this ended.

It felt like they were building up to a high, horrible drop. Like the rollercoaster he’d taken Sammy on when they were kids, hovering right at the edge of a fall they couldn’t even see with no way out but down. Sam was right. Dean didn’t have a better idea to get Lucifer in the cage. And even if that worked, and they stopped the whole apocalypse train from leaving the station, he’d have lost Sam. His one job was keeping Sam safe. Keeping his family together, and fucking safe.

They were all safe and together now. Adam was still a little stiff—as if he wasn’t sure he was allowed to be here—but he was still making conversation, telling stories about high school and asking them all—mostly Her—nervous questions about their own lives. Cas was answering all Her questions about history, and Sam and Bobby had started to jump in with their own. She and Sammy were nerding out about some science museum that Dean had taken Sammy to as a kid, and she’d visited when She was sixteen and hunting alone. Bobby rolled his eyes and grumbled about her illegally driving, and she just hummed who taught me how to drive, old man.

Dean wanted to enjoy it. To not feel like he was holding something that was about to break. But there was a sort feeling in his gut, and that deep, cold fear creeping back over his bones.

And he couldn’t sleep that night. All the was running through his head was a bunch of goddamn what ifs.

What if he let Sam jump, and lost him. What if, after he lost Sam, God swooped down and tore Her from Dean’s arm. What if the world ended, and God took Her anyway. What if God was always going to take Her. And this wasn’t like the vessel deal, where they could say no.

What if, one day, Dean woke up and She was just fucking gone.

So he couldn’t sleep. She’d passed out, but Dean had never felt more wired. He just watched Her, slumped against his body and molded so perfectly against him, and tried to reason how God could ever hold Her better than this. She fit too damn well with Dean. It didn’t matter how God had made Her, Dean got Her. Even when he didn’t understand Her, Dean got Her. He was Her shadow. He loved Her. If he could, he would have made the world for Her too, but he wouldn’t have made it like God. He would’ve made it without pain.

And he wished he could take all Her pain. Instead of just running and hiding like a fucking pussy, making Her deal with it herself.

But he couldn’t.

So when She started to mumble, and the little wrinkle formed on Her brow, Dean cradled Her in his arms. He wasn’t God.

He’d never leave Her to hurt alone.

She tried to claw out of his arms. Pushed at his chest as a small, distressed noise left Her throat, and the world started go a little brighter without a single light on in the room. But Dean just held Her. Not tighter—he didn’t want to hurt Her, or make Her more frantic—but firmly. And when Her eyes shot open with a choked scream, silver seeming to fade quick from Her pupils as She writhed and scratched at his chest, Dean didn’t move. He just caught Her hand and squeezed it three times, because nothing was okay, but She was safe. They’d spent the time after dinner tracking omen after omen, and the end of the world drew closer with every breath, but right now, She going to be okay.

“I’ve got you, Princess.” He moved Her carefully into his lap, and She melted quick.

Broken sobs shook Her body as she wrapped around Dean, and he tried not think about how this was going to work into his own nightmares.

Something would claw Her out of his hold, She’d vanish up into the sky, and the only proof Dean would have that She ever existed at was an empty room, and pile of notebooks he couldn’t read. He’d have to tell Bobby. Tell Sammy, if he was still with them. Then either keep sleeping in Her room, or find a new one and move on, but he’d never be able to move on. He loved her, and She didn’t want to leave him, but what if God showed Her paradise and she did chose to leave him-

“Dean?” She whispered, Her words muffled in his shirt. “Am I- Did I hurt-“

“I’m fine,” he murmured. She wasn’t allowed to think She could hurt him. Ever. “You’re okay. Just a nightmare.”

She hummed, Her fingers playing with the hem of his shirt. “Did I wake you up?”

“Nah.”

“Oh- Okay.” There was a beat of silence, then- “I don’t want to go.”

Dean frowned down at Her. “Go where?”

“Back.” Her gaze titled up to meet his, and Her eyes were so soft and bright and sad. Glossed with tears and wide in the dark, and Dean sort of felt like he was drowning. “To Heaven. I- I don’t want to be one of them, Dean, I don’t want to go-“

“Hey.” He cupped Her face, brushing a stray tear from her cheek. “You’re not going anywhere, Princess-“

“But what if he comes.”

She’d been thinking about it too. And it didn’t make Dean feel better. It only made the cold dread drop right into that dark pit, splitting it wider and wider open. It would slice him in two, if She left. If the dread kept growing, and then he lost Her.

“He’s going to come, De.” She whispered, planting Her hands on his chest as she sat up. “He- He watches me. I’ve always felt him watching me- And I don’t wanna go-“

“I know, sweetheart. I know.” Dean wrapped himself a little tighter around Her. “He, uh- He watching right now?”

She shook Her head. “The windows are closed.”

The windows. And the curtains in every motel, for years. And She didn’t like going outside, and son of a bitch-

“He’s in the sky.” She dropped Her face down to Dean’s neck, and his hand shot up to tangle in Her hair. “He- He doesn’t come inside, and I don’t know why, but- He’s angry with me. I can feel it, and- He wants me to leave but I don’t want to-“

“Princess-“

“I don’t want to leave you, Dean.” She mumbled, and he froze. “I- I never want to leave you, but he- He keeps- I don’t want to leave-“

“So you’re not gonna. We’ll keep you safe-“

“It’s not up to you.” Her voice was so soft, and the dread grew. “He’s just waiting. And watching. But it’s- I don’t think I get to choose, and when he- When- I don’t want to go, De.” She held him a little tighter. “I don’t wanna go.”

Dean felt like his heart was trying to strain out of his chest. He was goddamn useless. He was supposed to protect Her, to make sure nothing hurt Her, but she said it wasn’t up to him. Or Her.

He should’ve pushed Raphael for more answers. For what the Hell this meant, and how it all lined up. If it was something Dean could kill, or She just needed to be defended. If it was like a demon deal She didn’t choose to make, or a trade they could barter for. Dean could go in Her place, if God was just looking for a human. They could get God a freakin’ dog, if this was about companionship. Or one of those sex dolls, if that was about that-

He felt sort of sick.

Just thinking about Her with anyone had always made something to the left of his heart sour and foul. Thinking of God doing that, when She was crying in his arms-

Not now. She needed Dean here, holding Her. He’d deal with that later.

Her breathing had steadied, but She wasn’t falling back asleep. She was just tracing patterns on Dean’s forearm in the dark, and he just watched Her in his arms. When She wanted to talk, she would, and he-

“Dean.” She angled Her face to his, Her eyes wide, and he frowned. “I think I’ve got it.”

“Got-“

“Death.”

Dean blinked, and he wasn’t fast enough to pull Her back to bed, when She crawled out of his arms. This was something that could wait for morning, when they could make a game plan, and She hadn’t just been sobbing ten minutes ago.

“Princess-“

“It’ll take a few hours to finish.” She was cross-legged on the floor, all the ingredients spread out around Her as she worked. “Can you-“ She swallowed. “Please sit with me?”

Dean sighed, and nodded. It was the least he could do, because he couldn’t do much. And he fucking hated it. The itch over his skin of just sitting there as She mixed everything together and started talking in Enochian, before grabbing Her blade and passing it to Dean. She held Her palm open to him, a silent request on Her face, and the dread was starting to fester.

He muttered Her name, and She shook Her head.

“I raised him.” She whispered. “It will work. And the cut needs to go right over the scar, but I don’t think I can get the angle. Please.”

Dean swallowed down some bile, and gave a short nod. He had to. She’d asked him to.

He still had never felt like such a horrid fucking lowlife as when he sliced Her hand open, and She made a small sound of pain.

“I’m-“

“It’s okay.” She drew Her hand back, and let the blood fall over the fancy bone of an extinct animal Cas had found. “It’ll take a few hours, then it should be like- sort of a compass. Can you-“

Dean nodded, and ran to grab the stitch kit. She didn’t fight it, when he helped Her to sit on the edge of the mattress, and dabbed the rubbing alcohol on Her hand. “Not deep enough for stitches.” He muttered, and She hummed.

He glanced up, and found Her watching him. Shiny hair falling over Her face and blinding eyes, something gentle in Her face that was rare to see. The was the same position he’d kissed Her in, this first time.

He wanted to kiss Her now. To show Her, best he could, that he didn’t want to leave Her either.

And he didn’t know how to say it right.

He’d fuck it up.

He’d make it sound like he had a claim to Her instead of God, or She owed him to stay after everything they’d been through. Like Paradise wasn’t something She was worthy of, when he didn’t know anyone who deserved it more. He’d been barely better than a demon in hell, and She’d been made for fucking Heaven, but She was still here with him.

But Dean was good at doing things.

And She was so close, and She smelled so good, and Her breath was hitched and lips parted and-

Fuck it.

He tugged Her carefully down, winding his fingers between Her’s and starting soft. Just a light press of their lips together, telling Her that he was here. Even when it hurt, Dean was here.

She let out the sweetest little gasp, Her fingers tangling in the hair at the base of his neck, then kissed him back.

She was kissing him back.

Her lips were soft and already a little swollen from chewing and crying, but goddamnit, they fit perfectly against Dean’s. And the kiss was a slow and unhurried, letting Dean taste every bit of salt and fruit on Her lips and his hands to wander. Skimming right under Her shirt and savoring Her small shiver. How She angled Her head back to try and carefully push his tongue between Her lips.

She opened for him in a second, then moaned. Right down his fucking throat, with Her fingers tugging at his hair when he moved to sit on the edge of the bed and pulled Her into his lap, without ever breaking the kiss. Dean was getting dizzy from the high of Her skin—soft and warm and so goddamn responsive, it was going to drive him insane—and body pressed right to his, and She’d started to squirm, and-

They broke apart with ragged breaths, their brows pressed together, and She let out a high, breathy giggle.

“Good?” He rasped, because he had to check, and She nodded.

“Good, De. I…“ Her lips ghosted over his as She trailed off, her eyes fluttering in that way that make his cock twitch.

She squeezed his hand three times, and Dean dragged Her wounded hand up to kiss Her knuckles, and neither of them spoke. They didn’t need to. Now wasn’t the time to have the Conversation, either.

So She curled into his side, Dean kissed the top of Her head. He watched the bone on the floor as the night crept on, and drool began to fall from Her lips. He shifted Her to lay down on the bed, moving the hair from Her face, and let out a long, slow sigh.

He was never going to be worthy of Her. Born in the mud, likely going to die in the mud, too. Dean was selfish. He knew he was selfish. The angels and demons had spent years warning them to stop letting Her fight, the Horsemen had said this wasn’t Her fight, but he’d dragged Her into it because he’d never wanted to lose Her. And now he was going to lose Her no matter what. She was going to do all the work to save their asses, and Sammy was going to try and take a bullet he didn’t deserve, and Dean was going to do jack fucking shit.

Dad had been right. He was just a weapon, and he wasn’t even an effective one. All that skill and talent to hurt the people he hated and protect the ones he loved, and She was in pain, and he was on the edge of losing Sam. He was nothing.

But he still loved Her. And She might be designed for people to love and want Her, but Dean loved Her best. He knew Her. He’d do anything for Her.

Including, when the bone started to glow, one end turning black and spinning on the ground to angle East, something that was going to get him yelled at. But he was sick of just sitting here. Of making Her do everything, when this wasn’t Her fight. And it was like Pestilence. Dean knew She had nightmares about Death. He was just keeping Her from having more.

And She was going to kill him. Bobby was going to kill. Hell, Cas was going to kill him.

But he was doing it anyway.

He had to.

The bone stayed on Baby’s dash for the entirety of the drive. Dean’s phone started lighting up in Iowa, but he didn’t look at the messages. Sammy might trace the call with all his nerd shit, and send Cas to come grab him. And if it was Her, She’d yell at him for doing the exact thing he always got pissed at Her for doing. But it was different. Dean had a solid plan of get the ring, even if he had to make another deal, and She had other ways to help. Dean was keeping them all out of the line of fire. It was Death, they didn’t know what the hell he was capable of, and every time She’d faced off with a horseman She’d come out sobbing and clinging to Dean in the dark.

The calls died down when he got to Illinois, the sun long over his head. He’d apologize. He’d come back with the ring, and let Bobby and Sam shout at him, let Cas glare and say low words of disappointment, and let Her shove him and scream until she decided She was done. But Dean was keeping Her from more pain.

He’d rather have Her furious with him than not have Her at all.

And the bone kept spinning, guiding him to Death, and Dean kept coming up with ways they be pissed, and ways he’d apologize. He’d be fine. His whole life had been jumping in front of bullets, then letting blows land on him for daring to protect the people he loved.

If the bullet was Death, he’d see if it stuck this time. And if it didn’t, he’d go back and pray they still wanted him around.

The bone wasn’t turning anymore. It was spinning around and around as Dean circled a block in Chicago, and it was angled towards a Church.

Dean knew this church.

He’d been dreaming about it lately.

A lot.

And the rain was coming down right so hard he was soaked the second he stepped out of the car, but it didn’t matter.

The second he stepped through the doors, he was dry as a bone.

This had been a horrible idea. One of his worst. He should have brought Her—She’d raised Death, for Christ’s sake—or at least a bigger gun. His steps were echoing of the walls, his seeming to be the only living soul in the whole building.

But not the only person.

Because sat in the very front row, the was a man. Thin, pale, weedy black hair. And Dean froze in the aisle, but it didn’t matter anyway.

“Dean Winchester.” The man’s voice was cool. Measured. Dean didn’t think he was made of anything but the dread anymore. “You’re early. I appreciate that.”

“Uh,” Dean cleared his throat. Chicago was such a stupid place to die. “You haven’t killed me.”

“I admire your bravery.” Death shrugged. “You are less than a bit of dust, floating in the air, but you are a very brave and stupid piece of dust. And I would call you inconsequential, but for a piece of dust, you are quite important. By association, of course.”

“Because I’m Michael vessel?”

Death let out a dry laugh. “No. That is like calling the shoelaces of a toddler important. He will get other shoelaces. If fact, he may have already.”

Dean swallowed, and took a slow step forward. He really was a dumb piece of dust. “Then what?”

“Hm. I’d prefer you sit first, before we talk.”

“But-“

Death turned, and his face was sunken. Bored. Almost skeletal, his eyes locked onto Dean’s. “Sit.”

Dean nodded, and half scrambled down the rest of the aisle, before dropping on the pew at Death’s side. It was really fucking weird. Death turned back to the dais with a small nod and sigh, and Dean just waited. This didn’t feel like an icebreaker situation.

“I supposed you’re here about the ring.”

“Uh,” Dean felt sort of light-headed. Maybe Death was just getting him slowly. “Yes.”

“I am willing to give it to you.”

He blinked. “What?”

Death sighed. “I will give you my ring. That is one of the reasons you are not dead. You are a piece of dust that can swirl up quite the hurricane, if I direct you on the right wind.”

“Can we, uh- Drop the dust thing-“

“No.” Death turned to him with another, painfully blank expression. “Lucifer has me in a bind, I would like the ropes cut free. By putting him back in the cage, you will be doing me a favor, and I will let you continue to breathe until your time comes to a bloody, natural end.”

“Putting him back?”

“Letting Sam go on with his little plan. Not doing anything selfish to stop it.”

Dean opened his mouth, and Death shook his head.

“People will die, if he does not. It is that simple.”

“But-“

“There is no but. I give you the ring, Sam goes in the pit. If you find another way, you may explore it, but not at the cost of the war lost. Understood?”

Dean nodded, glancing down the ring on Death’s finger. “There are other ways, though? That might work.”

“Not for you, Dean.” Death sighed. “As I explained, you are less than dust.”

“You said I was important.” Dean pushed back, because he could never shut the fuck up. “By association.”

Death gave him another bored look, and said Her name. Dean’s hands curled into fists. He couldn’t sworn that outside, thunder clapped.

“I don’t-“

“You are of quite some significance to her.” Death said carefully. “More than I think you can understand. Killing you would be… a poor decision.”

“You- you know about her-“

“Of course I know about her. I was there when God decided he wanted her. She will likely be there when I reap him.”

“Reap God?”

“One day, yes.”

Dean felt sick, as he whispered Her name. “Does she- One day-“

Death tilted his head. “I am not sure. But you have yet to answer my question. Will you take the ring, and do whatever it takes.”

“You said there was another way-“

“Not for you. Just as there will never be another way for you to keep your princess. Not with a gun, or a bargain. She is the Bride of God, among other things. It is not something she will be. Not something that can be replaced, or worked around.” Death gave him an almost pitying look. “I like her, Dean. If I am being honest, I would happily spend eternity with her. And I do not think he deserves her, but I did warn him. Now, the ring?”

Dean felt like he was drifting. He took the ring with a weak smile and nod, and he made a promise he wasn’t sure he could keep, but he didn’t feel it. Death vanished, leaving Dean alone in the church, but he didn’t move for a long, weighted moment.

No other ways. There were no other ways.

Not to save Sammy.

Not to keep Her.

He checked his phone, before he started the drive back. It was a lot of missed calls from everyone, and a bunch of messages he didn’t bother to read. They’d tell him all that to his face when he got back. The only important one—not worrying about him or telling him to get back now—was at the top anyway.

Sam

Adam’s missing. Get back now.

New shoelaces. Backup plan.

Fuck.

He drifted through the drive back, too. He brought the bone back—pissing Her off more by losing her magic bone didn’t seem like a good idea—and kept the ring in his pocket, trying not to think about any of it. He didn’t want to lose Sam. He’d promised Death he’d let the plan go forward, and that didn’t seem like a good promise to break. There was no way for Dean to keep Her, even if he didn’t see anything bright through the storm if it wasn’t Her.

And the rain had cleared, but the sun had set. The clock on the dash read 1am, when he pulled into Bobby’s yard. And all the lights were off in the house, except for one.

The lamp in the library.

She just looked up at him. Nothing on Her face that he could read, not a single shout or scream. Only a heavy, exhausted expression and bright eyes tracking Dean’s movements around the room, as he shed his jacket and crossed the room. She wasn’t saying a single fucking word.

It was worse than shouting or hitting.

It was made of the dread.

“I’m sorry.” He said quickly, dropping to his knees before Her. He wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch Her right now. “I trust you, Princess, and I woulda brought you with me, but Pestilence and Famine, those sons of bitches fucked you up, and-“ He didn’t know what he was saying. It was going to be the wrong thing. He couldn’t stop. “It fucking kills me, when you’re like that and I can’t do shit about it. But I got it. I got the ring. And I know you’re pissed, and you can kick my ass and I’ll sleep on the couch, but- I’m sorry.”

There was a long, horrid moment of silence, and he’d lost Her. She wouldn’t be in pain, but this had been the thing, the one that was always going to happen, and She’d leave, and Dean was never going to get to hold Her again-

“I thought you left.” She whispered, and Dean’s gaze shot up. “You wouldn’t answer your phone.”

Son of a bitch. Dean could see it now. The red of Her eyes, the rattiness of Her hair and shine on Her cheeks, combined with the raw skin on Her wrists.

She’d been crying.

Dean was never supposed to make Her cry.

“I didn’t leave-“

“You said we’d go together.” She cut him off with an almost pleading tone. “And I- I had a freakout last night, and I told you God’s watching me, and we-“ Her voice dropped to a whisper. “We kissed and I- I thought-“

Dean grabbed Her hands, rising up a little higher on his knees. “Look at me.”

She shook Her head, and they done this dance before. A lot.

Dean would keep doing it, as long as he got to keep touching Her. To brush the hair from Her face, take Her face between his hands, and angle Her gaze onto his. He’d do it forever.

“I’d never leave you, Princess.” He muttered, keeping his words low and firm. “I don’t give a shit that God’s watching you. I’m with you. All the way down.”

“Oh- okay.” She took a shaking breath. “I’d never make you sleep on the couch, De.”

He sighed. “You don’t gotta-“

“I couldn’t sleep.” She mumbled, Her gaze still locked onto his. “Needed you.”

Fuck.

Dean could be needed. He could nod, and carry Her to bed, mumbling a lot more apologies, because he was a piece of shit, but he was Her piece of shit. And once he was in bed, he changed fast and crawled into bed, because this wasn’t going to be his to keep, but he had it now. Her in his arms. Her face in his neck.

And there had to be another way. Death said there wasn’t, but there always was. Maybe not for Dean, but for someone else, doing him a favor. There had to be another fucking way, because if the smell of fruit haunted him like this for the rest of his life, just out of his reach and crying for him to come save it from the tree, he’d drive himself mad.

“I’m mad at you.” She grumbled against Dean’s shoulder, and he sighed.

“I know, sweetheart.”

“Don’t ever fucking do that again.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Good.” She paused, Her arms wrapped around his torso, and he would fight for this.

He loved Her.

And if Dean was good at anything, it was breaking things for people he loved.

“De?”

He grunted, and She propped her chin on his shoulder.

“Happy birthday.”

He let out a long breath, and took another stupid risk. It was his birthday, and the world was going to end, and She was looking at him so pretty in the dark, and-

Son of a bitch, he just wanted to be selfish. That was the only real reason.

And it was worth it. Because he sat up carefully, until he was propped over Her on an elbow, and leaned down. Slotted his lips gently over Her’s and taking it lazy and slow, kissing Her just to kiss Her. To taste Her and know She was here and, for now, Dean’s.

She let him. She fisted his shirt and pulled him deeper, until he was half on top of Her and he could hear only his heartbeat, and all those amazing sounds he was somehow allowed to pull from Her.

He didn’t pull away this time. Not fully. Dean kept his lips hovering over Her’s and folded his hand into Her’s, giving Her his best, widest, most come fucking love me, please, because I’ll love you until I don’t have a soul anymore, grin.

“Thanks, Princess.” He murmured, and he’d stay here forever.

With Her.

In the dark, as the end of the world drew closer, but the whole universe was in his arms, and he never wanted to let it go.

End Note: What a beautiful, rare win for their communication skills. Two whole kisses. They're going to be so normal about this.

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

Buy me a coffee!☕️

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

@brtodd @artemys-ackles @sthefferrete @lyarr24 @deansbbyx @bakugotypecrashout @kittycain @foolinthera1n @globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr

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

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

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

@arcticwisteria @youroldfashioned @generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @jackles010378 @godhelpthisbtch @ilovedeanwinchester4 @wecangetlostinthepurplerain @sleepykittycx

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

@wynnthewynnderful @redwinexsupernova @tiana-kh @woaheasytig3r @canibeyourghoulfriend @lovelywebber @salemslostwitch @winchester-whiskey @and-i-wish @ghosth0ney @funkenniffler

112 notes · View notes

hoe-in-deepspace · 2 days ago

Note

Im literally obsessed with your blog, and the fact that were practically the same age..their both a warm.balm to my soul 😫! Can i request something from one zayne girlie to another? We all knkw that caleb is considered a panty sniffer but...what if zayne is a bra feeler, and you catch him in the act? (We know he got some crazy hidden kinks as well 🤭). If you decide to do this, then my aether embedded heart will beat once more.

Omg thank you so much!!!! That makes me very happy 🥰 Similar age AND both Zayne girlies??? The universe must want us to be friends 🙂‍↕️ I'm drooling over the Zayne pic bc goddamn he looks breathtaking 😍

You are absolutely right about Zaynie being kinky (it's always the quiet ones) and I could definitely see him having a thing for bras

I haven't really written much fanfiction so there is no guarantee that it'll be good but I did my best for you!

P.S. I made the bra a red lace one to match the red lace panties in that panty sniffer Caleb edit 🤭

Dividers: enchanthings

Caught Red-Handed

Zayne x Reader

CW: Mentions of reader having breasts/wearing a bra but otherwise written as gn as possible (tagging as x fem reader just in case), pre-established relationship, two yearning idiots, Zayne realizing he is a horny freak for reader's bra (pops a boner that's never mentioned again). I think that's everything. Let me know if I forgot anything that should be here please.

Everybody knows that Zayne shows his love and care through acts of service. Which is why he's currently in your laundry room moving your freshly cleaned clothes out of the dryer and into the laundry basket that's resting gently between his arm and hip.

You had casually mentioned to him earlier in the day that you were exhausted from the countless missions the association had sent you on for the past week but couldn't spend your day off resting as there were many things you needed to take care of at your place. You had been putting the tasks off until you had more time and now that you finally had the time your body decided it only wants to rest. To say you regret leaving everything to be done on the same day is an understatement.

When you confided in Zayne about your predicament you hadn't thought he would show up on your doorstep 20 minutes later with your favorite drink in hand along with a small paper bag containing a few sweet treats for you two to share.

Once you both finished eating, Zayne adamantly insisted on helping you with your chores under the guise of not wanting the stress of it all to overwhelm your already exhausted body and heart. You knew he was helping simply because he cares about you but you couldn't resist the urge to ask if he's this caring with his other patients. His response? "Only the ones who cause as much trouble as you." You gasp. "There are others?" you joke with a faux look of shock displayed on your face. The corners of Zayne's lips quirk up ever so slightly before he breathes out a small "No".

Seeing as how Zayne wasn't going to take no for an answer you decided to leave him in charge of washing the laundry since it was the easiest task on your list. You know he works hard day in and day out at the hospital so the idea of letting him take on your biggest tasks on top of all that made a twinge of guilt bubble up in your chest.

Zayne carried the now full basket of clean clothes to your room and sat it down on the edge of your bed before proceeding to fold its contents.

When you had suggested for Zayne to wash your laundry he had politely asked if you wished to remove any intimates you didn't want him to see from the pile. He reassured you that he had no issue with handling such garments and was only asking out of respect for your privacy. You quietly thanked him before sorting through your laundry pile until you had collected all of your intimates to be washed by you later.

Zayne sorted your clean clothing as he folded them making separate piles for your t-shirts, jeans, socks, hunter uniform, etc. Once everything in the basket was folded and separated he began putting them away in the places you instructed him to. The closet was first and once everything that belonged in there was put away he moved on to the dresser. You had specified that your t-shirts go in the top drawer on the left but when he opened said drawer he came face to face with your collection of bras and underwear instead.

Realizing he must have made a mistake when remembering your instructions he goes to close the dresser drawer until a certain red lacy bra catches his eye. He stops in his tracks and stares at the garment with increasing intensity. He gets an overwhelming urge to pick up the bra and feel the delicate lace between his fingers but pushes the feeling down. Or at least he tries to.

Before he knows it he's got the red lacy bra in his hands. He drags his thumb slowly across the underside of the right cup. His fingers follow along down the length of the band before gently making their way to the straps. It's clear to Zayne that this bra serves as fashion over function due to the rather fragile natural of the straps. He imagines how they'd struggle to hold up your perfect breasts (no matter what size they are). The way they'd practically beg to be slipped off your shoulders so they can get even a few moments of respite from their losing struggle with your breasts. After Zayne's careful assessment of the garment he concludes it's rarely worn (if at all) based on the near perfect condition it's in. This discovery brings a sense of relief to his yearning heart. Next he uses his long fingers to stretch the cup out as if it were being worn by you. His breath hitches as he imagines your breast filling the cup. The way the lace would stretch across the tissue as if it were a second skin, giving the illusion that the lace was just another part of your gorgeous body. How despite your breasts being covered there is still very little left to the imagination. The growing tightness of his pants pulls him from his lewd thoughts.

He shouldn't be doing this. He knows it's wrong but he can't seem to get himself to stop no matter how hard he tries. He's never been so drawn to a piece of clothing before so he had no way to mentally defend himself against such an occurrence.

After fighting with himself internally, he cautiously continues running his fingers across the bra tracing the pattern of the lace on each cup. His breathing becoming more rapid and audible as a slight blush creeps across his face and ears. Eventually losing the battle with his intense urges, Zayne slowly drags the delicate fabric across his cheek to then ghost over his lips. A languid sigh escapes him as his eyelids flutter shut. The lace barely touched his lips but it's enough to make him weak in the knees.

While Zayne was busy fighting his demons in your bedroom you were in the kitchen putting away the last of the dishes you just finished cleaning. Suddenly you remembered (a bit too late) that you had rearranged your clothes in your dresser last week to make more room and things were now in a different spot than you had told Zayne they'd be. You mentally scold yourself for making such a mistake. You had given him the rundown on where everything goes while you were busy washing the mountain of dishes that accumulated over the last few days. That coupled with how exhausted you were led to you telling Zayne the spots those clothes used to go.

As you make your way to your bedroom to apologize and correct your mistake you can't help but wonder why Zayne hadn't come out to address it as it had been almost half an hour since he had taken your clothes out of the dryer. Surely he wasn't still folding them? Maybe he just opened the rest of your drawers to figure it out himself? But he had been so respectful of your privacy earlier so there is no way he would have gone through your other drawers without your permission, right? Questions ran through your head as you finally made your way into your bedroom.

"Sorry Zayne I-" you start but quickly cut yourself off as your gaze lands on what's happening in front of you. There stands Zayne slightly hunched over your open dresser drawer with your red lace bra in his hands and a deep blush on his face.

Zayne immediately whips his head in your direction and looks at you with widened eyes before quickly looking back down at your bra in his hands. He's been caught red-handed. He stays quiet for a moment while he tries to come up with any possible excuse that could explain why you found him in such a state. All the while his blush deepens.

You were so caught off guard by the situation that all you can manage to say is "is that my bra?" to which he just slowly nods while still avoiding your gaze. Before you can say anything else Zayne speaks up. "I apologize for my behavior. I don't know what came over me." You notice he still has your bra in his hands and has started nervously running his fingers along it. It's such a small movement that you doubt he even knows he's doing it.

The pieces of the puzzle connect in your mind as you realize Zayne, your usually composed doctor friend you're in love with, was just helplessly touching (and who knows what else) your lace bra he accidentally stumbled upon while you were in the other room. Your face heats up at the implication of the situation. Zayne wouldn't have acted the way he did if he didn't have feelings for you right? Maybe you're reading too much into this? Your mind is plagued with questions that you desperately need an answer to.

Mustering up all the courage you have you slowly move closer and gently place your hand over Zayne's to stop his fidgeting fingers. You both look up at each other and lock eyes. The two of you stand there in silence for a brief moment before Zayne instinctively looks away and clears his throat. He knows he should release your bra from his hands but that would mean removing his hand from your gentle grip. It would mean losing the feeling of your warm palm and slightly pruning fingertips against his cool skin. Zayne may often seem calm and collected on the outside but inside he deeply craves touch and affection. But not just anyone's will do, no, he craves your touch and affection. Which is why he's going to stand here as long as you'll let him with your hand on top of his.

Zayne makes no effort to move from the current position so you decide to take it upon yourself to gently remove your bra from his hands. He shows no resistance to your movement but carefully watches you from the corner of his eye. It's as if he's studying your expression for any signs of anger or disgust. He sees neither on your face but that does little to calm his racing heart.

Once the bra is free from Zayne's grip you drop it into the still open drawer and quickly close it. A deafening silence rings in the air as neither of you know where to go from here. Unable to cope with the lingering silence any longer you spit out the first thing that comes to mind. "I've never worn it. I thought I would save it for a special occasion". Zayne hums softly in response. "What occasion would warrant such attire?" he questions with a teasing lilt in his voice. You exhale a small laugh as some of the earlier tension dissipates. "I'd probably wear it on a date if I really liked the person." you half joke.

Zayne finally turns to face you before uttering lowly, "and if I was your date?" He prays you understand the underlying meaning behind his words. That you understand he's not just interested in seeing you in that risque garment. That he wants to see you in every facet both physically and emotionally. He wants to see you when you're happily gushing about a show you like, when you're sad because your favorite restaurant stopped serving your go to meal, when you're laughing over something he said, when you're too tired to get up for work in the morning because you stayed up late playing a video game. He wants to see you.

He looks at you with a mix of hope and fear in his eyes. Hope that you'll return his feelings and fear that your friendship is over if not. His heart is beating a mile a minute as he awaits your response.

Luckily for Zayne, you understood exactly what he meant. You knew he was never the type to make crude comments so it was clear to you that he was saying a lot more than the words that came out of his mouth. After being friends with Zayne for so long you had learned to pick up on the subtle ways he would express his intentions without actually voicing them. Even after all those years apart this still rang true.

A small smile appeared on your face and Zayne's heart clenched in his chest. Finally, after what felt like hours, you respond.

"I'm free this Saturday if you'd like to find out."

A/N: Ahhh I hope you liked it! I didn't mean for it to be this long but my inspiration was just raring to go apparently. I thought about making it smutty but didn't want it to be too long so maybe I can do a part 2 if people are interested. Never wrote smut before but I read a lot of it so maybe that'll be enough to help. Anywho, thank you for reading!

#love and deepspace #lads #lnds #lads zayne #lnds zayne #zayne love and deepspace #love and deepspace zayne #zayne lads #zayne lnds #love and deepspace oneshot #suggestive #zayne x reader #zayne x female reader #lads zayne x reader #lnds zayne x reader #x female reader #hoe-in-deepspace-posts

70 notes · View notes

ultravi0lence14 · 1 day ago

Text

THE DIARIES OF A GIRL INTERRUPTED

DEAN WINCHESTER AU

SYNOPSIS: the story of a girl and her lost love through the views of her old, tattered diary

WARNINGS: heavy topics | descriptions of parental abuse | slight drug use | swearing | insane infatuation 🫠

NAT BABBLES: inspired by the heart breaking story of willoughby tucker and ethel cain🙂‍↕️

JULY 2ND — 1996

dear diary,

daddy is being mean again. he says it’s god’s will. that if we’re going to act out, then god is going to punish us through his hands. but i don’t understand what i did; i don’t understand why daddy acts out when i don’t do anything to provoke him.

i’ve heard mama over the phone, telling her friends how daddy is just an angry man. how he’s good. just. because he’s our small towns preacher. but his actions aren’t good and just, and i can understand that.

i’m seventeen now, and i the exact moment i turn eighteen, i am out of here. going somewhere far away from here, somewhere i can be free.

i just hope that is soon.

JULY 4TH — 1996

dear diary,

today is the fourth of july, and daddy made me and mama go to the church’s barbecue; just to show face i’m sure.

he made us stand like shiny toys, hands clasped on my shoulder so hard i could barely breathe. is he going to pinch me when i say something wrong? grab my arm and drag me off somewhere private to really make me hurt? i was not sure, but i wanted today to be done and over with.

something strange happened though, and i’ve been thinking about it ever since it happened. before daddy dragged mama and i home.

there was a new family there today; a man and two boys. one of them looked my age, but the other couldn’t have been older than fourteen.

i’ve never really been attracted to any boys, since the town is so small and all of them are either disgusting pigs or bottom feeders. but this boy my age was different. refreshing somehow.

he had sandy brown hair was a little longer, and his hazel green eyes caught onto mine before i could even process he noticed me. his stare was piercing, and the softness in his eyes blanketed something else i could tell; like sorrow, or pain.

i find myself wanting to see him again, and if this town is as small as i know it is, then i hopefully will.

JULY 8TH - 1996

dear diary,

it took four days, but i finally saw him.

the lake is a peaceful place for me to go. away from daddy and mama’s yelling, away from the sad reality of my sad life. it’s a five minute walk down the road, and i find myself going there more and more each day.

today, i was sitting on the edge of the dock, reading my new book that i bought a couple of days ago. i was so engrossed in the riveting tale, that i didn’t hear the smack of boots on the wooden dock.

“can i sit here?” the voice was rough and edged, a voice that has seen and screamed. when i turned, i was faced with an angel.

the sun backed his milky skin beautifully, and i swear i saw god’s vision. his black shirt and distressed jeans made him seem rough around the edges, but that same softness in his eyes remained, and the book he carried under his arm was anything but daunting.

i was such a weirdo. nodding for him to sit because i was so tongue tied. i couldn’t talk to him, couldn’t fathom words that wouldn’t make him hate me. that’s how i was raised. anything i said could be used against me or used in the wrong context.

we sat side by side on that dock for hours, silently reading together in peaceful harmony. i didn’t go home until i knew it was time for dinner, and i found myself hoping he’d be back to the dock some time soon.

JULY 12TH — 1996

dear diary,

he introduced himself as dean winchester today.

i’ve gone to the dock everyday since the first time he came by, and each day, he’s come too.

we’ve sat in silence, no words spoken. i was too nervous, and he seemed far away in his own world. it wasn’t an uncomfortable silence, but it was something i found myself yearning for.

peaceful. serene.

but today he broke that silence, an outstretched palm and dog eared page being our peace offering. his smile was soft, but forced. i could tell he wasn’t used to doing the facial expression, like he was so used to grimacing his whole life.

i could understand. i can still understand.

i know my palm was sweaty when i shook his, but the roughness of his hand and the nimble fingers that wrapped around mine had my head reeling, so it doesn’t even matter.

today was only pleasantries. how old i was, if i was the preachers daughter, stuff like that. all i found out about him is that he’s originally from kansas and that his younger brother is named sam.

i am hoping to figure out more. he seems like a man with enough skeletons in his closet to fill a graveyard.

JULY 14TH — 1996

dear diary,

i’ve only been talking to him for shy of two days, but dean winchester is becoming somewhat of a comfort in my life.

i found myself wanting to open up to him. not lie and say the bruise on my cheek was from running into a door but from the scratch of daddy’s ring striking against my cheek.

though i didn’t. i found myself stopping the words from coming out of my mouth. when he asked further, all i said was what i believed to be true; ‘god loves you, but not enough to save you’.

it’s something i’ve preached like a new religion since daddy started getting more angry, and i didn’t expect anyone to agree with me.

until dean.

he opened up about his mom dying when he was a kid, about how his dad relies on drinking to ease the pain of losing his one true love.

he said if god truly loved him and his family, he wouldn’t have ripped his mom away from them so tragically; making his dad a semi-functioning drunk who goes to church to make himself feel better.

dean’s ideology on running away is he wouldn’t go anywhere without his sammy, and if i had a younger sibling i loved as much as dean loved sam, i would think the same.

mama came out to call me for dinner, and she almost caught me and dean talking. if she or daddy saw, i’d be done for. but i’d still see him, i realize. i’d crawl on my hands and knees to dean if it means i can spend five minutes in his company.

this blossoming friendship is becoming something i look forward to, and i won’t let anyone or anything take it away from me.

JULY 19TH — 1996

dear diary,

what i have with dean is not normal, i know that more and more as we spend hours upon hours together on that dock and in the adjacent field.

my infatuation with him grows stronger, and my will to bare my soul and heart to him grows stronger. i feel him in my bones, in my ribs and in the crevices of my veins. without him, i believe i would be nothing but a shell of a girl who let’s the world tell her what to do.

he treats me like a human, like his equal. his green eyes shine as he stares at me, dusts his fingers across my back when we venture into town to get soda at the gas station. he plays with the ends of my hair and the willowing fabric of my billowy shirts, and i find that his hands were made to be touching my skin.

no one has ever listened to my thoughts like him, has told me to be more than i am so i can reach my full potential. but dean does, and he makes me feel lighter than i truly am.

handling me like i am mad of glass, he doesn’t throw me and destroy and chip away at my girlhood like my dad. he honours me for all i am, and i find myself falling more and more in love with him.

i need him. need him more than a friend. i don’t care that we’ve know each other for less than a month. i need his soft words in my ear, his lips on my skin, and his rough edges and soft cheeks brushing against my own.

god, if you’re even listening, please give me this one thing. please. please. please.

JULY 22ND — 1996

dear diary,

i did something reckless today, and it made me realize that a spur of the moment decision can get you to where your heart desires.

in the tall grass of the field by my house, under the shade of a weeping willow tree, i kissed dean, and it felt like the most natural thing to me.

his hands were rough yet soft on my waist, holding me tender yet strongly like he didn’t want me to run away from him. i never would. dean would be by my side in all aspects of my world.

the feeling of his lips gently pressing against mine was cathartic, and at first, i thought he was going to pull away. but dean never did, and i found myself crawling into his lap and wishing time slowed down for just a couple more minutes.

in that moment, i wanted to tell him about my dad. how the bruises weren’t from doors, and how my mother’s neglectful attitude kept getting worse. in that moment, i wanted him to take me away from that house; grab sam so we can run away. for good.

but deep down, i knew none of that would happen, and i felt silly to even fathom telling dean about the slaps and kicks i endure from my father.

someday though, i will.

JULY 29TH — 1996

dear diary,

the past week of my life has possibly been the best in a while, and that truly is saying a lot.

dean and i have spent practically most of our time together, and i yearn for the days to surpass 24 hours, just so i can spend more time with him and not have to go back to the circle of hell i call my home.

a couple of days ago, when i met him at the corner of my street, he was smoking a cigarette. i was awestruck, for drugs even as small as nicotine was foreign to me.

daddy always told me that if he ever caught me smoking, he’d put the whole package of cigarette butts out on my skin. and knowing him, i know he isn’t bluffing.

so when dean offered for me to take a ‘hit’ as he called it, i was nervous at first.

“you don’t have to,” was his words, a coaxing hand twirling a piece of my hair while the other held his cigarette. “do whatever you feel is best for you, darling.”

he started calling me darling, and when he does, i find myself pliable in his hands. the words made me grab the stick from his hands, taking a long drag and puffing the smoke out almost immediately.

the taste of marlboro reds still lingered on my tongue for hours after, but the feeling of freedom and rebellion from my daddy felt good. it made me feel in control, and dean always tells me that i’m the only person who’s in control of my life. that no one pushes me around.

“be mean.” he says, pressing feather light kisses across my skin. “be demanding and fucking cruel when need be. because the only person who’s going to change the trajectory of your life, is you, darling.”

i believe him. i truly do. but daddy breaks down my soul, lifts my walls even higher, and each day i stay under his roof, under his religious driven views, i become more and more wary of myself.

all i can look forward to is spending more and more time with dean, and if the rest of my life is like this past week, i won’t be mad.

AUGUST 1ST — 1996

dear diary,

dean might kill my daddy, and i don’t know what there is to do about it.

we were at the local auto shop today — the one where dean works at, and my carefree attitude made me slightly forget that i have demons and bruises to hide from my one true love.

he saw the splatters of purple and blue on my ribs, and demanded to know the truth. i knew the lies about me running into doors and walls wouldn’t last forever, but i hoped it would hold for longer.

when i broke down and told him, he cradled me in his arms like i was made of glass, like he couldn’t even fathom breaking me even more. each stroke of his fingers through my hair, each tightened grip he left around my waist, i felt like he was healing me. making me whole again.

but then he pulled away, and i swear, i saw murder in his eyes.

“that fucking hypocrite!” he grit out, hands clutching my face with a tenderness that didn’t match his voice. “preaching god’s word only to go home and beat on his daughter like a fucking mad man. i’ll make him pay, darling, i promise you.”

i don’t know what he means, but i hope whatever it is, he makes my daddy feel as broken and bruised as i have throughout the years.

AUGUST 6TH — 1996

dear diary,

when dean said he was going to make my daddy pay, i didn’t think he meant trying to expose him in front of our entire church.

daddy was talking about eternal damnation today, and what sends one to the fiery pits of hell. he was speaking like he wasn’t the one who slapped his wife and daughter around, and i could feel dean simmering from a couple of pews behind me.

when church was done, and everyone was talking outside, dean walked right up to my dad, his fist pummelling into his jaw before i could even suck in a breath.

“how does that feel? huh?” dean had snarled, trying to attack my dad for a second time while his father and other men from the church held him back. “does it feel nice to be beaten? can you understand what you put your daughter through each and every day you lay your sick hands on her?”

everyone was staring at him like he was crazy, and it was then i realized that my daddy had not only a grip on me, but a firm hand on everyone in this fucking church. he breeched his claws into their skin, ripping and tearing at their marrow and mirth until they were nothing but pliant sand in his palms.

when dean saw the realization in my eyes, he broke away from the crowd, rushing over to me so he can grab my hand and drag me away from the crowd.

he took me to our field, and i swear, i have never cried tears as bottomless and salt stricken as the ones i cried in his arms.

i wanted it all to be done and over with. wanted daddy to stop, mama to wake up, and for me, dean, and his brother to run far away from here. but none of that would happen, and i saw it clear as day today at the church.

“we’ll get away from this town.” dean reassured me, hands stroking over my skin as i was perched in his lap. “we will go to wherever your heart desires. i’ll let you see the west with me, and everything will be different.”

i wanted to believe him, i really did. but something in my gut told me that what he was saying wouldn’t come to truth.

AUGUST 13TH — 1996

dear diary,

i’m so heartbroken, i haven’t been able to write anything without tears dripping down onto the paper.

when i got home from being with dean after that fateful day at church, dad had punishment in the form of his closed fists and the metal ending of his belt. mama had to carry me upstairs afterwards, and i laid curled in my bed for the next day.

he threatened that if he ever saw me with dean again, that he’d do worse than put the fear of god in me. he forbade me from seeing my only true love, and i couldn’t have that.

two days later, when i could actually walk, i snuck out and ran straight to dean’s house. sam answered the door, and when i saw the moving boxes piled up behind him, i felt my heart crack in a million pieces.

“daddy found a new job in california,” sam explained, a soft tender smile across his cheeks. just like his brother. “dean told me to tell you, he’s currently out right now.”

i immediately ran around town, trying my hardest to find dean, but he was nowhere to be found. at the end of it all, i knew the one place he would ever be waiting for me.

the dock.

when i got there, i halted as i saw dean sitting on the edge, head in hands as his shoulders shook in silent tears. when he heard my footsteps on the wood, i have never seen someone leap up faster.

his hands immediately cradled my face, words coming out a mile a minute as he tried to reassure me.

“come with me, darling.” he breathed, hands moving around my face, like he was trying to make me out to be real. “see the west with me. leave your past behind and start a future with me.”

i wanted to leave. so desperately i did. but my mom. i couldn’t leave her. it wasn’t fair of me, and i knew my dad would just track me down.

so i left dean winchester on that dock. the hope of seeing the west together breaking like a new, intangible dream.

AUGUST 17TH — 1996

dear diary,

what is wrong with me? i should’ve said yes. i should’ve gone with him.

i can’t breath without dean winchester, and i feel the cracks in my heart falling all over my rib cage each day he is gone.

daddy is just getting worse since he learned about my tryst with dean, and his anger is making me crumble mentally and physically, making my bones and soul ache an absolute amount.

i will die in this house, i’ve realized. and no one — not even dean, will be able to help me.

i can’t write anymore. i can’t write what i made myself have. dean was right. what i want in life, i need to take. i should’ve been mean. i should’ve listened. but i didn’t, and now my final resting place will be the four walls of my room.

JANUARY 24TH — 2006

dear diary,

it’s been almost ten years since i’ve last seen dean winchester, and my heart has broken each day since.

today would’ve been his 27th birthday, and i found myself walking into the cemetery this morning with a looming sense of dread hanging over my heart.

he died three years ago, and when sam called me to break the news, i fell to my knees, screaming so loud my mama ran upstairs in worry. i hadn’t left home, and dean would never come back. all because some drunk idiot decided to drive.

i mourn him today. what we had ten years ago, what he told me, how he loved me. when daddy died from a heart attack, i thought about what dean would’ve said. would he have consoled me? watched silently as he laughed at my fathers grave? spewing out hate he would smack me for.

everything is so confusing. but what i do know, is that dean is with his mom, and that’s the only beautiful aspect of god i think about.

rest easy, angel. i will always love you.

TAGS: @starzify @titsout4jackles @deansbeer @bluemerakis @luimousine @sacr1ficialang3l @beausling @h8aaz @deanspookiebear @hvnlygrl @losers-clvb @j4ckles @shypilled @honeyryewhiskey @tinas111 @thesevnthseal

#nat writes ˚౨ৎ˚#ultravi0lence14 #supernatural #ethel cain #dean winchester #sam winchester #supernatural x reader #imagine #fluff #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester imagine #dean x reader #dean winchester one shot #dean winchester au #dean winchester angst #preachers daughter #ethelnatural #willoughby tucker

84 notes · View notes

2-dsimp · 1 day ago

Text

“Wish upon a unicorn’s horn~❦ pt1(?)”

Synopsis: You were head over heels for a unicorn, the son of a noble family of alicorns living amongst the clouds. Admittedly he yearns for you, you were the magic to his crafted horn. However, his “friends” are envious of his high profile and seek to sabotage his only source of happiness in his stuffy posh lifestyle he’s forced to bare, you.

Tw: gn! commoner reader x yandere! noble unicorn, elite college setting, toxic friends, unhealthy relationships, angst, crushes, mutual pinning, obsessive tendencies, misunderstandings, coercion, discrimination, manipulation, drama,

•:•.•:•.••:•:•:•:•☾☼☽•:•.•:•.•:•:•:•:•:•:

You loved Reine, that awkward unicorn boy from the mythical lands. His long silky curled strands of rainbow hair, those jeweled red eyes that sparked, the fair skin with freckles dotting it. His bigs ears and well managed tail.

The only problem was that he was rejecting your every single heartfelt confession. No matter how well thought out or sweet it was. You were so very persistent in conveying your love yet he brushed it off as a joke.

What you didn’t know was that his two fake friends, Malak and Lera were behind it. influencing him to commit cruel actions with each rejection. They were only friends with the dorky twerp because their parents wanted close relations. With Reine’s filthy rich cooperate family, the Unias. They were a famous magic craftsman business within the mythical realm for all races.

_____

Sure enough Reine always felt bad at seeing your reaction. you Never shed a tear and just kept smiling as always taking every rejection in stride. Gods you were so precious, he absolutely wanted to fold every time you’d bat your pretty lashes and say you loved him. Presenting him the most personalized gifts that he knew must’ve taken so much time and energy. Yet his friends would always tell him otherwise to trash your feelings in your face. And being the gullible unicorn he was he did it.

“H-how long do I have to keep playing hard to get? T-this had g-gone on long enough right? I know now that they really do love me! Reine would stutter, he really just wanted to finally accept your endless confessions with countless more of his own. “No matter what I’ve said, They’ve been loyal in trying to woo me all semester! ”

But He held back on the urge since his friends told him. that being mean and playing hard to get was supposed to make you even more hooked on him. Which is why he went along with their cruel schemes of begrudgingly rejecting you at every opportunity you presented. Each time more harsher than the last.

The poor unicorn, just wanted you to crave him even moreso than you do now. Till you were unable to live without him just as much as he couldn’t without you. His master bedroom was testament enough with posters, tapestries, and pages upon pages of every interaction you guys had. He was grossly obsessed with you.

His friends sneered at him, not believing how gullible the insecure unicorn was, they all took him as a joke. Malak hooked an arm around his shoulder.”don’t be too hasty milord, obviously we gotta do one final test to make sure they’re not after your pureblood status right Lera?”

Lera, joined him rolling her eyes at Reine for how utterly oblivious he was for falling for their trick in destroying his love life. “Mhm, and today’s Valentine’s Day! So get this, once your love toy comes over to confess reject them ruthlessly. If they actually love you, then they’d put up with it.”

“Huh? But what if everything backfires? I don’t know this doesn’t seem any good at all.” Reine stammered nervously, The unicorn boy’s horn glowed a nervous orange. sweating seeing you come around, the last thing he’d want to do is drive you away. He absolutely adored you! But his friends said it’d be okay in the end. He could trust them right?

Truth be told he’d always accept your gifts, after piecing them back together he’d store them in his dwelling to admire and read through the love letters with a lovesick sigh. He was an absolute hopeless romantic at heart. He would’ve accepted your confessions a hundred times over if it hadn’t been for his so called friends meddling.

“Oh don’t be a wuss you’ve managed to keep the act up since the start of first semester se it through to the end doofus” Malak chuffed, smacking Reine in the back launching him forward just to see you bounding towards him holding tons of gifts, but most importantly a decked out Valentine’s Day card letter.

“Yup this is the final test of her love for you, we’re just looking out for a fellow noble unicorn” Lera chuffed flipping her mane as she and Malak both shared a devilish grin about how successful they are to ruin his love life.

————————-

A/n: let me know if I’m cooking in my attempt at diving back to my wattapad era, for a pt 2. 🫡

#Reine the unicorn #unicorn #supernatural x reader #supernatural imagine #monster x reader #monster x you #monster x y/n #angst imagines #angst drabble #monster angst #yandere monster #yandere stories #obessive love

65 notes · View notes

dog-bimbo · 2 days ago

Text

shiu n his sweet bimbo girlfriend part six 18+ only minors dni part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 a/n based on this yummy yummy ask i got so excited!! >⁠.⁠<

the gala is filled with men who either have blood on their hands or money. and you don’t belong here—not really.

but shiu had shown up at your door with a dress and a look that dared you to say no, told you to stay close, to stay quiet, to not ask too many questions.

and you had nodded, dumb and excited like always—lips glossy, eyes wide. lashes thick, heels high, letting him lead you into a world you don’t understand but love how it clings to him, how it clings onto you. you’re just some regular girl, sure, but in here, you're a dangerous man's doll.

he always looks so at home here, cigarette between his lips, face unreadable, hands always tucked in his pockets like he’s got nothing to prove and everything under control. he's got clients caught on his hooks, all they want is someone gone mess free. your boyfriend dearest provides exactly the kind of service they yearn for.

there’s a man, just a year older than you, suit just as expensive, charm turned up like a dial and he sees you the way shiu used to before he got comfortable, before he started pulling you into bathrooms like you were guaranteed to follow, and this man doesn’t look at you like you’re his already, he looks at you like you’re new. something to acquire.

you’re smiling too much and laughing too easily, and when his fingers graze your bare back, you don't swat him. you let them.

not because you want him, not because you want him to want you, but because you want shiu to see.

and he does, of course he does, he’s halfway across the ballroom with his chin tilted and jaw tight and he hasn’t tried coaxing any more clients ever since he saw you getting extra chummy with the guy.

you can feel it coming, the pressure building inside of him.

and when you glance at him, your eyes, he doesn’t blink, just stares at you, his cool composure thinning.

but that's not what gets you. the guy next to you falters, says something boring about sicily and shipping and money laundering and it’s too smooth, too fictional. not like the stories shiu tells you when you're painting your nails.

and suddenly it all feels hollow, like you reached for something shiu-like and got a cardboard cutout instead.

and the high of the game fades fast.

you excuse yourself with a soft smile and no intention of ever looking back.

he's stepping into your path without a word, tension radiating off him, eyes dark, jaw clenched.

“next time you need attention, baby,” he says, “ask like a good girl.” he clicks his lighter, cups the flame, hangs his head low to light the cigarette but then—you lean in and say, “don’t make me look for replacements.”

it lands like a slap, like he can’t breathe. he stops midway and just looks at you somewhat blank and shocked, but mostly, there's this desperate need coiling in his stomach. the kind of need that doesn't manifest on most days. but today, he's not cool, he doesn't have a clever retort, he's just brimming with the need to prove to you that he is all you need.

and his hand finally lifts, steady now, sliding around your waist as he guides you away from the ballroom, through a hallway.

and the moment the door clicks shut behind you in some guest room.

he pushes you and drops to his knees like he's praying. he’s on the floor pulling your panties down with both hands.

and when he presses his tongue to your cunt, it’s not soft or teasing or cruel—it’s desperate, sloppy and wet and relentless.

his hands are locked around your thighs like he’ll die if he doesn't get to lap on your sweet, sweet juices...

you grab his hair, moaning low, biting your lip to keep from crying out too loud.but he doesn’t care. he’s fucking groaning into you, nose pressed against your clit, tongue fucking you like he needs it more than you do, like it’s not enough to make you come, he wants to make you forget every other man that’s ever looked at you. because he's your man, no one else.

and he’s whispering broken, breathless things between licks—"mine, baby, don’t fucking look at anyone else, fuck, you’re mine, you're so fucking mine, my dumb, delicious bimbo..."

and you’re shaking, trembling, thighs squeezing around his head as your orgasm hits like a wave. it's sharp and blinding and still he doesn’t stop, doesn’t let go, like he’s trying to drink every drop of you just to feel full.

when you finally tug him back by his hair, panting, wrecked, he looks up at you with that ruin in his eyes and slick on his chin, he grins, lazy and satisfied and tired.

for once, he’s the one who looks used, undone, absolutely yours.

#shiu kong #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #shiu kong x reader #shiu x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen smut #shiu kong smut #shiu smut #jjk shiu

95 notes · View notes

unhinged-academic-of-waterdeep · 24 hours ago

Note

Hi there! I've got a prompt... I had Gale or Halsin in mind. (They're absolutely infatuated with Tav, who is clueless)

Basically Tav is really drunk/or has drank a Potion, and (Gale or Halsin) tries to usher her back to her tent. She's completely unaware of who is it - something along the lines of "I'm sure you're a really nice person but I'm already in love with someone"...which absolutely breaks them until she's drunkly babbling about how in love she is with (Gale or Halsin)

Oh yesss the yearning, I love it! Since I just wrote a request for our beloved wizard I figured Halsin could have this one!

I hope you enjoy my darling!

This one is just fluff, some VERY VERY light angst, and a boat load of YEARNING!

It had been a long and weary road to the last light inn. The relief of finally being somewhat safe, despite the pressure of moonrise towers and the shadow curse, had manifested instantly. And with the seemingly near unlimited supply of wine and beer still in the inns cellar, it had not taken long to get most of the party comfortably drunk. Halsin had abstained, for the most part, the sense of guilt over the shadow cursed lands urging him to keep a clear head. And perhaps that had been for the best, since their little group’s fearless leader had clearly elected to deal with their own pressing sense of responsibility by trying to drown it. You had easily drunk enough to drown a fish, promptly engaging in a drinking game with Lae’zel and Karlach, both of which had gone decidedly pink in the cheeks. It was a somewhat shameful, but nonetheless joyous sight to behold.

Alas, in the smaller hours of the morning, knowing the day that doubtless lay ahead of them. Halsin had felt a certain responsibility to care for you. It was just responsibility, he vowed himself that it was. There was no time for anything else, no time for the way his heart seemed to beat out of his chest when you smiled at him. The fear that had lanced through him the first time he had seen you wounded in battle, the fierce protectiveness that blossomed somewhere from his hind-brain manifesting as your assailant getting struck down by 200 pounds of angry bear.

It had felt natural in the moment, springing to your defense, your smile and thanks, a tentative hand reaching out to stroke over his snout, blood still rushing from the fight. It had been delectable. But somewhat indefensible. His focus should lie elsewhere. On lifting the curse. Only then could he let himself free, only then he could let himself feel. But until then, responsibility would have to suffice.

“Alright,” his voice was soft, trying not to disturb the arm-wrestling contest that had broken out between your two drinking partners. You had slumped against the table, laughing along merrily, if a bit sleepily. Strong arms wrapped around your shoulders, lifting you upright bringing you to your feet. “I think it is time for you to head to your bunk.” The voice was familiar, it made you think… pushing away from the body next to yours you raised an accusatory finger.

“Hey, hey” you slurred, Halsin raised his hands pacifyingly. “If you think you’re getting any tonight you are wrong!” you raised a finger at him, swaying unsteadily. “I’m already spoken for bucko! I’m in love!” you proclaimed, your voice deadly serious but your inability to keep steady on your feet somewhat undermined the severity. It stung nonetheless. Not that he had any right to hope for anything other than your leadership. Not that he wanted anything more, it was just responsibility, care for the team, right? Nothing more than that, no need to get his feelings hurt over the inevitability that you would find someone to care for.

“Let me help you upstairs, at least.” He urged, not relishing in the possibility of you trying your own luck. He would gladly heal you after you fell down the stairs, but better yet avoid it altogether. This seemed to pacify you somewhat, allowing him to extend an arm for you to lean on. The conversation dropped out as your entire focus was redirected towards the herculean feat of lifting one foot high enough to clear the next step.

You’d made it halfway up when it all got tangled in your head and you began to fall back. Halsin caught you effortlessly, strong arms cradling your body. For an instant he went perfectly still, cradling you to his chest, expecting another round of drunken yelling. But to his surprise you cuddled closer, making a noise of vast comfort against his chest.

Guilt flared up, hot and sickening, traveling from the base of his spine to the pit of his gut. He debated setting you down, but your drunkenness had shifted from hyper activeness to vast exhaustion, if he set you down he’d never get you up the stairs. Resigned, and battling the guilt of going against your wishes, he wasn’t who you would want to carry you like this, the guilt of his own reaction, the soft covetousness he felt radiating from the place where your temple rested against his chest. A soft grumbling brought him out of his fog.

“What, sweetheart?” he mentally scolded himself, regretting the usage of the endearment as soon as it had slipped out, shoulders tensing. You tried again.

“He’s so beautiful and strong…” your words were slurred nearly beyond understanding. Halsin began on the stairs again, traversing them with ease, moving towards your room. “And valiant, so much just-ness, and he caresss..” you continued on your tirade. Halsin was faintly aware that he must be blushing stained pink from where your breath tickled his neck, where your forehead rested against his skin. Fumbling with the door he finally managed to get it cracked, shouldering it open, and depositing you on the bed, ready to flee.

He did not get far, one of your hands finding purchase on his wrist. One final slurred question.

“Do you think he’ll ever want me?” it nearly broke him in half, but he would be a good friend if nothing else.

“Who, sweetheart?” there it was again, falling from his tongue unbidden and unstoppable. Your face lit up, eyes bright around a sleepy smile.

“Halsin..” you replied, eyes falling shut, sleep finally dragging you under. Wildfire spread trough his limbs, emanating from where your fingers still wrapped around his wrist. Elation rose and fell somewhere behind his ribs. He couldn’t.. but by Silvanus he had to. Devotion took up war with guilt.

Moving slowly, not wanting to startle you awake, he removed your hand, moving to cover you with a blanket. Pausing to brush your hair out of your eyes. Without thinking, instinct taking over entirely for just one sweet moment, he bent lips pressing against your forehead.

“Soon, my heart, I promise.” He breathed into your hair. “Once I am done I promise that you can have all of me, I promise, if you wait for me, I will be there.” Sadness mingled with duty, devotion and something softer, elation still bound by obligation. But as he left you to sleep, there was no doubt in his mind that one day, one day he would be yours entire.

#halsin silverbough #halsin x tav #halsin #halsin bg3 #unhinged academic requests #bg3 #halsin x reader #gn!reader #halsin x gn!reader #bg3 fanfiction #halsin fanfic #love me a good yearning #just as a treat #fluff

57 notes · View notes

szariahwroteit · 18 hours ago

Text

Girls Need Love: A Kylian Mbappè x Original Character Erotic Series.

18+ Minors DNI

Chapter 29

After captaining the French national team to third place, it made sense for Kylian to remain in Paris until he was obligated to return to Spain to be with his football club ahead of the FIFA Club World Cup.

His friends and family were in Paris, and even though he now lived in another country, Paris would always be home and equally important to everything else in his life. Giselle had spent most of the week exploring the city with Elise as they planned her upcoming wedding.

The night was supposed to be a celebration as Giselle accompanied Kylian to the launch event for one of his close friends’ new business ventures.

Instead, Giselle spent the evening biting her tongue as she watched women shamelessly flirt with Kylian. To add insult to injury, he had never attempted to stop it.

Giselle managed to suppress her concerns while they were in public. However, as soon as they stepped into his Parisian home, she felt compelled to question his decision to overlook the blatant disrespect.

All night, she felt invisible, and he did nothing to change that.

“Kylian, I’m trying, but this is difficult. You are who you are, and to the world, you will always be Kylian Mbappé. Whether I’m comfortable with it or not, women will always be drawn to you.” Giselle attempted to rationalize her feelings, but to Kylian, it seemed as though she was just looking for an excuse.

“Do my feelings for you count, or is that not enough?” Kylian asked, his voice filled with a mix of frustration and longing. He stepped closer, trying to close the distance between them, his eyes searching hers for an answer.

“Of course they count, Kylian,” Giselle replied softly, her heart wavering at the intensity of his gaze. “But you have to see it from my perspective, I'm fighting a losing battle.”

He took another step forward, closing the gap completely as their breaths mingled in the space between them. “You don't trust me,” Kylian said, his stomach sinking as he realized the truth.

Giselle averted her gaze, a flush creeping across her cheeks as she grappled with the weight of his words. “It’s not about trust,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “It’s about—”

“What are we doing here if you don't trust me?” Kylian snapped, the rational side of his brain taking a back seat. He was far too drained physically and mentally to beat around the bush with her.

“Why even tell me you love me if you don't trust me?” he challenged, his frustration surfacing in a way he hadn't intended. Kylian’s heart raced, caught between the hurtful reality of their situation and the overwhelming desire to bridge the emotional chasm between them.

Giselle took a step back, her eyes widening at his words. “Kylian, please… It’s complicated. I love you, but I can't help but fear—”

“Fear what?” he interrupted, his voice rising as passion ignited within him. “What Giselle?!”

The alcohol flowing through both of their systems completely loosened their rational, and this was no longer a conversation or a means of clearing the air, They were clashing.

“I don't have enough fingers to count how many girls were floating around you all night, Why are you acting like my feelings aren't justified?!” Giselle asked, she felt the turn their conversation had taken and she didn't know how to stop it, so instead she fanned the flames.

Kylian's frustration boiled over, and his fists clenched at his sides. "You think I invited them? You think I want their attention? All I want is you!" His voice was raw, filled with a desperate yearning that seemed to echo in the charged air between them.

“I know that,” Giselle replied, her eyes narrowing as she fought against the surge of insecurity threatening to overwhelm her. “But it doesn’t change the reality of your life.”

“You are being insecure,” Kylian spat, his words hitting Giselle in the gut.

Giselle flinched, the word slicing through her like a blade. Her mouth curled, eyes narrowing as she stepped forward, fire blooming in her chest.

“Insecure?” she repeated, her voice cold. “You think I’m insecure?”

Kylian didn’t flinch. “You said it yourself. You love me, but you’re scared. You’re creating entire stories in your head because women were conversing with me.”

“Don’t you dare reduce this to harmless conversations,” she snapped, her voice rising over the hum of Paris traffic outside the window. “I stood there, Kylian. I watched them paw at you, I watched you eat that shit up like it was nothing. Like I wasn’t even there.”

“I wasn’t eating anything up!” he shouted. “I was being polite because if I don’t smile, it turns into a fucking headline about how I’m cold or difficult. You know how this works.”

“Yeah, I do,” Giselle hissed. “I know exactly how this works. I know how women look at you. I know what they’re thinking when they walk up like I’m invisible. And I know how damn easy it would be for you to let it slide—just once.”

Kylian scoffed. “So now I’m cheating in your head too? Jesus, Giselle.”

“You think I’m paranoid for noticing? For not liking being humiliated in front of people I don't even know?” Her voice cracked, louder now. “You let them treat me like I was just some fucking accessory tonight!”

“You think I planned that? That I wanted to be dragged around all night and be forced to smile for people I don’t give a shit about, while you're standing nextto me making things up in your head?”

“I wasn’t glaring until the fifth girl touched your chest like she knew what was underneath it!” Giselle shouted. “And you didn’t stop her. You didn't stop any of them.”

Kylian ran a hand over his hair, pacing now. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“No, I’m being honest,” she snapped. “You want me to smile and wave, hide when I need to, but the second I speak up, I’m ‘insecure’ and ‘ridiculous.’ Fuck that.”

He stopped pacing and turned sharply toward her, voice low and biting. “You think it’s easy being with you? With your eyes on everything, waiting for me to fuck this up just so you can say, ‘See? I knew it.’ That’s not love. That’s a fucking landmine.”

Her lips parted, stunned. “You think I want to feel this way? You think I like waking up every morning wondering how long it’ll take before things go bad?”

“If they do it's because of you,” he fired back. “Not because I want anyone else, not because of what anyone says, because of you!”

Her face twisted, hurt flooding her expression, and for a second he thought she might cry, but no, she was too angry for that. To hurt him to let him see the strength and magnitude of his words.

“You know what?” she said, voice trembling with restrained emotion. “Maybe I shouldn't be here.”

Kylian's breath caught, pain and realization flashing across his features. “So that’s it? You’d rather run than fix it?”

She grabbed her bag from the sofa in one smooth, final motion. “I’d rather leave now than have you feel like I'm waiting on you to fuck up.”

“You walk out that door, Giselle, don’t expect me to come chasing,” Kylian warned, his voice harsh.

“You think I want you to chase me?” she bit out, hand on the door. “I want you to see me, Kylian. But maybe you do and that's not enough.”

He didn’t move. Just stared at her like something inside him snapped.

“No,” he said coldly. “You don’t want to be seen. You want to fight. You’ve been waiting for me to fuck up since day one, just so you could say ‘See? I knew it. Same shit, different man.’”

Her hand tightened on the doorknob. “Don’t,” she warned.

But he was past the point of caution. He stepped forward, eyes dark. “You want honesty? You’re ex has left his mark on you and as hard as I try to remove it, show you that I'm different, you won’t ever fully allow me to.”

Giselle’s chest rose and fell rapidly, her pulse pounding in her ears. “You don’t get to bring him into this.”

“I didn’t,” Kylian shot back. “He’s here with us now, he is wherever you go. He's even in the way you love. You can give me your body, but never fully your heart.”

Giselle crumbled at his words, she knew Kylian was right. But the night had taken an ugly turn and things were said that needed time to marinate before they could be rectified or taken back.

“Then maybe I need to leave,” she whimpered, the truth making her heart crack.

If she didn't get her mind right, it was she who would be the root cause of her relationship coming to an end, a game of push and pull that left her heartbroken by the end of it.

“And go where in the middle of the night?” Kylian asked, his voice softer now, the edge of anger fading into concern.

“Anywhere but here,” Giselle managed, her throat tight. “I just need space. To think.”

“Space?” he echoed, stepping closer again, his eyes searching hers. “You think that’s the solution? Running away every time things get tough?”

“It’s not running, Kylian,” she insisted, though her voice wavered. “It’s about taking a moment to breathe, to figure out what I want. How to be the woman you deserve.”

“Leaving is the best way to do that?” Kylian's frustration was palpable, but beneath it lay a pleading note.

“I don't know, but I have to try,” Giselle confessed, her heart racing as her walls began to close in on her.

She didn't want to be away from him; the fear of him not being there for her when she returned loomed. However, she had to at least try to work things out for herself.

“Come back to me,” Kylian said softly, his voice breaking slightly as he reached out to her, desperation shining in his eyes. “I’ll be here waiting for you, there is no one else. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Giselle whispered, her voice trembling as tears streamed down her cheeks, leaving shimmering trails on her flushed skin.

Her knees felt weak as she finally pulled open Kylian's door. Stepping out and closing it behind her, she knew that if she lingered, she might never leave. Despite the way he tugged at her heart and every fiber of her being, she had to go.

The drive to Elise's house was a blur, as was the night that followed, during which she cried until her eyes burned and her face became puffy.

With the morning came the realization of what she'd walked away from the night before, instead of waking up in Kylian’s arms she was woken up by Elise with a tray of breakfast that went hardly touched.

“I’m ready to listen if you're ready to talk,” Elise whispered soothingly, as she climbed into the bed to join Giselle.

Giselle turned to face her best friend, sniffling as she wiped her eyes. The warm sunlight streaming through the window felt foreign, almost painful in its brightness. She appreciated Elise's presence, but the weight of last night's argument with Kylian pressed heavily on her chest.

"I don't even know where to start," Giselle admitted, her voice still shaky. "It just got so out of control."

Elise nodded, gently squeezing her hand. "Take your time. What happened? Why did you feel like you had to leave?"

Giselle paused, gathering her thoughts. "It was just... everything. We both said things, I think space is good for us right now. I want him, I'm in love with him but space is best.”

I'm two days' time Kylian was set to return to Spain to meet up with the rest of Real Madrid’s players and staff ahead of traveling to Florida to participate in the FIFA Club World Cup.

During the early days of the tournament while the men were locked in with training, Giselle was set to return to her family in Atlanta. But with so much uncertainty in the air she chose to fly home to Georgia a few days early.

She sat wiping her tears as Elise booked her flight , the weight of her emotional turmoil evident in every movement. "I just feel like I'm tearing myself apart with this situation," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "One moment I’m completely in love with him, and the next I feel like I'm holding onto something that might slip through my fingers."

Elise gazed at her friend with understanding. “Love is never simple, G. But running away isn’t the answer either. You both want each other. You have to communicate that.”

Giselle sighed, a wave of frustration washing over her. “I know that, but last night was… explosive. It felt like every insecurity came crashing down at once. I just couldn’t handle it.”

“Relationships are about navigating those explosions together,” Elise encouraged softly. “Maybe it’s time to express what’s really going on inside.”

Taking a deep breath, Giselle nodded, steeling herself for what lay ahead. “You’re right, but what if he resents me for leaving like I did?”

“Then you’ll deal with that when the time comes. Right now, focus on how you feel. You both need to hear each other out.”

Giselle imagined facing Kylian again. His intense gaze, his words from last night, echoing in her mind. “But what if he’s over this?” she suddenly voiced, the thought sending a pang of dread through her.

“He won’t be. He’s crazy about you,” Elise replied firmly. “Just like you are about him. You both just… need to clear the air and take some time if that's what you need.”

As Giselle finished wiping her tears, a newfound sense of clarity began to form. “I need to tell him everything—my fears, my insecurities. He deserves honesty.”

Elise smiled, giving her a gentle nudge. “There you go. Just be honest, and don’t let fear dictate your worth. Remember, you both deserve love.”

With her friend’s encouragement, Giselle made her decision. No more running, no more waiting. She needed to face the storm, to rebuild what seemed broken. As the sunrise brightened the room, so too did her resolve to confront her feelings head-on.

She pulled out her phone, fingers trembling slightly as she stared at Kylian's contact. The urge to reach out was powerful, but the fear of what she might say and the uncertainty of his reaction weighed heavily on her mind. Taking a deep breath, she pressed call, her heart racing with each ring.

When Kylian's voice finally came through, it was both a relief and a surge of fresh anxiety. “Giselle?” he answered, his tone cautious yet laced with warmth.

“Kylian,” she breathed, feeling the knot in her stomach twist tighter. “I… I wanted to talk.”

“Come back” he said before she could say more, the urgency in his voice cutting through her unease. “We can talk here, you know your safe with me.”

Giselle felt a surge of warmth at his words, but uncertainty lingered in her mind. “I just… I need to process everything,” she replied, her voice trembling slightly. “I booked a flight home.”

“When are you leaving Paris?” he asked, the defeat in his voice making her eyes fill with tears.

“Tonight,” she whispered.

Kylian's silence stretched between them, heavy and suffocating. “Tonight?” he echoed, his voice barely masking his disappointment. “You’re leaving just like that?”

“I need to think, Kylian,” Giselle explained, her voice breaking. “I love you, but everything feels overwhelming right now.”

“Come over, I'll be waiting,” he pleaded, desperation lacing his words. “Let’s talk this through. I can't let you leave like this.”

“I’ll be over soon,” Giselle said softly, her resolve beginning to falter as she felt the pull of his urgency. She could hear the depth of his emotions in his voice, and it tugged at the corners of her heart.

“Thank you,” he replied, his relief palpable. “I’ll be here. Just take your time.”

After hanging up, Giselle took a moment to gather her thoughts.

“Talking things over is a good thing, right?” Elise asked, stealing one of the strawberries from the bowl she prepared for her.

“I don't know…I don't know if anything I'm doing is right, but I won't know if I don't try.” Giselle confessed, her hands trembling slightly as she stood from the bed.

Elise nodded in understanding. “You just need to be open and honest about your feelings. That’s the only way to find common ground.”

Taking a deep breath, Giselle felt a mix of anxiety and determination swell within her. “You’re right. I can’t let fear dictate my choices anymore.” She said, repeating what Kylian had said to her the night before.

Elise stood up, placing a reassuring hand on Giselle’s shoulder. "You’ve got this. Just remember to breathe and take things one step at a time. You love him, and he loves you. You’ll find a way through this."

With her friend’s encouragement echoing in her mind, Giselle sent for a cab to Kylian’s apartment , her heart racing as she prepared to face the man she loved. Each breath felt heavy with a mix of fear and hope, but in her heart, she knew that this was the moment to confront their issues head-on.

The cab ride was a blur, her mind swimming with thoughts of what she would say, how Kylian would react, and whether they could find a way to bridge the gap that had formed between them. As they approached his apartment, she felt the familiar flutter in her stomach, the warmth that always accompanied her longing for him.

Arriving at Kylian's building, Giselle took a deep breath and stepped out of the cab, the cool Parisian air hitting her face. She walked up to his door, her heart pounding. Knocking softly, she felt a rush of memories flood her mind—the good ones, the ones that made her believe their love was worth fighting for.

When Kylian opened the door, his expression shifted from surprise to relief. “Giselle,” he breathed, stepping aside to let her in. The tension of the previous nights lingered in the air, but there was a softness in his eyes that gave her hope.

“Hey,” she replied, her voice steady despite the storm inside her. She stepped inside, closing the door behind her, and immediately felt the weight of their unspoken words hanging between them.

Kylian turned to face her, his hands stuffed in his pockets as if he were trying to contain the emotions surging within. “I’m glad you came back,” he said softly, his eyes searching hers for reassurance.

“Me too,” she admitted, her heart racing. “I… I’ve thought a lot about everything that happened last night. About us.”

“Me too,” Kylian said, his voice low. “I hate the way we left things. I never wanted it to get that far.” He stepped closer, the distance between them feeling both comforting and terrifying.

“I know,” Giselle replied, tears welling in her eyes again. “I’ve been so scared, and I let my insecurities get the best of me and I'm sorry, you didn't deserve that.”

Kylian's expression softened as he stepped even closer, his gaze unwavering. “I deserve you,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “I don’t want to lose you over something that can be fixed. We're stronger than this, Giselle.”

The sincerity in his words struck her heart, causing a mix of relief and longing to wash over her. She met his gaze, feeling the warmth of love and understanding radiating between them. “I love you, Kylian. I just need to learn how to trust not you, but myself.”

“Trust comes with time,” Kylian replied, his hands gently reaching for hers. “We just have to be honest with each other. I can promise you that I’m here, no matter what.”

Giselle took a deep breath, feeling the tension slowly begin to dissipate as Kylian's fingers intertwined with hers. “I want to be open with you,” she whispered. “I want to make this work.”

Kylian’s thumb brushed against her knuckles soothingly, as if reassuring her that they could overcome anything together. “I’ll do whatever it takes,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

In that moment, it felt like the world outside faded away. Giselle took another step forward, feeling a magnetic pull towards him. The urgency of their emotions surged as she closed the gap between them, her heart racing as Kylian leaned in closer.

“Kylian…” she murmured, barely able to finish her thought before he captured her lips with his own. The kiss was soft at first, a tentative exploration that quickly morphed into something more passionate. All the frustrations and misunderstandings melted away, leaving only the raw electricity of their connection.

His hands found her waist, pulling her closer as she melted against him, feeling the familiar heat of desire rekindle. She could taste the mix of their emotions, the love shining through the tumult. The tenderness of the moment dissolved the barriers they had both built, and Giselle felt herself surrendering completely.

As he deepened the kiss, her mind raced with thoughts of what lay ahead—the need for communication, the promise of growth, but also the undeniable chemistry that was impossible to ignore. She felt herself responding to him instinctively, her body instinctively leaning into Kylian's warmth, igniting a fire deep within her.

Their kiss became more fervent, the urgency of their desires intertwining with the healing they both needed. Kylian lifted her, wrapping her legs around his waist as he carried her toward the living room, his mouth never leaving hers.

Giselle giggled softly against his lips, exhilaration sparking through her veins. “You’re so strong,” she teased playfully, feeling the familiar comfort of his presence wash over her.

“Only for you,” Kylian replied with a smirk, before setting her down gently on the couch. He remained close, his hands still roaming her sides as they caught their breath.

“Promise me,” Giselle murmured, her voice husky, “that we’ll keep working through our issues together.”

“Always,” he vowed, his breath warm against her cheek. “I’ll always fight for you.”

Kylian captured her face between his hands, his thumb grazing along her jawline as he leaned closer. “But right now, I just want you,” he breathed, kissing her again with an urgency that sparked a flurry of emotions.

As they explored each other with renewed fervor, Giselle felt the warmth of his body against her, every touch igniting a fire deep within her. Lost in each other, the world outside faded as they surrendered to their desires. Each gentle caress and passionate kiss was a promise of what they could build together—a love capable of overcoming challenges.

Time slipped away as they became lost in each other, passion consuming them. Giselle pulled Kylian closer, feeling safe and desired in his arms. The weight of their previous arguments melted away, replaced by the joy of being together.

When their hands explored and their breaths entwined, Giselle knew that her heart wasn’t just giving in; it was letting go.

Kylian paused, pulling back to look into her eyes, his expression a mixture of tenderness and hunger. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice thick with emotion.

“More than I’ve ever been,” she replied, leaning in to capture his lips again.

His hands trailed down her body, igniting every nerve ending until she could barely think straight. With every kiss, every touch, Giselle felt herself getting lost in the intensity of their connection. They were more than just lovers; they were two souls fighting to reclaim what felt lost.

Kylian's hands explored her body with a careful passion, deepening their connection as they moved together, their bodies melding in perfect harmony. The flames of desire consumed them as they shed the defenses built from insecurities, replacing them with trust and understanding.

“Don’t hold back,” he whispered, his breath hot against her ear as his fingers traced along her skin, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “I want all of you.”

With those words, Giselle surrendered completely, their hearts beating as one. The morning becoming reckless a tapestry of passion and vulnerability.

Giselle lay with her legs pinned open, Kylian's hands forcing them to remain so as he fucked her slowly and incredibly deep. She mewled into his mouth as his forehead pressed against hers, curbing their insatiable need to stay close.

Kylian groaned deeply as Giselle tilted her hips, allowing him to sink even deeper inside her. He savored the feeling of her warm, tight walls enveloping him completely. His hands tightened on her legs, fingers digging into her soft flesh as he held her open for his slow, deliberate thrusts.

Giselle's breath hitched as Kylian filled her so completely, his thick length stretching her most exquisitely. She could feel every ridge and vein as he slid in and out of her, setting her nerves alight with pleasure. Her hips moved instinctively, meeting his slow thrusts and urging him deeper still.

She broke the kiss, her head falling back against the pillow as she gasped for air. "Kylian..." she breathed, her voice thick with desire. "You feel so good. So deep." Her fingers raked down his back, nails digging into his skin as the sensations overwhelmed her.

“That's where I belong,” Kylian drawled, punctuating his words with a measured deep stroke. "Right here, mon amour," he murmured, his voice low and husky as he stilled inside of her.

He leaned down, capturing one of her hardened nipples between his teeth and biting gently.

Kylian's eyes flicked up to meet Giselle's gaze, a smirk playing on his lips as he watched her reaction. He relished in the way her body responded to his touch, the way she arched into him, silently begging for more.

He released her nipple with a pop, blowing cool air over the sensitive nub. Giselle shuddered, her back arching off the sofa as she gave herself to him, for what felt as though it could have been the last time and in the midst of passion it crushed her soul.

74 notes · View notes