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zorostitties · 3 days ago

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Intertwined; 5

⤕ Luffy and you were like two sides of the same coin: opposites in every way, but similar in what mattered the most. Tied by a vow made with the purity of a child’s heart, life keeps trying to tear you apart - but the vow that intertwined your destinies would not be broken so easily. Or, Luffy promised to marry you someday when you were kids. This is how he keeps his promise.

pairing: monkey d. luffy x (f) reader

genre: childhood friends to lovers, slow burn, arranged marriage, fluff, angst, eventual smut

warnings: violence/blood, explicit language, toxic family relationships, death/grief, underage smoking, when i say slow burn i mean it

rating: 18+

word count: 11k

A/N: HELLO WORLD!! I can't believe it's been so long since the last update 😭 life has been beating my ass these days and I was stuck in a writers block. But I'm really satisfied with the way this chapter turned out in the end!! A little something I haven't mentioned about the fic yet (again): we're going all the way to Wano with this story :D Thank you so much for your patience!! Enjoy <3

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Scarpia Virgus already knew what his granddaughter was going to do before she did it.

He could feel it. Her intent. Her hatred, which burned inside of her slowly like a calm but constant fireplace. The weeks of travel towards the family’s headquarters were mostly silent. Yet, even if she didn’t speak, he could feel the heat of her anger burning from the other side of the ship.

When they finally arrived at Scarpia Island, Virgus already knew what she would do.

He didn’t stop her.

And now, the west side of the mansion was partially destroyed.

He stood on the border of the crater his grandchildren caused during the fight and watched.

Crowley bled. He got up from the floor holding his scythe with both hands, ready for one more attack. His eyes shone as red as the blood that dripped from his wounds. Part of his shirt was completely destroyed, reduced to gashes.

From the other side, his granddaughter reappeared from within the cloud of smoke and debris. She also bled in many places. The girl twirled the spiked ball of her chain, her gaze unwavering, completely locked on her older brother.

They attacked at the same time.

The shockwave produced by their clash played with Virgus’ long beard.

The old man analyzed their fight with attention. They were both excellent, as was expected of Scarpia assassins. The untrained eye would not be able to follow their fast movements. Both of them had dominated the art of maneuvering their respective weapons. She was not as physically strong as Crowley, but he was not as fast as her. Both had their advantages and disadvantages.

On their current level, they were evenly matched.

That wasn’t enough, of course. They still had a long way to go. Virgus knew he could interrupt the fight at any moment – and he would soon. He wouldn’t let his grandchildren kill each other. But not yet. He let them exchange more blows. He let them feed their hatred.

She deserved to let all the anger she had been churning for weeks out. Crowley played dirty, after all. But at the same time, she deserved to be punished. Every wound Crowley inflicted on her wasn’t nearly enough to what she should actually suffer.

They fought with passion. Delightful, Virgus thought. Truly excellent. How incredible was to watch a fight so emotionally charged. How satisfying it was to know every attack had the intent to kill. No holding back. No mercy. As it should be.

The future of the family laid on their hands, after all. Virgus already knew that the other children had no chance to reach their level by then, nor the potential. Not everyone is born to be a conqueror.

But these two were.

Virgus just needed to pull their potential out. And there was no better way to harvest potential than by cultivating rivalry.

Finally, the old man decided they had enough.

He got in between them so fast that it almost looked like teleportation.

Virgus didn’t need to unsheathe his sword. He simply caught each of them by their forearms and threw them away in different directions.

Both of them hit opposite borders of the crater. The floor shook. Another cloud of smoke and debris.

It was over.

“Siblings should not kill each other,” Virgus said calmly. And yes, he was right; it was one of the fundamental rules of the family. But there was nothing wrong with trying.

Crowley got up first. He approached his grandfather at fast steps. His arm was turned in a weird direction, but he ignored it. There was a deep cut above his left eyebrow, covering that side of his face in blood.

“Grandfather, she broke several rules–“

“I know what she did.” Virgus cut him off. “I will take care of her punishment.”

“Father should be informed–“

“He will not.”

Crowley was taken aback before anger covered his face again.

“But this isn’t fair–“

Virgus looked down at him for the first time.

It was enough to make the young man swallow his next words.

“Are you trying to tell me what to do, child?”

“No, sir.” Crowley immediately looked down.

His granddaughter approached him as well.

Her steps were firm and fast. Blood dripped from her nose down her lips and chin. Her eyes, locked on Crowley the entire time. Virgus could feel it again, the hatred burning under her skin. At that moment, she wasn’t even intimidated by his presence. Excellent. Excellent. A conqueror’s soul does not bow.

She pointed her finger at Crowley.

“If you ever think of going to Goa Island,” her voice was ferocious. Like the roar of a tiger. It came from the depths of her soul, Virgus knew. “If you even think of getting anywhere near the Sambas Region, I will kill you. This is a promise, Crowley; I don’t care what happens to me later. But you will die first.”

Anyone would’ve trembled at the ferocity of that threat. That wasn’t his fourteen year old granddaughter speaking; that was the White Wolf, as she was already getting known in the underworld. A skilled assassin. Someone that had never failed.

But Crowley opened a mocking smirk.

Excellent.

A conqueror’s soul does not bow.

“You’re upset because I got an advantage over you. I found out about your weakness, and you don’t know mine… because I don’t have any.”

She stared at him in silence for some seconds.

Then – she smirked as well.

Poisonous. Dangerous. Threatening. Excellent. Most excellent.

Her next sentence took even Virgus by surprise.

“You didn’t find out about my weakness. You found out about my strength.”

She turned around and left.

Crowley left as well.

Soon, the crater was surrounded by servants that stood aside during the fight, analyzing the levels of damage. And along with them came the lady of the house.

Scilla looked around the destruction with quiet shock.

“What happened here?” She was calm and cold as usual despite the situation at hand.

Virgus closed his eyes for a moment and chuckled.

A dragon is bound to give birth to beasts. It had been decades since a new generation of Scapias were all predators.

The crow and the wolf would battle for the dragon’s territory.

And to think these two want her to waste her future with marriage, Virgus thought. Fools.

The future of the family was going to be interesting.

Virgus put his hands behind his back. “The kids fought. Siblings fight all the time. Nothing to worry about.”

He walked away.

Virgus broke her.

Over and over again. Repeatedly. Tirelessly. He broke her.

She was skilled. Landon taught her well. He built the foundations of her strength. But that wasn’t nearly enough. Anyone could hide their presence, kill an unsuspecting target. That’s not what he wanted of her. No.

He saw it, under the dirt and the mud; the underlying shine of the gem she was, waiting to be honed. A diamond right under their noses. She was born in the right time, in the right family, to hone that talent. How fortunate she was to be born a Scarpia.

But she needed to be lapidated. The gem needs to be cut, trimmed, polished, until it becomes an acceptable final product.

So Virgus broke her.

He broke her because he knew she could be fixed later. And when she was fixed, he broke her again. When she thought she had achieved something significant, he’d show her that no, that was not enough. She was not enough, not yet. So he broke her. Again, and again, and again.

Broke her body, because in order to get stronger, it needed to be broken first. Broke her spirit, because in order to get stronger, she needed to be away from any distractions, including – and most importantly – that boy. Broke her pride, because Virgus showed over and over again how insignificant and weak she was compared to him. How she didn’t stand a chance if he actually wanted to kill her. Because in order to get stronger, she needed to understand that.

The sea is full of monsters. But conquerors – these are just a few. If she wanted to sit at the same small, secluded table of a conqueror, she needed to be broken first.

Virgus broke her despite her betrothal, the condition that her body should be healthy for the marriage in the approaching years. No, he didn’t care – because she could always be fixed later. He inflicted pain, excruciating pain, and inflicted damage, but nothing that couldn’t be fixed.

Virgus broke her, until her targets became higher, higher, more difficult. Virgus broke her, until The White Wolf name made ripples through the sea, until that name – that title – began to inflict fear and respect. Virgus broke her, until her parents could no longer ignore the fact that she was being exclusively commissioned, forcing her to complete them, forcing her out of the shadows of this engagement.

He broke her, and she did not complain once. Not a tear, not a whine, not a cry. She wasn’t grateful, either, but Virgus didn’t care. When he looked deep into her eyes, he saw apathy. He saw resolve.

He saw hatred.

Delightful, Virgus thought. Truly excellent.

- PART 2 -

“I did not have this face I now wear…

I did not have these weakened hands…

I did not have this heart that barely shows itself…

I never noticed this change.”

- Cecilia Meireles

➛ 15

The bar was disgusting.

An old structure made of wood and clay. The planks under your feet creaked as you stumbled in. You could feel the sole of your boots sticking with how dirty the floor was – layers and layers of spilled alcohol, sand, sea water, and probably vomit, too. The place smelled of vomit. And human sweat. And cheap rum. Round tables filled with lowly pirates, bandits, or beggars that managed to find a coin or two in exchange of some booze. It was loud. You never understood why men liked to talk so loud. Scandalous laughter, random shouts, heated arguments.

It was good, you thought. Noise, even if they worsened your headache. Something to forcefully stimulate your brain.

If you laid down in a silent place and let yourself rest, you knew you were going to die.

You stumbled to the restrooms at the back of the bar. Shoulders curved, your figure hidden under the black cloak, anyone would think you were just another drunk beggar; no one bat an eye at you. Thankfully. Two restrooms, for males and females, though you doubted anyone cared or respected the badly drawn plates. Each of them had space for a single person at once. You stumbled into one of them and locked the door.

The noise out there was muffled. Still very loud and irritating, but muffled – which allowed you to hear your own panting.

You stayed there, your back leaning against the door, for what seemed like an eternity.

Fuck.

It hurt. A fucking lot. It hurt, and it was hard to ignore it, even with the help of Heavenly Control. No; it was impossible to ignore it.

You didn’t even want to look at it. The thought made you want to vomit. But you had already vomited – there was nothing inside your stomach to put out anymore.

You gulped, and even this simple motion was difficult. If the floor wasn’t disgustingly wet with water and piss and probably worse things, you would’ve sat there. No. I still have some strength to my legs.

You searched for the light switch on your left. The sudden light hurt your eyes. Fuck, you didn’t want to look at it. You really didn’t.

But if you didn’t, if you let that as it was, you were certainly going to die.

So, slowly, you looked down to your stomach.

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

The sight of your own blood was nothing new. Blood, in general, but specifically your blood. The wet, warm sensation of it dripping down your own skin. The smell of iron. It was so strong, even inside this filthy restroom.

The improvised bandages did little to not help in stanching the bleeding. You had ripped both sleeves of your white shirt and wrapped it around your torso – it was unsanitary and inappropriate, but you had nothing better at the moment. The previously white fabric was completely red now. The blood dripped down your stomach. If your pants weren’t black, you knew the left side of them would be red, too, the stain almost reaching your knee.

You needed to clean that. The wound.

Fuck.

It hurt to breathe.

You untied the knot. The drenched pieces of fabric fell on the floor with a gross splash. You lifted the tight black undershirt up to your chest, exposing your stomach and bra.

There.

A little under your left breast.

The gash.

At least twenty centimeters across your torso. Four or five centimeters wide, probably. It wasn’t a clean cut. The skin around it was ragged. That fucker used chainsaws as weapons. You were glad he didn’t make anything worse than that, actually; if your mind was a little less attentive, if your senses weren’t sharpened, if you were half a second slower, he would’ve sawed you in half.

Fucker. Fucker. You wished you could resurrect him, just so you could kill him again.

Usually, you didn’t feel anything for your targets. Apathy was a good ally during a fight. But you couldn’t not feel it for that man, not after he got so close to killing you. Closer than anyone ever got.

The gash in your torso wasn’t the only wound he inflicted, but it was the most serious. It still bled. You heard the gross sound your destroyed skin made every time you breathed; the sticky noise of blood, of ripped flesh. And there was something else, too, something you’d been trying hard to ignore – that little white peeking from the red flesh, right under your left breast, a rib–

You needed water. Clean water. That’s why you entered the bar in the first place.

It takes some seconds of courage, of gathering strength on your legs, to push yourself from the door and stand in front of the sink. A broken, dirty mirror sat above it, but you avoided looking at your miserable face at that moment. You opened the faucet. Your hand was bloody, so everywhere you touched got bloody, too. Running water. Clean water.

There’s the running water, there’s your difficult breath, there’s the loud voices out there. Loud, because men don’t know how to speak quietly, especially when they’re among themselves. Masculine environments are always so loud, so aggressive. You put your fingertips under the faucet. The water was cold.

“There are only seven of ‘em now.” A loud, deep, annoying male voice said out there, from the group sitting closer to the restrooms.

There was a small leather bag hanging from your hip. You usually didn’t carry a lot of stuff with you. The roll of gauze was almost finished. You had already used so much to bandage the other wounds around your body. You took a peace of it and put it under the faucet.

“Who woulda thought, huh? That the great Stork would have an end like that.” Another male voice. “Ships n’ ships sailing to his territory right now. Everyone want a piece of it.”

You took a deep breath. One, two, and then stopped breathing when the cold gauze touched your ripped skin. The piece was immediately drenched in red. You cleaned it the best way you could before taking another piece and repeating the process.

A mocking cackle. “As if any of them have a chance. So close to Dressrosa? Huh. Doflamingo’s fleet’s probably there, already. Claiming everything to himself. Greedy bastard.”

That first voice, the first men, hummed in a knowing way. “Streets are saying he killed Stork, y’know.”

“That’s not what the paper says.”

“You believe in the paper? Dumbass. ‘Course they not gon’ tell the truth.” He chuckled darkly. “Flamingo’s been eyeing his territory for years. Errbody knows it.”

It hurt. It bled. Fuck, fuck. You didn’t have anymore gauze. The sink looked like a crime scene. It’s just pain. I can deal with it. I can deal with it. I can.

You took the roll of bandages you stole from someone on your way to the bar. It looked clean enough, better than a dirty ripped sleeve, at least. You were used to bandaging yourself. Your limbs worked almost automatically, careful not to touch the gash and the – shit – the bone peeking through it.

“But that would be too blunt, wouldn’t it? Would risk his position as a Warlord.”

Another mocking huff. “You know nothin’, do you? When I say he did it, I don’t mean he did it. Or any of his people. He got the paper to tell anyone else to do it for him.”

Careful, careful. The roll was enough to take three turns around your torso – but that was still not nearly enough to stop the bleeding, not nearly enough to protect the wound from a possible – most certain – infection. It wasn’t not enough, and you needed Landon. He didn’t accompany you in your missions anymore, because you did not need protection or guidance. It was great, to not have him around all the time anymore, but you needed him right now, so you took the little Den Den Mushi from the bag and rang.

While the little snail rang, while the people out there still talked and shouted and laughed, you finally pushed the hood of the cloak off your head and looked at your own reflection.

You looked like a mess. The type of mess that means, I’ve been severely injured, I am suffering from extreme blood loss, I will probably need a transfusion. There was not a sign of pride, or triumph, after winning over a strong opponent – the strongest up until then. Grandfather was stronger, of course, but grandfather had never tried to actually kill you. No matter how heavy the training was, you knew he wouldn’t kill you.

You remembered Luffy’s saying of how facing a strong opponent was fun and exciting. You could not sympathize with that. You never sympathized with that.

Would you ever?

Probably not. There was no pride in this business. Just work. Just a successful commission that almost got you killed.

But successful, anyway, and this one would put you above Crowley.

There was a bit of satisfaction in that. But not nearly enough. Maybe the pain in your whole body prevented you from feeling anything positive, or this filthy restroom.

A bar, like Partys Bar, in the other side of the world. Makino always made sure to keep the restrooms squeaky clean. It was impressive, her dedication in keeping a bar clean. And you remembered that it’d been a year and a half since you’d last been there, but it felt like so much more; it felt like a lifetime ago since you ate chocolate cake with her and the Mayor and Luffy, where you could hear the waves crashing and the fresh air after a stormy night.

A lifetime ago.

Was Foosha Village the same, you wondered? It hadn’t changed much in the years you visited. Probably not.

Did Luffy change a lot?

He always looked a bit different every time you saw him. A little bit taller, a little less chubbier. But his smile and his sense of humor and his warmth and his energy stayed the same. Was he holding up well without Ace? Was he practicing everyday?

Stupid questions, of course. He definitely was. These things about him would never change.

You’d changed, however.

Not only because you got taller, or because you had a different haircut, or because your body and your face didn’t look like a child’s anymore, or because you got undoubtedly stronger. There was something about you that changed. Not in a good way. Irreparably so.

It’s the color, you knew. It was absent from your life. Everything was black and white and gray.

The way it was before you met him.

And maybe it’s a bit insane on your part how seeing someone once a year changed your perspective in life so much. How it made you have a goal, a purpose to keep putting up with all of this. The family, the business. How the prospective of seeing him again for a week or so was the equivalent of seeing light at the end of the tunnel.

There was no light anymore, or warmth, or sun. Your life didn’t have space for playfulness, giggles, sweets, or relaxation – not even for a week. And in the rare moments when you weren’t under intense training with your grandfather, when you were sent on a commission – they were getting rarer, more difficult, more expensive – without Landon’s supervision, you couldn’t even bring yourself to appreciate anything.

Not that there was anything to appreciate inside the filthy restroom of a bar with an open wound in your body, of course.

But it’s alright.

You had endured a year and a half without him already. You just needed to endure for a year and a half more. Then, you’d both be seventeen; then, you’d meet him again.

It’s alright.

No biggie, as he said.

You were stronger. It wasn’t enough, still; you had to get even stronger. Not only because you wanted to meet him again. Not even just because you hated Crowley with every fiber of your being and wanted, needed to be better than him in every aspect. No; you needed to be stronger for yourself. Yes, yourself. Stronger, so grandfather wouldn’t be able to defeat you. Or any of your brothers. Or even your father.

Stronger, so no one would stand in your way.

And that was enough motivation. A light at the end of the tunnel.

Alright.

No biggie.

Landon finally picked up the call, right when someone started to bang on the door aggressively. You told him the coordinates. Your voice was quiet and “normal”, but Landon knew you enough to understand you were not okay. You knew he’d be here quickly. Yes, you could trust him.

It hurt, and it bled, but it would be alright, because you could be fixed. You were always fixed in the end. Just a year and a half more. That’s it.

Alright.

No biggie.

➛ 16

If you made a list of people you hated the most, Ichiji would rank second.

Which was an achievement, to make you hate him over your other brothers that had actually tried to kill you more than once, since you only saw him once a year or so. He was the opposite of Luffy – meeting once a year, filling you with irreparable loathing.

You despised him. Truly.

Rude, arrogant, violent, despicable. There was not a good adjective to describe him, other than his physical beauty – but it was all destroyed by the rest. You recognized that he was attractive as a fact, not as a compliment. Nothing in the world would make you like him.

He was eighteen years old now, and did not resemble the lanky boy you met all these years ago. Over 1,80m tall and muscular; a strong jawline, plump lips, a surprisingly feminine upturned nose, the same as Reiju. They all looked alike, in fact (duh), and it honestly made you wonder where did they take that beauty from, since Judge looked like a blonde raccoon that grew too much and had been beaten with a bat.

You could almost excuse his stupid swirled eyebrow. Almost.

Ichiji hid his eyes behind thin sunglasses now. He probably thought it made him look mysterious, but you couldn’t help but roll your eyes whenever you saw these stupid sunglasses and his stupid red hair and his stupid red military uniform. He was a Commander, now, along with his siblings. The stupid color coded siblings. Ugh.

You were so immensely grateful for your mask in times like these. No one saw your eye rolls, your disgusted expression; you didn’t have to hold back, the way you always held back around your family. Around your grandfather.

You always avoided speaking as much as possible during these “family meetings” – not that anyone bothered, of course, since it was always the men speaking about war or whatever other manly topic you could not give two shits about. Food was always nice, at least, but eating with this mask on was still a pain in the ass, so you could never really enjoy anything.

You’d been nervous about this specific meeting, however. Because Ichiji was eighteen already.

An adult by Germa’s laws – and most of the world followed this same law, too, though it wasn’t something certified by the World Government. Eighteen.

A legal adult. Ready to get married.

And he was a prince, and Germa was a fucking oligarchy, which meant the Vinsmokes could bend the laws to their will however they liked it. Which meant Ichiji was an adult, but if their spouse was at least two years younger – even if it meant they weren’t a legal adult yet - , the law would accept their marriage.

So you were very, very close to your doom.

You spent months tracing plans of action. You had enough money of your own – money you managed to hide from the family vaults, in international banks around the world. If this meeting had the objective to set a definite date for your wedding… you’d run away. Even if you weren’t powerful enough to fight your family – not yet. Even if it meant you’d have to fight your way out. You were not getting married to that man, not now, not ever–

But turns out, surprisingly, Judge himself brought the good news.

Germa was at war (they were always at war, goddamnit) with some country you didn’t care enough to know the name. It was the Vinsmoke children’s first time as Commanders of the army, which meant they were extremely busy, which meant they had to show off to the population of the North Blue as much as possible to increase their reputation, which meant it was an inappropriate moment for a wedding ceremony.

And you were so relieved that you almost could excuse Judge’s ugly mustache. Almost.

You wished this war would last long years, until you realized the thought was a bit too cruel even for an assassin.

After dinner was over, you found a way to escape their attention – you always did, and thankfully no one noticed your presence enough to care – to some empty balcony of the royal castle. You wanted to smoke – your fingers were almost shaking for it – but you couldn’t take your mask off here, and you didn’t bring a pack with you, so in order to not freak out in front of everyone, you looked for loneliness.

It was chilly, that night. Not a cloud in the sky; the full moon shone beautifully, painting everything in silver shades. You leaned on the marble railings of the balcony and breathed the oceanic fresh air. Germa was so… sterile. Bland. Black flags with the 66 symbol waved with the wind everywhere. There were guards everywhere, too, and you knew many of them paid close attention to you, even though your eyes didn’t see them. Observation Haki worked full time, now, thanks to your training. It was automatic, like a switch in your brain was on all the time.

...Everything about you was automatic, these days. More than you remembered it used to be before him.

An involuntary sigh grew within your chest.

Did… did Luffy miss you the way you missed him, you wondered? Did he think about you often?

You’d been… avoiding to think about him more recently. Yes, seeing him again was one of the goals for why you’d been enduring all of this – but on the other hand, thinking too much about him made everything more painful than it should be.

Not just him, but everything that came along. Quiet evenings. Hot midday sun. The humidity of Mt. Colubo. The animals, the insects, the plants.

...How long has it been since you last touched one of your sketchbooks?

You didn’t have time for any of that. Not under grandfather’s training. When you were not out in commissions, you were with him; isolated. You could not let your guard down around him. You could not relax, or rest, or let your mind wander around. You learned what happens if you did in the worst way possible.

You had scars now – and of course, you had scars before, but there were so many more now. Your arms, now hidden in elbow length black gloves, carried many thin scars from the cuts he inflicted. Virgus’ black katana, Tsubasa, was your close friend now. You knew its blade better than you knew yourself.

And you knew these things were making you undoubtedly stronger. You felt stronger. Anonymous commissioners looked for The White Wolf. You didn’t bother with lowly targets anymore; it was rare of you to even wander out of the Grand Line, where all the power in the world actually stayed. Your paywall rose from a hundred million to four hundred million in less than a year, and by the way things were going, it’d keep rising. Only you and (ugh) Crowley had such a high paywall for commissions at this point.

Urso, Saqr, the twins… you knew they hated and resented you both. But now, you didn’t hear threats coming from them anymore. They knew better. And then there was Ariadne, your younger sister. The last Scarpia child. But she was only five, hadn’t been initiated yet… and you didn’t pay much attention to her, honestly.

Yes, your training, the way you’d been carrying your life was making you stronger. It was worth it.

But it also made you miserable. Which is something you shouldn’t consider, given the Scarpia lifestyle. You shouldn’t seek for happiness. You shouldn’t seek for comfort, or friendship, or an easy life.

But you wanted to see Luffy again anyway.

Another deep sigh.

Fuck. You wanted a cigarette, too.

You were grounded back in reality when a new presence approached.

And you instinctively rolled your eyes so much that you almost saw the inside of your skull.

“Disappointed, my dear bride? Are you so sad you wanted to be left alone to cry?”

You turned around – even though you didn’t want to, but keeping your back turned to Ichiji was never a good idea.

His cynical smirk and his carefree demeanor were infuriating. You hated his uniform, and you hated the way he walked with his hands in the front pockets of his pants, and you hated these sunglasses, and you hated the way he had the audacity to even approach you.

You did not answer him.

Ichiji stopped a few steps from you, his smirk slowly increasing.

“Oh, I love how obedient you already are. Never talking back to me. I enjoy silence the most, darling, so it’s good you’re already used to it. The only sounds you’ll be allowed to make are the screaming and begging for help.”

You still did not answer him.

Ichiji tilted his head to the side. He always tried to make you fall for his provocations. You always resigned yourself to silence. Since he couldn’t physically hurt you, he tried to do it with words, or make you so angry that you’d finally lash out. You wouldn’t indulge him.

He hummed.

“You know, I think I don’t care if you keep this mask after we get married.” And you hated, hated, hated the way he purposefully let his stupid glasses fall to the bridge of his nose so you could see his blue eyes eating you. The way he measured you from head to toe, slowly, in a way that made you want to push him off the balcony. “Don’t really care if the face’s ugly. Just don’t gain weight, will ya?”

You still did not answer him.

Ichiji snorted and put his sunglasses back in place. He took one step closer.

“This only applies until I put a baby in you, of course. After you give me an heir… I will fulfill my promise.” He leaned in your direction and dropped his voice lower. “You haven’t forgotten, have you?”

I will beat you up so bad that you won’t ever get to walk again. I will make you swallow this mask. This is a promise.

You haven’t forgotten.

Slowly, you turned your head in his direction – just to make him sense that you were looking at him, not just your eyes.

“You haven’t forgotten my promise either. Have you?”

Your voice was quiet, freezing cold like frost. You wouldn’t waste energy screaming at him. But he felt it, and you were so immensely satisfied that he did; the way you saw him take a more serious instance, how his body tensed up almost imperceptibly. Ichiji knew you were no defenseless maiden. He knew about your fame, about what you had done past year, and the fact that he still didn’t have great achievements of his own made him hate you. Envy you. You knew it. You’d been dealing with jealousy and rivalry your entire life.

If you try to touch me again, I will kill you.

That was your promise to him.

You could feel his anger and apprehension crackling under his skin. And yet, Ichiji resigned himself to opening a strained smirk. He wouldn’t try to do anything; he couldn’t. Quietly, you wondered how your fight would go if he actually tried something. Ichiji was half human, half machine – perhaps more machine than human. He was anything but weak.

The fight would be interesting, you thought. Maybe one day you’d finally have the chance to rip his heart off his ribcage.

But not today.

“I can’t wait for us to get married.” This otherwise innocent sentence sounded like a threat.

Shit.

You had to find a way out of this situation before his wish could come true.

Smoking became a habit before you even realized it.

A small way to rebel against the family’s rules, perhaps. You must always take care of your health. Which was already stupid to begin with – smoking wasn’t allowed, but being beaten up by your own grandfather wasn’t considered unhealthy? What were these standards?

A cloud formed in front of your face as you exhaled the smoke. Night had fallen over the busy city; it looked like an infinite labyrinth of little lights down there, from the open window you stood near. You still had a few minutes before security noticed something wrong happened. Yet, you were not in a hurry.

“Why aren’t you wearing your mask?”

You looked over your shoulder.

Ariadne stood quietly a few steps away from you. Her little face was hidden behind a mask with four holes for eyes and patterns that resembled webs. Though you couldn’t see her expression, by her tone, you knew she was frowning.

Indeed, you had pushed your mask aside. “Because I’m smoking.”

“But what if someone sees you?”

“No one is nearby to see me. There are no Video Den Den Mushis, either.”

She went silent for some moments.

“Why aren’t you wearing the uniform?”

Ariadne wore hers – the standard: skirt and jacket in black, white button shirt, white socks and black leather dress shoes, the only color being the red scorpion crest on the right side of her chest. You, on the other hand, wore a burgundy pinafore dress with a pleated skirt and a fitted bodice, with subtle ruffles on the shoulder straps. Underneath, a long-sleeved white blouse and a black ribbon tie around your neck. Knee high, chunky combat boots on your feet – these were more for action than fashion, just like the black gloves you always wore when working. A beret with the same color of the dress completed the look, but it was inside your small purse at the moment, as you couldn’t wear it if you had the mask on.

“Because I like to look cute,” you explained in a nonchalant tone. “And the family uniform isn’t cute.”

Ariadne went silent again.

Colors were pretty much forbidden within the family. When you weren’t around them, however, you’d immediately change into something more colorful and girly. It was also another small way to rebel. Scarpia assassins are supposed to be devoid of any personality traits; you refused. You liked to spend money on clothes and you liked to wear jewelry and you liked to feel pretty.

You smoked the last drag of the cigarette and dropped it on the floor, squeezing the sole of your shoe over it. It burned the carpet underneath.

Finally, you looked at her again.

Ariadne.

She turned six a week ago. You still remembered the first time you accompanied your brother on a commission: Urso was nine then. You were the same age as her. You remember seeing Urso struggle against his target, and he punched you in the stomach so hard that you vomited when you pointed it out. Other than that, the whole thing was pretty boring.

Ariadne was so much shorter than you.

Which is a stupid thing to realize. She was six. Obviously.

Six years old.

And she had just witnessed you murder a man.

The body was sprawled over the carpet in the middle of the office. It was an easy commission; it had been a while since you took down an untrained target like that. You knew it was because she would accompany you – an easier, safer target, as Ariadne would be in danger if you faced your usual commissions.

You didn’t want her to be here at first. Why you? Just because you were the only other girl in the family? Yeah, that was probably the reason.

The only other girl in the family.

Six years old.

You watched her in silence.

Ariadne stood obediently. Her posture was perfect. She did not move. A six year old child not moving. A six year old that already knew death, was intimate with its concept – the same way you were introduced to killing before you could properly speak.

That little thing was your sister.

It was a bit stupid of you to have this epiphany at that moment. You had six siblings and you actively ignored all of them. There was no family bond between you, no love – the only bond that kept you together was that of the blood and the anger.

But Ariadne was your little sister. The only other girl in the family. And she was ten years younger than you. What could she know and understand about the world?

Just blood and anger? The same way you were taught – until you went to Goa Island for the first time and found out there was so much more than that?

You remembered how pointless and boring life was before all that. You remembered how you envied Reiju and her pretty pink dress the first time you met her, while you had to wear the plain Scarpia attire instead.

You sighed heavily. Ariadne moved slightly, as if she received an electric shock. You noticed for the first time that you made her nervous.

Finally, you took the beret from inside your small pouch and put it on your head. You looked at your reflection in a mirror nearby and adjusted your hair before turning to her.

“Let’s go.”

Ariadne hesitated.

“Let’s go where?”

You walked out of the room. She followed shortly, running to match your pace. Her personal butler – a bald man you didn’t bother to know the name – followed as well.

“Young Mistresses, we must go back to the ship–“

“Don’t follow us.” Your tone was dry. You didn’t bother to look back at him or to slow your pace. The butler was taken aback. You could feel Ariadne’s surprise.

“Young Mistress, I must ask where you are going.”

“None of your business.”

“You are not allowed to do anything that isn’t involved with the completion of the commission.”

You stopped abruptly.

For the first time, you turned around to look at him.

“Are you arguing with me?”

You didn’t raise your voice, because you almost never did. Serenity and calm as usual. But he felt it, and you knew that he felt it – the frost in his veins, his throat getting dry, the hole in his stomach. The danger.

The butler gulped and looked down, avoiding your gaze obediently.

“No, Young Mistress.”

You still stared at him for some more seconds. “Wait for us in the harbor.” You turned around and walked down the corridor. “A word to the main house and consider yourself dead.”

Ariadne followed you quickly. You both entered the elevator.

It was silent for a few seconds.

“You can take your mask off after we leave the building.”

She hesitated.

“What are we going to do?”

“Buy you something cute.”

Ariadne didn’t say anything.

But you felt through your Haki that she was excited – and that, for some reason, made you open a small smile.

Tigerlily Island was a piece of golden heaven on the second half of the Grand Line. Home to many banks, casinos, hotels and entertainment zones; it was the land of the wealthy – i.e., the land of money laundering. Scarpia Family itself had a bank of its own in the island and a few businesses that were not only profitable, but also managed to clean most of the money coming from commissions. Tigerlily was a den of white collar crimes. As it involved billions and billions or berries circulating every day, the World Government was willing to turn a blind eye to it (as it was given a very generous “donation” monthly, of course).

It also happened to be surprisingly peaceful. Not only was it controlled with iron fists by a single mafia, the Tigers, there was a sense of camaraderie in the air. No one wanted to be snitched on. All of these criminals came with their treasure chests to make more profit, or lose everything in the casinos, or simply have a good time.

There was a murder that night, however. The owner of a bank. But as he died with his secrets, no one really bothered.

It also had really nice malls.

Ariadne was a bit spooked. She’d never been in such a crowded place before, and being without her mask scared her, but she got slowly used to it. You hopped from store to store. She didn’t really know what to do with herself, or which clothes to pick, and she was still nervous in your presence. You just let her pick whatever she wanted, even if nothing really matched or made much sense.

“I’m not allowed to eat ice cream.” She mumbled when the waitress brought a large ice cream cup with extra chocolate topping, even if her eyes gleamed at the sight. Bags and bags rested around your legs. It was way past midnight, and yet the mall was still crowded; Tigerlily never slept.

“Who said that?”

“Bill.” That was probably her butler. You looked around.

“Is Bill here?”

“...No.”

“So.” You shrugged and took a spoonful of your own ice cream.

Ariadne tried not to smile as she took a bit of hers.

Like everywhere else in Tigerlily, the ice cream parlor was unnecessarily decorated with gold. If it wasn’t golden, then it was pink. Tables were filled with couples and families; the air smelled sweet, which brought you memories.

Luffy would like it here. There are so many things to do.

You sighed and rested your cheek on your knuckles, looking at nowhere in particular. Just a few months more.

Ariadne eyed you silently.

When you quirked your brow at her, she stiffened and whipped her eyes back to the ice cream.

“You can ask me stuff if you want to.”

She stiffened again at your voice, as if hit by an electric shock. Thinking back on it… have you ever sat down to talk to her before? Well. No. You didn’t even know she could speak until a while ago. Ariadne had good vocabulary for a six year old, in fact; you also knew she already could read and write perfectly, though this wasn’t a great achievement for a Scarpia.

There were other kids in the ice cream parlor. All restless, loud, laughing, stuttering, their mouths and the collar of their clothes dirty with ice cream.

Ariadne sat in front of you quietly, always avoiding your gaze. All adult-like and polite.

Again, it made you feel something weird.

You waited until she gathered some courage to speak.

And yet, at that moment, your senses sharpened.

Your Haki. It took in a new presence nearby. While everyone else in the area felt like lit matches, this presence felt like a torch.

Someone strong.

A strong presence is always something to note, regardless if it feels aggressive or not. You looked over your shoulder towards the shop’s glass doors; the sidewalk out there was packed.

“What’s wrong?” Ariadne asked in a tense tone, noticing your sudden change in behavior. You didn’t answer; instead, waited.

Waited.

The presence was coming closer, its heat spreading around the street.

Closer.

The presence walked past the ice-cream parlor; you watched through the glass doors.

Your heart rate spiked.

“Wait here.” You told Ariadne without looking back, standing in a jump and rushing towards the doors.

The sidewalk was crowded – and yet, you could only see that single person, as if your sight could not focus on anyone else.

“Ace!”

He stopped on his tracks.

The man turned around with a frown at first. It didn’t take long for him to spot you.

His face immediately brightened with a grin.

“Wolfie?!”

A cackle erupted from within you; one so odd, already so unfamiliar – something you haven’t felt in years. Something involuntary that pulled you off your well-controlled state, turning off autopilot.

Because that was Ace.

He rushed towards you, laughing, his dark eyes brightening up the same way his lips did. He loosely carried a bag over his shoulder, but dropped it immediately as soon as he got close enough. Ace put both hands over your shoulders and measured you up and down.

“What the hell! I can’t believe it!” He giggled excitedly. “Look at you! You’re all grown up now!”

You giggled as well, suddenly feeling a tiny bit bashful. Ace was also very different from what you remembered: he was even taller, more muscular than before – which was hard to ignore, since he was shirtless, choosing to just wear black jeans shorts and boots. His wavy hair seemed a tad bit longer than what you remembered. Now, he wore a light brown cowboy hat with two smiley faces. A necklace of red beads sat around his neck, which immediately made you remember Dadan. His skin was much tanner now; he always had freckles on the bridge of his nose and cheeks, but now they had spread towards his shoulders as well, a testament of someone who lived with the sun, salt and sea.

Ace looked like a proper man now, not a teenager. And just by looking at him, you could see some things have changed inside of him, too – and not just in terms of power.

“Of course, it’s been three years!”

Ace nodded. “I was thinking about you these days. But I’d never imagine I’d find you in a place like this! What are you doing here?”

“I’m–” Oh. You looked back at the ice cream parlor. “I’m with my sister.”

“Sister? You have a sister?!” You must’ve mentioned at some point that you had siblings, but you and Ace have never actually talked too much about your life – and you doubted he’d remember anyway. Regardless, he seemed excited for some reason.

“C’mon. You want some ice cream?”

He huffed and crouched down to take his bag again. “And you even ask?”

You decided to move to the outside tables in the balcony for a bit more privacy – probably because Ace’s gigantic back tattoo was attracting way too much attention. Not that he cared.

Ariadne was more than surprised to see him walking in.

“Who’s this little princess?” Ace crouched down to get to her eye level. You were a bit surprised as well at the way his tone softened… have you ever heard him speaking like that before? Not with you or Luffy, at least. “Hah, she looks like your tiny clone, Wolfie!”

Ariadne looked between you and him with widened eyes and warm cheeks. She sent you a subtle questioning gaze – Wolfie? – before looking at him again.

Then, she stiffened.

“...Nice to meet you. My name is…” She thought for two seconds. “...Spidey.”

You chuckled. Smart girl.

Ace quirked one eyebrow. “Y’alls parents have a thing for animals, huh?”

“They do.” And it wasn’t even a lie.

Ace politely offered his hand for her to shake. “My name is Ace. Nice to meet you, too.”

She got even more flustered.

As the three of you settled and Ace asked for every single ice cream flavor available – the waitress looked panicked – you observed him quietly. You felt so stupidly giddy. That was Ace! After three years! He was a little piece of what you cherished most, part of the things that made you happiest in this world. And even though you thought you’d never see him again, there he was.

You eyed the tattoo on his upper left biceps – ASCE;the message behind that S was pretty obvious, so you decided to not mention it. The other tattoo, however…

“Gotta be honest. I never thought you were the type to sail under someone else’s flag.”

Ace smiled with his cheeks full of strawberry ice cream, looking surprised. “You heard about it?”

“Course I did. You’re famous.”

He shrugged. “I used to think the same, too. But things change. Whitebeard will be the King of the Pirates!”

It was surprising to hear that coming from his mouth. As far as you knew, Ace didn’t have the same ambition as Luffy… but he seemed rather supportive of his brother’s dream. Well. As he said – things change.

There was also the fact that joining the Whitebeard Pirates made Ace pretty… untouchable, in a way. Many people wanted him dead. You knew commissioners were willing to pay millions for his head. But Scarpia had a rule – and that was of putting the safety of the family above anything else. To incite the anger of an Emperor of the Sea by killing one of his pirates would not keep the family safe. Now that you were next to Ace, however, you thought this wouldn’t be a problem to him, even if the family took him as a target: Ace was strong. He deserved that 500 million bounty and the fame.

But you weren’t going to tell him that.

“So.” Ace said excitedly, turning his body in your direction. His eyes beamed – and a part of you already knew what was coming. “How’s Luffy doing? Is the idiot okay?”

And, just like that, it was like he popped a balloon inside of you.

You crossed your arms and avoided his gaze. Your smile faltered, even if you didn’t plan it.

“I… haven’t been visiting him, Ace.”

His shoulders dropped.

“What happened? Don’t tell me you guys fought.”

“No! It’s nothing like that.” You massaged the nape of your neck awkwardly. “I had some… family problems.”

Ariadne stared down at her ice cream glass.

Ace rested his cheek on his palm and hummed. “That sucks.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“Well. You asked me that, back then…”

Ace huffed and waved his hand dismissively. “Oh, that? Don’t worry about it! Luffy is a crybaby, but he’s also tough. He’ll live.” He then smiled once more. “He’ll set sail in a few months, too, right? So you’ll get to meet again!”

You nodded, feeling that balloon inflate inside of you again. “Yeah, I hope so.”

Just the thought of seeing Luffy again made you fuzzy inside, which made you feel a bit pathetic. You looked at Ace again, desperate to divert his attention from you. “So, what have you been up to? Besides joining the crew of an Emperor, I mean.”

Ace beamed.

You soon discovered that he was much more chill now, compared to the grumpy boy you met years ago. His smiles were easy, his tone always welcoming and warm. You noticed he was developing slight wrinkles on the outer corner of his eyes, both due to sun exposure and simply because he smiled too much. Ace gesticulated a lot, happy to share his experiences with you – and even happier when he found out you’d been to the same places (though in the span of three years, he’d already been to more islands than you).

Of course – your stories weren’t nearly as exciting. To you, it was always just work; going to a place, completing a commission, going back home. Meanwhile, Ace would go on to say how he befriended this or that guy, stayed at that forest and that city, fought this or that pirate. He was a great story teller, too.

It made you both happy and sad.

Happy for him. Ace was never meant to stay in Goa. His life belonged to the seas – and it was obvious how accomplished he felt, as if the invisible weight that held him back was lifted. Ace was happy, and his happiness was contagious, as if he was an actual torch, enlightening his surroundings and spreading warmth.

Sad for yourself. Which was horrible. Self-pitying is disgusting and pathetic. But you couldn’t not feel the slight sting in your heart when you compared his life to yours. His freedom. You barely talked about yourself, because all you had to say involved your training and your commissions… nothing worth bragging about.

Just a few more months. Just a few more months.

Ariadne watched Ace speak with glow in her eyes. It was a bit funny, because you could relate exactly with what she was feeling.

“...but that was a bit after I left Wano.”

Ariadne widened her eyes slightly. “You’ve been to Wano?”

“Yep!” Ace slurped the last drop of his chocolate milkshake. Now the table was filled with empty cups of ice cream. She’d been keeping quiet for most of the time, so her sudden question took you off guard. “You know it?”

She looked down sheepishly. “...I’ve read about it in books.”

You could see this was a topic of her interest. Wano was a mystery to the entire world, as a secluded country under the rule of an Emperor. Simply off limits to most. You haven’t even gotten close to it yourself. It was definitely impressive that Ace managed to break into its borders.

Ace opened a soft smile and rested his chin on his knuckles. Ariadne got even more flustered.

“You remind me of a friend I met there, you know?”

“A… friend?” She fiddled with her fingers nervously.

“Yeah. Her name’s Tama. I bet you’d get along well.” He nodded as if he just had an idea. “When you go to Wano, tell her you’re friends with Ace! She’ll get super excited!”

Ariadne got more flustered.

“...Are we friends?” She was taken aback.

“Yeah!” He offered her his fist.

She hesitantly fist bumped him and immediately retracted her arm – but she could not hide the tiny smile in her lips.

Ace giggled and looked back at you. “She’s so much like you.”

“You think so?”

He hummed. “In appearance, at least. You were more annoying.” Ace poked Ariadne’s side, making her giggle for the first time (had you ever seen that girl giggle before?) and pointed at you with his thumb. “D’you know that, Spidey? Your sister here was a pain in the ass. You’re much nicer.”

“What? You were annoying!” You punched his arm jokingly and laughed. “You were a prick, in fact.”

He gasped in a dramatic way and put his hand over his chest. “Me?! A prick?! But I’m the nicest guy in the world! Tell her, Spidey!”

Ariadne laughed a bit louder.

And at that moment, something familiar filled you.

The sound of laughter, of Ace’s loud voice and Ariadne’s sheepish giggling. The smell of sweets and the aftertaste of ice cream in your tongue. The city full of life around you, the gentle night breeze.

You were happy for the first time since that afternoon when you said goodbye.

It felt nice.

The sun was already rising when Ace said goodbye.

He ruffled Ariadne’s hair (making her blush) and hugged you (making you blush. He’d never done that before. And he was still shirtless). Ace was definitely someone different now.

“I told you, remember? That we’d end up bumping into each other in the New World.”

“Yeah.” It was your turn to fiddle with your fingers nervously. You were still not great with goodbyes. “So… until next time, I guess?”

“Let’s meet again sooner this time!” He grinned mischievously. “Luffy will be out in the sea soon. We should all meet up and beat his ass, now that we’re both stronger than him!”

You laughed and nodded. The idea sounded funny enough. “Agreed!”

You watched Ace go, waving back at you two excitedly, with a big smile plastered over his face. Ariadne waved back with smaller movements. You stood there until he disappeared amid the crowd – but you could still feel him, the torch, brighter and warmer than anyone else in that island.

Just imagining you, Luffy and Ace reunited – this nicer Ace – was enough to make you smile.

But for now, it was time to go back to your life. You weren’t free yet, and you already abused your luck for the day.

“Let’s go.” You told Ariadne, picking some bags from the floor while she took others. It felt like each step you took away from Ace made the colors of life fade bit by bit.

Fuck.

You lit a cigarette while balancing the bags on your other arm.

“He’s weird.” Ariadne said after a while.

“You think so?”

She looked down with a thoughtful expression. “When you go to Wano, he said. As if I’d ever go there.”

You took a drag and quirked one eyebrow. “But you want to go there, right?” Her expression softened. She looked to her sides, as if afraid anyone would see her nod. Unfortunately, you understood her apprehension very well. “So why would you never go?”

Ariadne looked up at you for the first time as if you were insane. “Because I can’t.”

“You weren’t supposed to be out in the city shopping past midnight, were you? But here we are.” You shrugged.

“But that’s because I’m with you.”

“So, if you want to go to Wano, you have to be strong like me.”

That made her think. After a while, she nodded, because that made sense in her head. Of course it made sense. That’s the Scarpia way of life: strength is the only answer.

Yet, at the same time, it made you think of Ariadne – six years old, small, quiet and introspective, having to go through everything you’d been through in order to get stronger.

You didn’t like that.

Something inside you wished she’s just be able to do whatever she wanted without facing any pain.

You are a Scarpia. Life will never be kind to you.

That was the reality she was chained to – and there was nothing you could do about it.

For now, having some nice clothes and ice cream at inappropriate hours would have to suffice.

➛ 17

You were destroyed.

Arms, legs, head, stomach. Everything hurt. Your limbs were bandaged. Each movement sent waves of pain through your body. It’d been days, but you still couldn’t eat.

None of that mattered anymore, because a News Coo dropped the paper from the sky.

And in between the pages, there was a new bounty warning.

It felt almost supernatural that you caught the newspaper before any of the butlers could. How it fell on your hands. How that warning slipped from between the pages and you crouched down to take it.

The moment your eyes laid on it – the pain was gone.

All the things that hurt you, that made you feel miserable, grandfather’s training, everything – everything was brushed aside. The uncontrollable laughter that erupted from your chest, the shaking of your fingertips, your increased heartbeat.

Everything else was little, easy to ignore.

It was him. Him, grinning in that photo. His name, his bounty of 30 million.

And for a moment, you felt silly for wondering for the past months if he really would set sail, if he’d still keep that dream. Many things can change in three years. What if he had changed his mind? What if he decided to lead his life in another path and you’d simply never meet him again?

You should’ve never doubted him.

That same day, you accepted a commission in Paradise.

Tracking them down wouldn’t be hard if you weren’t forbidden to see him.

You could get information on anyone from any known corner of the world if you wanted; you just needed to make a call. But that would slip into Crowley’s ears and you couldn’t risk that. So, taking advantage over the fact that no butler followed you anymore, you took your time to investigate their whereabouts.

Fortunately, he made it pretty easy for you.

Once again, you felt an involuntary fit of laughter escape when you found another bounty warning – this time, glued to the wall of a bar. The entire city was talking about it: how this newbie pirate and his crew defeated a Warlord. Because of course Luffy would defeat a Warlord less than a year into his career.

Judging by the place they were last seen, there were three possible islands that their Log Pose could lead them.

You chose one based purely on instinct.

It was a small city with markets and fairs – the perfect place to replenish supplies. It had many harbors which were always packed with ships, including ships from the Marine. The economy of that island was solely based on it. Albeit small, the city had a constant crowd of travelers. It wasn’t particularly pretty, but the constant summer weather was nice.

You had arrived past night, slept in the simple room of an inn. Some wounds in your torso still hurt, but most of the bandaging was already unnecessary. Any pain you could possibly still feel was brushed aside.

Maybe you chose the wrong island. Maybe they’d sail past it and you’d lose the track. Maybe they were already way too far for you to reach them, and you had to report back to the main house before the situation got too suspicious. There were a million possibilities.

Or maybe– maybe you’d actually find him, but he wouldn’t care? What if he forgot about you? He had a bad memory.What if meeting you would be an inconvenience? He had his crew and his ship to take care of, after all… and you never agreed on a certain place or time to meet. Maybe you’d slow him down. Maybe he’d rather meet you in a different place at a different time.

This simple thought was torturous. After everything you had endured… if he acted nonchalant, if he simply didn’t remember – it’d break you in half more than anything grandfather or Crowley ever did. What would you even do? Well, you had your plan of running away before the wedding could happen, but what about after that? What would even be the point of–

An explosion.

It shook the floor. Made the people on the street look around in confusion.

A presence.

A presence. A presence. A presence at East.

A presence you hadn’t felt in over three years.

Adrenaline pumped through your veins.

You jumped over the roof of the nearest building, spotting a cloud of smoke in the distance. The noises of a fight… shots? Screams?

That presence that presence that presence–

You ran.

Jumping from roof to roof, getting closer to the source of that commotion. Soon, you saw Marine soldiers running down there on the street, carrying their guns. You’d seen a Marine ship docked past night… they yelled orders, following someone. You jumped to the bell tower of a church nearby, trying to get a better view–

And you saw it.

The top of a familiar straw hat.

Down there, running in zig zag to mislead the troop that chased him.

At that moment, it was like the world bloomed with colors again, its starting point being the red of his shirt.

Your fists tightened, and they were shaking. It was like your soul was shaking at that moment. You gathered all the air in your lungs for what you were about to say.

“Luffy!!”

Your voice echoed in the bell tower, equalizing its sound to the entire square down there.

You watched as he skidded on the stone floor, suddenly stopping on his tracks, one hand over the hat to keep it in place. The troopers were getting closer. And yet, he took his time to look around frantically with a frown.

You saw the exact moment he spotted you. The single second of apprehension that followed.

You saw, from that distance, the moment his face brightened up with a grin.

You saw him ignore the troopers and make the opposite way, jumping over their heads and landing on a nearby roof. You heard the familiar sound of his arm stretching, gripping around the pillar of the bell tower so he could propel himself like a cannonball. And you heard his laughter from that distance – his loud, boisterous laughter that sounded a bit different, but also the same.

“Wolfie!!”

He was still mid air when his arms wrapped around you.

And maybe it was a bit cheesy how the doves resting on the tower got scared and flew away the moment you hugged him back, engulfing you in a mess of white feathers. Maybe it was a bit cheesy how the bell rang, loud and clear, indicating the midday, at that exact moment. Yeah, it was totally cheesy how the troopers shots sounded like fireworks in the back of your head.

But it didn’t matter, because it was Luffy, it was him, and he was hugging you, and you were hugging him, and he was warm, and he was giggling with his face on your shoulder, and you were giggling back.

Three years of pain, of loneliness, of creating a tougher persona; it all dissolved in three seconds.

The wait was over.

A/N: I LOVE CLIFFHANGERS :D

One Piece's canon timeline is pretty insane. Romance Dawn to Alabasta happens in the span of like a month, and it'd be pretty impossible for anyone to travel from the New World to Paradise this fast, unless they were right by the Red Line. SO! For the sake of fic making sense, we'll pretend that all these events took a few months to happen, so our girl actually has the beliavable time to travel this far!

Reader is supposed to be Luffy's opposite in many ways, and that includes fashion. I like the idea that she dresses all preppy and doll-like in contrast to his more laid back, nonchalant style. That being said, not to be too Wattpad-y, but I imagine this is how she dresses most of the time (also bc she's inspired by Gogo Yubari lol). You can ignore it if you don't like it tho

If you read this far, please don't forget to leave a comment!! Your comments always brighten up my day. I'm so exicted to the following chapters!!! See you <3

#luffy x reader #monkey d. luffy x reader #monkey d. luffy #one piece #monkey d luffy #one piece x reader #luffy x you #luffy x y/n #monkey d. luffy x you #one piece x you #op #op x reader #one piece x y/n #op x you #mugiwara no luffy

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inthelibrarybtw · 2 days ago

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you're gonna go far | 01 - the boneyard

SERIES MASTERLIST pairing: rafe cameron x pogue!reader

summary: where Rafe who hates pogues has a soft spot for one, who couldn't care less about him, she's too independent and too focused on graduating college and making it out of the Cut to pay attention to him or where they say they don't like each other yet for a reason they are always at the same place at the same time, him making time for her and her never pushing him away but again they don't like each other. word count: 3.2k content: alcohol consumption, angst, cursing, pogue/kook talk, rafe being an asshole, classism, superiority complex authors note: they are back! my angsty babies. we'll see where this one goes. If you read it the first time around, pretend you didn't 😂

01 | 02

Another Boneyard party. Pogue territory, your territory, not his. Yet he found himself at another party there. The excuse he gave everyone, even himself, was that he would never miss a party and needed to keep an eye on Sarah, his very grown sister, whose business was anything but important to him. But he needed something to justify his presence instead of just accepting the truth about why he always wanted to be there.

The truth didn’t make sense to him. It was not who he was. Rafe hated pogues, even though he wouldn’t use the word hate out loud; his actions spoke louder than words. He never wanted to be around them, not until he saw you. Sarah had invited her new friends over to a party after a few months of dating John B. He had probably seen you around a few times, but you had never caught his attention. You had been like another person who blurred into the background until that night. There was just something about you that had him immediately hooked. From that point on, he looked for you everywhere; he wanted to know you. He wanted to know a pogue, and that threw him off balance more than he liked to admit.

Your existence alone made him lose his mind, but other things drove him crazy and made his skin crawl. Like the fact that you weren’t afraid of him, you stood up against him when he messed up with your friends, and you were there to witness it. Whenever he was an asshole, you were there calling him on his shit, and he hated it but not as much as he pretended to. He hated that you could see right through him, but he loved how much he could also push back at you. There was just this pull about you that he couldn’t resist.

So, there he was again at another Boneyard party, even when he wasn't really in the mood; he was there only to see you. As much as he tried to ignore you and pretend not to care for you, he couldn't, and that's how he ended up going back to his car to grab his jacket and make his way to you. The party was in full swing, but you needed a break, so you were sitting alone on a blanket over the sand, looking at the ocean and hugging yourself. For a mid-June night, it was cold—too cold; probably a storm was coming soon, or the weather was just acting up.

As if it were heaven-sent, a puffy jacket wrapped around you. "You'll get sick," he said. You looked up to meet Rafe's stoic face, as if what he had just done was nothing. "It's freezing," he added before sitting next to you.

"I'm going to be fine," you said.

As much as you wanted to take the jacket, your pride was bigger, so you started to take it off to give it back, but he stopped you by putting it back on. He scoffed before answering.

"Right, like you're not trembling. Just take it." You didn't fight him; it felt good, but you weren't going to admit it to his face.

"What about you?" You turned to look at him. He didn't appear cold, but still, you asked.

"I'm fine. You need it more than I do." His eyes darted over to your body, a strange feeling forming in his chest at the sight of you enveloped in something that belonged to him.

“I'm not going to die from being cold.” You glared at him, putting your arms into the jacket. It looked like his jacket had swallowed you up, and he smirked at the sight.

"Yeah, I know, but you were shaking, and I'm not."

"Right..." Rafe being nice to you wasn't new, but with him, you were always waiting for the other shoe to drop. He was never nice just to be nice.

"Thanks," you said softly as you looked around. Everyone was enjoying the party; it was one of those moments when you wondered why you were there. You could be doing anything else. Rafe interrupted your thoughts when he cleared his throat.

"Aren't you going to go back to everyone?"

"Not right now. Why?" You turned to look at him with a confused expression. You wanted to go home, but if you didn't stick around a little longer, your friends would ask, and you liked to avoid the questions.

"Just asking… I don’t get why you hang out with them." The other shoe dropped. You wondered if it was physically impossible for him to keep his mouth shut.

"Around who? My friends?” you asked. "Yeah, I don’t see the appeal of hanging out with Pogues.” You rolled your eyes.

“You are hanging out with one right now,” you quipped back, and he rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, but this is different,” he said as if he were stating something obvious.

"Oh, and why's that?" Rafe was the perfect example of why you didn’t like kooks; it was like they inherently needed to be right or have the upper hand in anything they did.

"Because I’m not hanging out with you, I’m just sitting here,” he scoffed. He had a way of getting under your skin that no one else had. It was infuriating.

“If you were just sitting there, you wouldn’t be talking to me.”

“Whatever, one pogue is not the whole Cut,” he said gruffly.

“Yes, because God forbid you’re a decent person toward the rest.”

“Again with that?”

“You’re the one who started this.” He knew it was true.

“I just don’t get why you willingly decide to hang out with them. They don’t care about anything, look at them…” he made a hand gesture to point at your friends.

“It’s a party, they are having fun.”

“I’m just saying you shouldn’t be around them,” he shrugged.

"And what makes you think I will listen to you?" His face contorted in annoyance.

"I'm just trying to look out for you, Pogue. " The way he said 'Pogue' with such disdain just reminded you of his hate for you and your friends. You also hated him, even if the current situation didn’t look like you did. You didn’t take off his jacket. The cold weather was making you do stupid things.

“You hate Pogues,” you stated. He huffed, almost as if it’s amusing to see you mad.

“Usually I do; all of them are annoying, but…” he pauses for a second, thinking as if it’s a good idea to continue talking. “You just… you’re different.”

“And that’s supposed to mean something?” You didn’t know how to take that coming from Rafe, of all people.

“It means you don’t annoy me as much as they do, and I don’t particularly want to see you getting hurt because of whatever the Pogues do.”

“Getting hurt? How would my friends hurt me? Last time I checked, you were the one doing the hurting to them.”

“They are them, and you’re…” he trails off. “I just don’t get how you can hang out with them.” His irritation was growing; you noticed it, but you didn’t care.

“There’s nothing to get; they are my friends. Maybe you don’t understand because the concept of considering your friends family is foreign to you.”

“Oh, I don’t get that they’re your little family? That you love hanging around The Cut?” he said in a condescending tone.

“I’m a Pogue! The Cut is my home,” a home that you didn’t like. Pope was the only one who knew how much you wanted to just get out and how hard you were working to actually make that happen. “That’s my life!”

“A hell of a life you’ve got then; you could do better than that.” As much as you didn't like it there, it was still your home. He didn’t have the right to comment on it. He had barely set foot in, and he didn’t get it. He was never going to get it. “Living there doesn’t mean you have to hang out with them.”

“And what? Get kook friends that don’t understand how hard it is to live on the Cut? They get me; we have been through a lot together.” His chest feels tight all of a sudden. He studies your face, trying to think of what he can say next.

“You could do better. Go find new friends, some that won’t drag you down with them.” You stare at him, looking for a trace of it being a joke, but he is serious. He seriously thinks your friends are not good for you. You laugh bitterly.

“I don’t need new friends… I don’t want new friends. They aren’t dragging me down; they push me to do better and, most importantly, they don’t make me feel like trash.” Rafe goes silent, his jaw clenching in annoyance. He knew he treated your friends like that most of the time and hated that you were right about it.

“I don’t think you’re trash,” he groans in frustration. “This is just about having better company, people that don’t get you into trouble.”

“I don’t need better company. What aren’t you getting? They are important to me, and I care for them. We stick by each other, and we push each other to do better because we want out; we do not want to stay in The Cut forever.” You didn’t. A part of you knew that JJ and John B didn’t care. Yes, they wanted better, but that didn’t necessarily mean getting out of The Cut.

Then there was Kie, who was a kook and preferred the pogue life. A part of you was angry at Kie; she had the privileges you would kill for, and she took them all for granted. You loved her, but still, it frustrated you.

He scoffs; he hated the tone you were taking. Yes, it’s the same tone he’s giving you, but he doesn’t like it when it’s aimed at him and coming from you. If it had been any other pogue, he would’ve either fought them or ignored them, but it was you.

“Oh, you don’t?” he said, faking disbelief. “I don’t think having them around is going to make things easier. Almost no one makes it out of The Cut. What are you going to do? Work for minimum-wage jobs?”

“You think I’m not aware it’s hard? I know how things go, Rafe.” You were trying to remain calm; he was getting on your nerves. You had heard that a thousand times, but coming from him right there felt somehow even worse. Not even a few minutes ago, he had given you his jacket, but just like that, he was back to being an asshole.

“Well then, I don’t think you’re trying that much. The Cut is like a black hole that swallows people, and you can never escape. If you do, I doubt it's going to be with your friends next to you.” You had enough. He had the nerve to say all that when his father came from The Cut and made it out. You didn’t really like Ward Cameron; granted, not a lot of people did, but you had to give him that. He made it out, and he wasn’t the best person, but he was all the proof you needed to know it was possible.

“Yeah, well, your dad made it out of that black hole.” You saw him tense up at the mention of his father; well, now you knew how to piss him off. You regretted using his dad as an example since it was a sensitive topic for him, but you tried to convince yourself he deserved it.

You didn’t like confrontation, but with him, every word flew out of your mouth without hesitation. It made you feel good, like you were brave enough, and in the eyes of many, you were. After all, it was Rafe Cameron you were standing up against. Deep inside him, he respected that you would run your mouth at him, even if it made you the most insufferable girl he knew.

“My dad was different; it was a rare thing, like winning the lottery, you know?” you huffed under your breath, looking at the sand. Of course, he was going to be an asshole about it. But he saw your reaction and felt the need to comfort you.

“What I’m saying is…” He didn’t know if he would say the right thing; he sucked at comforting people. “You’re going to have a hard time getting out of there. If you want to stay with your friends, then maybe you’re better off staying in The Cut and accepting that reality.”

You looked at him; if you could strangle him with a look, you would’ve done it. You scoffed, biting the inside of your cheek. “You know what, Rafe? Fuck you! You don’t get it!” You stood up, took his jacket off, and threw it at him before walking away.

“Hey! Wait, where are you going?” He stood up, calling you out and grabbing his jacket, but you were already walking as fast as you could to get away from him.

“This girl…” he muttered. You annoyed him so much, yet he felt bad. The look on your face before leaving, the words—it had affected him more than he liked to admit. Watching you go directly to JJ after it just made it worse. You had heard him, but you ignored him. What made him think that any of what he said was okay?

—

When you finally made your way back to your friends, you regretted throwing his jacket back; you were cold again. “Ah, she's back! Where were you?” JJ piped in first as he watched you sitting near the bonfire. You weren’t going to tell them you were with Rafe, so you avoided the question the best way you knew how.

“Just taking a break from all this,” you nodded, hugging yourself. You thought about going back just for the jacket, but you would rather freeze to death than face Rafe again.

“You’re cold? There’s a hoodie on the Twinkie; you can grab it,” JJ said as he walked to grab another beer. You nodded and decided to go get it, and maybe even stay there. You made your way to where the Twinkie was parked.

—

Rafe didn’t leave the party even after what had turned out to be a fight with you. He kept an eye on you from a distance, and he did that far more often than he liked to admit. He decided to follow you wherever you were going. You were about to put on the hoodie when Rafe showed up.

"You know you can always have this back." He lifted his hand, where he held his jacket. You rolled your eyes as you put on the less-warm hoodie.

"I don’t need or want your help; maybe you should accept that reality too," you said bitterly, referring to what he had told you earlier.

He rolled his eyes, feeling guilty for what he had said, but it was done, and he was trying to make it better without even saying sorry. "You don’t let things go, huh?"

"You’re an asshole to me, and then you want me to be okay with it? Things don’t work that way; at least acknowledge that what you said was wrong." You crossed your arms over your chest and stared at him. He knew he was in the wrong; he felt bad about it, but he wasn’t going to apologize or acknowledge it because every word you said spiked his irritation in a way only you could manage.

"If being wrong is stating facts, then yeah, I’m wrong," you groaned in frustration. You wondered why you even indulged him when you knew how he was. It was like you were being pulled to him; as much as you knew you could just stay quiet, you never did with him. You didn’t like him having the last word.

"You’re an asshole. You come here saying stuff when you don’t even have a clue what it’s like to live in a place you hate, but it's still your home." He felt a sudden anger bubbling up. Oh, he was familiar with hating the place where he lived. It wasn’t the same way you did, but he knew the feeling all too well.

"You’re so infuriating. First, you say I’m too much for the Pogues—newsflash, I’m one! You say they hold me down, but when I tell you I want to do better, you say I should give up?" You groaned in frustration and ran your hands through your hair.

He stared at you; you looked pretty even when you were angry at him. He shook his head, focusing back on his irritation. "You done with your tantrum?" He knew that would only make you more upset, and maybe he wanted to see how far he could take it. As much as he was different from you, he still was Rafe—the cocky kook asshole who thought everyone should listen to him. You clenched your jaw.

"What, you didn’t like what I said? Sorry, I was just stating facts." You lifted a brow, testing him in return. You weren’t afraid of him; your friends had told you multiple times to be careful, that you didn’t know who you were messing with. But nothing ever happened to you, besides the same old Pogue comments, and as sad as it was, you were used to them. They did hurt sometimes, but nothing worth crying over. It just fueled you to prove to everyone—and him—that you could do the things he never thought you would.

"Do you ever know when to shut up?" he huffed, and you felt a pang of hurt in your chest. Out of all the things he had said, this is what ended up hurting you? You swallowed and looked up at him. "Oh, you do know when to shut up." He smirked with his stupid, smug face. Why did he have to be like that?

"Do you ever know when to stop?" you pushed past him. You knew why this had hurt more than the other things, but you chose to ignore it; you could deal with that later, or just shove it down. You turned around to walk back to where the rest of the people were.

"Wait!" He yanked you back. "You don’t get to tell me what to do." You looked at him, frustrated. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath to try and calm yourself down, but it was useless.

"Neither do you!" You pulled your arm from his grasp. "Never touch me again. I don’t want to see you around. Stick to the words you’ve said to my friends a thousand times: stay on your side of the island, kook!" You used the word with the same distaste he used for "Pogue."

You were done; he had made you feel horrible twice, and you had allowed it. You stormed off, and this time he didn’t stop you. The words kept ringing in his head until Topper called him out. They were ready to leave, and at the same time, you convinced JJ to take you back to your house. Rafe looked from a distance, anger bubbling up inside him, but there was nothing he could do about it.

He left the party not long after you did, parts of the conversation still replaying in his head.

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rainrot4me · 2 days ago

Note

Odd idea, proxies as tutors? What would their subject be?

So cute!! Welcome to Slender High, folks. Might’ve went a little crazy with this one.

── .✦

✦ . jeff the killer ➝ coach woods

P.E. / Health class.

Gym/Health Class. An extracurricular, but somehow still mandatory. He also coaches the baseball team.

The chaotic hot substitute energy. Always wearing a hoodie with the school’s mascot, sunglasses indoors, probably chewing on a toothpick.

“Alright losers, five laps, and if I see you walking, I’m calling your mom.”

He somehow turns dodgeball into mortal combat and makes health class 80% stories about near-death experiences and how to reset your own nose.

Probably shows a video on CPR and then says, “Now forget that, here’s how you really do it.”

Kids love him. Teachers fear him. The nurse hates him. And yes, he did have to teach Sex-ed. It was traumatic for everyone.

✦ . ticci toby ➝ mr. rogers

Woodshop / Auto mechanic Tech

Woodshop & small engine repair.

Looks constantly disheveled but knows exactly what he’s doing. Calls you “kid” even if you’re older than him.

“You cut your hand? Sick. Lemme see.”

Surprisingly patient with students and very good at explaining with his hands. Loud power tools soothe him. All the troublemakers sit in his class for lunch.

Keeps forgetting he’s not supposed to swear.

Will give you a project to build a birdhouse and then disappear for twenty minutes only to come back with a full crossbow.

✦ . eyeless jack ➝ dr. nyras

Biology / Anatomy

Advanced Biology & Human Anatomy. Both honors.

That freakishly calm, soft-spoken teacher who you don’t want to piss off. Wears gloves at all times.

“Today we’ll be dissecting fetal pigs. Please refrain from vomiting on your lab partners.”

He talks about organs with way too much enthusiasm. Will give you full marks for effort and curiosity, but will also deduct points for making squeamish faces.

Nobody’s brave enough to ask where he gets the extra specimens.

Has an endless supply of black coffee and leaves the room colder than any other on campus. There are definitely rumors circulating that he is secretly a cult member.

✦ . masky (tim wright) ➝ mr. wright

History.

American & World History. But specifically World War II and awesome battle retellings.

Burnt out, deadpan, but wildly intelligent. Could teach the class hungover and still make it captivating. The kind of homework you could turn in a blank document and somehow still get a 100.

“History’s just war, ego, and bad ideas. Let’s begin.”

Will go on 30-minute tangents about conspiracy theories but somehow ties it back to the curriculum every time.

Wears the same cardigan three days in a row. Still smells like parchment paper and cologne.

Doesn’t grade your paper, just leaves cryptic comments like “The empire always strikes back. B+.”

✦ . hoodie (brian thomas) ➝ mr. thomas

Photography / Media Arts

Photography, Film Studies, Journalism. Has published his own book and reads from it daily.

Quiet, intense, incredibly observant. Wears all black. Always has a camera or notepad.

“Art should make you uncomfortable. That’s how you know it’s real.”

He gives very detailed feedback on creative work but refuses to compliment directly.

Shows weird documentaries and calls it “inspiration.” However, people are falling asleep left and right.

You catch him staring out windows or filming empty hallways. Nobody knows where he goes during lunch.

✦ . kate the chaser ➝ coach milens-hayes

Debate / Track Coach

Debate, Current Events / Track Coach.

Tactical jacket, heavy boots, hair tied back. No-nonsense, all intensity. Lives off of making kids nervous.

“Speak like you mean it, or sit down.”

Coaches you like a soldier: brutal honesty, high expectations, but genuine pride when you succeed.

Has you running mental laps just as much as physical ones.

Won’t admit she cares about her students, but she shows up to every event and stays late to help you prep. First to get to the field and last to leave, always making sure it’s in tip-top shape.

✦ . ben drowned ➝ mr. b

Computer Science / Game Design

Coding, Game Development, Hacking 101.

Hoodie pulled up, Monster can in hand, sits on top of the desk like a menace.

“Anyone touches my gaming rig and dies. Let’s boot Unity.”

Encourages cheating “if you’re smart enough to not get caught.”

Replaces your cursor with a meme. Has every shortcut known to man memorized. Practically speaks in HTML code.

Once programmed a jumpscare into the school website for fun.

✦ . clockwork ➝ dr. ouellette

Psychology

Intro to Psych, Criminal Behavior, Criminal Justice.

Cool older sister energy. Heels, eyeliner, slightly intimidating but smells amazing. Dresses like a lawyer.

“Let’s talk about what trauma does to the brain. Yes, again.”

Talks casually about serial killers and makes it sound like reading a cookbook. Always starts class by pulling up the town’s news articles to see if there’s been any murders.

Students either have a crush on her or fear her (usually both).

Never lets you slack off. Encourages you to journal and process your emotions even though she never does. Snatches phones like it’s a hobby.

✦ . laughing jack ➝ mr. lj

Theater / Creative Writing

Theater & Creative Lit. He likes to multitask his teaching.

Always wearing eccentric scarves, multicolored pants, and glitter eyeshadow. Calls everyone “darling.”

“Today we’re expressing grief through mime. Yes, you have to participate. No, it doesn’t have to be good.”

Encourages absurd ideas with wild enthusiasm. Will show up with sock puppets and expect you to act out King Lear. Art is whatever you can get away with in his class.

Gives strange but insightful writing prompts like “Describe your first heartbreak in the style of a horror movie.”

Students adore him. Admin tries to fire him every year. They can’t catch him. He once got a hateful letter from a parent and acted it out in front of the class with props.

✦ . nina the killer + jane everlasting ➝ mrs. hopkins + ms. richardson

Cosmetology + Home Ec

Duo teachers who co-teach Home economics and Cosmetology / Personal Care.

One side is sleek, black, hyper-organized. The other is hot pink chaos with glitter stickers on everything. The energy is immaculate. Their outfits reflect that.

Nina is your cool chaotic older sister who shows up with a matcha and false lashes at 8 a.m. and somehow makes it work. Nail art, extreme glam, wigs, special FX gore makeup (where she thrives—suspiciously too good with blood effects).

“Blend like your ex just saw you at Target, babes.”

Jane is strong, composed, elegant—but always one thread away from snapping. Always in black. The only one in the building who can get the lunchroom to shut up just by walking in. Knife skills, holistic skincare, sewing/repair, and self-defense baked into everything.

“No, you may not use glitter glue in your soufflé.”

Enemies to reluctant co-workers who constantly roast each other but would absolutely murder anyone else who tried to do the same. Nina walks in late with Starbucks and Jane says “You’re late.” Nina replies, “Your mascara’s uneven.”

The class becomes the spot for gossip, life lessons, and oddly effective therapy. Students worship them both. Their arguments are like watching two queens from rival kingdoms argue over who gets the last bit of land.

✦ . slenderman ➝ principal s

Principal / Philosophy

Technically the principal, but hosts one elite seminar class on ethics and metaphysics that only the honors students are allowed to attend.

Wears suits so sharp they could cut time. You can hear his presence before you see him. Definitely has a lanyard with keys you can hear from two hallways away.

“You are not here to learn. You are here to remember.”

Speaks in riddles, never uses a whiteboard, and grades on an unknowable system. Heaven help if you’re called into his office for disciple, you won’t come out the same.

Everyone is scared of him. Everyone respects him. Rumor is he doesn’t walk—he glides. He buys the faculty’s lunch every Friday, but that doesn’t make them any less nervous around him.

You leave his class every time feeling like your brain got wrung out and kissed on the forehead.

꩜ .ᐟ

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yushi-ni · 3 days ago

Note

LOVEE ur dating oh sion post!! make one about riku/yushi pleasee or any of nct wish members🤍🤍

𝖽𝖺𝗍𝗂𝗇𝗀 ෆ NCT RIKU ෆ

꒰ᐢ. .ᐢ꒱ masterlist

dating riku ღ established relationship, fluff & more mature content. mentions of pda - kisses - 18+ card games - food. this is for fun and entertainment purposes only, don’t take it too seriously!!!!

hiis loves, this one got requested so many times so i hope y’all like it!!! please let me know what you think hihihi big hugs 🤍🤍🤍

──୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ──

⟡ dating riku is honestly the closest thing one can get to a fairytale kind of romance. (without the pretty dresses - castles and horses) every little girl has dreamed of their own knight in shining armour and you might actually have full filled that childhood dream. riku is what many would consider; too good to be true. but his love and adoration for you is just pure and true. he has flaws, ofc, every person has flaws but out of all the people you have ever encountered; riku is one of a kind.

⟡ riku is brought up in a loving and warm home. he’s super close with his mom and sister, his whole life he’s been surrounded by womanly love and affection. even though he’s a guy, he has lots of understanding for and about the opposite gender. his mother’s kindness has definitely spread over to him. he listens - communicates - speaks words followed by actions and most of all he loves and cares deeply.

⟡ we all know riku is very affectionate, not just through physical touch but also through acts of service and words of affirmation. he’s definitely not one to step down from a little pda. he’s not ashamed nor does he feel like he needs to hide his affection for you when you’re out. yes he’ll be considerate of your surroundings and won’t push himself onto you when the time and place is just not there but in a comfortable setting he will definitely always make himself present. will somehow always have his arm around you, doesn’t even always realise it himself when his arm is lazily wrapped around your middle or neck. his hands have their fixed spot on your thigh and let’s not forget about the classic back hugs here and there

⟡ he’s obsessed with your lips. his own are puckered at all times whenever he gets the chance. will sneak many kisses, small or big, since he claims he needs it to get himself going. very big on ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’ kisses. doesn’t really matter if he’s just running out to quickly get something at the corner store or if he is leaving for work; he always makes sure to kiss you goodbye before he leaves. same with ‘hello’ kisses, doesn’t matter if he’s walking into a room with other people around, he will always make way towards you first, leaning down to peck your lips with a small “hi baby” before he greets everyone around him as well.

⟡ speaking of pda & kisses; make outs happen quite often actually.. not when your whole friend group is around but if it’s ‘just’ sion or one of your besties, he’s not social distancing his lips from yours. he’s not scared to lock lips with you when his hyung is around. he couldn’t care less. ok he won’t push his tongue down your throat, but a little kiss never hurt nobody hehe

⟡ riku is the type of bf to put lots of thought into your dates. yes he enjoys a spontaneous ice cream run or a cafe date but he lives for the actual ‘real’ dates. the one where you take your time to dress up and get ready, looking your absolute prettiest ever (he thinks you’re breath taking at all times tho) completely with a new dress and all - matching your outfits etc etc. taking you to a new restaurant, a cozy wine bar or a rooftop (private) lounge. he believes these kind of dates are necessary for a relationship to be successful. the feeling of a very thoughtful - planned moment together and the excitement that comes with it. you’ll take turns picking out places, making reservations and setting up a dress code. keeping it a surprise for the other up until arrival!!! it’s honestly some of your fav things you do together

⟡ lowkey a very ‘traditional’ relationship type of guy. he will insist on paying the bill, every single time. it doesn’t matter how big or small, he wants to pay. will not even give you the time to take out your card. he thinks it’s his ‘duty’ to take care of you (in a loving way, not in a ‘ur my possession’ way) sometimes, really really sometimes, he’ll let you pay. but only because he wants you to stop nagging him about it. he doesn’t care, even if he had $3 left to his name; it would be spent on you. it’s just something he wants to do for you.

⟡ couple rings - couple bracelets - matching shoes - phone cases - keychains - socks ???? whatever it is, he loves it. just lowkey, he’s not wearing everything at once because that kinda ruins the whole idea of it. but he’ll always make sure to wear his ring, it was his gift to you for your 100 days anniversary (a big thing in korea) so it’s special to him. and it always goes with every outfit he wears. a win is a win!!!

⟡ he has lots of nicknames for you. some very interesting ones.. that make you question the creative capacity of his brain. but his favs and most stable ones are definitely; my love and princess. at first you had to get used to him calling you princess on random occasions.. a little new to the name (valid) but it came so naturally. you are a princess in his eyes and the most fun part is that over time the nickname became a very normalised name for you. he used to call you princess not just to your face but also when he was talking about you to his friends so almost naturally they picked up on it and it wasn’t; “when is yn coming?” but- “when’s your princess coming?” (ps. an; not in a weird way pls take it lightly!!!! people who have watched the100 get the vibe hehe) when it’s the bunch of you hanging out together and you’re in the kitchen getting some last snacks while the movie starts playing, you’ll hear the boys all unitedly calling for you from the couch. “princess!!!!!!! it’s starting”

⟡ riku will always be in touch with you, one way or the other. if it’s not actual texts, it will be memes in your ig dms - tiktoks - even random snapchat videos throughout the day with ‘vlog’ updates on what he’s doing. there won’t ever be a day that he’s not in your notifications. (bare minimum if you ask him) he doesn’t feel the need to text you 24/7 but he does let you know that you’re on his mind even when he’s just scrolling through tiktoks. will send you vids of 2 capybara’s playing with a; “it’s us”. he also likes phone calls but he won’t dramatically fall to the floor if you can’t talk over the phone for one night because you’re busy or just too tired to talk

⟡ he will make playlists for you every now and then with different songs for different reasons. one would be full of songs that he simply likes, just casual music, good vibes etc etc. some songs might have a specific kind of genre that he’s really into and just wants to share with you!!! but there’s also the special playlists; the songs that remind him of you. songs with lyrics that speak the words he wish he could sing to you at any time of the day. songs that remind him of you and him together or maybe future dreams etc etc. it will be a random sunday afternoon, riku is at work and you’re just chilling at home, enjoying your own company, when his name pops up with a newly shared playlist

⟡ he’s not necessarily the type to get jealous easily. at least, he doesn’t show it. there’s definitely moments he wished he could just snatch you away from others but he’ll never really show his jealous feelings unless you pull it out of him. he just gaslights himself that it’s ok (fake it till you make it!!!) but he can get a little sulky when it’s just the two of you again. won’t speak the truth out loud but you know your bf and this switch in his behaviour. sometimes you just talk to him (more force him to talk to you) about the matter but other days you feel a little more .. playful. teasing him about it because you both know you’re happy and good together, there’s no need to worry or doubt each other’s love. so you try to keep these kind of things light and a little teasing never hurt nobody hehe. and tbh.. why won’t you pull his strings a little bit. who knows what fun that might bring (wink)

⟡ shares his food with you. doesn’t matter what it is, his spoon automatically goes to your mouth. awaiting your reaction when you take a bite and happily continue eating when you nod and hum in satisfaction!!! sometimes when you go out for food he’ll purposely pick flavors and things he knows you like so he can share his own with you. he likes sweet drinks and is still getting used to the bitter taste of coffee (he just drinks it for the caffeine) and your sweet tooth might not be as big as his but you’ll always gladly take a bite, the sweet gesture always makes your heart so happy. and obviously you share yours with him as well!!! even if it’s that same damn coffee you always order; he’ll take that sip as if he has never tasted anything like it before!

⟡ ok hear me out. i don’t think he’s a horny dog that needs to be taken care of everyday, twice a day, 10 days a week but i definitely think he likes bedroom time with you. not even just the sexual stuff. he loves waking up next to you whenever he has a day off and you’re sleeping over at his dorm. there’s nothing better.. welllll not a lot of things at least because he definitely considers himself lucky that the two maknaes are living in the other dorm. he has a green card from yushi whenever you sleep over. and he sure as hell makes use of it. morning gymnastics??? yes ma’am sign him up. it’s actually almost like drugs to him. he absolutely loves it, there’s no better way to start his day. (and you can’t disagree ofc)

⟡ riku orders food and coffee to your house whenever he’s at work. if he has to leave early in the morning while you’re still asleep, he’ll get coffee delivered to your home as soon as you wake up. or if he has to work late and you’re already off work or whatever, he will order food for you to make sure you’re eating well even though he’s not there with you.

⟡ he gets you flowers on the most random days. in his opinion there’s no need to have a reason or occasion to give someone flowers. love and affection is enough to get a special person a pretty bouquet of flowers. he knows your favs and has the lady at the shop create something new with it every single time. there has never been a bouquet you didn’t like!!! every single one is a piece of art and you’re always lowkey sad when they’re slowly dying. he also loves that you take out one flower before you throw them out. so you can keep it in your little journal collection. you did it the very first time he got you flowers and it just stuck with you ever since. this way the memories never die!!!

⟡ he’s very serious about his life with you. you can tell by the way he talks about his future and goals. he’s very vocal about his dreams for when he gets older. the kind of house he would like to buy, a home for you and him. the kind of lifestyle he would like to have so he can live happily and without any regrets. you’re his muse and motivation. you’re genuinely the one that can make his hardest days more enjoyable just with your presence and good energy. he knows that both life and a relationship come with ups and downs but he’s ready to fight for you when it’s needed. you’re his person and there’s genuinely nothing that can make him feel more happy and loved like you. he knows what he wants and it’s you and him forever till the end of time.

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layla4567 · 21 hours ago

Text

A pleasent mistake

Bob!reynolds x fem!reader

Summary: A mission goes terribly wrong, after accidentally inhaling a strange substance you and Bob will look at each other differently.

Warnings: smut/filthy, sex pollen, aphrodisiac, p in v, porn with (barely?) plot, Jack off, Y/n use, curse words, possible grammatical mistakes, fingering, slightly mention of drugs/past adiction, making out, praising (M and F recieving), hair pulling (M recieving)

Word count: 5k

You shouldn't have suggested that, if you hadn't opened your mouth none of this would have happened.

That afternoon when you and the group were preparing for a mission, you hesitantly and timidly suggested that Bob accompany you.

Bob. The man who couldn't fight or defend himself unless he was in his Sentry form. Bob, the one who apologized for hitting someone, even if they were an enemy. Yes, that Bob.

When those words came out of your mouth everyone froze in place and turned to look at you slowly as if you had said something stupid, even the one mentioned.

"I hope you're joking," John said sarcastically.

You were about to open your mouth when Ava's voice interrupted you.

"Come on Y/n, we don't have time for this..."

Not believing your words, the group headed for the elevator while you stood there, not knowing whether to explain yourself or not. Bob, who was sitting in an armchair reading, got up to go to your side to help you.

"Uh guys, Y/n didn't finish talking..."

You looked at him gratefully as the team turned to look at you impatiently. You gulped nervously.

"I... meant it. I think Bob can be useful to us on this mission"

"How?" Walker asked incredulously.

You pressed your lips together to avoid answering with some gag irony, "I don't know yet, but he'll be with me all the time, I'll keep an eye on him."

Then you quickly turned to see Bob and took his hand. He looked at it shyly, then fixed his eyes on you, expectant. "But what do you think? The decision is yours. I just thought it would be good for you to get out of the tower for a bit. I know how much you love helping others."

Bob could see the slightly disapproving and suspicious glances from behind your shoulder. He looked down at his feet, thoughtful. He wanted so badly to go with you and help, but he was afraid of messing things up. How could he be useful? He didn't know how to fight, much less defend someone just being Bob. But your small handshake gave him the courage he needed.

"Uhm I think.. I can go with you guys, I mean, I would like to.."

Bob gave you a small smile, and you returned it while the others pouted in disagreement. The only one who accepted this suggestion was Yelena, who raised her hands in the air to get everyone's attention. "Fine, but you must swear that you will stay by Y/n's side and follow her orders at all times, okay?"

Bob nodded several times "Got it"

And honestly? He had no problem following that advice because he loved being stick to you.

And there they were now, gathered in a building, under a ventilation duct. Ava had already taken care of disabling all the alarms and security cameras. You looked up at the duct, thinking of a plan.

"John help me up, Bob you will come behind me"

Walker reluctantly complied, clasping his hands together for your footing. As he did, John gave you a shove upward, and at just the right moment, you grabbed the edge of the duct and began to climb. The same thing happened with Bob.

"Okay guys, we'll wait for you near the lab and tell you what to do" Yelena said through the earpiece.

Once inside the narrow tube, the two of you had to twist and turn to fit through, You were leading the way, and Bob followed closely behind, giving him a nice view of your rear end. Of course, he was trying to concentrate and look at the floor, not your asset. It wasn't as much of a problem for you; you were used to it, but Bob, who had never been on a mission with you before, had a hard time. His massive muscles barely fit inside the tube, and he was constantly straining to avoid hitting the walls. But he kept complaining.

"Ow!"

Without stopping or looking back, you scolded him, "Bob! Don't make so much noise or we'll get discovered- Ah!"

A slap on your butt made you gasp, Bob had accidentally bumped his head into it from looking down.

"Shit! I'm so sorry!!"

Blushing and a little nervous you replied "No worries, but be more careful next time"

"Y-yeah, yeah!"

Finally, to the relief of both of them, after that awkward moment, they reached the end of the duct. But little did they both know that this wouldn't be the only awkward moment. A trapdoor in the floor indicated where they should go down. With a screwdriver you took from your pocket, you began carefully removing the cover. Without any problems, you descended into a Black Widow pose, precise and silent as a feather. Suddenly, you heard a woman's voice in your earpiece.

"Such a poser..."

"How do you know I posed on the way down?"

"It's so obvious of you..."

You smiled, rolling your eyes, and waited for Bob to come down. Unfortunately, he wasn't as flexible as you, and when he tried to descend the duct, his leg got caught and he fell on his face, almost tripping over you.

"Bob!" you whispered in a not so low voice, alarmed

He stood up awkwardly, grabbing your arms for balance. You asked him if he was okay, and he, a bit uncertain, said yes.

"What the hell is that noise?" Yelena asked in your ear.

"It was nothing, a small stumble. Where to now, Yelena?"

The blonde was constantly talking to both of you through the earpiece to guide them through the exact right corridors to the lab. The hallways weren't completely dark; a small, dimly lit bulb hung from their heads, but it wasn't enough to see clearly. When they reached the right door, they saw a coded pattern on the frame. Luckily, the Russian knew the password, and after entering the correct numbers, the door opened with a chilling creak.

If you complained about the dark room, it was worse. There wasn't a single light on. In the pitch darkness, the only thing that provided a glimmer of light were the city lights visible through a large window in the pitch black. You took a flashlight out of your fanny pack and started exploring the place, Bob always clinging to your side like a lost puppy.

"So, what exactly should we look for, again?"

Yelena's metallic voice answered you immediately: "DNA samples, more precisely a vial with a green liquid inside."

Her words weren't very helpful. "Well, that's a bit of a vague answer, don't you think? How big is the vial?"

You could hear her grumbling through the earpiece and you suppressed a chuckle. "Thin, tall, and with a tag that says fragile. Are you happy now?"

"Very much, thank you" you said in a honeyed voice, teasing her

Having understood your mission, the two of you searched all the tables filled with strange vials and syringes containing samples. Bob, who hadn't brought a flashlight, tried not to trip while clumsily groping in the air with his hands like a blind man. Several times he bumped his knee on a table or chair, apologizing every so often. You, for your part, were searching a nearby table, closely looking for that blessed vial. With a triumphant smile, you grabbed the one Yelena had told you about.

"Hey Bob I-!"

Suddenly, a sound of breaking glass startled you. Bob had once again crashed into the table with such force that he had moved it, knocking over several bottles of strange liquids. He was mortally embarrassed and apologized as many times as he could. Sighing in annoyance, you trotted to his side, seeing the mess on the floor.

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry!" he said distressedly

Even in the darkness, you could see his face contorted in a sad, worried expression that broke your heart. You placed both of your hands on his biceps in a motherly manner. "Hey, calm down. It's not your fault. You did really well for your first time." You smiled at him, even though you weren't sure if he could see you.

You didn't want him to feel bad or useless, because it was important to him to help and feel valuable. He seemed to be calmed by the way his body relaxed in your hands.

"Come on, I already found what we were looking for, let's go"

But before the two of you could take a step, a strong smell enveloped you, making you wrinkle your noses. It wasn't an unpleasant smell, but it was very strong and had a slight hint of sulfur. You both looked in surprise at where the jars had broken and noticed the expanding orange puddle. You bent down, and being careful not to cut yourself on the glass, you dipped a finger in the liquid and brought it to your nose. Aside from the sulfur smell, there was a sweetish smell in the background, but you couldn't tell what it was.

"What the fuck is this?" You whispered

"Is it poisonous?" Bob asked worriedly.

"Mmh I don't think so, But I don't like the idea of having inhaled this strange substance either"

You brought your hand to the earpiece and asked "Lena?"

"Yeah? Do you already have the vial?"

"Yes but... Do you have any idea what is manufactured in this laboratory? Or what things they experiment with?"

"I'm not sure, I think with exotic plants or something, but what does it matter, Why?"

"Nevermind, we're coming with you."

You grabbed Bob's hand to walk back the way you had come when you noticed he was suspiciously still, and not only that, his hand was sweating profusely. You wiped your hand, startled, and walked over to him, pointing the flashlight at him.

"Bob what the hel-?!"

In the flashlight, his pale face was slightly pink and sweaty, as if the heater had been turned on. His mouth was half-open, breathing shallowly, and his dilated pupils looked like a black hole. Bob couldn't keep his gaze still, moving from your eye to the other, looking at you as if he were seeing you for the first time. He looked disoriented.

"Oh my God, are you okay?"

You placed a hand on his cheek to check if he had a fever, but when he felt your touch, he flinched with a low moan and quickly pulled away like a frightened animal. You had already noticed that his face was hot anyway. Bob noticed his gesture and said embarrassedly

"Sorry! I- I don't know what's wrong with me, I-I suddenly feel very hot"

How strange, the place seemed quite cool, which contrasted greatly with Bob's skin. You turned around with your hands on your hips, scanning the lab for a thermostat. Your eyes, and his, had already adjusted to the darkness. What you didn't know was that Bob was feeling hot in another sense of the word, and it was evident by the way his eyes blatantly rested on your butt, dressed in that tight suit you decided to wear that day. He knew it was wrong to be nosy, but for some reason, he couldn't tear his gaze away as he nervously played with his fingers and the sleeve of his jacket.

You turned around and he quickly fixed his gaze on your face, you didn't seem to notice anything "Well, it seems there's no thermostat around here, let's go back to the team, they'll know what to do..."

Bob was suspiciously following you, and when the two of you were about to walk out the door, you suddenly stopped dead in your tracks. Your clothes now felt strangely tight and suffocating. You leaned a hand on the wall to steady yourself while you moved your collar aside with a finger. Bob, at your side, asked you what was wrong, and you told him that you were starting to feel hot too. But it wasn't just that suffocating sensation; your mouth also felt a little dry, and the presence of the brown-haired man at your side made your breathing agitated.

"This room has something..." you said breathlessly

You took off your suit jacket to cool off in the heat, leaving on a sleeveless T-shirt while Bob watched you, lightly biting his lip and breathing with his mouth open. You could see it now, in the way he looked at you, with those big, dilated eyes, wanting something from you. You touched your forehead and noticed that it was not only hot but you were also sweating like a pig.

Bob, for his part, imitated you and opened his jacket, though without taking it off yet. He sat on the floor with his back against a closet. You couldn't help but stare at his expression: his face drenched in sweat, his eyes closed, his brow barely raised in a sad expression, and his lips parted as he breathed through his mouth. You looked down at his chest; although he was wearing clothes, his muscles were visible through the fabric, and his chest was rising and falling rhythmically in a slightly accelerated rhythm.

You didn't know why, but seeing him in that state made you salivate slightly, and you began to feel a throbbing in your core. Frightened by the sensation, you squeezed your legs together, your mouth half open. You brought your hand to the receiver just as Yelena was speaking to you.

"Y/n? Y/n! Can you hear me? Where are you?"

You gulped as you turned your gaze to Bob, who was already looking at you, his chin slightly raised and his eyes slightly narrowed. Again, you felt that tingling in your core that made you curl your legs as you brought a hand to your lower abdomen. Why did you suddenly feel so horny? You looked away and tried to maintain your calm breathing.

"Uhh We're still here in the l-lab, something happened... it's hard to explain. I'll c-call you later"

"No wait! what hap-!?"

You hung up before she could finish her sentence, turned off the receiver, threw it away, and gestured for Bob to do the same. He obeyed without question. With great effort, you made your way over to him and sat down next to him, also leaning against the closet. You noticed his breathing become labored as you stood close to him.

"Y/n... what's happening to us?" he said in a whisper

Your name coming from his lips gave you a shiver down your spine, you looked at him out of the corner of your eye, he was watching you.

"I don't know... but this is not a simple fever..."

Your voice sounded broken and desperate. Without realizing it, the hand on your abdomen moved down to your mons pubis, cupping and rubbing the clothed area. You squeezed your eyes shut and frowned. Your fingers wanted to pierce your pants somehow, but they couldn't. Even with your eyes closed, you could feel Bob's penetrating gaze, and you felt self-conscious.

"I'm sorry shit, I don't know what's wrong with me" you said opening your eyes

He swallowed hard. "Don't apologize. I don't feel better either."

He also didn't want to admit that he had an uncontrollable urge to touch himself, especially with you by his side. You looked around, trying to reason with a cool head, but all your mind could think about was cumming right there... or being made to cum. Suddenly, your eyes returned to the rotating bottle of orange liquid. Yelena's words came back to you when you had asked her what they were experimenting with in that lab "exotic plants or something". You realized these annoying symptoms started after inhaling that stupid liquid. And then you understood. You closed your eyes and swore under your breath. You two were fucked up, literally, I mean in the best sense of the word. Everything matched: the fever, dilated pupils, sexual urges. That bottle contained an aphrodisiac.

You pressed your lips together so tightly they formed a thin horizontal line as you glanced at Bob out of the corner of your eye. You didn't know how he would take this new information.

"Uh.. I think I know what's happening to us..." you said in a whisper.

He looked at you impatiently with a hint of hope in his eyes.

"But you're not going to like the answer" you said with a grimace of pain.

"Just say it" His tone of voice was pleading, he seemed like he was going to cry

you gulped "That liquid you dropped...it's an aphrodisiac... you know, a substance that increases.. sexual desire"

The air caught in his throat as he stared at you, mouth agape, in disbelief. You tried not to look at him as you dug your nails into your palm to ward off the urge to touch yourself.

"B-but, wha-what do we do now? How do we cure this?"

"Well we could start by masturbating... that is, ourselves, not each other!"

You felt stupid for clarifying that because you knew your dirty mind had betrayed you. "Relax, I won't look at you. I'll go sit behind that counter."

Before he could say anything, you moved across the floor, crawling like a baby with slow, painful movements. With each movement, you felt your panties stick to your wet, sticky area. Sitting down and hiding behind that table, you wasted no time pulling down the strap of your pants along with your panties. You slid your middle finger down the slit of your wet vagina, biting your lower lip and breathing heavily through your nose. You massaged your clitoris with your finger, applying pressure while moans echoed in your throat, unwilling to let them out. Your middle finger, now curled like a hook, approached your uterus, sinking it in and out slowly. You couldn't help but throw your head back and gasp with your mouth open.

You didn't want to be so loud, but a sound alerted you. Where Bob was, you could hear a kind of sliding against your skin, dirty and desperate. His soft moans accompanied by that pounding were filling you with desire. You thrust another finger inside you more insistently and quickly, rocking your hips in the air. As you lifted your pelvis, you let out pitiful moans that grew in crescendo. You felt your walls throb around your fingers, wrapping them like a blanket. At the same time, you could hear Bob's moans intensifying as his hand moved up and down quickly, and you even thought you heard your name whispered. Your whole body trembled as you felt yourself reaching your climax. You prepared to receive it, your free hand pressed to the floor and your body slightly turned as if you wanted to stand up, your hips wanting to fuck the air with uncontrolled thrusts but keeping pace with your gasps.

You felt a thick, warm liquid on your middle and index fingers, shaking you violently from head to toe. You collapsed on the floor, breathing heavily, letting out moans mixed with groans every now and then. It seemed like Bob came right after you, given the way you heard liquid shooting out like a fountain along with his loud moan. You took a few minutes to catch your breath. The pleasure your orgasm left you with lasted a while, and you seemed a little relieved, but when the sensation disappeared, you realized, horrified, that your skin was heating up again.

"Uhm Bob..? Hey do you feel.. better?"

A few seconds that seemed like hours passed until he answered in a pitiful voice

"Not really, and you?"

"Yeah, me neither"

Panting, you pulled up your underwear and pants and slowly crawled back to his side. Luckily, he had already pulled up his boxers, but you could see his large bulge wanting to come out. Fuck, you wanted to have it in your hands so much. He looked at you desperate and tired; it seemed like that action had drained him dry. The moonlight filtered through the window and bathed the side of his face. He looked so attractive. Had he always seen himself this sexy, or was it the effect of the aphrodisiac? Bob gave you a pleading look, as if only you could save him and give him the relief he needed. You licked your lips before speaking.

"Listen, If we already touched ourselves and it didn't work then there's only one thing left... we have to... well, you know"

You were so embarrassed you couldn't finish your sentence, but you knew he understood from his horrified and worried expression. "Yeah, I know. It's awkward, but what other choice do we have?"

He let out all the air he was holding in his lungs through his mouth, trembling as he did so. He closed his eyes, trying to think, would he have to fuck you? Hell, he hadn't felt this way since his drug days; even that lab reminded him of when he used to sneak in to look for meth. Without thinking, he brought his hand to his crotch and squeezed his erection while gritting his teeth. No, it wasn't appropriate to do so, but was there really no other option?

He turned to look at you "Ugh are there r-really no other options?"

You were breathing with your mouth half open, looking at his bulge with desire, but you tried to concentrate on his face, so you looked up and down. "Bob, really, if you don't fuck me, I feel like I'm going to die..."

Your desperate sincerity left him speechless as he looked at your face wrinkled in a slight grimace of pain. He was just as desperate as you, but he didn't want to ruin this friendship he had with you, although to be fair, it wouldn't be the first time he'd imagined a scene like this. Perhaps this aphrodisiac was just an excuse to finally admit that you drove him crazy. Bob nodded weakly, and you quickly grabbed the elastic of his pants and boxers and yanked them down, drawing a broken moan and gasp from him. You straddled him, pulling down your clothes as well, and aligned yourself perfectly with his member. Bob, feeling your wet entrance squeezing around his erection, dug his nails into your thighs to keep you there.

"Are you ready?"

Bob simply nodded, swallowing loudly, and you lowered yourself onto his cock suddenly, already feeling your walls clench. The sharp pain made you whimper as you squeezed your eyes shut. Shit, you hadn't expected him to be so big and well-endowed.

"Careful, you good?"

You nodded without opening your eyes and gasped, trying to get used to the sensation. When you opened them, you saw Bob looking at you with concern, but behind that, you noticed how his eyes shone with lust. He was simply waiting for your orders or some gesture from you to guide him so he could follow you. You finished removing his open jacket and began desperately kissing his neck. It was more like sucking and nibbling while you moaned and whispered apologies against his skin.

"F-fuck sorry, mmh, I just ah~ couldn't hold on any longer ngh"

Bob said nothing, but he dug his fingers into your hips as he felt your walls throb around his member. Your French kisses ran along the line of his jaw, making him clench it to hold back his moans.

"Gosh, you're divine.."

Your compliments were making him feel like he was on cloud nine, and he dared to massage the flesh of your waist while slightly rolling his eyes. Now your mouth crashed against his lips in a fiery, needy, and open kiss. Your tongue entered his mouth, and he allowed it, feeling the warmth of your saliva. Almost hitting your teeth, you explored every corner of his mouth and lips while he moaned into yours. When you tangled your fingers in his hair and gave it a tug, causing him to throw his head back, Bob moaned your name loudly.

"Shit Bob.. everything is perfect about you" you whispered against his lips between kisses

Bob felt himself melt at your words. One hand was on your lower back, pulling you closer to him, and the other was sliding down to your lower abdomen. With one finger, he probed your bare clit, and you gasped into his mouth. He dared to trace circles, making you stop and press your forehead to his, breathing heavily.

"Omg! F-Don't s-stop!"

His finger played with your button-like slit, ecstatic at how you were coming undone under his touch, lips flushed and parted, eyes half-closed and glassy, you looked perfect. His magical fingers lifted your pelvis, which was already aligned with his erection. The sound that filled the room was so filthy that you were glad the team hadn't come looking for you two yet.

"Damn Y/n, you are so fuck! wet, but I got you"

And he was right, your wetness was so great it acted as a lubricant, and you slid up and down with ease, making a loud chop! chop! Your ass hit his balls with every hard thrust you delivered, causing his face to twitch.

"That's ri-right ah, k-keep going, don't stop!, you.. you're making me feel ngh so good, sweets."

Sweets? Now Bob dared to give you a pet name? There you go. You lost it. You leaned your forehead on his shoulder, sighing between delicious and pleasurable moans. It wasn't just how you were riding him and how he took you so well, as if his member had been made for you, but the fact that he dared to shower you with praise was killing you. Their hot breaths mingled with each other just inches from their faces, sticky sweat clung disgustingly to their hair but all they could focus on was how close they were to reaching another orgasm. Bob was with his hips hitting your G-spot precisely making you scream his name

"Ah! Yes! There!!"

You squeezed your eyes shut as your walls contracted even more, feeling them throb painfully. You were about to come.

"Fuck! You're tight!"

Bob kept talking through his orgasm which turned you on even more.

"Fuckfuckfuck I'm so close! And you feel so fucking g-good. God you're taking me so well mm"

With those last words, you came, followed by him. A sticky, thick, and hot liquid trickled down the inside of your thighs, staining both of your clothes. Bob threw his head back to rest it on the closet door, and you rested your cheek on his shoulder, your head turned toward him. The two of you stayed like that for several long minutes, catching your breath. You no longer felt that intense fever, nor did your skin feel so sensitive to the senses. It seemed that the narcotic effect had finally worn off. You smiled, relieved, closing your eyes. Bob hugged your back with both arms, holding you like a small child about to fall asleep.

"Well... I think the aphrodisiac is already out of our systems."

He sighed tiredly "Yes, I think so too"

You noticed a note of joy in his voice, and you didn't know if he was glad he was no longer under the influence of that substance or because you had just made him cum. Either way, and although you wanted to stay in his arms for a longer time, you decided you should separate because if the team arrived and saw you like this, they would be traumatized for life. You pulled away from his chest, and he kept his eyes on you the whole time, making sure you didn't hurt yourself. When you stood up, you forgot you could still feel your sensitive area, and with a slight shudder, you moaned, startled.

"Slowly, let me help you"

He chivalrously helped you up and even pulled up your clothes before straightening his own pants. They stared at each other for a moment; they were a mess. Their clothes were stained and damp, and their hair was tangled and sticking to their faces from sweat. They smiled, embarrassed and uncomfortable. "We won't tell anyone about this, okay? And then, well, I don't know... maybe someday we can talk about this..." you told him, determined because you had realized your feelings for him. You were surprised when you noticed that he nodded confidently; perhaps the feeling was mutual after all.

You headed for the door, walking uncomfortably because of your soaked underwear, which already felt cold. As you were about to open it, a restless group of people entered through the entrance, accidentally pushing you and causing you to stumble. You would have fallen if Bob hadn't caught you from behind and under your arms before you fell backward to the ground.

"WHAT HAPPENED ARE YOU OK?!" Yelena yelled half worried an half angry

You half-reassured her by telling her that they were both fine now, without explaining what had happened, of course. You gave her the vial they needed, and she seemed satisfied. The others walked around the place inspecting it

"Why the hell did you turn off your earpieces? It took us two hours to find you in this building that looks like a fucking maze" Yelena scolded them.

"sorry about that, it's just that..-"

You were about to make up any excuse when, out of the corner of your eye, you saw Bucky bending down to smell the aphrodisiac orange liquid. Alarmed, you and Bob stopped him by shouting. The man with the metal arm stood up, startled and confused.

"DON'T TOUCH THAT!" you two exclaimed in unison

"Why?! What's wrong with it??"

"Yeah, What do you two know that we don't?" Walker asked

You and Bob cleared your throats and coughed nervously, babbling incoherently, which was impossible to understand because you were talking at the same time. Suddenly, you abruptly fell silent and looked at the team, which didn't understand anything.

"Forget it! We already have what we were looking for, let's go!" You quickly said nervously

You dragged Bob by the hand, wanting to get out of there as quickly as possible, while Yelena shrugged, looking at the others to follow you. Everyone did the same, except for John, who stared at the table for a few seconds, wanting to find out why you were acting suspicious. In his search, he found a folder that read:

The concubus is a plant that grows in clusters of three with pointed leaves. Its orange nectar is a strong aphrodisiac that can be obtained by grinding its leaves. The ancients used it as a natural Viagra.

Then John looked down at the floor where the broken jar lay and smiled, understanding everything.

"damn horny dogs..."

And with a broad smile he left the laboratory following the others. He would have enough to bribe those two when they bothered him.

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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 1 day ago

Text

Locked Out of Heaven 11

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, age gap, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Your father invites a work friend to the neighbourhood barbecue.

Characters: Nick Fowler (Dad’s friend trope)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

You cling onto the strap of your bag, wringing it as your nerves build with each step. You're really doing this. You're going out with a boy. No, a man.

You stop short, a few feet from Nick's car. You gulp. What would your dad say? What would he do if he found out? How much would he really care? He only cares about your grades.

You stare as you weigh the decision. He's not going to find out. Austin won't even know you're gone. So why are you suddenly so afraid?

Nick's headlights flash and he rolls toward you. You turn to face him as he pulls up. You smile to hide the tremor in your chest.

"Hi," you squeak as he lowers his window.

"Hey, princess? You forget something? What's the matter?" He asks.

"Oh, uh, I don't know," you look back at the house. "I... no. I..."

"Get in, baby." He reaches over to pat the passenger's seat. "Boat's waiting."

You stutter step then stagger around the car. You fumble with the handle and swing the door out. You fall in, ready to dissolve into mist, and shut the door with a jarring snap.

You're so anxious, you could explode. Before you can even reach for the seat belt, Nick's on you. He cradles your cheek and slips his hand down to your chin. He holds you firmly and leans in, brushing his nose against yours.

You shiver at his closeness. His warmth swathes around you and his scent stains your breath.

"You miss me?" He purrs. "I missed you, princess. All I've been thinking about is you. About us."

"Um, yes," you babble and nod into his hand.

His lips curve and he presses them to yours. You brace his forearm in surprise, his veins bulging against your palm. His tongue dips into your mouth and he growls. He leans further over the space between the seats, smothering you.

When he parts, you're dizzy, lips puffy, and cheeks burning. You stare at him dopily. You push your thighs together and tilt your pelvis. That tingly coil winds through you.

He wears short-sleeve white button up with a blue line at the edge of the collar. And pale blue shorts that cut off high up his thighs. He wears those loafer-type shoes with the little nautical knot. Boat shoes? His gold chain sparkles above his chest and his pinkie ring encircles his finger.

"I got everything you need, baby. Don't worry. It's all on the boat," he pets your cheek with his knuckles. "You're just going to sit back and relax. Let me take care of you."

"Al... alright," you wisp.

It's going to happen. You felt it. In his urgency. You know what he wants. He hasn't been subtle. You think you want it too. That must be what makes you so squirmy.

"It's gonna be a great day. Just us. At last." He looks over the steering wheel and buckles his seat belt. You do the same. "Sun, drink, each other..."

He grips the wheel with one hand and slaps his other onto your thigh.

"We got all day and I'm going to take my time, baby. I'm gonna make you feel like the princess you are." He slowly pushes down on the gas. "You don't gotta worry about nothing."

💜

The water gently stirs as you walk down the dock. Nick has your hand in his as he guides you along the shore side. There are other boats tied off there. Luxurious boats with upholstered seats and cabins, large steering wheels and monikers written across the sides.

Austin has pictures of a boat like this on his socials. He went off with his friends last summer and came back hungover for a week. Your dad let him sleep it off while you did his dingy laundry.

A ripple flows through you. Something like anger. Irritation. Your brother gets to go off and have fun without question. Even your dad goes out for drinks or goes golfing or whatever else he likes. Why is it so bad that you do anything at all? If your dad even knew about the trip to the gelato shop, he’d be barking at you for wasting time.

You sigh. Nick squeezes your hand as something jingles in his other. He tugs you back before you walk off the side of the dock.

“Woah, baby,” he draws you to face him. “Don’t want you falling in.” He kisses your forehead and the heat of his lips pulls you back to the present. “Whatcha sighing for?”

“N-nothing. I...” you look around, searching for anything to say. “I’ve never been on a boat.”

“Gonna be a lot of firsts today,” he winks and brings your hand up to kiss your knuckles. “You stay here. Keep clear of the edge for me, princess.”

He lets you go and shakes the keys in his other hand. You fold twine your fingers together and press your palms to your stomach. You turn to watch him as he nears the edge of the wooden planks. He hops across onto the open rear of the boat, easily launching himself over the gap.

He steadies himself and ducks under the roof. You listen to his steps as the boat shifts subtly. You rock anxiously as a cool breeze brushes across you.

He appears again and bends to slide out a board hidden beneath the floor. He extends it over the space between the dock and the boat. He straightens up and reaches to you, one foot on the ramp.

You untangle your fingers and take his hand. He guides you firmly across onto the polished flooring. You glance around at the open space at the back of the boat, just behind the cover sitting area of the cabin. White leather and azure cushions. A table mounted between the benches, a narrow doorway to the front of the boat with the driver’s seat.

“Wow, this is yours?”

“Sure is,” he drags his hand up your arm slowly. “Ours.”

You look at him, your heart pumping. You smile. You peer back at the dock.

“Oh... I...” You watch a woman on another boat, in a sarong and sun hat.

“I told you. I got everything figured out,” he rubs your shoulder. “Just a minute.”

He turns and goes to slide the board back under the floor. Then he stands and unmoors from the post. The boat rocks with his steps.

He strides back to you and points to the bench. “That’s yours there.”

There’s a white and blue beach bag on the seat. You hadn’t paid it much attention at first glance. You tilt your head curiously.

“You get into your bathing suit and I’ll get us asea,” he coaxes.

“Oh, uh, okay?”

“One thing at a time, right?” He purrs and leans in to kiss you. You close your eyes as a thrill rolls over you. Too far. No going back.

“Yes, Nick.” You murmur as he parts, cradling your face as he brushes his nose up yours and once more presses his lips to your forehead. He hums.

“Good girl.”

His reluctance has his hand lingering on your neck before he pulls back. He turns and struts through the cabin to the front of the boat. He drops into the driver’s chair and you watch him swipe up the keys from the little tray beside the wheel. He turns the engine and the rumble startles you.

You approach the beach bag. You peek inside as you touch the side. You reach in to pull out the bikini top. Oh. You only ever wore a one-piece with shorts. Your dad made you keep a tee shirt on even. This is less than you could even imagine.

You run your finger over the patterning on the triangle of fabric. White with lilac vines printed onto it. It’s pretty and the straps are like thick ribbons.

You glance at Nick and the boat lurches. You land on the seat with a gasp. He looks back.

“You okay? Sorry ‘bout that.”

“I’m good,” you sit and dip your chin, examining the top. Your hands tremble. You peek at him again. He’s focus on steering.

You nod, goading yourself into it. You unhook your purse from across you and put your phone inside. You push it against the back of the sofa bench and drop your shoulders. This is what you want. It has to be.

You peel off your shirt and look down at your bra. Plain, white, boring. You reach back to unhook it, another wary look at the driver. He’s unconcerned as the boat bobs over the waves.

You take off the bra, your nipples hard from the air breezing through, or maybe the anticipation. You tie on the bikini top and it does little to hide them. Your chest feels like it will spill out at any moment.

You stand and search for the bottoms. Not much more than the top. You quickly change into them. You try to stretch the fabric across your bum but it only covers half your cheeks. You chew your lip.

You take the flip flops sticking out of the bag and put them on. You fish around again and pull out a sheer purple cover up. It opens in the front and has little tassels dangling from the short sleeves.

“Alright,” Nick proclaims and makes you flinch.

You bend to gather up your clothes and stuff them away in the bag. He stands and turns, ducking into the cabin then stands straight. He looks you up and down as you cross your arms.

“Princess,” he breaths as he grabs your wrist. “Let me see.”

He takes both your arms and pulls them apart. His eyes rove up and down your body. You shiver as the cover up falls open.

“Oh...” he utters.

You stare at his shirt collar, face ablaze. Is he disappointed. You brace yourself for it.

“Wow,” he slips his hands from your arms and frames your hips. “Baby, you look amazing.”

“Um, really?” You jitter in disbelief. “Er, thanks.”

“Baby, baby, baby,” his thumbs dig into your soft flesh. “We got all day... so you gotta make me go slow.”

“Oh,” you gulp.

“I could...” he begins and chuckles. He shakes his head and pokes his tongue into cheek. “Come on, let’s get settled.”

He lets you go and pops open the top button of his shirt. He goes down the row and pulls apart the fabric, revealing his muscled torso. He strips away the linen shirt and tosses it carelessly onto the bench. You gape at his chest.

“Like what you see?” He taunts and you look him in the face, shrinking in embarrassment.

“I--I--”

He snickers. “It’s all yours, princess. You don’t gotta be shy.”

“I... okay. I'll try.”

“Baby, I got you, alright?” He drawls. “Come on.”

He takes your hand and guides you onto the back of the boat. As it rocks with the water, you’re put even more off-kilter. He squeezes before he releases you again.

He peers around and grabs a striped fabric chest. He flips the top and pulls out a large beach blanket. He spreads it over the flooring. He goes back to the cabin and grabs some cushions and tosses them down too. He plunks the chest at the edge of the blanket.

“Got drinks, got snacks,” he reaches inside, “but most important, sunscreen.”

You nod. He takes out the bottle of cream and wiggles it at you as he comes closer. He touches the edge of the cover-up. “Take this off. I’ll get you.”

“Huh, oh?” You look down and shrug. You let the sheer fabric fall down your arms and pile at your feet. You’re too stunned to catch it.

“Come on,” he gets down on his knees. “Relax, princess.”

He tugs until you get down to. He taps the bottle on the blanket. “Lay down.”

“Uh, okay...” you lay on your back, chest rising and falling quickly as your chest hammers.

He shifts onto his butt and flicks the cap open. He squirts the cream into his palms and rubs them together. The coolness of the lotion is as jarring as the feel of his hands. He starts at your neck, smearing across your collar bone and to your chest.

He drags his hands down, spreading it diligently before squeezing more from the bottle. You twitch as he gets to your chest, poking his thumbs under the edge of the bikini to get cream there too. He rubs it into your skin as your nipples poke against the fabric.

He continues on to your stomach, massaging as he goes, then does your arms, kneading your hands delicately as he gets between your fingers. You’re paralysed as he plies the UV to your skin.

He pokes your thighs, “come on, baby.”

You hesitate before you spread your legs. You squeak as he gets between them on his knees. For a moment you think...

He claps his hand on your thigh and smears the cream into your skin. He squeezes and his fingertips sends sparks through you. You spasm and squeal as he hits every nerve. You wriggle at the unbearable tingle.

You giggle as the sensation turns ticklish. He chuckles too and purrs, paying close attention to your thighs. Pushing his thumbs in until your clasp onto his wrists.

“Nick!”

He smirks at you. “These are nice,” he clamps tighter on your thighs. “You know that?”

You whimper his name again. He pulls out of your grasp and drags down your legs to your feet. When he finishes your soles, he clucks.

“Turn over.”

You blink but do as he says. You flip onto your stomach, feeling the jiggle of your bum as the bathing suit rides up. He hums.

“Oh, princess,” he drones.

“I... sorry,” you reach to fix the bottoms.

He tuts and swats your hand away.

“It’s all mine, baby. Don’t you worry. I want every part of you,” he shoves your hand down so it bounces on the floor. Your knuckles ring with the impact. “I told you, relax.”

He gets up on his knees and blends lotions into your shoulders and down the back of your arms. Then he coats your back and hips, following the curve of your back to your bum. He massages the rise of flesh and bends to kiss the swell. You squeal in surprise and he nips you.

“Mmm, delicious,” he snarls and runs his thumbs along the crease below your butt. You wince and ball your hands.

He continues along the back of your thighs, even more sensitive than the front, and you squirm. You can hear him breath, almost growling. Your own breaths puff out in a storm of excitement and fear.

As he gets the back of your calves, your head swims. He raises himself up and moves beside you. He caresses your arm.

“Now let me see that pretty face.” He grits.

“Sure, uh,” your turn over again and sit up.

He rubs his hands together then cradles your face. He uses his thumbs to cover your cheeks with cream and traces your features. He runs his palms over your face gently and caps off the application with a longing kiss on your lips.

He hovers just before you. “My turn.”

He lets you go and lowers himself down. He hands you the bottle and you take it, dazed as your skin thrums. You watch him as he pushes his chest up just slightly and your eyes scale down his torso. Where do you start?

You dollop the lotion into your hand and mash them together. You start at his neck, feeling his throat bob. He purrs as you get to his shoulders. The firm muscle makes you quiver inside. Then his chest... oh. It feels so nice. So strong.

You retreat and focus on his arms. There’s muscle there too and the thick veins on his forearms have you squeezing your thighs together. His hands are bigger as you focus on them and rubs the cream into his rough palms.

As you ply the sunscreen to his stomach, you feel it clench. You recoil as something catches the corner of your eye. You gasp and stare at the front of his shorts. You can see him inside, nearly bursting out as he bulges beneath the waistband.

He lifts his head and groans.

“It’s okay, baby, I won’t bite... yet,” he snickers. “Keep going.”

You nod and bite your tongue. You put your hands back on his stomach and trail along his sides, sure to get every bit of skin. Your eyes flit back to his shorts. Your insides tighten. You shake at the flicker in your mind, the thought of grabbing it...

Instead, you shift and move to his thighs. As tempting as it is, you’re still terrified. You’ll work up to that. Eventually.

#nick fowler #dark nick fowler #dark!nick fowler #nick fowler x reader #the 355 #locked out of heaven #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic

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batsandbirdbrains · 14 hours ago

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I need Bruce trying to gentle parent Dick as a child. Like maybe Bruce isn’t exactly a good parent but tries. When Dick starts throwing massive tantrums, he just puts Dick in an empty room for time out. This does not stop Dick as he ends up destroying the room despite nothing being in it. When Dick does something Bruce doesn’t approve of, Bruce just says softly “Don’t do that.” Dick does it again. Like I need him trying and failing. Nothing he does works. Then Dick decides to turn that gentle parenting back on Bruce. No whenever Bruce makes him mad, he puts Bruce in a time-out room. Whenever Bruce is being dumb, he just gives him a pout and says “Don’t do that.” Bruce actually does his best to listen to Dick because he thinks it might foster trust or encourage Dick to follow along when Bruce does it to him. It doesn’t really work. Dick still doesn’t listen and now Bruce is being parented by the child he’s supposed to be raising. The only plus is that it calms down Dick’s more violent urges because instead of destroying shit he just sends Bruce away.

Then Dick gets shot, and something in Bruce snaps. There is no more gentle parenting, no more kind words or soft punishments. He needs to make Dick listen, and if that means hurting him, then so be it. He loses sight of the fact that Dick is still a kid, an incredibly traumatized one at that. He still lets Dick parent him, although he’s more snappy about it. Dick stops being soft with him, too, instead telling him harshly to get to bed, threatening to sic Alfred on him, or screaming in his face about how he’s the worst. Somehow they’ve fallen into this horrible dynamic and neither of them know how to get out of it. Dick blames himself for being such a troubled kid, and though Bruce never says it, Dick knows he blames him too. So Dick leaves.

Eventually, over the years their family grows, but Bruce’s softness never really comes back. He’s meaner, more controlling, even downright cruel at times. And one day when the entire batfam is arguing with him over how unreasonable he is, one them snaps and says “Jesus, B, who turned you into such a fucking asshole?” and before Bruce can even think about it, he responds “Dick did.” He closes his mouth in shock, face going ashen while everyone else freezes. The words cut straight into Dick’s heart. He replies with the only words he can think of at the moment “Don’t do that.” He meant for the words to be cold, confident. Instead they came out soft, chiding and pained. Before anyone can say anything else, Bruce turns on his heel and leaves. They all try to follow him to argue more but then stare, confused, as he walks into an empty room, locking the door behind him. He doesn’t come out for a long time.

🥺 rip out my fucking heart why don’t you, damn.

But now I’m just thinking of the scenario with Bruce saying Dick turned him into an asshole, and the whole room freezes.

Jason didn’t expect an actual answer. Tim and Damian thought Bruce would have just chided Jason for his language. Dick thought a Bruce was just going to keep yelling.

But then the way he says, “Dick did” without even thinking about it, without hesitation, it shocks everyone.

And Dick feels like he wants to cry, because sure, he knew he was a pretty fucked up kid. He was troubled. Traumatized. A problem child. But Bruce for the most part had been so patient when he was little. And when Bruce started being an asshole after Dick got shot, it wasn’t like Dick couldn’t fight right back. It was almost like a game, sometimes. But Dick has always felt so guilty about it, because Bruce had been so soft spoken and patient and nice, and then Dick went and fucked him up. Dick ruined him. It’s all Dick’s fault.

Dick has always had that thought in the back of his mind. But he’s never had any real proof that Bruce felt the same.

Now he does. And Dick’s chest feels hollow as he stares at a horrified looking Bruce.

All Dick can manage to say is a soft, desperate, “Don’t do that,” just like Bruce always tried to use with him, before he started using yelling as his go-to response.

Then Bruce turns without saying anything and walks right into an empty room, and Dick feels like he’s going to throw up. He turns too, towards his bike, and he ignores the way his siblings are calling after him. He turns off his comms and rides home, going way too fast, feeling the wind whip around him, and tears blurring his vision until he blinks them away.

When he gets back to his Blüdhaven apartment, he slides in through the window and doesn’t even change out of his costume before he’s puking in the bathroom.

He silences his phone, turns in his security system, and then spends the next hour sitting under the water in his shower, spacing out until the water goes ice cold and he has to get out. Then he crawls into bed, pulls out Zitka from under the pillows to hug to his chest, and buries his head under his pillows. If he doesn’t pay attention to it, he can pretend he’s not still crying because of the guilt.

He stays like that for a long time, not moving. He falls asleep for a while, wakes up in a panic, rinse and repeat.

He doesn’t know how long it’s been, but the next thing he knows, someone is sitting down on his bed next to him, laying a hesitant hand in his back. And he knows it’s Bruce, and it just makes him feel even worse.

“Go away,” he begs, the words muffled under his pillows.

“I didn’t mean it,” Bruce tries to tell him.

“Yes you did,” Dick says miserably. “And it’s true. I know it’s true, you don’t have to pretend it’s not.”

“It wasn’t you who made me an asshole,” Bruce says. “The situation-”

“Caused by me,” Dick argues.

“You were just a child, Dick.” Bruce sighs.

“A horrible, no good, rotten child!”

“Don’t say that about yourself,” Bruce says firmly. “It’s not true, Dick. I don’t care what anyone says, you were not a rotten child. You were just a little boy. I was the adult, and I should have found other solutions that worked for you.”

Dick doesn’t say anything, but he eventually moves out from under the pillows to curl up with his head in Bruce’s lap. Bruce plays with his hair, and the two of them stay quiet for a long time. Neither of them really knows what to say. They’re both still upset. And they’re both awful at dealing with their feelings.

The sadness and anger and guilt they’re feeling from this fight won’t be resolved. They won’t really talk about it. It won’t be talked about without someone else bringing it up, and that won’t happen for a while.

But for now, Bruce is going to comfort his son. And for now, Dick will let him.

#dick grayson #bruce wayne #batman #THIS UPSET ME ANON IT WAS SO SAD

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holdinsteddie · 23 hours ago

Text

prompt: lollipop

(originally posted on my bluesky here)

au where Steve and Robin had their bathroom floor conversation/platonic soulmate initiation ceremony way back in 1983, like two weeks after Jonathan rocked Steve’s shit and by the time everyone gets back from winter break they’ve become SteveandRobin.

Steve knows all about Robin’s crush on Tammy Thompson and Robin knows all about the fact that Steve thinks one Eddie Munson is really pretty, actually, when he’s not being a grubby little gremlin.

In this au, Steve and Nancy mutually broke it off after the whole monster-fighting thing and so for the next few months after break, SteveandRobin try to wingman each other but also the ‘you rule/you suck’ board makes an appearance, this time in an unused corner of the band room.

So far Steve hasn’t gotten a single tally in the ‘you rule’ column. He is deeply offended by this and is trying to figure out why he seems to have lost his mojo. He needs to prove to Robin that he is very suave, actually, and no, his reputation is not a fluke. Jesus.

Which leads us to a Thursday evening in late May where band practice is getting out at the same time as Hellfire club. Steve suddenly finds himself being possessed by the ghost of Casanova himself or something because the next thing he knows, he’s abandoning Robin with a quick “be right back” and swaggering up to Eddie, who eyes Steve warily before leaning up against the side of the school building with a smirk paired with a dangerous glint in his eye.

“Hey, Munson,” Steve starts, keeping it causal.

Eddie pulls the lollipop he’d been sucking on out of his mouth with a wet pop and Steve fervently doesn’t have any feelings about that whatsoever.

“Steve Harrington,” he purrs. “What can this lowly peasant do for such esteemed royalty as yourself, hmm?”

Steve raises a single eyebrow. “Well, first of all, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m not exactly Hawkins High royalty anymore. Apparently jocks and band geeks can’t be friends,” Steve adds with a roll of his eyes.

“Second of all…” Steve glances left and right, making sure there’s no one in earshot before giving Eddie a once-over and taking a deliberate step forward so the toes of their shoes are almost touching. “I think we both know you’re too pretty and too smart to be stuck as a peasant.”

Eddie’s eyes go wide for a moment before narrowing, his dimpled grin somehow managing to be sharp as a knife. “Careful, big boy. You don’t wanna play this game.”

“Who says this is a game?”

Eddie scoffs, putting his lollipop back in his mouth and straightening like he’s going to move past Steve, but Steve stops him with a hand to the wall behind Eddie’s head.

He makes sure to leave enough room for Eddie to be able to walk away if he really wants to, doesn’t want him to feel trapped or pressured in any way. But he also wants Eddie to know he’s being serious.

“Look, you can tell me to fuck off if you really want, and I will, swear to god.”

Eddie stares at him with wide eyes and slowly nods his head.

“But I really hope you don’t,” Steve continues, leaning forward until their noses are just inches from touching, “because it turns out I really have a thing for curly-headed nerds.”

Steve relishes in the way Eddie’s jaw drops open and a blush works its way over his cheeks and up to the tips of his ears. It’s really fucking cute.

“I know I can’t exactly wine-and-dine you like if you were a girl, but maybe I could get us some pizza and beers and you could come over to my place one of these days?”

Steve raises his eyebrows, trying to only let a little bit of his excitement at the idea through — he doesn’t want to scare Eddie off.

Eddie stares for a moment, two. Eventually, he blurts, “Is— Is this— Are you being serious right now?” He hadn’t bothered to take out the lollipop before speaking, seems like he’s completely frozen, actually, making the question slightly garbled.

“As a heart attack.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.”

“So?” Steve asks, biting his lower lip. He watches Eddie track the movement and gives himself a mental high-five.

“I’m— fuck, okay.” Eddie looks at Steve’s lips again before looking into his eyes incredulously. “I’m pretty sure this is a dream, but whatever, fuck it, I’ll go on a date with Steve goddamn Harrington, I guess.”

“Not dreaming,” Steve grins, finally leaning back a little bit. “And I’m gonna hold you to that,” he promises. On a whim, he reaches out and plucks Eddie’s lollipop from between his lips before placing it in his own mouth, making sure to maintain eye contact the entire time. Eddie’s eyes are as wide as saucers as he visibly swallows.

“Uh.”

“I’ll find you at lunch tomorrow, figure out what day works,” Steve says casually, leaning back and starting to walk backwards towards the parking lot. He points the lollipop at Eddie and commands, “Better not stand me up, Munson,” before putting it back in his mouth, shoving his hands in his pockets, and turning to walk back to where Robin is waiting by his car.

He doesn’t look back, even though he really really wants to, because he still wants to make sure he looks cool and aloof.

“Steven Marie,” Robin whisper yells once he’s close enough to hear her. “What the fuck was that? What did you do to Munson?”

Steve ignores her questions. “What’s he doing, Bobbie?”

Robin, bless her, answers him. “He’s just… standing there. And now he’s pulling his hair over his face and squatting. Did you break him?”

Steve grins, pleased. “Not yet.”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean? Wait, where did you get the lollipop? You didn’t have one a few minutes ago.”

“I might’ve stolen it from Munson, right after I got him to agree to go on a date with me.”

Robin freezes, staring at him like she’s buffering as her entire worldview gets rearranged. “Steve, Stevie, I need you to know I’m so happy for you and proud of you. But also I am going to actually strangle you to death in your sleep what the actual fuck.”

“Love you too, Robs.”

+ Bonus:

Steve, 5 min later after he’s started driving to drop Robin off at home: ohmygod. Robin.

Robin: What.

Steve: Eddie and I basically kissed.

Robin: What?????

Steve: His spit is in my mouth as we speak.

Robin: wHAT??!!!?!!!

Steve: Robin stop screaming I’m having a crisis

{send me a 📝 and a one-word prompt and i will try and write a lil steddie microfic for you! (it will almost certainly be much shorter than this one but who knows, i might get Inspired™️)}

#steddie #steddie fanfic #stobin #platonic stobin #steddie au #this queue slays dragons

144 notes · View notes

daddymaster21 · 24 hours ago

Text

Review time!!! I’m already scared by your authors note. Sorry this took so long!!!!

1. Is this the darkness??? Amara, sweetie, is that you????

2. All my homies hate the PTSD nightmares. Smh my head.

3. LMAOOO HER WRITING DEANS NAME ON HERSELF. ME TOO HOMEGIRL.

4. Mmmh. Not sure about that one, Princess. You don’t really have normal dreams

5. Ohhhhhh okay, death makes more sense

6. Man, she’s going even harder than Dean on how she wants to serve him. Which, like… same.

7. DEAN IS SMART AND HES NO LONGER ALLOWED TO THINK OTHERWISE

8. I FUCKING KNEW IT AHHHHHH

9. Fun fact: my birthday is two days before deans

10. Her and Cas are just Creatures, trying their best. I love them.

11. AHHHH THE SMILEY FACE DETAIL

12. Bobby and Sam going through it for real, trying to get their idiots to kiss

13. LMAOOO “PILLOW TALK”

14. NOT BOBBY GETTING THE CONDOM, THEA I CAN’T

15. “You wanted that boy before you even knew him” PLEASE MY HEART CAN’T TAKE IT

16. Yeah, it doesn’t count if you only think about doing something stupid!

17. Girlie. I don’t even know what we’re doing, but I’ll tell you what — it’s gonna stupid, and Dean’s gonna be pissed.

18. CROWLEY MY BELOVED!!! (If I drowned in Mark Sheppard’s voice, I’d die happy)

19. why are you British lmfaoooooo

20. This isn’t going to end well.

21. I’m just like Sam fr. Pretending to be stupid is HARD.

22. Yay!!! More nosy bitch hours!!!! (I love them learning abt each other through the dreams so much. You really knocked this one out of the park.)

23. John Winchester is IN DANGER.

24. Oh. Oh no. The image of him kneeling in front of her. In a church. Thea the symbolism is too good, send help

25. Dean, asked to suffer for everyone: I just don’t know if I can do it. It’s too much. Dean, asked to suffer for princess: truly, I’d volunteer for this.

26. He literally can’t sleep when she’s not there, his body wakes him up every time she leaves 😭😭

27. Team Creature!!! Aw man, if Jack is born in this universe, it’ll be Creatures all the way down!

28. They’ve GOTTA have a conversation, they can’t keep turning into awkward teenagers any time sex is involved

29. Dean describing wanting to fuck her literally just bc she exists lol

30. Jesus Christ WHY WOULD SHE KEEP KISSING YOU IF SHE DIDNT WANT TO KISS YOU. PLEASE I BEG ITS ACTUALLY SO EASY.

31. It’s okay. They’re just babies. I can be patient.

32. I- please??? Why wait??? Do that now, please??????

33. LMFAOOO THE CREATURES ARE FIGHTING

34. “She already explained them to me” I love her and Cas so much I can’t explain

35. literally the only thing I can say about this part is woof.

36. Listen. I know that Princess is gonna be the one who cracks first, but my god if I got to read Dean actually dropping to his knees and asking for that, I would combust on the spot.

37. She’s literally never been wrong about a monster, Cas, just work the odds. It was never gonna be a Cupid.

38. ….either Sam is gonna catch these hands, or this is the monster trying to trap Dean. I hope it’s the latter, but I think it’s the former.

39. Ohhhhhhhh he drank it cause Famine is in town. Alright, he’s forgiven. We’re good.

40. Dean is going to be Very Incredibly Normal and definitely not go out of his mind with lust for her.

41. THAT’S WHY CAS ATE THE BURGERS. OKAY YEAH I SEE YOU.

42. AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HE ADMITTED IT

Final thoughts: I’m fucking FERAL right now. And scared for the next chapter.

Chapter 24 - Just Hold On

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Huge chapter for fans of emotional whiplash, Dean's feelings, and Princess and Cas being creatures. Enjoy!

Chapter Title from Twin Skelton's (Hotel In NYC) by Fall Out Boy

Word Count: 19.1k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You try to keep it together, get an offer, and Dean learns something about himself. Usual Warnings.

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

Chapter 23 - Chapter 25

Read on A03!

It’s smiling at you.

Everything is smiling at you, and you aren’t in control. There’s a hand on your neck—it might be your own—that’s strangling the Silver out of you, and you can’t feel the pain but only because you are far too big for anything like that.

You are everything.

Your nails are digging into something strong and cold, and black and titanium, and you’re ripping it open as teeth—those aren’t yours—sink a level lower than your skin. You want to stop. You have to stop. You wish you knew how to fucking stop, but it’s right in front of you, and you’ve never been good at control, and-

There’s a laugh, echoing in your ear. There’s gold and purple stained on the walls. The air is thin, but you’re not sure you need it anymore. You just need it to be over. For everything to fall away because you’re so tired, and you’re not in control, and you want to go home.

If you were better—less than a plague, less than just a cancer twisting into whatever’s in your hold—you’d stop. You’d save the choir of souls that are hanging right over your head, forming a stained glass of a picture you recognize, but don’t remember. You’d look up and beg for their forgiveness, because you didn’t mean to. You never mean to. But you’re sick and wrong and you’re a little burrowed in everything, and the teeth in your neck were going to bite Dean-

Dean.

He’s not here.

But that’s his Gold. And the Spiderweb is going haywire around you—light dancing off the walls and bursting like a supernova—and you’re fucking everything, and where’s Dean-

The world shakes. It rattles, and all the souls above you let out a high moan, and there’s a soft, delicate hand that’s brushing the hair away from your face and asking ‘are you strong enough, little one? Are you bright enough to bring the rat home?’

You’re not sure.

You still look at your hands, just to see. But all you find is Gold and pastel blue.

You’ve never been able to save either of them.

And the Sky is high over you, just a level past the souls howling for your attention. But it never does anything except fucking watch when you need it, and rip things in half when you’re trying to keep them.

It hurts so fucking much. All of it.

You just want to fucking go home.

And the strong thing cleaves apart.

The teeth—stained with blood and singing your name—crow like you’ve brought them a great gift. The hands on your face maybe turn to ash—or maybe they were never there at all—and in their wake is Gold. Shifting, strong Gold and pretty green eyes. You should be falling back into yourself, but the Dean before you isn’t real, so he can’t call you back home

And you can see it.

Tall. Thin.

Old.

It looks old.

Pale and hanging off of bones, smooth and quiet and content. None of it is trying to escape itself. It doesn’t seem all that interested in being here at all. It doesn’t run like a machine the way white-eyed demons do, and it isn’t humming with a neon power like an angel.

It just is.

And it doesn’t smile at you. It just tilts its head—not quite a head, more of a gentle, black shadow that looks like it should be hiding something, but isn’t—and holds your gaze.

It doesn’t really have a gaze.

It’s really only mist, in its eyes—not eyes, more like dying stars that have chosen to remain in a stasis—but the mist is boring right into you, and you can’t move.

You can’t look away.

But it’s not painful. There’s nothing wrong with it looking at you.

It’s not home. But it’s familiar. You might have known it your whole life, moving in its wake as it waited for you to find it, just so it could tell you this.

No.

You can’t hear it, but you can feel it in every dark space between the stars and under the dirt, in every decayed bit of life that’s pleading to be called back up. And it’s telling you it doesn’t want you.

And when you frown at it, you can feel it.

The power.

And everything shatters apart.

Your eyes fly open, but you can’t move. It’s almost paralyzation. Your body is still stuck in the nightmare, and your eyes are darting around but all you can see is the dark, and-

Dean.

He’s here. He’s fine. Knocked out at your side and snoring into the pillow, his hand resting over yours and his knee bumping near your thigh.

Slow breaths. Deep, slow breaths, and find what you can see. What you know is real, and not just another haunting terror.

You’re real. And right now, you’re yours. The Silver is dormant, and the Spiderweb is a little wired, but with every rumbling snore from Dean it settles back down. The sheets are sticky from cold sweat, and Dean’s shirt is bunched uncomfortably on your back. There’s no light leaking from under the door, so it must be impossibly early. Dean’s shoulder still has the bandage from his last hunt, and he’d whined like a baby when you put it on, but still grinned at you the whole time. The book Sam brought you is open on your side-table, and when you manage to sit up, you can still see Dean’s name in Enochian, written in pen on your forearm.

It’s only been a night. Nothing new has happened, and that wasn’t an omen or a vision, like Lucifer and the cage.

Only another nightmare.

And it hurts so much. There’s all the usual pain, but then there’s also the noose that’s formed itself around your throat, and it’s made of Death.

Death looked at you, and it didn’t want you. You raised him, and he told you no. And you don’t remember anything else but pain, and knowing that you’re something so horrible and sick and fucking wrong, that Pestilence calls you pure, and Death doesn’t want you.

It’s not like you can blame him.

You don’t really want you either.

Dean says to wake him up, when this happens. That if he’s off dealing with apocalypse shit, you should call him or go get Bobby. If you’re drowning in it—in the blue on your fingers, or dying stars seeping into your soul, or all this fucking pain that’s not allowed to kill you, because Death doesn’t want you—then you need to get him or Bobby. If there’s something hollow that’s spreading over your chest, and it’s filled with winding, distorted colors that are calling for you, but you can’t seem to reach, that you can’t just curl up and try to wait it out.

But he looks so peaceful. His mouth is parted slightly, and there are no lines in his brow of worry. No deep look his eye that reminds you that you’re just a fucking problem. That you’re making this harder for him, because he’d asked you to come home so he wouldn’t have to worry about you, but now he’s fucking worried anyway. He’s been texting you every day to make sure you’re eating, and when he’s home, he doesn’t move from your side.

You don’t deserve him. You’ve never deserved him. He’s always stronger than you’ve ever been, and he’s always too good to you, and he needs some rest.

When you dare to trace your hand over his cheek, Dean mumbles something you can’t make out and leans into your touch.

You’re not going to wake him up.

But you can’t just stay here. Can’t just sit in the pain, or it’s going to shred you into ribbons that Dean will—for some reason—decide are worth braiding back together.

You shuffle out of bed on unsteady feet, and Dean grunts, but doesn’t wake up. You’re moving quietly. Pulling on sweatpants—they’re a little too big, so likely Dean’s and not yours, but that’s better—and fumbling for a sweater and socks in your dresser.

You don’t bother with shoes, when you slip out of the door and down the stairs.

The jagged sticks and rock below your feet help you anyways.

You’re not sure where you’re going, as you walk through the yard. Not too far. You’d promised Dean you wouldn’t run, so you’re only wandering. Letting the cold wind and morning mist bite into your skin, until it starts to buzz with the relief of being numb.

And you walk in circles—sharp rocks cutting into your feet, but no blood on the dirt behind you—before you end up at the usual place.

The Impala is locked. Dean always locks it, because—even though Bobby’s yard has newer, better cars for people to steal—he’s careful.

He’s always so careful.

And Baby is covered in his Gold. She smells a little like him, too. Lingering cinnamon and leather, and it’s like a tiny haven you don’t deserve. A shield around you so that, when you lay on its hood, you’re not left alone with the Sky.

Staring down at you, and doing nothing but watching.

“I hate you,” you whisper, and your voice is almost swallowed in the wind. “I fucking hate you. Leave me alone.”

It flashes, but it’s not in warning. It’s a reminder.

It’s everywhere. You’re never going to escape it. And no matter how much you hate it, nothing will change.

The Sky will keep watching. Waiting.

And you’ll just keep growing sick.

You don’t know how long you lay here. Your fingers start to shake and the Sky blinks—now in warning, it doesn’t like when you damage it’s toy—but you just close your eyes. It hurts. Over all your nerves and sore in your gut, it fucking hurts-

“Son of a-“ Warmth wraps around you, and you squeeze your eyes tighter.

If you look at him, you’ll start crying. Again. And Dean doesn’t need that.

“Goddamnit, sweetheart.” He’s tugging you up, until your face is pressed right against his chest. “You’re fucking- How long have you been out here?“

You don’t answer. Your fingers just curl against his shirt—you don’t deserve to have him here, worried about you and holding you so close, but if he leaves you might split into a million fractures that scatter further than the universe—and the ache in your throat grows unbearable. You know you woke him up, and you made him come outside to get you, and you wish he’d just leave you alone, leave you to freeze into a glassy, perfect and docile statue of the monster that you are-

Dean mutters your name, and you shake your head. He’s keeping you wrapped in his jacket like you’re a baby kangaroo, and it’s so warm here.

His chest heaves with a deep sigh, and your arms shoot around his torso. He can’t go. This can’t be the time he decides to leave you. You should let him—you’re not something that can be saved—but you need him to grab you before you fly away, and your head is swimming with too much pain and you’re so tired-

“It’s okay,” Dean murmurs, his lips brushing over your brow, and a weak sound escapes your throat as your eyes start to sting. “You’re okay, Princess. I’m here.”

You’re not okay. You can still see him staring at you.

Death.

Not greeting you like a friend, but something more. Something worse.

But Dean’s here. And he’s slowly tugging you back, keeping you stuck to his chest as big hands frame your face. His thumb strokes down your nose as you collapse into his touch. The sting grows to a wet blur when you take a staggered breath, and drag your eyes open.

He’s watching you, so carefully. Holding you the same. As if you might shatter under his touch, or turn to ash if he blinks wrong.

So fucking careful.

“You with me?” Dean’s voice is barely a rasp, still clogged with sleep and deepened from the cold, and you swallow down a sob.

You did that. Made those lines on his brow appear with worry, make him wake up, made him come save you from drowning yourself.

And he’s more than Golden, in the fog of the slowly rising morning. He’s brighter than the Sky, and that odd, intangible thing his soul is made of is turning and glowing in the light.

Running through it, you can still see it. The shining, silvery river that’s always flowing inside him. That you wove there, and he’s never seemed to find it foreign.

And that’s likely because Dean can’t see souls. Can’t know that there’s a parasite burrowed into him, can’t even feel it.

But you can lie to yourself a little.

Say he doesn’t fight against it because you’d never hurt him.

Just like you tell yourself that he’s in your orbit by choice, and not because you demanded his attention like a loud, feral beast.

You’re only the beast to serve him.

But you’d climb up to the Sky and lay yourself on its alter, if that served Dean. You’d bow your head and let yourself be put on a leash, if you knew he’d be safe.

He’s still watching you.

He asked you if you’re with him.

So you nod, and whisper the only thing you can think of.

“All the way down.”

Dean’s throat bobs, and you get a small nod as he tugs you a little closer, and tucks your head right back against his neck.

“All the way down.” He murmurs, the sound from deep inside his chest and his heart beating right near your ear, and that’s all it takes.

The first sob is soft, and muffled in Dean’s shirt. He still hears it. Still holds you tighter, instead of shoving you away and leaving you to erode alone.

Maybe if he did, you’d grow into something better. A tall tree, that he could keep visiting, which would never hurt anyone again. You’d offer him shade in the summer and wood in the winter to keep him warm. And he could come back when he finds a better woman and marries her, and bring his future children to visit you, and you’d just be a tree, but you’d be Dean’s tree-

Your body is shaking with it, now. The pain, rolling out of you in heavy waves and clawing out of your throat.

“I-“ You sniff against Dean’s shirt, your nails digging into the muscle of his back. “I- I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to-“ Another sob wracks your body, and Dean’s arms tighten around you. “I’m sorry-“

“I know, ba- sweetheart. It’s okay-“

You shake your head—he doesn’t understand—and you’re not sure when your legs wrapped around his waist. You’re not strong enough to move them away. “I’m sorry-“

Dean shushes you, pressing another kiss to the top of your head, and then your face is back in his hands. His thumb pets down your nose once more until your breathing is even, and your tears dry out.

Baby. You know I love you, baby.

His gaze is driving straight into you. And you’re still sniffling and blurry eyed, but he only wipes your nose with his shirt, and lets out a long, heavy sigh.

“You wanna dance?”

You blink at him. “What?”

“Dance.” He mutters, his knuckles brushing the last lingering tear from your cheek. “You owe me one, Princess. C’mon.”

Dean starts to tug you forward, but you’re just staring up at him with an open mouth. You’re not sure you heard him right. Or that this isn’t just another hazy dream. But you can feel his warmth, and his deep voice is so clear in the night air, so it has to be real.

You need it to be real.

You don’t think you’ll be able to manage waking up and replaying this whole scene all over again like a cruel joke-

He sighs and bends down, holding your gaze with a slight frown. “Sweetheart, I can carry you if you need, but you gotta work with me-“

“Sorry.” Your voice even sounds fucking weak. “I- I don’t know what- You-“

“I’m asking you to dance with me,” Dean says your name, his voice low and soft, and your lips pull into what might be a pout. “Please.”

You couldn’t say not to him if you wanted to. And your nod is tiny, but Dean still sees it, and a grin you don’t deserve splits his handsome face.

And you can’t stop yourself. From reaching up and tracing his jaw, feeling the slightly prickle of stubble against your skin, and knowing he’s real. Golden and alive and—despite all reason—here with you.

But reason has never been either of your strong suits. And knowing you should shove him away and scream for him to just let you go, it would be so much fucking easier for everyone if Dean would just let you go, doesn’t help you at all.

So you let him help you to your feet and guide you inside, Dean’s hand on your lower back quickly turning into you stumbling a single step, and him hauling you up into his arms.

“I-“ He clears his throat as you climb back upstairs, his gaze fixed ahead. “Got that honey-cereal thing you like. When I went out with Sammy last night.”

You hum, letting your fingers play with the collar of his shirt. It’s better than scratching at your own skin. “Did the bar have a grocery aisle?”

“Nah.”

“So you just… Found it?”

Dean rolls his eyes, his lips twitching slightly. “Saw it at the gas station. There’s a pack of root beer’s waiting for you, too. Just don’t touch the strawberry ice cream. Hid a condom in there.”

“You- Why?”

“Don’t worry, Princess, it’s for Sam.”

“I think that’s more worrying-“

“Shut up.” Dean kicks open the door, poking your rib slightly and grinning at your small squeak. “He found a blonde chick last night that seemed pretty into his whole wet puppy thing. I’m trying to make sure he stays safe.”

You give him a flat look. “With an ice cream condom.”

“Yep.” He slowly sets you down to your feet, but doesn’t make a single move to pull away. “It’ll remind him.”

“I don’t think it will-“

“Well, sweetheart.” Dean grins down at you, his arm slipping down to hold your hip, and you swallow. “Good thing you don’t need to worry about it. If Sammy gets himself knocked up, I’m not lettin’ him dump the baby on us.”

You giggle, dropping your face into his chest, and you know what he’s doing. He always does it so well, until the pain is there, but faded slightly. Only a drum of your heartbeat—a little heavier than usual—and a pressure in your lungs that gets lighter with Dean’s every word. Your fingers are still tingling from the cold, but you can feel it when Dean takes your hand and tugs you fully against him. Your knees are okay, but you’re not worried about them giving out.

Dean’s here.

He’s got you.

“I- Uh-“ Dean sighs, and you look up at his almost nervous expression. “I don’t know if you want music, but- uh- I don’t have any-“

“You have a phone, De.”

“For calling people.” He grumbles. “Not music.”

You giggle again, not bothering to hide your smile. “You are going to make an excellent old man one day.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’m an idiot-“

“I didn’t say that.”

“You were thinking it-“

“No. I wasn’t.”

Your words are quick, a small frown on your face, and Dean raises his brows. “You got something you want to tell me, Princess?”

You sigh, resting your brow on his shoulder, and Dean starts to sway you back and forth.

The dancing.

You’re dancing. With Dean. And it’s less dancing and more letting Dean move you around in silence, but it has the same effect.

You’re a little dizzy.

A little drunk on the smell of him and the Gold that’s flowing all over you.

And the silence means to you can hear his breathing. Steady and slow and almost in time with your own, making you come down, down, down.

Back to Dean.

Always back to Dean.

“You’re not dumb.” You mumble against him, your free hand digging into his shirt. “You’re the smartest person I know.”

“Pretty sure you know yourself, sweetheart-“

“I’m serious.” You snap, pulling back to hold his gaze. “You are not dumb, Winchester. You’re the only reason I even know what I am.”

He frowns. “That’s-“

“You figured out I was mistranslating the Enochian in my head. I only asked Cas to look into the Magdalene’s because you gave me the idea.”

“You would have figured that out yourself-“

“It had never even occurred to me.”

Dean jaw ticks, his gaze locked onto yours, and you’re still dancing. He’s so close. His hair is mussed from sleep, his lips slightly swollen from the same, and it’s a good thing he’s got you. You might have fallen too far into him, otherwise. Dragged him down, until you were both on the floor and you’re straddling his abdomen, trying to show him. Prove that it hurts, so much, all the time, but you love him.

That even when you thought Dean was something that hurt, it was only because you didn’t get to have him at all.

And, for better or worse, he’s here now.

You’re not allowed to say you love him. Not allowed to show it.

But Dean’s hand squeezes yours once—checking in—and you squeeze it back three times.

It means I love you, now.

He just doesn’t get to know that.

“We’ll see if I make it long enough to be an old man,” Dean hums, and you blink.

He’s trying to divert the conversation. And you don’t want to let him, but he just keeps talking.

“And I’d get one of those iPod thingys, but they’re a million freakin’ bucks. I’m not made of money, sweetheart.”

You let out a slow breath, press your cheek back to his chest. Tonight, you’ll let him have it. “I could get you one. For your birthday.”

“You even know when my birthday is-“

“January 24th.” You mumble. “Soon."

You could swear you hear is heart stutter. “Ah. We’ve, uh- I didn’t think I told you that-“

“Think again, Winchester.” Sam had told you.

“You don’t have to get me anything-“

“Yes I do.”

Dean mutters your name, and you lean back with a glare.

“I have a whole untapped credit card to burn, Deano. Watch your fucking back.”

He’s still frowning. “But-“

“Shut up.”

A smile tugs at his lips. “So bossy.”

“Dean-“

“Alright, alright.” Dean chuckles, and you yelp as suddenly he’s twirling you around, then pulling you right back into his chest. “Whatever you want, Princess.”

You. The Spiderweb sings as you gape at him. I just fucking want you, Dean.

But you’re not allowed to say it.

So you hum, and let Dean keep swaying you in the silence. Your eyes are getting heavy again, and you can feel sleep creeping up the corner of your vision, even as sunlight starts to leak through the window.

You still don’t want this to end.

“You getting tired, sweetheart?”

“No.” You grumble, moving your free arm to hook around Dean’s neck. “Shut up.”

His laugh is low and deep and right in your ear. “I don’t know, you sound kinda tired-“

“‘M gonna stab you.”

“Okay, Sleeping Beauty. Let’s get you to bed.”

You shake your head, even as Dean pulls you up to his chest and you fold right against him. “De?”

He grunts, and you swallow, the sting of tears building back up behind your eyes. He’s so good. Strong and resilient and careful, and all you do is make him lose sleep, but he’s still carrying you to bed.

“I’m sorry.”

Dean sighs, and you feel his lip brush over your collarbone as he speaks. “I know, ba- Princess.”

You mumble something even you don’t understand as he sets you back in bed, and grab his hands when they cup your face.

“I need you to promise you’re gonna call me.” He mutters your name, and your lashes flutter as you try to hold his gaze. “I’ve gotta go with Sammy in a few hours, we’ve got a case in a nuthouse to take care of. We’re gonna use that truth-telling thing you did in-“ He cuts himself off, and you know why.

He’s trying not to remind you of San Francisco.

It’s sweet.

But it’s still going to hang over your head like a blade. You’re never not aware of it.

That’s how you ended up here in the first place.

“De-“

“We’ll only be gone a week, and I’m not gonna have my phone, but I’ll call you from the hospital line. And if start getting the urge to do something stupid, call it like crazy and don’t stop until they let me talk to you.” He’s frowning, his grip tightening slightly against you. “Please. I- Even it’s the middle of the fucking night, just call-“

“Okay.” You breathe out, settling down into the pillows. You’re too tired to argue anyway. “I will.”

Dean nods slowly, then raises his hand between your bodies.

Your pinky locks with his fast, and he leans forward to press a kiss to your brow as the hand still on your face strokes a line down your nose.

You let out a soft sigh, and Dean might be saying something, but you can’t really hear it.

It’s just Dean.

It’s always just Dean.

And you sleep dreamlessly, through the morning, and into the afternoon.

Your days are a little more flexible now. In the weeks since San Francisco, you haven’t been hunting. And the nights like these keep you from Bobby’s hunter fever, because you know.

It’s safer for you to be benched right now. Safer for everyone.

You’d raised Death. You’re not sure how you did it, but you hadn’t needed Cas to tell you that’s what happened. You, with only pain and grief and the Silver, had raised Death for Lucifer. And nobody is pissed at you about it—a bitter, raw part of you really wishes they would be—but they all agree you’re most useful on book duty right now. Trying to figure out where Death might be, helping Sam and Dean with easier cases over the phone, using your spare time to try and transcribe everything you can about the Magdalene’s onto paper.

You’d called Cas around midnight a week ago, when you were alone. Prayed to him carefully—just in case Gabriel was on the line again—and barely flinched when you’d heard his voice behind you.

“Dean says I am supposed to insist that you sleep,” he’d said as you turned around. “If you call me at night.”

You’d rolled your eyes. “Dean is dramatic. I’m fine.”

Cas’ head had tilted slightly. “Yes. You seem fine.”

“Was that…” You blinked at him. “Sarcasm?”

“An attempt at it, yes. Did it land?”

“Sure.”

“Good.” Cas had paused, still holding your gaze. “You do not seem fine, to be clear. You are… very bright.”

You’d scowled, rubbing at your wrists. “I thought I was supposed to be bright.”

“You are. It is just… Distressing.”

“Distressing? I’m distressing?”

Cas had nodded slowly. “There is a commercial Dean showed me. Where a dog dies, and it makes the other humans very sad. This is similar.”

You’d blinked at him. “So I’m a dog?”

“You are in pain. And it is distressing. To me.” Cas’ frown had deepened. “I can hear it. If you were not hiding yourself from my brethren, they would likely feel it to. Heaven would weep.”

“Oh.” You’d swallowed. “Sorry.”

Cas had shrugged. “Are you going to go to sleep now? Dean was very clear that you should either go rest, or call him-“

“Dean can shove it.” You’d kept your voice flat, even as the Spiderweb had howled at just the sound of his name. “I need to talk to you. I- I have some questions.”

Cas had paused, and you’d sighed.

“You did your job, Cas. I’ll go to bed after we talk.”

“Alright.” He’d nodded slowly. “What are your questions.”

You’d let out a slow breath, watching him carefully. “You want some ice cream?”

“Is that your question-“

“No. Do you?”

Cas had blinked at you for a second. “I have never had ice cream.”

“Well, let’s fix that.” You’d turned around, calling over your shoulder as you opened the door. “I think we’ve got strawberry and chocolate. You’ll love it.”

Cas had loved it. You’d sat in dark, letting Cas devour the whole bowl, then the chocolate carton as you turned your questions over in your head. You’ve been trying to track Ellen’s soul, but it’s as if she’s vanished off the face of the Earth. It’s not worth asking Cas about that, though, given the whole cut off from Heaven thing. And if none of Bobby’s hunter contacts know anything, she doesn’t want to be found.

You’ve still been searching though. If only to find Her and say I’m so fucking sorry. I shouldn’t have left, I should have saved Jo, I’m sorry and if you hate me, I understand, but just know that I’m so fucking sorry-

“You haven’t asked me your questions.” Cas had cut through your thoughts, and you’d sighed.

“It’s- You might not have anything. And it might be nothing all, but-“

Cas had said your name carefully, and you’d rushed out the rest of the sentence.

“I found this thing about Men of God, and I’m not sure what it means, and I- Angels are of God. So-“ You’d let out a heavy breath. “Yeah.”

Cas had stared at you for a long moment, then shaken his head. “I have never heard that phrase before. Was it in Enochian?”

You’d shaken your head. “I heard it. In English. From, uh- Lilith, Alistair, and Anna.”

“Anna?”

You’d nodded, and Cas had sighed.

“She was of a higher rank than I, in Heaven. And Alistair and Lilith were very old demons, both of whom seemed to be aware of you, but- I’m sorry. I don’t know what men of god are.”

“Alright.” It had been a long shot anyway. “I-“

“I can look, though.” Cas had jumped over you, and you’d blinked at him. “If you wish it. It might be able to help with my search.”

“Yeah, uh- Sure. Thanks.” You’d poked your ice cream—now only soup—with your spoon. “How’s the God search going, by the way?”

“Not well. There is… A lot of Earth.”

You’d snorted. “Yeah. Small, big planet.”

Cas had frowned. “Those are antonyms-“

“It’s a dialectic. Contradictory things that are both true.”

“Ah.” Cas had tilted his head at you. “I am sorry. That you have not been able to see it.”

“I’ve seen more of it than Sam and Dean.”

“Maybe. But there is- You are not Sam and Dean.”

You’d blinked at him. “What?“

“Dean told me what Anna said.” He’d murmured. “That your name is written in parts of Heaven I have not seen. And it does not seem to only be Heaven.”

“I-“

“May I ask you a question?”

You’d frowned, but nodded, and Cas had leaned forward.

“What do you love? Of what this species has created?”

“Humans?”

Cas had nodded, and you’d rubbed your palm as you thought.

“I- I don’t know. I don’t really think about it. But maybe- Nothing?”

Cas had frowned and opened his mouth, and you’d shaken your head.

“No, not nothing. Just- Nothing.” You’d sighed. “Nothing that we’ve created. I’ve never been happy because of something. Like I-“ You’d let out a long, slow breath. “You know my knife?”

“The one you keep in your jacket.”

“Yeah, that. It’s- Dean gave it to me. And I love my flask because Bobby gave it to me. And I- I don’t care about the thing itself. I just- I love other people. And the things we do for each other.”

That had been pure fucking nonsense. You’d known it.

But Cas had nodded slowly.

“I… believe I like that too.”

His attention had returned to his ice cream, and before you could push about the written in Heaven thing, he was talking about how he was fond of bridges.

And you’d remained benched. Researching and spending most days with Bobby, then trying not to smile like an idiot and kiss Dean’s big, stupid and pretty face whenever he came back.

No demons knock at the door, but Lucifer might be keeping them on a leash. The angels are still after you, but the only reason they haven’t landed on Bobby’s roof to rip you away is because you warded the place to Hell. Four sleepless nights, utilizing Sam’s longer arms to get the ceilings and serval calls to Cas—Dean scowling in the corner and muttering that he’s surrounded by crazy—and Bobby’s house might be the most secure building in the country.

So you read, and write, and pass the time trying to just get through it.

You will.

You always do.

When you wake up there’s a glass of water on your dresser, paired with a little paper note folded beneath it.

Nuthouse is in Alabama. Sammy thinks it’ll take five days, so with the drive we’ll be back next Friday. Call tonight, then when we get there - DW

You smile, and tuck the note into your pocket. Maybe you can track down Ketch and demand he give you the first note back—or search all Mexico until you find it floating on the wind—so you can start a shrine. Even the paper has a little Gold on it. And Dean added a little smiley face that he scribbled out at the bottom, and he’s the most adorable thing on the planet, and you love him.

It might be written all over your face, when you walk downstairs. There’s no other reason for Bobby to roll his eyes at the sight of you.

You stick your tongue out at him, but you’re not doing yourself any favors when you shuffle over to the coffee machine, and see that there’s extra left. Made with your grounds, and the cereal box waiting out for you.

A stupid, wide smile overtakes your face, and Bobby sighs.

“You look drunk, kiddo.”

“I don’t drink-“

“Wish you did.” He mutters. “Maybe it would give you the balls to tell that idjit you like him back.”

You flip him off over your shoulder—this isn’t a useful conversation to have right now—and focus on the cereal. Dean even cleaned your mug and left it out on the counter, right next to an empty bowl and spoon. And if it were anyone else you’d be pissed about it. About the coddling and gentle treatment, like you’re just a little girl. Like you can’t carve your way through demons with only a knife, or kill monsters with nothing but your head and hands.

But it’s Dean.

“You know about this case they got?” Bobby asks as you drop across from him, and you shrug.

“Dean said it was in psych ward last night. I think they’re going to try and get into it. But that’s all.”

Bobby raises his brows. “You’d already gone to sleep when Sam got the case.”

You sigh, giving him a flat look. “You know Dean and I sleep in the same bed, Bobby.”

“I don’t know shit.” Bobby holds your gaze. “Far as I was aware, you were just sleepin’, not having, uh- Pillow talk-“

“Jesus Christ, it’s not- We don’t-“

“I’ve told you, I ain’t gonna judge if ya are, long as you’re both aware of what’s goin’ on-“

“Bobby-“

“And you’re bein’ safe!” He runs a hand over his face. “I mean, if it comes to it, I’ll help ya, but now ain’t the time to be caring for a-“

“No.” You cover your ears with your hands. “Nope. It’s- We’re not even- Why would you-“

“Found a condom in my ice cream this mornin’.” Bobby shrugs. “Wanted to tell you that’s just gonna make it useless.”

Your face might be burning, and you glare at the cereal in the hope Dean can feel it, even halfway across the country. “Great. I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Good.“ There’s a long pause, and then- “You can do a hell of a lot worse than Dean, kiddo. And he’s fuckin’ dedicated to ya-“

“Bobby.” You poke at the lingering cereal, floating around in the milk. “Please.”

Bobby grunts your name, and you shake your head.

“We’re not sleeping together. Or dating. Or-“ You swallow, unable to finish the sentence, and Bobby sighs.

“You remember when you were nine, and I took you out to that safe house I got, in Alexandria?”

You nod, and Bobby clears his throat.

“Was supposed to be a break. I’d had a rough hunt with a wolf, and you’d been havin’ those nightmares where you’d wake up screamin’ that someone was watchin’ you. But I’d brought the boys up there, month before that. Your magic thingy had started gettin’ out of hand, and John was gonna drop them with me for the week, but I wasn’t about to have you runnin’ to Rufus’ when you were freakin’ out about how the lamps were tired and the walls were gettin’ sore.”

“Rufus stayed with me.” You mutter. “He brought me new crayons, watched soccer, and told me to draw whatever I was seeing. Then you came back and said you were glad I asked about monsters and not math.”

“Sam spent the whole week talkin’ my ear off about fractions.” Bobby mutters. “And you gave me one of those drawings. Drew me green and the grass gold. When I asked you why, you said cause you’re green, and I like grass.”

You swallow, dropping your gaze back to your hands, and Bobby pushes on.

“I keep that in my desk. With all your other…”

“Crazy shit?”

He chuckles. “Sure. But the point I was tryin’ to make is that I brought you up to Alexandria, but I’d forgotten to clear it out. Some of Dean’s shit was still lyin’ around, and you were goddamn fascinated by it. Few of those old movies he loves, car magazine he’d grabbed from a library, and a bunch of candy he’d nicked for Sam. Think that was the first time you ate candy. Your eyes got real wide, and you asked if there were other things that tasted like it. Then you watched all the movies three times, and asked me to bring you more of ‘em.”

The world is blurring a little again. “All you could find was Indiana Jones.”

“Yep. Got you that, and a root beer float, and you never fuckin’ looked back.”

“Bobby.” You don’t want to look at him. To see what you know, written all over his face. “I- I don’t- I can’t-“

“I know you can’t, kiddo.” Bobby lets out a long, slow sigh. “All I’m tellin’ you is that whatever the hell you two got goin’ on, it’s not new. You wanted that boy since before you even knew him.”

“I-“

“You don’t gotta do anythin’ about it. But if you think it’s nothin’, it’s not. I still remember Dean bein’ twelve and askin’ me why that blanket you kept on the couch smelled good. And he’s a dumbass, but he’s good for you.”

“He’s not a dumbass.” You mumble, and you don’t care if it’s not helping your case. You still have to say it.

Bobby only sighs. “I know he ain’t. But he can be. Just like you.”

You give a tiny nod, and keep your eyes fixed on your fingers. You’re picking at them again. “Can we please talk about something else.”

“You hear me? ‘Bout Dean?”

You nod, and hear Bobby let out a slow breath.

“Okay, then. What’d you wanna talk about.”

“Uh- How’s the hunt going for Death-“

“Same as it was last night.”

Your glare shoots up, and Bobby gives you a small, dry grin.

“Finish your breakfast, kiddo. Then we’ll talk Armageddon.”

You sigh, but listen.

And the hunt for Death isn’t really making progress. Wherever Lucifer sent him, it’s not for television appearances. Most of the day is spent playing the news in the background in hopes of blatant omens.

You won’t be useless. You might not be allowed to hunt, and you might lose Dean sleep by wandering out in the dead of night, but you won’t be useless. You won’t start screaming about Death in the middle of the night and make it Bobby’s problem. You’ll go sit on your bed and work on what you do best.

Weird things.

New spells and rituals, trying to resketch that map of Heaven, ideas for how to help Bobby or find Ellen. Through the whole night, ignoring when your eyes go dry and you can feel your teeth, because you won’t be useless.

True to his word, you get a call from an unknown number the next morning. Early the next morning. Your phone buzzing before the sky has even started to lighten, starting your attention away from the notes in your lap.

“Dean?” You pick up in a second, and he laughs from the other side.

“You know, one day you’re gonna pick up the phone and it’s gonna be the feds. Then you’ll have some explaining to do, Princess.”

You sigh, tipping your head back and smiling at the ceiling. "The feds don’t know who I am, De. Some of us are good at our jobs.”

“Hey, I’m good at my job. I got me and Sammy into this psych ward, didn’t I?”

“You did.” Your smile grows. “With my strategy.”

“Shit.” Dean mutters, and you let out a soft giggle. “I shouldn’t have told you that.”

“Nope.” You pause, fidgeting with the hem of your shirt.

Dean’s shirt.

Dean’s shirt that you’re wearing, because you’re an idiot who misses him and loves him and wants him all the time.

“I, um,” You swallow. “Are you there? And safe?”

You can hear him sigh through the phone. “Yeah. We’re safe. I mean, we got full bended and spread, but we’re safe.”

“Bended and-“

“Medical exam.” He grumbles, and you can almost see his sour expression. “It don’t know what the hell my ass has got to do with being bananas, but they still had to take a look.”

“Oh.” You flush, and force it to stay out of your voice. “That’s, um- Did it hurt?”

“Nah. It was fine. I-“ Dean cuts himself off, his voice dropping slightly when he continues. “Princess.”

Your flush is spreading. Growing hot between your legs. “Yeah?”

“Why the hell are you up right now.”

“You’re up-“

“I snuck out to leave you a voicemail so you had the number.” He snaps. “I didn’t think you’d actually be awake. Go back to sleep-“

“I never went to sleep.” You raise your voice over his, your knees drawing up to your chest. “I- I can’t.”

The line is only static for another second, then Dean clears his throat. “You wanna talk about it?”

“No.”

“Okay. You haven’t been-“

“I’ve been writing.” You whisper, turning one of your notes in your hand. “And thinking. But that’s it.”

“Good.” Dean mutters, and you hear a rustle through the speaker. He might be rubbing his face. “I can try and stay on the line with you, b- sweetheart, but if they catch me, I lose pudding privileges.”

You smile softly at the air. “Woe is you, Deano. I-“

“It ain’t that bad.” Dean speaks over you before you can convince him to hang up. “All they got is butterscotch.”

“Wow. Woe really is you.”

He chuckles. “You have no idea, Princess. You want me to stay?”

“Yes.” Your grip tightens on the phone. Like you can force his voice to stay with you. Please.”

“Alright, then. I had a great fucking milkshake on the road. Tasted like mint.”

“Dean, you hate mint-“

“I hate toothpaste. The, uh- sharp kinda mint-

“Spearmint?”

“Yeah. That. This was better than that. I’ll take you sometimes. If you- Uh, if you’d like.”

You smile into the air. “I’d like.”

“Good.” Dean coughs. “Sammy got a salad. Fucking health freak.”

You giggle, and stay on the phone until you blink, and realize the sun has long risen back into the sky, and you’re slumped across the mattress to Dean’s side of the bed.

He’s fine. The first thing Bobby tells you when you get downstairs is that Sam called that morning, saying they think they’re hunting a wraith and nothing else. If Dean was in trouble, Sam would mention it.

“Bobby.”

He grunts, and you push one of your papers across the table.

“Can you read that?”

“The Enochian?” He gives you a flat look. “No.”

“Not that.” You tap the bottom of the page. “That.”

Bobby sighs, and frowns at the paper. “Congelo.”

“Great. Now take this,” you shove a fistful of mint into his hands. “And keep it in your pocket.”

“In my-“ Bobby say your name with an incredulous expression. “What the hell are you talkin’ about-“

“It’s a defense.” Your tone is almost frantic. You can’t help it. “If you eat the mint and then say congelo, then everything within a ten-foot radius will freeze. I tried to keep it as simple as possible, but we’re going to have to up the salt in your diet and get you some pebbles to throw over your shoulder. And you, uh- You’ll have to keep the house about five degrees colder-“

“Kiddo, I ain’t doin’ any of that.”

“It’s not forever! It’s-“ You grab another fistful of notes, shoving them forward as if Bobby could read a single word. “It’s just until I figure out how to heal you-“

“No.” Bobby shakes his head, and you frown.

“But-“

“No. I don’t want you wastin’ your time on me.”

Your brows knit tight, and you scowl. “It’s not wasting time, Bobby-“

“It is if you’re lookin’ for ways to get me out of this chair instead of stop Lucifer.” He snaps. “I ain’t gonna lie and say I’m happy with this agreement, but I sure as shit ain’t putting myself before the damn world.”

“What if I want to put you first-“

“Then you need to remember that there’s no me, no anybody, if there ain’t world.”

You shake your head, your words growing strained. “What- What if something attacks you, Bobby. What if I’m not here and a demon gets to you again, and you can’t get to your shotgun. Then that’s three people that I could have helped, but I failed-“

“Hey.” Bobby grunts your name, and you take a slow, slightly shaking breath. “Breath. I got a piston on me, I keep extra guns places in this house that would shock ya’, and I know my exorcisms.”

“But-“

“If we’re bein’ honest, kiddo, my life expectancy is probably doubled in this chair. You’ve made this place more secure than fuckin’ Alcatraz. I’ll be fine.”

You take a heavy breath, your voice dropping under your breath. “People escaped from Alcatraz.”

“Yeah, three dumbasses who got themselves drowned.” Bobby sighs your name, rubbing his beard. “I’ll be alright kiddo. I got you lookin’ out for me, and if it makes you feel better, I’ll keep the damn mint. But I ain’t doin’ all the other stuff.”

You’ll take it. Just to give yourself a false sense of comfort, you’ll take it.

But it doesn’t help you sleep better. And the pain still crushes your lungs in the dead of night, but you don’t call Dean. He’s working. He needs the sleep too.

You’d promised you’d call him, if you were going to do something stupid. But you’re not. Every time you want to go outside and scream at the Sky until your voice is gone and your skin is frostbitten, you just keep writing under your hand cramps. It’s not even spells anymore. It’s Dean’s name in Enochian, a record of things you did that day, a bunch of fantasies you’re never going to speak aloud—that part comes with your hand between your thighs and a small gasp that sounds a lot like Dean—and a list of ideas for Dean’s birthday.

But it still hurts.

And you can’t just sit in it.

You take the knife and the Blade, as you slide out the door. You won’t need them—anything that can really hurt you will trigger the Silver, and then it’s everybody’s problem—but it will be good to have a defense in the morning, when Bobby asks what the hell you were thinking, sneaking of in the middle of the night. You brought a weapon. Everything was fine.

It isn’t.

Not really.

And you’re not really sure where you’re going. For a second, you’re driving the Firebird to the trail, ready to hike to the waterfall and see Jo—hiking at night might be a dumb idea, but animals tend to like you, and you do have your knife—but you’re not ready.

You can’t do it alone.

So you turn around, and end up at a bar. It’s the one Sam and Dean always go to. And you’ll always refuse Dean’s invitation, because they’re going to be drinking and you don’t want to be a bummer. The stick in the mud loser who can’t play pool, won’t drink, and is clinging to Dean’s side, stopping him from getting laid.

Sam had said Dean doesn’t look to get laid anymore.

That doesn’t mean he’d turn down an offer.

You try not to think about it.

But there’s still the fucking fantasy. Where you do go the bar with them, Dean’s only looking at you. Grinning at you and ordering you a Shirley Temple before guiding you to the pool table with his hand on your lower back, and talking to you through the whole game. Then he wanders over to your stool and stand between your legs, smirking at you before pulls you into a long, deep kiss-

“Are you waiting for someone, darling?”

You blink at the voice from your left—you’ve been staring at your eggnog for maybe twenty minutes—and nod. “Yeah, my boyfriend.”

The voice hums, and your skin crawls. It’s British, and all you can think of is Ketch. “Some boyfriend he is, leaving a lovely thing like you hanging.”

“He’s not leaving me hanging.” You shrug. “He’s a mechanic and I make him shower before he joins me. And I’m really not looking for company, so-“ You turn to look at Mr. British, and your words die in your throat. “Fuck.”

The demon is seeping and sticky and smooth. Blood red.

Crossroads demon.

His vessel is shorter, dressed on all black with a clean beard.

Easy body to hide.

You reach for your knife, and the demon just sighs.

“Don’t do that.” He tilts his head to your hand, and you scowl.

“Shucks, buddy, you don’t really get a say-“

“I am not here to hurt you.” He hums, taking a slow sip of his own drink. “No fun in that.”

You pause. The Silver isn’t rising anymore, but it’s not going back down either. Just humming in static. Waiting.

You don’t pull out the Blade, but you don’t move your hand, either. “No fun?”

“God, no.” The demons turns to face you with a smirk. “If I’m being self-aware, no point in trying, either. I’ve seen the news. As far as I recall, San Francisco never had hospital that looked like a hanging garden. Not until you visited it, anyway.”

The Silver flares slightly at that, and your words are pushed through your teeth. “What do you want.”

The demon laughs. “Think I’d rather introduce myself first, actually.” He extends a hand, his smirk growing. “I already know who you are,” he says your name, and you sit a little taller. “But I’m afraid I missed you, when your two handsome buffoons gave me a gentlemanly call. Crowley, King of the Crossroads, anti-Lucifer demon.”

Fuck.

You’re staring at him, trying to weigh the merits of stabbing him and running. If one demon found you, others could find you. And even if Crowley is—as he very pointedly said—against Lucifer, that doesn’t mean other demons won’t find you and call Lucifer-

“What’s wrong?” Crowley cuts through your cold panic, his brows raised. “Not a toucher?”

His hand.

You’re not going to shake it.

“You didn’t answer my question.” You say, pulling your hand out of your jacket. “What do you want.”

“Well, if we’re skipping formalities,” Crowley withdraws his hand, and his smirk grows. “I want to make a deal.”

“No.”

He sighs. “You haven’t heard my offer yet, you can’t just say no-“

“Yes, I can. No.”

“You are-“ He scowls, scanning over you carefully. “I’m not asking for your soul, darling. This isn’t another Dean’s got a year situation.”

You narrow your eyes, the Silver flaring slightly. “I’m still not interested.”

“Yes, because you don’t know what I’m offering-“

“I don’t care-“

“You will.” His grin returns in full force, wide and snake-like. “Because I can give you Death.”

The Silver flares again. Still too deep in your body to be dangerous, but brighter. You can feel how cold your glass is, from the ice in your drink. “Death.”

“That’s right.” He hums. “And since I can’t take your soul, all you’d owe me is one little favor.”

One favor.

Death, for one favor.

You’re not a fucking idiot. And Crowley might have played nice with Sam and Dean, but he’s still a demon. Still smiling at you from inside the vessel, hideous and crude and bloody.

But Death.

You could fix your mistake. You could make it better.

Dean told you not to do anything stupid.

“I know you have no reason to trust me,” Crowley says, before you can even open your mouth. “But I promise. I don’t break my deals, and I am very much in favor of a world without the Devil. He doesn’t even do any of the real work. Made us govern ourselves for years, he’s barely more than a figurehead.”

You frown, and speak before you can stop yourself. “Why are you British?”

He rolls his eyes. “Why are you American?”

“Touché.” You sigh and rub your thumb over your palm. “I-“

Crowley shakes his head. “Don’t answer yet. Sleep on it. And if you need proof of my allegiances,” Crowley leans forward, holding your gaze. “So I can offer you a step forward. For free.”

“Offer me- A step forward.” Your eyes narrow. “Why would you do that?”

“Call it an investment. I’ve been told some interesting things about you,” he drawls your name with a small shrug. “And while I’m not looking for friends, I’d have to be a fool to be on the bad side of the girl who kills angels and raised Death.”

“What’s a step forward-“

“You’ll have to find that out yourself, I’m afraid. But I promise I’m good on my word.”

You swallow, the Silver twisting in your body. “And it’s… free.”

Crowley nods, his grin never dropping. “As long as you promise to think about my real offer, yes. It is free.”

And Dean told you not to do anything stupid.

But thinking about it doesn’t mean you have to do it.

“Fine.” You lean forward, holding Crowley’s gaze, and his smirk grows. “I’ll think about it. Promise. Your turn.”

“Los Angeles, California. See what you find.”

You open your mouth to push, but before you can, Crowley snaps his fingers. And he’s gone.

Fuck.

——————

“Dean.” Dad grunted, and Dean’s sat up.

If Dad needed him, he always had to sit up. Look ready. Prove that he was listening, and that he would be worthy of whatever was needed. The kiddie gun Dad let him keep was in his pants. He couldn’t get into smaller spaces anymore, but he could strong-arm them open. Or just force himself into them, so Sammy didn’t have to.

Whatever it was, Dean would do it. He could do it. He always did it, and it hurt sometimes, but he was being fucking useful, so-

“Take these.” Dad muttered, passing a pair of scissors into Dean’s hand. “Go inside, cut some cloth, then come out. Anyone ask you what you’re doin’, you pretend you’re dull in the head. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

Dean didn’t understand. But he knew better than to tell Dad that. Then Dad would just give the scissors to Sammy, and while Dean could play stupid, Sammy couldn’t. Kid didn’t know how. He’d just freak out about getting caught and start making up frantic excuses until they were screwed.

But Dean could play stupid. He was good at it, too. And he’d figure out what Dad wanted.

Get cloth.

That couldn’t be too hard.

Dad had parked around the back of the Church. Out of the view of the road and—more importantly—patrolling cop cars. Dean had heard him on the phone with Bobby this morning, while Sammy was sleeping. Someone had ratted out the guy in room 105 at the motel on Kirk Street, with a bunch of guns and two kids that didn’t go to school. Now they had to wrap up the case and hit the road, before everything got worse.

That was why Dean was going in, and not Dad. Dad would be in danger.

Dean might be too, but no one was going to hurt a kid.

Usually.

And Dean had never been in a church before. He didn’t remember Mom being that kind of religious, and Dad always said ‘you’d have to be a crazy asshole to believe, knowin’ what’s out there.’ Sometimes they’d pass big, dusty churches on the highway, but they looked like nothing. Single-colored building with crosses stuck on the top, all wood or clay or brick. The door always seemed too big, and the signs all said things like ‘There will be judgement’, which Dean wasn’t sure was true.

If there was judgement, it was a little slow. Or misplaced. If there was judgement, Mom never would’ve gotten ganked, and Sammy would’ve gotten to know what normal was. If there was judgement, Dad would get to sleep more, and he wouldn’t ever be angry because everything would be fine.

Dean didn’t remember what fine felt like.

He was sure he wouldn’t be finding it in an old building that smelled like wet wood and smoke, with some old bald guy yelling at him.

And that was what he’d been sure all churches would be.

But this wasn’t that.

Maybe it’s because they were in a city. Dad rarely took them to cities. But Chicago had a problem, and Dad was the only person who could solve it. So, city.

And Dad rarely let them near churches, either. But here they were.

And when Dean shuffled through the too big doors, this wasn’t the wooden box filled with guilt and dummies praying to nothing.

It was big.

Beautiful.

A ceiling that seemed higher than the sky, and arches that curved over his head like doorways. There was a big organ at the front, stained glass windows lining the walls, and Dean felt small. He felt like he was somewhere he shouldn’t be. It was too bright and colorful, too well-kept and clean. That might be gold, lining the alter, all the benches were shiny and polished, and not one of them was going to give him a splinter.

It was empty. Oddly empty. It was a Thursday, but a place like this felt as if it should be filled with a hundred people, shouting and singing and doing church things. But it was just Dean, and the stature of the guy on the cross, hanging over the dais.

That looked painful. Really freaking painful.

Dean didn’t think he’d be strong enough to do that, if he had to. He knew the whole Jesus story—he wasn’t that much of an idiot—and if Dad asked him to hang himself for the sake of everyone else, he didn’t know if he could.

He wanted to be able to. Wanted to be worthy of whatever people saw in that guy, to make something this beautiful for him. Maybe if he bled enough, just one person would leave a flower at his grave. One person would sit on all those shiny benches, and think of Dean.

He would never be worthy of all this beauty. Of those painting on the glass of angels, or the spotless shine of the floors. A flower and one person could be all he asked for.

Maybe one day he’d earn it.

Right now, he had to get cloth.

There was no one to stop him wandering right up the steps to the big preaching area, and there was some red, soft looking fabric hanging off the alter. That could be what Dad was looking for. And if it wasn’t, Dean would just take the blow, then run back inside until his brain started freaking working and he figured it out.

He knelt down behind the alter—where nobody would see him, if they walked in—and raised the scissors to make a small, clean cut.

“What are you doing?”

Dean’s head shot up, and there She was. Sitting on the alter with hair shinier than the gold in the pews, looking at Dean with eyes brighter than all the sun leaking through the glass. Dean whispered Her name, his voice a little hoarse, and suddenly he wasn’t small anymore. He was kneeling, but at Her eye level. The scissors were smaller in his hands, and the alter was far from hiding his body from sight.

He didn’t want to be hidden from sight. He wanted Her to look at him, all the fucking time. And smile, and lean forward while holding his gaze.

“Dean.” Her voice was teasing, mimicking the tone with which he’d said Her name. He really wanted to kiss Her. “Why are we in a church?”

“I, uh-“ He cleared his throat, grabbing Her knee.

A little bit to steady himself, but mostly just to touch Her. Make sure She didn’t vanish into the air as the dream fell back into a boring pace.

“I’m working a case. With Dad.”

“Huh.” She frowned, glancing down at the scissors. “What?”

“He needed cloth from a church.”

“Why couldn’t he get it himself?”

“There were cops.” Dean shrugged. “And this isn’t that bad, sweetheart. One time he had me crawl into the sewer cause he dropped the wolf killing bullets.”

Her brow furrowed into a tight wrinkle. “Dean-“

“Yeah, yeah. I know.” He shrugged. “But shit happens. And he got the wolf.”

“I- How old are you?”

“Right now?” Dean frowned. “This is, uh- The ’89 case in Chicago. Woulda been ten.”

The little wrinkle deepened, Her lips falling into a full pout. “That’s-“

He sighed. “Look, Princess, I know. And I’ve come to terms with it-“

“I don’t care.” She whispered, Her fingers reaching up to trail his jawbone. “You didn’t deserve that, De. I- He never deserved you.”

Dean let out a dry chuckle. “That right, Princess? I’m just that good, huh.”

“You are.”

She was holding his gaze, and there wasn’t anything mocking in Her voice. She just had that little furrow in Her brow, a siren-like voice that might be the most gospel this stupid church had ever heard, and Dean didn’t even feel small now. The felt like he was something important, with how She was looking at him.

And he wasn’t.

But for Her, he’d always wanted to be.

“Well,” Dean drawled Her name, raising his brows. “Who would deserve me, then?”

She frowned. “Nobody.”

Dean blinked. She’d said it like She meant he was too good, when really nobody deserved having to deal with him. Deal with all his shit. The bits he’d forced into himself, the mud he’d been born into, the violence and horror that came with just knowing him.

And She’d said it so simply, too. Like it was a fact and not just an outright lie. Moving on before he could push it.

“You know, I’m from Chicago.” Her voice was a hum, Her fingers still lingering on Dean’s face. “Sort of. It was the closest city. I actually came to this church a lot.”

Dean frowned. “You did? If I’m ten, you’re-“

“Seven. Still with my family.”

“Huh.” He scanned over Her carefully, catching Her hand before She pull it away, and pulling Her a little further forward. Until he was higher on his knees, settled between Her spread legs and holding Her gaze.

“Dean.” She whispered, and he pressed a kiss to Her knuckles.

“What do you think woulda happened?” He murmured. “If we met then?”

“I- I don’t know.”

“I do.” He shrugged, taking Her face between his hands, and brushing his thumb over Her lower lip. “I’d start goin’ to church a lot more.”

She gave him a flat look. “Dean.”

“Yeah, baby?” He grinned at Her, and She flushed.

“You would hate church-“

“But I like you.”

She sighed. “You’d have to sit still for hours. Without music.”

“So I’d sit next to you.”

“My family wouldn’t have let you sit next to me.”

“Then I woulda snuck you out.” Dean shrugged. This was a stupid, impossible fantasy. That didn’t stop him from having it. “We’d hang out with they did whatever church people do, and if you still wanted to run away, I would’ve taken you with me. But if you stayed trapped with your douchebag family, I would’ve kept coming back, over and over, forever.”

She sighed, giving him a sad smile. “That’s a long time, Deano.”

“Nah.” He shrugged. “Not if I was with you.”

Her throat bobbed, Her fingers curling on the collar of Dean’s shirt, and She was so fucking beautiful. This was what the world should be worshipping. Her. But She shouldn’t have to suffer for it. She was too untouchable, too divine. People should be the ones bleeding for Her.

Dean certainly would.

And when She leaned forward, brushing Her lips over his, Dean understood how people could dedicate their lives to something they could never be sure was real.

This was only a dream. Dean was only crashing up into Her in the haze of light and color that was his dream, and only leaning Her down on the alter in his head. And he may never get this again, out there in the real world, but he didn’t care. He’d keep himself as Her shadow out there, and He’d keep Her like this in his mind all the time.

Sighing easily into his mouth and mumbling his name, pliant and soft under his touch but scratching at his back when he nipped Her lower lip or pulled Her tongue between his teeth.

Just for the idea of Her, he’d do unspeakable things.

And for Her herself, he’d bleed all over the floor if She asked it of him.

Everything Dean had to give was Her’s.

All the way down.

Something slammed right into his fucking face, and Dean’s eyes shot open with grunt.

“What the- Goddamnit-“ He dragged the towel off his face, shooting a very smug looking Sam a glower. “This is still fucking wet, bitch-“

“You weren’t waking up, jerk.” Sam shrugged. “C’mon. I already started the car.”

Dean frowned. “You- Why? If you think you’re driving-“

“I’m not driving, Dean. We just need to hit the road, if we want to get to LA before midnight.”

“Before-“ Dean shook his head, and he could still fucking smell Her in the air. It hadn’t helped clear his thoughts. “Sammy, there’s no way we’re going right to the next case without-“

Sam said Her name, and Dean froze. “I know. You want to go back to Bobby’s to see her-“

“I- We need to check on Bobby and the Horsemen-“

“Sure, dude. But she’s gonna be there. So let’s go.”

“Be- In LA?”

Sam nodded, tossing Dean his jacket, and he caught it with a scowl.

“Why the fuck is she in LA, she’s still benched-“

“It’s her case.” Sam shrugged on his own jacket. “I guess she un-benched herself.”

He was way too goddamn relaxed about that. She shouldn’t be on a case right now. And it wasn’t just Dean being overprotective like Sam kept saying. Sam wasn’t there with Her, almost every night. Sam didn’t hold Her while she cried in the dead of night, or see that She was picking at her hands again, or notice how She’d been rubbing Her wrists until they were raw and looked rope burned.

Sam didn’t wake up to find Her missing from bed. Didn’t feel his heart jump into his throat as he ran outside to find Her, and have it sink right back down into a pit at the sight of Her. Shivering and curled into Herself, all the color drained from Her features.

Sam didn’t feel goddamn useless when he got Her to smile again, but still left Her in the morning.

Dean didn’t want to leave Her. Ever. If it were up to him, he’d live at Bobby’s and never stray further than he could hear Her calling his name. But the stupid fucking apocalypse meant he had to. And he wasn’t sure if it was the shit in San Francisco that had pushed Her too far, or something else she wouldn’t talk about, but he knew She shouldn’t be in the field. Shouldn’t be anywhere where She might hurt herself more.

And She’d agreed with that. Dean had double checked that She really was fine staying with Bobby, and She’d agreed.

So he wasn’t sure what the fuck was happening.

“What do you mean, it’s her case.” Dean narrowed his eyes at Sam, and the kid sighed.

“I mean she called last night, and she said I’ve got a case in LA. Meet me there. That’s it, Dean.”

“She called you?”

“Yep.”

Dean’s jaw clenched, and Sam gave him an amused look.

“Holy shit, dude. You were asleep-“

“Shut up.” Dean stomped to the door. “Call her for the details, then tell her to go back to Bobby’s-“

Sam snorted. “No. There’s no way I’m doing that.”

“I’m not asking-“

“No, Dean.” Sam gave him a flat look as they moved across the parking lot. “And glaring at me isn’t going to change my mind.”

“Sammy, she shouldn’t be hunting-“

“Then tell her yourself. I’m not jumping in front of that bullet for you.”

Dean scowled, and Sam let out a long sigh.

“Look, dude, you’re not gonna be able to stop her. You know that better than anyone.”

Dean did.

Son of a bitch, he really did.

And he only grunted at Sam and turned up the radio, but Sam didn’t need Dean to admit he was right. The little smirk on his stupid face meant he already knew.

Trying to stop Her wouldn’t work. It had never worked. If Dean went up to Her and said Princess, go home, he’d get a glare that might hurt just as much as being stabbed. Then She’d been pissed at him, and wouldn’t let him talk to Her, and if She started crying, Dean wouldn’t be allowed to comfort Her.

The best thing he could do was be there. With Her. For Her. Next to Her as her shadow, all the time.

Hopefully, this would be a quick case. If not a salt and burn, a monster that She could gank in Her sleep, and She just wanted them there to help her with. They’d take care of it, then maybe actually get to the beach this time around.

And that wasn’t what was going to happen. She wouldn’t have left Bobby just for a monster of the week.

She wouldn’t be waiting for them at the motel—the drive had been long, but Dean had only stopped for gas once and told Sam to hold it whenever he started whining about the bathroom—with Cas at Her side, if it was something that would be done in a day.

They were settled in, too. Cas sat at the table, frowning over some of Her notes. She beamed when She saw Dean—and it filled him with light and made him stand a little taller, ignoring Sammy’s eyes roll entirely—and stood up, crossing the room to pull Sam into a quick hug.

Sam got to go first. That was fine. There was no reason—at least not a logical one—that Dean should be hugged first, so he just rocked on his feet with his hands in his pockets, and he didn’t need to Her to hug him at all-

She almost slammed into him, and Dean let out a wheeze. It was tight. And long. And his arms wrapped around Her in a second, holding Her head to his chest and swaying back and forth slowly.

He could smell the fruit, and Her hair was so shiny, and Her lips were brushing against his neck whenever She took a breath-

Dean squeezed Her once, just to check, and She squeezed back twice.

His jaw clenched, and he held Her a little tighter.

Something was wrong.

“Hey, Cas.” Sammy cleared his throat, shooting Dean a should we be worried about this look. “You’re, uh- I thought you were still looking for God, right?“

Cas said Her name, and She pulled back from Dean’s arms with a sigh. “I can tell them, if that would be easier-“

“I’ve got it.” She took a pace back, looking between Sam and Dean with a small, tight smile. “I’ve got a lead.”

“A lead?” Sam frowned. “Like, on a horseman?”

She shrugged. “Maybe. Don’t know yet.”

Dean narrowed his eyes. “What do you mean you don’t know.”

“I know it’s something.” She gave him a grimacing smile. “Jury is still out on what.”

“How’d you find the lead.” She sighed, twisting the skin on her finger. “Research.”

Lie. That was a fucking lie.

But before Dean could call Her on it, Sammy was talking again.

“What is the lead?”

She walked back to the table with Cas, who gave Her a tight nod and passed her a paper without a word.

Maybe Sam was right. Maybe they should be worried about that.

“People are fucking each other when they try to have sex.” She said, and Dean couldn’t stop his smirk.

“I think that’s what’s supposed to happen, Princess.”

Flush. Hitched breath. Parted lips that feel into a tight frown. “I know that,” she muttered. “I mean they’re fucking each other up. Like, ripping each other apart.”

She held up the photo—red and gruesome with a lot of guts on the outside of bodies—and Sam recoiled.

“That’s… so gross.”

“It gets worse,” Cas muttered. “Another couple suffocated. To death.”

Dean frowned. “How the hell is that-“

“They were also engaging in sexual acts.”

“Sexual-“ Sam shook his head, then said Her name. “What sexual acts?”

Her voice was barely a mumble. “Uh- 69ing.”

“Oh.” Sam’s eyed widened. “Oh. Shit.”

Dean couldn’t look at Her too long. At how She was very obviously avoiding his gaze and rubbing at Her wrists, hiking her knees up to Her chest as she dropped back at the table. It was just sex. And maybe Dean imagined it with Her, every time he took a shower and whenever She was lying with him in bed—or when he was alone in bed, or when She bent over and he wanted to crowd all Her space and kiss over Her neck, or when She fluttered her lashes and pouted Her lips and it felt like a goddamn spell was being cast over him—but that didn’t mean this was weird. She didn’t even know Dean thought those things.

He was pretty sure She didn’t know.

If She knew, She’d never said anything. She would have said something. Or, more likely, stopped sleeping in a bed with him. And he played this out a million times before in his head—if She could see Dean’s desire and need for Her, spinning out of control from his soul and trying to touch Her, Dean always wanted to touch Her—but never stopped to circle around what if She could see it, and didn’t say anything, but didn’t hate it, either.

He wasn’t sure what to do, then. She might be waiting for him to something, just like the kiss in Florida. But Dean wasn’t sure, and he didn’t want to say the wrong thing or do the wrong thing and fuck it all up.

And if She wanted him, if She was flushed and nervous because of that, then-

Now wasn’t the time to worry about that. People were dying. Fucking each other to death. He needed to focus.

The more he focused, the faster they’d get through the case, the faster they got Her home, the sooner he could think about falling to his knee in front of Her and asking do you want me to touch you, baby girl? Are you thinking about touching me? Cause not a goddamn second passes where I don’t think I’d be a happy man suffocating between your legs-

“Do we have any theories?” Sam asked, moving to stand over the table and Dean clenched his fists. Focus. He needed to goddamn focus. “I know you guys have only been here a day, but-“

“We have ideas.” Cas cut Sam off with slow, careful words, looking to Her.

Still staring at the floor as Cas said Her name.

“The Enochian. Tell them about that.”

She frowned. “You tell them about it.”

“But you’re the one who found it, and translated it.”

“But you keep saying I translated it wrong.”

“You still got it, though.” Cas frowned, and Sam shot Dean another worried look. “Do you wish me to explain it?”

She swallowed, but shook Her head. “I- Yes. Please.”

“Fine.” Cas looked back to Sam and Dean. “It’s a cupid.”

She rolled Her eyes. “It’s not a cupid.”

“You said I could explain it. I’m explaining it.”

“But you have to say my side too-“

“Your side is incorrect, why would I give them incorrect information-“

“Cas.” Dean grunted, looking between them with a frown as he muttered Her name, and She blinked up at him with shining eyes. “What the fuck is happening here.”

She sighed. “We have a bet.”

Sam blinked. “A… bet?”

“I found Enochian markings on the victims.” Cas said, pushing another paper—this one covered with Her handwriting in the margins—forward. “It is a Cupid’s mark. One may have gone rogue.”

She shook Her head. “But it says meat.”

“It says mate. Meat is a mistranslation.”

“But the word mate in English is derived from meat. And the people were hungry.”

“Hold up.” Dean shook his head, leaning over to frown at the paper. “Mate? Like- Soulmate?”

Cas sighed. “No, Dean. Soulmates aren’t real. Unions are pre-ordained by Heaven for higher purposes, or chosen at the free will of humans. Mate means…”

Cas trailed off, giving Her a helpless look that she only shrugged at, and Dean cleared his throat.

“Sex. It means sex, right.” He frowned between them. “You two are allowed to say sex-“

“We know that.” She snapped, and Dean’s lips twitched as She snatched the paper back with a glare. She was so fucking pretty. “We’re just tired. We’ve been working this all day.”

Sam frowned. “So you can’t say sex?”

“Sam.”

“Oh- Uh, sorry.” Sam scratched the back of his neck, reclining slightly from Her glare. Dean couldn’t blame him. She looked scary. “So- Do we think it’s a Cupid?”

She said no at the exact time Cas said yes, and Dean sighed, running a hand over his face.

“Well, it’s gotta be something-“

“That’s the bet.” She said, crossing Her arms over Her chest. “If it’s a cupid, he wins. If anything other than that, I win.”

“Win?” Sammy frowned between them. “Win what?”

“She will buy me more ice cream.” Cas muttered. “And I will find her a cat.”

“Cas.” Sam said slowly. “You’re an angel. I don’t think you need someone to buy you ice cream.”

“And,” Dean grunted Her name, holding Her gaze. “You can’t get a cat.”

“Why not?”

“I’m allergic.”

“It… will not be your cat, Dean.” Cas frowned at him. “I am getting it for her.”

“Yeah, Dean.” She stuck Her tongue out at him. “He’s getting it for me.”

“But only if you win, right?” Sam frowned between them. “I mean, that’s how bets work-“

“I know how bets work.” Cas said Her name with a shurg. “She explained them to me.”

“And we’ve already shaken on this one.” She sat up a little taller, raising Her chin. “So that’s that.”

Sam had definitely been right. Whatever this was—Her and Cas both staring them down with smug expressions and a bunch of Enochian notes covering the table—was maybe going to give Dean a heart attack.

“Oh- Okay.” Sam sighed, shooting Dean a defeated look. “Did you guys make a plan?”

“We have had a plan for hours, Sam.” Cas’ tone was flat, and Sam blinked. “We were waiting for you to arrive, so it could be executed.”

“Exe-“ Dean shook his head. “Cas, I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, but it’s damn near two in the morning-“

“We’re gonna go to bed, De.” She gave him a softer smile, and his heart might have just done a freaking flip. “But in the morning, I’m going to take Sam, and you’re going to go Cas, and I’m going to win.”

Cas frowned. “Unless it is a cupid-“

“It’s not a cupid.”

“The point of the bet is that it may be a cupid-“

“No, the point of the bet is that I want a cat-“

“Guys.” Sam raised his hand, raising his voice over theirs. “Splitting up isn’t a plan. I mean- It’s kind of a plan, but not really-“

“Don’t worry, buddy.” She gave Sam a wide grin. “You’re with me. And I’ve got a real plan.”

“Oh- Okay.” Sam put his hand back down. “And Cas and Dean-“

“I have a plan as well.” Cas gave Dean a small nod, and he felt a little frozen. “Dean, there is a diner down the road with burgers you will like. We’ll meet there.”

“We’ll- Where the hell are you going now?”

Cas frowned, rising slowly. “I do not sleep, and there are,” he glanced down to Her. “Other things. For me to attend to.”

Dean scowled. “Like what.”

“Things.” Cas’ voice remained flat. “I will see you in the morning, Dean.”

Sam’s eyes widened. “Wait-“

There was a rustle, and then Cas was gone.

And She was still staring down at Her hands, the skin of Her nails picked raw.

Something was wrong.

“Shit.” Sam muttered Her name, shaking his head. “Do I need anything for tomorrow?”

She shook Her head. “No. Just get some sleep.”

Sam nodded slowly, turning around with a clap of Dean’s shoulder. “I’m gonna go get our bags,” he muttered under his breath. “I’ll take whatever bed you guys aren’t in.”

Dean grunted an agreement, and didn’t look away from Her as Sam moved away.

The door closed, and he crossed the room to kneel before Her, his hands resting carefully on Her thighs. She could shove him away if She needed to. And it would sting over his heart and skin if She did, but he’d let Her.

She just met his gaze under Her lashes, a small furrow in Her brow.

She looked so fucking tired.

Dean muttered Her name, slowly reaching up to hold Her face in his hands. “You’re not supposed to be hunting.”

“I- You’re not my boss, Winchester-“

“But I’m your-“ Friend. Best friend. Pathetic guard dog. Shadow. “I know you, Princess. Better than anyone. And you need rest-“

“I- I know, okay. But I need to see this through.”

He frowned. “Why.”

“Because.”

Dean grunted Her name, and She shook Her head.

“I- I just do, okay. Please.”

She was saying please. And fluttering Her lashes slightly. And Dean was orbiting around Her, and falling up into Her, but goddamnit, this felt like a shit idea. She was lying about something, and he didn’t know how to push Her on it. He’d never been good at applying the right amount of pressure with Her. And Dean might be damn good at taking care of Her—brushing a little of Her hair back and running his thumb down Her nose—but he’d also been good at hurting Her.

He hadn’t hurt Her in a while. He never wanted to hurt Her again.

But he couldn’t make it better if he didn’t know what was wrong. He couldn’t protect Her if he was off with Cas for the whole hunt.

“Princess-“

“I- I want to go see it soon.” She whispered, and Dean frowned.

“See-“

“The waterfall. Where Bobby-“ She swallowed, and it clicked in Dean’s head.

“Jo.”

“I- I can’t go alone, De. I- I’ve been trying. And I can’t. And I promise I’m not running, and I know this is a bad idea, but it’s my lead and I have to do it-“

Her words turned into soft, weak tears, and Dean swore under his breath. He wasn’t making Her cry. But he wasn’t fucking helping either.

“I- I’m so tired,” She was falling over him, and Dean adjusted in a second. Pushing up to his knees and tucking Her into his chest. “I wanna go home-“

“Then go home,” he muttered Her name. “We can take care of this ourselves, cupid or not-“

She shook Her head against him. “No, I- It has to be me. I- I’m just tired.”

This was more than tired. She was leaning back with sniffles and pouting lips, and Dean knew this was more than tired.

But son of a bitch, he didn’t know how to push Her on it. And at least She’d have Sammy. He wouldn’t let anything happen to Her, if not for Dean, for Her. The kid adored Her. And She was strong. She’d gotten through months alone, right after Jo’s death, without a single scratch.

That Dean could see.

But he couldn’t push Her on that either. Or on whatever the hell She and Cas were up to. And it definitely wasn’t the time to talk about how—when he kissed Her brow and helped Her to her feet, guiding Her into bed and pulling off his shoes before falling at Her side—he couldn’t stop wanting to fucking kiss Her.

He needed to just be there for Her. Lay at Her side and take Her hand, carefully testing if She’d kick him out of bed like a dog if he tugged Her a little closer.

She didn’t.

And that should be enough. It had to be enough.

But it never was.

She shifted, in the night. Dean drifted in and out of sleep, and every time his eyes would open and he’d regain fully awareness, She’d have moved. Her body now facing his. Her chest pressed to Dean’s side. Her leg hooked over his waist, and their hands still tangled together.

Her face, burrowed in Dean’s shoulder, Her breath warm on his skin.

It was torture. It was the best goddamn torture in the world, because Dean got to hold Her—kind of—but it wasn’t enough, and now he couldn’t fucking sleep.

The rest of the night passed with lights on the ceiling, their hands pressed to Dean’s chest the smell of fruit and sugar getting him high on an amazing, horrible drug.

He shouldn’t think about it right now. It was wrong. Sick. She was his best friend, and She was in fucking pain, and She’d been crying in his arms only a few hours before.

But She was also humming softly whenever She took a breath, and nuzzling against Dean’s throat, and Her knee was real damn close to brushing against his cock. And in another world, maybe he’d be allowed to flip Her over until she was staring at him all pretty, splayed out below Dean and whispering his name in that siren-like way only She had ever said it. Then he’d kiss the sound off Her lips, and she’d hum softly and tug at his hair, and he’d give Her more. Give Her everything. All She’d need to do was relax into it, and Dean would make Her see all those stars that only seemed to shine for Her. Make Her feel that perfect, slightly pained paradise he lived in, whenever She so much as fucking smile at him.

He’d made Her scream his name until Her voice was hoarse, then wrap Her safely in his arms, getting Her whatever she needed before She had to ask. He’d fuck Her until She couldn’t walk, then carry Her wherever She needed to go. He’d praise Her and kiss Her until she was a flushed, fucked out mess, and kiss Her again just so She knew.

That as long as Dean had a say in it, She’d only feel good things. Be good places. Be happy.

He just needed to be the luckiest, most undeserving son of a bitch in the world, and be the one She wanted to be happy with. The asshole from the mud that hadn’t dragged himself up, but had hardened into clay. And She could mold him into whatever She wanted him to be.

Dean just really fucking hoped it was something where he got to kiss Her, and She stayed wrapped around him for maybe the rest of time.

He got up the moment light cracked through the blinders. He’d be fucked if She woke up first, and felt the raging boner pressed into Her thigh.

The cold shower sort of helped. The gritting his teeth, squeezing his eyes shut, and jacking off to the fantasy of Her in bed with him—curled at Dean’s side, smiling at him with fluttering lashes and maybe grinding onto his thigh while Her hands wrapped around his cock—helped a lot. And Dean dressed in the bathroom, grabbing coffee from the desk and setting in on the nightstand, with a little scribbled note that he was out with Cas, and to call if they got any leads.

She and Sammy needed the sleep more than Dean did, anyway. They both looked peaceful, and they’d both been beating themselves up every damn moment they’d been awake, and Dean had been trying to help them but maybe he was only making it worse-

Problems for later. Right now, Dean needed to get a start on the case. The sooner they wrapped it up, the sooner Dean could get Her home. Take Her to go see Jo. Maybe stop and get Her food—not that day, that day would be a lot more holding Her while she cried—and then find the words to ask am I allowed to kiss you still, Princess. And if I am, could we do more than kissing. Could you maybe see yourself holding my hand, wearing even less clothing when you slept, and letting me build you a house that might not be the fanciest thing in the world, but would be fucking ours. And you’d be mine, and I’d just keep being yours.

Always been yours, Princess. He stared down at Her like a fucking creep, tracing his hands over Her cheekbones. Never gonna be anything else. All the way down, right?

She didn’t answer.

So Dean headed out the door, and called Cas at the diner.

“How certain are you it’s a cupid?” Dean asked, right through a mouthful of burger—Cas was right, this place was awesome, they served burgers at six in the morning—and Cas sighed.

“I am positive.” Cas muttered Her name. “She is caught up on the semantics of the translation. I will admit that I’ve never seen a rogue cupid do something like this, but this year has been… full of firsts.”

Dean grunted. “Yeah, it has. Never seen an angel place a bet before. Or take orders from a human.”

Cas frowned. “I have taken orders from you, Dean.”

“Those were suggestions-“

Cas said Her name carefully. “I am speaking of her. You did not suggest that I ensure she slept.”

Dean scowled. “Well, did you?”

“Of course I did.” Cas frowned. “You asked me to.”

Dean blinked. “Oh, uh- Thanks then. You’re not really gonna get her a cat, right?”

“I will have to. If I lose the bet.”

“What, did you two make a blood oath-“

“I don’t have blood.” Cas paused, his gaze flicking down to Dean’s burger. “You are eating slower than usual.”

“It’s early. And you better lose that freakin’ bet-“

“I am confident in my theory, Dean. You can come with us when we get ice cream.” Cas was still staring at the burger, and Dean cleared his throat.

“How’d that other thing go?”

Cas’ gaze flicked back to Dean’s with a frown. “What?”

“Your other thing that you left us for. Last night.” Dean narrowed his eyes, and said Her name. “Was it something for her?”

Cas sighed. “If you are looking for me to tell you of our private conversations, Dean, it won’t work.”

“Why the hell not-“

“Because I won’t betray her confidence. Just as I wouldn’t betray yours about the bottle of her perfume that you keep in the bottom of your bag-“

Dean sat up. “How the hell do you know about that.”

“You asked me to grab you a gun, a few weeks ago. And I have eyes.”

“Well- I-“ Dean shook his head, leaning forward. “This is different, Cas. She might get herself hurt-“

“I will not let that happen.” Cas was looking at the fucking burger again. “Dean, I know how you are about your food, but-“

“Take it, man.” Dean sighed, pushing the plate forward. “I’ll get another one for the road or something.”

Cas nodded, grabbing the burger a lot faster than Dean expected, and he frowned.

“I thought you didn’t need to eat-“

“I don’t. I’m trying new things.”

That didn’t make a whole lot of sense.

Wasn’t enough time to push it.

“Well, if it’s a cupid, how are we gonna find it-“

“You won’t have to find it.” Cas shrugged, frowning around the diner. “This city is a high priority location for cherubim-“

“Cherubim-“

“Cupids. They are low level angels. Not a threat, though.” Cas nodded slowly, and it mostly seemed to be to himself. “I will find it and deal with it easily.”

Dean frowned. “Then what the hell am I here for-“

“The bet.”

“Ah. Right. The bet.” He let out a slow breath, turning over his fork on the table. “If cupids are angels, do you think this is a rebellion situation? Lucifer flips one of them, diapered douchebag goes around ganking anyone he can?”

“Cupids don’t wear diapers.” Cas took another bite of the burger. “They’re naked.”

“Course they are.” Dean muttered. “Awesome.”

Cas nodded, speaking through a mouthful. “And I am not sure of this one’s motivations. There is no reason for Lucifer to want a cherubim. Human love would not be… of his interest.”

“So you’ve got nothing.” Dean said flatly. “No motive, no theory, no explanation for why this might be happening.”

Cas shook his head, his mouth still stuffed with his burger, and Dean sighed.

“Dude, we’re going to fucking lose this bet.”

And Cas kept saying they wouldn’t. Dean got his second burger—Cas ordered his own as well, and they were good burgers, but not that good—before they left, and whenever Dean muttered that it would probably be better for them to be helping Her and Sammy, Cas shook his head and said it’s a Cupid. Only they make those marks.

But it wasn’t a fucking cupid.

Cas summoned the damn thing, and it crushed their freaking bones with hug, then started sobbing about how it would never do that.

“Are cupids good actors?” Dean muttered in Cas’ ear, and Cas sighed.

“No. They’re not.”

“So you lost-“

“Apparently, yes. Congratulations on your cat, Dean.”

Dean scowled—there needed to be a way to talk Her out of that—as Cas moved forward to comfort the sobbing cupid.

There was something off about this whole thing. There was a case here—people didn’t just eat each other—but if it wasn’t the cupid, Dean didn’t have a goddamn clue what it was. And She still hadn’t said how she actually found the lead, or given any alternate theories, and this cupid was sobbing, but both the vics had been marked with that meat or mate thing-

“Wow.” The cupid gasped, still hugging a very rigid Cas and staring at Dean, and he blink. “I’ve never seen anything like you.”

“Anything like-“ Dean pointed to himself. “Like me?”

The cupid nodded, and before Dean could open his mouth, the guy was naked and right in front of him. Poking him. His chest and face and arms and-

“Cas.” He grunted, his tensed with the effort not to throw a punch. “What the fuck is this.”

“I am not sure. Brother,” Cas caught the cupid’s hand, and it gave him an almost innocent expression. “I cannot recommend poking Dean Winchester-“

“I know, I’m sorry, it’s-“ The cupid took its other hand, and fucking poked him again. “Can you not see it? The bond in him?”

“The bond?!” Dean looked back to Cas. “What bond? I- Is there something in me-“

“There is nothing in you.” Cas sighed, and the cupid shook his head.

“But- Look at that! He’d so shiny, and I- I’ve never seen such intricate work, and it’s not even angel made-“

“It?” No punching. He wasn’t allowed to punch. “What is it? I- Cas-“

“You have a connection.” The cupid whispers, his eyes wide on Dean’s. “It is the purest love I have ever seen. It’s-“ The cupid grabbed Dean’s face between his hands. “It is beautiful, Dean Winchester. Your love.”

Dean was frozen.

His- He- That wasn’t-

Cas muttered Her name, slowly pulling the cupid away. “He’s seeing her. Cupids are more attuned to souls than the average angel. They can see the webs you weave for each other-“

“Webs?” Dean blinked, and his voice was hoarse. “Cas, I- What-“

“Human souls are the most complex in creation.” The cupid offered eagerly. “They are all made of other people’s souls, too! You have your soul, then little bits of all the souls that have affected you the most! And as a cupid, my job is to take my arrow and weave certain souls together, but you- Your love-“ The cupid tested out Her name slowly, and Dean was going break his own hand. “You love her so much-“

“Cas.” Dean felt like something was pressing on his chest. “We’re done, right.”

Cas nodded, and that was all Dean had needed to say. There was a whoosh and then both the angel were gone.

And it wasn’t pure.

Dean wasn’t pure. He was made of mud and guts, and the was a shadow, not some shining prince in a fairytale. He killed things for a living, he lied and cheated and stole, he was barely better than the fucking monsters he chopped the heads off of and burned like it was a sick fucking sport. At least they hadn’t gotten a choice. They’d just had shit luck, a bad draw of species, born evil and wrong without a say in the matter. Dean had made that demon deal. He’d picked up that blade in Hell. He’d failed to keep Sammy off the demon blood, and he’d just let those Hell’s assassins keep a gun to his head while Anna killed Jo.

And he’d held Her, after. And waited for Her.

But that was because it was a law of fucking nature. She needed to be good. If She wasn’t good, nothing was good. She was warmer than the mud Dean came from, and stronger than the oceans he’d drown in, if She asked him to. More vital than the air he was taking in shallow gasps. Brighter than holy fire.

And Dean still thought about fucking Her. About getting on his knees until Her legs were shaking, or stuffing Her mouth with his cock until She was moaning around him. That wasn’t pure.

She was ethereal, and brilliant, and made of damn stardust or something, but Dean had always known he’d only turn that into something bloodied.

He hadn’t.

He tended to Her. Been careful. Waited.

But- The cupid- It-

Dean’s phone rang, buzzing in his pocket and ripping through the air, and-

It was Her.

He picked up in half a heartbeat.

“Hey, Princess, what’s-“

“It’s not a cupid.” Her words were frantic, and Dean could hear how She was running out of breath, and Dean’s grip tightened on his phone. “Dean, it’s not a cupid, you have to tell Cas and come back right now, I- I need you-“

Fuck. “I’ll grab him, sweetheart, but- I need you to slow down and tell me exactly what’s happening-“

“Sam.” She whispered, and Dean’s blood went cold. “Fuck, Dean, he’s- We were looking at the morgue and I turned around for a second, but he was gone. And he’d been acting weird, and I’d seen that there was demon, but-“

Dean muttered Her name, and there was a muffled bang from the other side of the line. “What-“

“He took a hit of demon blood.” Her voice was so fucking soft. “I- I knocked him out. And dragged him back to the motel. He’s tied up. But I- I don’t know what to do-“

She didn’t have to know what to do.

That’s what Dean was for.

“I’ll be there in ten.” He muttered, already walking out to the Impala. “Keep him tied up, and don’t answer the door for anyone but me. We’ll deal with it.”

“Oh- Okay.” Dean heard Her shaking breath. “I- I’m sorry-“

“Don’t.” He grunted. The engine wouldn’t start fast enough. “You did good, Princess.”

“I hit him with a hospital poop pan.”

“And he’ll thank you when he’s up.”

She sighed, mumbled an agreement, and Dean forced himself to let Her hang up. It might be better to keep Her on the line. Just in case She thought of doing something reckless-

“Dean.” Cas appeared in the passenger’s seat, and the engine started.

“Thank Christ,” Dean muttered. “Cas, we gotta go-“

Dean said Her name, and Cas cut him off with a shake of his head. “I don’t think it’s wise for you to be near her, Dean. Not right now.”

“Cas-“

“I have a working theory.” Cas said, his words slow. “And it may be dangerous-“

“I don’t care.”

“Dean-“

“No, Cas. I don’t give shit what’s doing this. We’ll work on the case after. My girl calls me, I go.” Dean pulled onto the street with a scowl. Speed limits were suggestions anyway. “That’s it.”

Cas made the smart choice. He shut the hell up, and let Dean drive.

She was sitting on the edge of the bed, crossed legged and curled into herself, eyes a little red as She stared at Sammy across the room. There was blood dried on Her lower lip, and it was swollen from chewing. Blood on Her nails as well.

Sam was tied to the chair, his face still a little stained with demon blood, and bowing his head.

That was good. If Sam wasn’t fighting it, all they’d have to do is wait for the detox.

So Dean walked right over to Her.

There was nowhere else to go.

His arms wrapped around Her shoulders, Her face buried in his stomach as she held him back, and they stayed like that until Cas cleared his throat and muttered Her name.

“You have connected it?”

“Yeah.” She sighed, and Dean stepped off to the side so She didn’t have to lean around him. “Meat. Mate. It’s hunger.” Dean frowned. “Hunger?”

“Famine.”

Cas nodded in agreement, and shot Dean an odd look. “I asked the cupid if it’s seen other cases like that. It said it had heard rumors, of pairings gone wrong. And lust is the most… potent of the sins-“

“So he’s been tailing after cupids.” She muttered, pushing to Her feet. “Sirens too. Found a few cases scattered across the country, but they somehow got missed. They start in Maryland.”

“Ilchester?” Dean muttered, and She nodded. “Shit, that’s where Lucifer-“

“I know. It’s Famine.” She let out a slow breath. “Cas and I will deal with it.”

She started to walk to the door, and Dean barely registered the words fast enough to grab Her around the waist with a scowl.

“You and Cas are not dealing with it-“

“It would be the most effective.” Cas offered, very unhelpfully. “I may be affected by the desires of my vessel, but I can overcome that.“

“And they can’t do shit to us.” She said, holding Dean’s glare. “Famine eats souls. Cas has grace, and if he does try to touch me, I’ll blow him up.”

Dean scowled. “I’m not exactly falling apart either, sweetheart-“

“Dean.” She squeezed his hand three times, Her gaze so fucking soft. “Please.”

God fucking damnit. “Fine. But if you’re not back by sunrise, I’m launching a search that’ll make a manhunt look like a lost sock-“

“I know.” She wrapped Her arms back around Dean’s neck, Her face falling into his chest. “Thank you.”

Dean only grunted. “Call me if you-“

“I will.” She was going to choke him, with the way She was clinging to him. He didn’t really care. “I fucking hate California.”

Dean let out a dry chuckle. “So we’re not goin’ to the beach.”

“Maybe we can try an east coast beach.” She mumbled. “I’ve always wanted to go to cape cod.”

Dean had been to cape cod. Lot of box houses and gray sand and dune. No place for a walking, breathing star.

But wherever She wanted to go, Dean would follow. Just like the goddamn shadow he was.

And he wasn’t going to just be reduced to dog, pacing around the motel and looking at the door, waiting for Her to return.

That ended up being most of the afternoon, though. The TV played in the background, Dean and Sam ate in silence after the kid had mostly detoxed, and every time Dean glanced at his phone, there wasn’t a new call or message.

“Why aren’t you affected?” Sammy broke the silence around dusk, his voice a little gravely. “I mean, you’re like, the hungriest guy I know, Dean.”

“And I eat when I’m hungry.” He shrugged. “It’s not that complicated, Sammy.”

“Yeah, but, if lust is something that Famine can feed-“ Sam cut himself off with a shake of his head. “I mean, you haven’t gotten laid in a while-“

“I take care of myself.” Dean muttered, and didn’t fucking know why he wasn’t affected. He just wasn’t. And he wasn’t a soul scientist or something-

The cupid. It could see him. It had said his- That it was pure-

“Maybe it’s- I mean, you do eat, and I’ve, uh-“ Sam cleared his throat, and Dean really needed him to just drop it. “Heard you-“

“Sam-“

“You’re loud, dude. It’s sort of a miracle that-“ Sam said Her name, then froze. “Holy shit. You should be like, all over her.”

“Sam.” Dean’s voice was almost a bark. He couldn’t find it in himself to be sorry about it. “I’m not affected. That’s it.“

“No, it’s not. You- Dean, even if we ignore feelings, you at least want her physically-“

“I-“

“And denying that isn’t going to do you any favors right now, so-“

“I’m not denying it.” Dean pushed the words through his teeth, holding Sam’s gaze with a scowl, and Sam blinked.

“You’re… not?”

“No. I’m not.” Dean was going to snap a few teeth. “You win, Sammy. I want her. I think about her all the time. I dream about her. She’s my whole, stupid world, and I can’t live without her, and I-“ He choked on the last words. Pure. “I know that I want her. But it’s complicated. And yeah, I’ve been thinking about fucking her, but I’m not feeling whatever the hell hit you and Cas, so I’m fine.”

The room was silent for long. Too long. Dean shouldn’t have fucking said that. He’d let a lot of Sam’s teasing about it slide, over the years, but this- She was holy. Sacred. And Dean couldn’t let the fact that he had feelings taint that, or let Sam ruin the very thin line he’s been walking for damn near nine years-

“Dean.” Sam’s voice was barely a rasp. “Oh my god, dude. It’s-“

“Don’t-“

“I knew.” Sam said quickly, and Dean frowned. “I mean, I’ve known. Everyone’s known. But I- I didn’t know.”

Dean stared at him. “Man, if you keep talking in riddles-“

“How long have you felt, uh- That? About her?”

“Yeah, no, I’m not showing you my fucking diary-“

“Dean.“ Sam sighed “I’m trying to help. Just tell me.”

It took a second to say it. This conversation fucking sucked. “Long as I can remember.”.

“As long as- You mean-“

“Yeah.”

“Oh. I- Do I need to say it?”

Dean let out a long breath, and shook his head. He understood. And Sam, to his credit, finally shut up. The detox wrapped up with Sam knocked out—his hands still tied together, and one leg to the bedpost for safety—and Dean just…

Waited.

For Her to come home.

He sat on the couch and stared at the door, and he was fucking pathetic. Dad would have shot him, if he could see Dean now. Would’ve yelled at him about lettin’ the lyin’ little girl boss him around.

All Dean would’ve had to say in his defense was that he liked Her bossing him around. She looked hot while She did it, and She knew what she was talking about all the damn time. And She wasn’t a liar. Not about the stuff Dad thought. She was just bright and consuming and amazing, and Dean knew when She was lying anyway, so it didn’t really matter.

Dad would’ve then snapped that Dean wasn’t being a man, havin’ Her do all the work. Sittin’ around on his ass like a bitch.

And Dean wasn’t sure what Dad had thought being a man was.

But to him, it felt a lot like when the door opened, She walked through without a single drop of blood on Her body but a heavy look of Her face, and Dean was the first place She went.

Before the bed. Before Her shoes were off, before Cas was even in the door.

She went to Dean. Folded into him, with Her arms back around his neck and their bodies slotted perfectly together, letting Cas take the lead as She just stayed in Dean’s arms.

“Famine’s ring.” Cas muttered, holding it up for a second before dropping it on the table, and Dean nodded.

“Did, uh-“ He glanced down to Her, and Cas understood.

“It was a clean cut. I stayed outside, she got him with her blade. Is Sam-“

“He’s feeling better.” Dean muttered. “How about you, man. Still craving burgers?”

“No. It passed.” Cas paused. “Dean, I believe we should discuss how you-“

“No. We shouldn’t.”

“Dean-“

“I know.” Dean muttered, his gaze flicking down to Her.

She was passed out. Warm against him. So fucking beautiful, even with Her hair knotted from the hunt and a little drool already falling from Her lips.

And Dean knew.

He knew when Cas nodded, and muttered that he had those other things to take care of, but to call if they needed him. He knew when he carried Her to bed, and She let out a soft, sweet sigh. He knew when She curled closer to his body, and Her hand moved into his like a magnet.

He’d felt it forever.

But he only knew now.

Pure.

It wasn’t pure. It was just big. Consuming. Easy to get lost in without ever needing a way out. Safe to be trapped in because he’d never want to be anywhere else. It was every single star, and all the planets Sammy used to love telling him about. The deepest parts of every ocean where light didn’t touch, so She’d told him that the fish made their own. The first time Dean had stepped into a church, and he’d felt so small, but wanted to be more. The loudest parts of all the songs he had memorized and all the words She knew that still would never be enough to properly say it. The whole universe, and then whatever was going to devour it in the end.

Her.

It was all Her. All the way down.

And it didn’t matter if She tried to rip herself apart again, or if She left a million more times. I didn’t matter if She came back and fell into his arms, or tried to take a bite out of him. If She screamed and cursed his name, or let him hold Her until the pit in his body was only light.

It didn’t matter that the world was ending. Or that She was being hunted by angels, or had raised Death, or had Lucifer making Her friendship bracelets. It didn’t matter that Dean might have to play puppet for an archangel, if he didn’t get killed in the process.

It didn’t matter that it was complicated, because it wasn’t. Everything else sure as shit was, but this wasn’t.

Dean loved Her.

And that was all the way down, too.

End Note: John Winchester turning in his grave right now. Good. I hope he explodes when they fuck.

I'm back!!! Thank you guys so much for waiting the two weeks! I posted a few bonus chapters in the pslams while I was on vacation, so check those out if you want to.

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

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