#just took a shower and upchucked everything

[nakmor-leigh]

Welp, haven't done that in a while

[flamencodiva]

Getting Back to You 14 - Canceled Wedding

Description: Amaya Campos and Dean Winchester had a playful rivalry. what happens when Dean is no longer her Dean. Will this change make one of them realize what they really desire, or will they continue to keep secrets?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Amaya Campos (Original Female Character) , AU Dean Winchester x AU Amaya Campos

Warnings: Language, Violence, Smut, Fluff, Angst

Word Count For Series: 100K+ words

Beta: @superfanficnatural​ and @emoryhemsworth​​​ and @jensengirl83​​

Book Cover by @talesmaniac89​

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Getting Back To You Masterlist

Main Masterlist

The day of the wedding 

It had taken a lot out of Amaya to get up that morning. She and Dean had arrived in the bunker to give their report and spent the rest of the week researching. Much to her dismay, this roughneck of a man hated to research; but here he was in her room, surrounded by books. The garment bag that held her wedding dress taunted her. Climbing off her bed, she ripped off the business attire she had on and grabbed clothing she hadn’t worn in a long time. Digging through her drawers, she picked out a pair of skin tight Jeans ripped at the knee, a band tee, leather jacket, and black boots. Reaching deep into the closet of her room in the bunker, she also grabbed her helmet and bike keys and made her way to the garage. 

“Maya?!” Sam’s voice echoed along the hallway. “Maya stop, where are you going?” 

“Out,” she grumbled as she moved past him. 

“Amaya,” Mary’s voice made her freeze. “Amaya, please. Can’t you and Dean talk about this?” 

“There is nothing to talk about, Mary,” Amaya closed her eyes. “There is no wedding. There will be no marriage. I can work with Dean peacefully on assignments, but other than that, we’re done.” 

“Amaya,” Mary tried to reach for her, the woman turning and scowling. 

“Mary, I can’t give your family what they want. I told you what happened. I told you what I can’t give him, so, please. Let’s just be ready for the inevitable.” 

“You are always going to be a part of this family, Amaya,” Mary said as she placed her hands on Amaya’s cheeks. “You may not be marrying Dean… yet,” she smiled. “But I know this will pass. Please be careful out there?” Amaya simply nodded. 

Making her way to her bike, she threw off the tarp that was covering it and ran her fingers along it. Dean stayed hidden as he watched her; he waited until she was out the garage door before rushing to the Impala. 

“Dean, where are you going?” his mother asked. 

“Following her,” he replied. “Wedding isn’t happening, but I’m not going to let her get killed.” 

He figured that was a good enough response, burning rubber as he peeled out of the garage and made sure to keep shadow distance from Amaya. He was getting used to the Impala’s features in this world; the GPS was handy when he wanted to follow someone. 

“Dean?” 

Sam’s voice came over the radio. Rolling his eyes, Dean reached for the microphone of the radio and sighed before pressing the button. 

“What, Sam?” Dean growled. 

“What the hell are you doing with my brother’s car?!” he whispered angrily through the radio. 

“Going after Amaya and making sure she doesn’t get killed,” Dean snapped. 

“She’ll be--” 

“Would your brother let her go off on her own if they were in the middle of a fight?” Dean interrupted.  

The silence over the radio gave Dean his answer. 

“You scratch that car,” Sam took a pause to take in a breath. “I’ll kill you. That car means everything to us. It’s one that was passed down, and we kept it in good condition.” 

Dean had to smile at that before answering. 

“Yeah,” he let out a small chuckle, “I know. Trust me, I know.” 

With that, Dean turned off the CB Radio and focused on following Amaya. He wondered what kind of trouble she would get into. 

As he continued to follow her, Dean noticed she stopped at a seedy motel. 

“Huh,” he said to himself. “Looks like the Ice Queen knows how to rough it after all.” 

He waited until he watched her get a room before he asked for a room next to hers. The minute he showed the Men of Letters badge, the man just nodded and handed him a key. Making his way to the Impala, Dean looked around, knowing he had to hide the car. He never wanted to hide her. It was his Baby, and she was special. But if he didn’t, he knew Amaya would spot him. 

“Where can I put you, Baby?” Dean muttered. 

 Looking across the street, he sighed; it was the only option. Driving the car across the street, he parked her where he could see her, hoping that Amaya wouldn’t notice. Grabbing his bag, he made sure the car was locked and made his way back to the motel. Once inside his room, he could hear movement coming from Amaya’s room. It was the familiar sounds of thumbtacks being pushed into the wall and the typing on a keyboard. Whatever she was working on, he would need to keep an eye on her. 

Hours had passed, and in between the shuffling and cursing was the occasional sound of Amaya throwing up. That was what worried him. Two weeks and she was still losing her lunch of all things. Something was up, and she was ignoring the symptoms. Although, to be fair, she could hold her liquor, but still, this much upchucking was dangerous. 

Dean sat in the motel room for hours listening to her moving around and vomiting, watching TV and researching, cursing and showering, and eating. That is until her phone began to ring. Dean sat up straight and moved closer to the wall they shared.   

“Richy!” Amaya greeted warmly. “Been a while.” 

Dean could hear her shuffling and grabbed the motel notepad and pen, ready to take down anything. 

“You sure?” he heard her say. “Richie, you’ve been wrong before.” Dean could hear her take in a breath, “Yeah, not happening. Just because the wedding is off doesn’t mean I’m going to spread my legs for you. So either you give me the info I need, or I hunt your ass down and kick it.” 

Dean couldn’t help but smirk at that line. It reminded him of his Amaya when someone pushed her buttons a little too far. 

“Okay, I’ll head out,” he heard her respond. “I’ll meet you at the bar on Main Street. And no, we are not going to do anything. I’m going to drink, you are going to give me information, or I shoot your cock off.”  Dean could hear her let out a laugh, “Try me Ritchie, see if I’m lying.” 

It didn’t take long for Dean to hear her move out of the room and head to her bike. He made sure to be quick as he watched the bike move out of the parking lot before rushing to Baby, turning the ignition, and peeling out of the lot, following her at a safe distance. True to what he heard, she made her way to a dive bar on Main Street. 

It was hard watching her from afar. He saw her drink, flirt, and hustle; it made him think back to the times he watched his Amaya do the same. Except, he remembered her shooting guys down quickly. He could see it when she glanced at him while he flirted with the girls who would come up to him in his own world. Closing his eyes, he thought back to her, wondering what was going on. Shaking his head of those thoughts, he focused on what this world’s Amaya was doing, how she was gathering information, talking to anyone and everyone who would open their mouths. 

And yet, he remembered how in his world he would go with the different girls while Amaya would go off back to the motel alone. He knew what he was doing, trying to get her to move on. He was an ass, and he knew it. But he was poison, cursed. Everything bad that happened, not just in his life but of those around him, always ended in tragedy. And who was he to bring that on her? Looking at the Amaya before him, he could see her turn the men down left and right while drinking her troubles away. It was like looking in a mirror when it came to her actions. 

Digging into his pocket, he grabbed the phone Sam had given him when they had gotten back to the bunker and dialed. 

“Sam,” Dean sighed. “See if you can hitch a ride to where I am. I might need back up in keeping Amaya out of trouble.” 

Dean looked at the calendar in front of him. Glass of whiskey, two fingers full, and the bottle open to his other side. Taking the glass, he placed the rim to his lips, taking a large sip. Letting out a scoff, he threw the paper calendar across the room. He was angry, and he needed to do something: needed to hit something. Putting the top on the bottle of whiskey, he downed his glass and made his way to the training room. Shedding everything but his boxers, he taped up his hands and looked at the punching dummy. 

With every punch, he tried to envision things that would make him angry. For one, he imagined Ketch. God, he hated the British bastard. He hoped that Amaya was staying away from him in their world. Dean also hated the way he treated Amaya, like a prize. Not to say that Amaya isn’t a prized possession, but Amaya was a goddess to him. A strong huntress, a smart woman, and the keeper of his heart.  

His fist hit the dummy’s face, and he gave a satisfied grin. He could imagine bashing Ketch’s teeth in, just like when he caught the bastard cheating on Amaya. 

Amaya watched from the door at the punches Dean would give the dummy. She wasn’t used to seeing Dean let out his anger on anything other than a monster. Running her fingers through her hair, she made her way to her room and changed into her workout clothes.  After putting on a pair of yoga pants, sport’s bra, and her sneakers, she walked towards the training room, pulling her hair up into a high, tight ponytail. 

Making her way inside the gym, she grabbed the punching mitts and taped up her hands, putting the mitts on and slapping them together to get Dean’s attention. 

“You want to box,” she said, “let’s go.” 

“What are you doing?” Dean sighed as he grabbed a towel and wiped the sweat from his face.  

“You look like you need to blow off steam and the dummy looks like he’s had enough,” Amaya explained as she let out a sigh. “Grab the gloves, and let’s go.” 

Dean looked at the woman standing before him, his lips in a thin line as he made his way to grab the boxing gloves and put them on. As he approached Amaya, she put the mits up. 

“Lets see what you got,” she challenged. 

Getting into position, he started off with small jabs, not wanting to hurt her. 

“Wow,” she stood up straight and looked at him. “How did you manage to punch the dummy with those soft hands?” 

“Shut up,” Dean grumbled. 

“No, I’m curious,” she quirked. “What are you scared of? I can take it.” 

Dean got into position again and rolled his neck and shoulders. He punched a little harder, this time gaining a smirk from her. 

“Monsters are shaking in their claws with those punches,” she continued to sass. “Come on Winchester, show me what you really got!”  

Dean let out a frustrated grunt as he moved to punch harder, but every time he looked at her, his heart dropped. He should be home, should be waiting for his Amaya to walk down the aisle towards him. He should be happily married by now: he didn’t know what to do. He turned away from her and walked over to the punching dummy. Reeling his arm back, he punched it as hard as he could, sending it toppling to the ground. 

“You know,” Amaya broke the silence after a few minutes, “you need to get out of here. And I think I know just the place.” 

Dean tilted his head at her, “You don’t want to listen to--” 

“Don’t tell me what I want to do,” Amaya sassed. “Besides, you look like you’re about to burst if you don’t talk. Which is refreshing, to say the least.” She sighed, “With our Dean,” she paused and licked her lips, “he loved to bury his feelings deep down. Hated talking about what was bothering him.” 

“So then where are you taking me?” Dean asked, raising an eyebrow at her. 

“Somewhere that I never took my Dean to,” she admitted. “I think you’ll like it.” 

“What makes you think I’ll like it?” Dean asked. 

“You grew up different from this world’s Dean,” Amaya said as she walked with him to room eleven. “You don’t keep your emotions in and, well--” she reached up and ran her fingers through his hair, “hairs different. It’s not spiked up, just, combed to the side and… preppy.” 

“I--” Dean gave a soft blush, “It’s how I always styled my hair. I mean… I’m getting used to the flannel.” 

“It suits you,” she chuckled. “But,” she rocked on her heels, “I think we can go on a small shopping trip, and you can buy clothes that make you comfortable.” 

“We don’t have to,” Dean said as he shook his head. “I should learn to blend in.” 

“You blend in fine,” Amaya reassured him. “Just for when we’re here in the bunker. You can dress how you normally dress in your world, how’s that sound?” 

“I guess it’s okay,” Dean agreed. “You know, I didn’t want to say anything but,” he gave a nervous chuckle, “It’s really weird not having money to buy anything or getting paid for missions.” He crossed his arms over his chest, “Something I just need to get used to until we sort it out.” 

“Anything else that weirds you out?” Amaya asked, interested in what his world was like. 

“Sam,” Dean admitted. “Something is--” he shrugged his shoulders and waved his hands around, “off about him. But it might be because he doesn’t have his glasses on.” 

Amaya did a double take, “Wait, what?” she shook her head at Dean and let out a snort. “Sam? With glasses? No way.” 

Dean let out a soft laugh and smiled brightly, “I’m not kidding. Glasses, and his hair in a man bun.” 

Amaya froze and had to do another double take, “A what now?” 

“Well, I mean, he sections his hair off and he has this like small pony tail and--” Dean paused when Amaya held on to the wall holding on to her stomach in laughter, “what? What did I say?” 

Amaya waved him off as she walked towards her room. As she reached her door, she looked over to look at Sam, who was coming from the kitchen; her laughter echoed through the halls, making Sam tilt his head and look at her. 

“What?” Sam asked. 

She shook her head trying to contain her laughter, “Nothing, just something otherworld Dean said. Inside joke.” 

Sam gave her an amused but bewildered look before heading into his room.  

Dean got up as Amaya walked out of the bar and headed towards her bike. He made sure to wait until she was on the road before rushing to the Impala and making his way back to the motel. As he walked towards his room from across the street, he noticed Sam and rushed over to get him out of line of sight. 

“Are you crazy?!” Dean hissed. “She’ll see you!” 

Sam looked at Dean as if he had two heads, “You called me to help you because you said, and I quote,” Sam gave him a smug but serious look, “I need help keeping Amaya out of trouble. So I came to help you drag her back to the bunker.” 

Dean ran a hand across his face before dragging Sam into his motel room. 

“Oh god,” Sam gave a look of disgust. “Why are you two staying in a filthy place like this?” 

“Cheaper,” Dean huffed as he took a good look at Sam. “Wait… are you-- are you wearing a man bun? And glasses?!” 

“I’ve always had a man bun and glasses,” Sam said as he looked flabbergasted at Dean. “The hair gets in the way, but I don’t want to cut it. I love my long hair,” he smoothed out his hair. “And I need glasses to read close up and I just keep them on because it’s easier.” 

“Weird,” Dean muttered. “That’s just weird and… Just get a haircut! It won't kill you!” 

“You didn’t answer my question,” Sam pointed out. “Why are we not dragging her to the bunker?” 

“Because if you do that, she’ll shut down,” Dean said as he got closer to the wall. “She shut down. All that’s going to do is send her to London, and I don’t think your brother would appreciate that now would he?” 

Sam opened and closed his mouth as he let Dean’s words sink in, “No, he wouldn’t. He’d probably do the same thing you would be doing now.” 

“Okay, so just trust that what we are going to do is follow her,” Dean said. “She’s been talking to a guy named Richie and if he’s anything like the Richie from my world, who was killed by a demon, then I’d say she is going into something half cocked,” he whispered. 

“Why are we whispering?” Sam whispered as he looked at Dean. 

“Because of the thin wall!” Dean said as he gestured all around. “So far I think she doesn’t know we’re here but who knows. If she’s anything like my Amaya back home, she’s as sharp as a whip.” 

“I know,” Sam said with a smile. “Passed all of her hunting exams with a perfect score. Not even Dean could get that. Or myself! And I studied hard for those.” 

“You guys have tests? And get paid for this?” Dean said as his face fell. All the hustling and struggling, and here was a world where hunters could get paid and have an apple pie life! “You guys are lucky.” 

“I--” Sam took off his glasses to clean them considering Dean’s words, “I guess.” 

“I mean it,” Dean sighed as he laid himself down on the bed, placing his arms behind his head. “You guys don’t have to worry about money because you get paid. You have good cars, and can stay in good places,” Dean let out a chuckle. 

“I guess your world is a bit... harsher?” Sam asked, hoping Dean would tell him a bit more. “I know that you don’t talk. You’re like Amaya in that aspect. She closes up and keeps it in until it all explodes.” 

Dean nodded in silence before answering, “Yeah I can see that.”  

“Just,” Sam licked his lips, “is my brother safe over there?” 

“You guys are trained right?” Dean asked, looking over at the man that resembled his brother. 

“Since we turned thirteen,” Sam said. 

“Then you have nothing to worry about,” Dean assured him. “He’ll be just fine.” 

Sam let the discussion drop as the sound of the phone ringing next door stole their attention. Both men shot up and rushed to the window, watching as Amaya put on her helmet, started her motorcycle, and peeled out of the parking lot. 

“Shit,” Dean hissed as he grabbed his keys. “Let’s go.” 

Dean grabbed Sam by the lapel of his jacket and dragged him out of the room, rushing towards the impala with him. He pressed his foot onto the gas pedal, peeling out of the parking lot and trying to catch up to Amaya’s bike. He kept shadow distance as he had always done, noticing that every now and then he would glance at Sam who seemed to recognize where Amaya was going. 

“No,” Sam whispered to himself. “She wouldn’t. She is not that stupid to--” 

“Hey,” Dean huffed as he snapped his fingers at him. "Steve Jobs wanna be, what is it?” 

Sam took off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose, “There is a mission near here. No one has been able to take it because the intel has been scarce.” 

“So you’re telling me she’s on a wolf hunt?” Dean growled. “How many?” 

“We don’t know,” Sam admitted. “We’ve not been able to get as much intel. It’s been sketchy at best.” 

“How many, Sam?!” Dean barked. 

“Ten,” Sam muttered. 

“I’m sorry,” Dean growled as he glanced at the man next to him. “Did you say TEN!” 

“Could be more,” Sam sighed, as he adjusted his small ponytail. “The intel changes every couple of weeks.” He pulled out his phone and began talking to someone on the other end, “Listen I need a dossier 1489672. The wolf pack.” 

Dean focused on following Amaya as she turned into a dirt road and stopped by the entrance to a small beaten path; it was already sending Dean red flags as she grabbed her gun and began walking down it. 

“Let’s go,” Dean rushed towards the trunk and popped it open. 

Digging into the trunk, he was thankful to recognize the silver bullets and his own Colt M1911A1. 

“Oh hello beautiful,” Dean whispered as he kissed it. “Lets gank some monsters sweetheart.” 

“Gank?” Sam scoffed as he looked at Dean. “God, could you be even more of a roughneck?” 

“At least I don’t look like someone's submissive bitch,” Dean chuckled. “Let me guess, you love it when someone pulls on your little pony tail there.” 

"Please," he gave a huff. "If anything I'm the dom. Girls choke on my cock and they gush just thinking about it," he gave Dean a smug smile. 

“One, no, don’t need to think about my brother like that,” Dean held up his hand. “And B, if anything I’m the one that can make girls scream and gush in their panties. Not you.” 

“Want to bet on it?” Sam chuckled. 

“I-” Dean opened and closed his mouth. He thought about it for a moment before shaking his head, “No, no way. I mean besides, I would totally win,” Dean huffed. “But no, that’s just weird.” 

Before Sam could answer, a howl and the familiar sound of gunshots firing echoed in the distance. The brothers turned towards the sound as Dean closed the trunk and made their way towards the sound. He could see different figures running towards the east: they were chasing someone. 

“MAYA!” Dean yelled as he made his way towards the group. Lifting his gun, he aimed at the nearest wolf and aimed for the heart with a clean shot. 

For the next few wolves, he and Sam took them out without a problem until he reached where the wolf had chased Amaya down towards a creek. Dean didn’t listen to Sam as he rushed towards her. Dean rushed forward and pushed one of the wolves out of the way before shooting it square in the heart. Noticing Amaya’s bleeding arm, he rushed to her and shielded her from another attack. 

“What are you doing here?” Amaya barked as she aimed and shot at a wolf. 

“Saving your ass, sweetheart,” Dean said as he turned and began taking down wolves. 

“I didn’t need saving from you!” Amaya returned as she shot at a wolf. 

“Your arm says otherwise, sweetheart!” Dean pointed out as he shot at another wolf. “Where the fuck are these guys coming from, Purgatory?” 

“It’s one of the last pure pacs!” Amaya growled as she reloaded her gun. 

“And you thought that hunting them on your own was a good idea?" Dean growled as he killed what seemed like the last one. 

“I was handling it just fine!” Amaya hissed as she pushed Dean down and shot at a wolf coming towards them. 

“Keep denying that you got clawed, Maya,” Dean gritted out as he turned at her after the last wolf went down. “Let’s go,” Dean took her by her good arm and dragged her towards Sam. 

“Are you out of your ever loving mind!” Sam screeched. “What if you would have been bitten? Or killed?!” 

“So what!” Amaya hissed. “I was supposed to get married today! Instead I broke my engagement and Dean isn’t even really here!” 

“I know why you broke the engagement Maya,” Sam sighed. “You think you can’t give him a family. But I have a feeling you’re wrong.” 

“I’m not wrong, Samuel!” Amaya sneered. “Besides, he would have tried to get us married but here we are. And I can guarantee that by the time this is fixed, I’ll be in London and he can forget about me. He can find someone who can make him happy, someone who he won’t have to regret loving.” 

Dean shook his head as he continued to drag Amaya back to the car, “Sam, you drive her bike to the motel and grab her stuff, I’ll take her back to the bunker.” 

“You can’t--” Amaya began but the look Dean gave her made her close her mouth. 

The ride back to the bunker was silent with Sam riding Amaya’s bike back. Dean glanced over at the woman who looked just like the one he cared for back home; the last thing he needed was to see her counterpart die because he couldn’t protect her. He only hoped that his own double was doing everything in his power to keep his Amaya safe and sound. 

“Okay, turn here,” Amaya directed Dean to their destination. 

“Tell me again why you’re not driving?” Dean asked, annoyed as he followed her directions. 

“Because, Dean is extremely, extremely protective of this car. He has never, ever, let me drive it,” she explained, sitting back and closing her eyes. 

“But what happens if you’re the only one that can drive the Impala?” Dean asked as he parked the car in front of what looked like a lake. 

“Not even then,” Amaya chuckled. “He would make me take care of Sam while he would drive us all back to the motel or a friend’s lodge.” 

Dean followed Amaya as she got out and grabbed a bag from the trunk. She wouldn’t tell him what it was and he was curious as to why she would bring him here. He continued to observe her as she grabbed a blanket and laid it on top of Baby’s hood. 

“What are you doing?” he asked curiously. 

“I come here when I need a place to sort myself out,” she breathed. “I don’t show a lot of emotion in front of Dean because… well, he needs a rock to be there for him.” 

“Huh,” Dean let out with a smile. “It’s the same for Amaya and me,” he said as he watched her bring out a bottle of bourbon and two plastic cups. “I mean, she’s more emotional. Tries to hold it in and be strong, but--” Dean clicked his tongue and sighed. “Eventually it comes bottling out. I love how strong she is, and over the years, I taught her to open up a bit.” 

“Well,” Amaya sighed. “She is a woman. We tend to be a bit more emotional if that helps. I mean, Dean,” she let out a chuckle, “Dean is the textbook definition of macho.” She took a sip of bourbon after pouring it into the cup and passed Dean the bottle. 

Dean simply nodded as he let Amaya continue to talk. 

“I mean, John raised him and Sam as hunters. Moving from motel to motel. Military upbringing, no fun or leisure time,” she said as she took a sip of bourbon. “I know Dean would bust my chops for being a happy go lucky kid, but I knew he appreciated it when I got him to have fun. Even if John would yell at him for it, I know he had a good time because Sam had a good time.” 

“What if Sam wasn’t there?” Dean asked as he looked at the woman whose face was the same as the one he loved. “I mean, Sam couldn’t have been there all the time.”  

Amaya let out a small laugh as she placed some loose strands of hair behind her ear, “Oh he would put on this sourpuss face and complain the whole way through.” She looked up at the stars that began to poke out of the night sky, “But, when we would go to sleep, I know he would wait until I fell asleep to tell me he had a great time.” She took in a shaky breath, “I am so angry at him right now, but at the same time I just want him to come home. And it doesn’t really help that you have his face.” 

Dean let out a small scoff and finished the last sip of bourbon, “I need to get home.” He grabbed the bottle and poured more into his cup, “I need to prove to Amaya that I want to marry her… We were supposed to get married today.” 

Amaya stayed silent as she watched him. 

“We had everything ready. Every last detail was planned out, perfect in every way. We had lilacs, and lavender sprigs for the bouquets. Everything around us would be accented in purple.” 

“Let me guess,” Amaya let out a chuckle as she waved a few strands of her hair in front of him. “Her favorite color?”  

Dean couldn’t help but laugh as he let out a small sniffle, “Yeah.” he confirmed. “I wish so much that I could let her know that I love her. That what happened with Lisa was nothing but the witches messing with us to tear us apart.”   

“I’m sure we can figure something out,” Amaya assured him. “I know she loves you. And from what you told me when we got back,” she let out a small breath, “it sounds like she was raised the same way Dean and Sam were. That sounds like she’s scared of being abandoned if what you said about the version of my dad in your world is true.” 

“Yeah,” Dean confirmed. “I always found a way to work through her fear of abandonment. But this--” he motioned around him, “this only solidified her belief that we were not meant to be when I know for a fact, it’s not true. I can feel it in my bones that we are perfect for each other.”  

Amaya nodded, “That’s something nice to have.” 

“Don’t you feel it? For your Dean?” he asked. “Don’t you feel it in the fiber of your being that he belongs to you?” 

“Of course I feel it!” Amaya spat. “ I feel it every time he would flirt with women at the bar. Every time he took them back to the motel room. I could feel it when their screams filtered through the damn walls!” 

She pushed off of Baby and walked to the lake's edge before turning around to face the man from another world who was the exact copy of the man she loved. 

“Everytime I fell in bed with him I felt it!” she croaked. “Every touch, every time we fucked, for lack of a better word, made my skin tingle, heart ache, and my body crave him more and more,” she let out a shaky breath licking her lips. “But he doesn’t feel the same. He will never feel the same. And if he does, I am not going to wait around for him to admit it!” by now she was seething with anger.

Dean stood there, looking at the copy of the woman he loved; a woman who looked heart broken. A woman who deserved to be showered with love, because she was willing to give it. He wanted nothing more than to find a way to face his clone in this world and beat some sense into him. He could see the tears running down her face in the moonlight, and he waited for her to finish letting go of the anger she felt. 

“When we fix this,” she huffed and licked her lips. “The minute he gets back, I’m leaving the bunker. I was better off on my own anyways.” 

Dean said nothing as he looked at her. He gave a simple nod of understanding, hoping that his counterpart could fix what he was about to lose.

Dean helped Amaya to the infirmary once they arrived back at the bunker. His jaw was clenched in anger as he thought about everything that could have gone wrong. Didn't she realize that she could have died? Couldn’t she see that it would have hurt him? At the very least his counterpart would have most likely gone insane with grief.

“You must be the most selfish person I have ever met,” Dean growled. 

“Selfish? Who in the fuck are you to call me selfish, you other world wannabe!” Amaya hissed. 

“Did you even stop to think about how he would have felt when he came back and you were gone?!” Dean spat, as he stopped them just before the reached infirmary and pinned her against the wall, “Do you even care that one of the biggest fears I have is Amaya, my Amaya, dying because of me? Dying because of a stupid mistake I’ve made? Do you not understand that from the way everyone here talks to me thinking I’m your Dean that he wouldn’t be happy that you are gone?!” 

“What do you care?!” 

“I care because you have her face!” Dean said through clenched teeth. “I care because the last thing I need is her uptight, ragged ass, thinks she’s tough shit, cheap copy dying because she has a death wish!”

Amaya raised her eyebrow at him, her brown eyes boring right into his green ones. She could see it, deep in there. He loved the Amaya from his world. And it was killing him to see her, an exact copy. She could see it in the way he tried to avoid looking at her. She didn't know what came over her, but she let out a snort. 

“Wow,” she tsked. “For someone who says he doesn’t love her, you really go through a lot of trouble to protect her like you do.”  

Dean’s back straightened a bit as he looked at her, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He loosened his grip on her as he shook his head, “She’s a friend, who occasionally I let into my bed. Who occasionally I help relieve stress with because hunting in our world is a bitch.” 

“Favorite color?” Amaya asked quickly. 

“Purple.” 

“Music?” 

“Depends on the situation, she can rock out with the best of them, but she loves to listen to latin and pop music from time to time, which I think is lame.” 

“Movie?” 

“All Saints Day with the occasional Romcom bullshit like How To Lose a Guy in Ten Days.” 

“What light do her eyes sparkle best in?” 

“Moon light, just after a hunt and it’s night time sometimes the light hits her just right and I catch her looking and--- what the fuck are you doing?!”  

“Rapid fire questioning,” Amaya said matter of factly. “Asked questions quickly to--” 

“I know what it is!” Dean huffed. “That doesn’t prove anything! It only proves that I am a good friend and --” 

“Best way to make her cum?” Amaya fired. 

“There is a spot just under her ear-- would you stop that!” Dean hissed. “You’re trying to distract me from the fact that you want to die!” 

“I do not!” Amaya countered. “I am a capable hunter and I had that wolf pack handled.” 

“You tell me that gash on your arm is something you’re okay with, sweetheart?” Dean said as he crossed his arms across his chest. “How could you think that this was okay? How can you want to go out there so recklessly? What the fuck were you thinking?” 

“Says the man living in denial. God, how long are you going to lie to yourself? How long are you going to tell yourself that you don’t love the other version of me? Look at me and tell me to my face that you don’t love her!” 

Dean licked his lips as he closed his eyes. He opened them and focused on the spot right between her nose but just enough to make it look like he was staring her in her eyes. 

“I don’t love her,” Dean growled. “She is a friend. She knows that. She knew what our benefits were. She’s not stupid enough to fall in love with me. So you can think what you want, but I don’t love her.” 

Amaya nodded and pushed him away from her, heading to the infirmary doors. 

“You know,” she said, pausing to take one last look at him, “if that’s how you really feel. Then I guess when you get back and she leaves, it would be the best thing. Since you won’t actually have to see her die, if she’s far away from you.” 

With that, Amaya opened the door and made her way to Eileen, leaving Dean alone with the words she spoke echoing around him. 

Chapter 15

Tags!

If you want to be on my tag list please send me an ASK. If I find that I can’t tag you please fix it so you don’t miss a chapter as I post it!

Forever Tags: Status: Open

@crashdevlin​ @waywardbeanie​ @deanmonandnegansbitch​ @impala-1979​ @whatareyousearchingfordean​ @malfoysqueen14​ @divadinag​ @deanwanddamons​ @jensengirl83​ @erins-culinary-service​ @anathewierdo​ @superfanficnatural​ @emoryhemsworth​ @janicho88​ @talesmaniac89​ @smol-and-grumpy​ @atc74​ @msmarvelouswinchester​ @holylulusworld​ @ellewritesfix05​ @akshi8278​ @donnaintx​ @vicmc624​ @chocolateheart​ @deangirl93​ @winchest09​ @katehuntington​ @teresa-67​ @miss-nerd95​ @jawritter​ @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms​ @supernatural-love14​ @foxyjwls007​ @lunarmoon8​ @wonder-cole​ @quxxnxfhxll​ @erule​  

[law-school-zombie]

Shassie Sickfic: Shawn Takes Care of a Grumpy Lassie

The warmth that enveloped Shawn every night slowly slipped away, leaving a chilly emptiness in its wake. Shawn groaned and opened his eyes, looking up just in time to see Carlton swing his legs over the side of the bed and stand. "Lassie," he whined dramatically, reaching for a blanket that he had discarded due to sleeping beside his own personal furnace of a boyfriend. 

It was dark, but Shawn could mentally see the don't-be-dramatic look on Carlton's face. "I'll be right back."

"Where're you going?" Shawn mumbled into the pillow. 

"The bathroom," Carlton answered. "You know, the one that is fifteen feet away. You'll live." 

Shawn pouted. "This wouldn't happen if your old-man bladder could handle a little water before bed." Carlton didn't answer and left for the bathroom, leaving Shawn to wonder if the age jab had gone too far. Shawn loved Lassiter, but his jokes were always hit or miss depending on the detective's mood. 

Shawn only knew he managed to drift off again when he felt his furnace return to the bed beside him. With his eyes still closed, he wrapped his arms around Carlton, humming in content. If the detective had been mad earlier, he gave no indication of it now as his hands made his way to Shawn's back where he began to rub gentle circles through his t-shirt. "Get some sleep, Shawn. If you want a ride to work, you have to wake up with me." 

The statement made Shawn wrinkle his nose in disgust because early mornings weren't his cup of tea, but they were at least bearable when they showered together and Carlton made their coffee. "'Kay," he agreed finally. The familiar warmth eliciting from his boyfriend combined with the back rubs he received caused him to drift off relatively quickly. Carlton knew exactly how to get him to sleep, and as always, his plan had worked perfectly. 

Until it happened again. 

"Seriously, no more water before bed for you," Shawn groaned as Carlton rolled away from him and sat up for the second time. Shawn had no idea how much time had passed since his boyfriend's last trip to the bathroom, but he guessed it had only been a couple of hours. 

"Sorry," was Carlton's response. His voice was tight, but the man was easy enough to wind up that Shawn was again confused as to whether or not his comments were unwanted, or if he was simply tired. The latter made sense, as Carlton had to be getting less sleep than him at this point. Plus, Shawn could always make the decision to sleep in and take his bike to work, whereas the head detective had a significantly less lenient work schedule. 

Carlton headed to the bathroom again, and this time Shawn couldn't fall back asleep. He was kept awake by his usual running thoughts and a slight bit of paranoia that made him wonder if he was going to get a lecture in the morning. Then again, it was just as plausible that Carlton wasn't mad because he had never been the most talkative person Shawn has met. It was also possible that Lassiter--who oftentimes loved to watch Shawn squirm--was messing with him in return by being short with him. 

Not for the first time, Shawn wondered why he chose to date the one person he could never quite read. 

Carlton's return shook Shawn out of his thoughts. The man let out a tired sigh as he returned to bed, and though it could easily be due to exhaustion, Shawn found himself wondering if something was actually wrong. "Are you okay?" he murmured quietly into his boyfriend's shoulder. 

"I'm fine." 

Shawn lifted his head slightly off the warm surface. "Are we okay?" 

At that, Lassiter looped an arm around him again and gave him a gentle, affectionate squeeze. "Everything's okay, Shawn. Try to go back to sleep." 

"I've been trying," Shawn complained. "Did you finally get everything out of your system?" 

There was a beat of silence. Carlton let out a puff of air, and Shawn felt it against the back of his neck, leaving him with pleasant goosebumps. "I hope so," he said finally. 

Odd, Shawn thought, but he made the decision to let the comment slide. If something was wrong, they could talk about it in the morning when they were more coherent and rested. "Okay, g'night," he said behind a yawn. "Love you. Don't pee again." 

Carlton chuckled. "Love you too." 

The third time it happened, Shawn was actually annoyed. Carlton sat up in bed, leaving Shawn to glare at the alarm clock on the nightstand. 3:30 in the morning was far too late for either of them to be awake, and he knew that his boyfriend tended to be grumpier than usual (which was pretty grumpy, to say the least) when sleep-deprived. Shawn sat up this time too, glaring as Lassiter rose from the bed again. "Seriously, this time someone better be breaking in, or you better be passing a freaking kidney stone or something, otherwise I'm going to the couch where Mr. Pineapples," Shawn held up a pineapple-shaped plushie that Carlton got him after their third date, "can keep me warm." 

Again, Carlton was silent as he walked in the direction of the bathroom. Shawn threw up his hands and scoffed, now feeling as though he was owed a serious explosion for the aloofness emitting from the detective. This time, Shawn followed him after a while, not wanting to let the behavior slide any longer. He walked to the bathroom door and knocked, leaning against it as he waited impatiently for a response. As far as he could tell, the sound of peeing was absent entirely, which only frustrated him more. "Are you seriously just going to ignore me? What the hell did I do? I didn't even slap your ass at work today. I've been on my best behavior." There was only silence yet again, and Shawn decided to take matters into his own hands. "Alright, this is getting a little ridiculous, even for me, and we both know…" Shawn opened the door and trailed off when he realized what had been happening all night. Carlton may not have been peeing, but the sight of him on his knees, hunched over the toilet was more than enough to wash away all traces of anger. "Oh." 

Carlton didn't answer, but the muscles in his back did jump as a quiet retch brought up a mouthful of vomit into the toilet. Shawn approached the man slowly, similar to the way he'd approach a wild animal, only his trigger-happy boyfriend could prove to be far more dangerous if the mood was right. Or wrong. Either way, really. Eventually, he knelt down beside Carlton, and up-close he noticed the small tremors coursing through the older man's body. Shawn slowly put a hand on his back, surprised when the touch was brushed off. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't know you were sick." 

"I'm not," Carlton said stubbornly. "Maybe it was something I ate. Or maybe I got a stomach virus. I don't know." 

Shawn raised an eyebrow as he rubbed circles into the man's back, just as Carlton had done for him while they were in bed. "Yeah, I think both food poisoning and stomach bugs constitute as being sick. Why didn't you say anything?" 

"I don't typically display weakness in front of others," Carlton answered simply. 

Of course. Shawn should have guessed as much, as he has always known that if the two of them were to marry, he'd have to change his last name to Mr. I'd-rather-die-than-take-a-sick-day. It was then that it hit him how much their relationship must mean to Lassiter if he was willing to let Shawn keep him company while he emptied his stomach into the toilet. "Well, I for one don't think this is a display of weakness at all. I mean, here you are upchucking like a champ. You know, I asked for my mommy every time I threw up until I was 30." 

Carlton chuckled, spitting into the toilet. "You still do, Shawn." 

Shawn pat Carlton's back. "See? Case and point." 

"It's case in point." 

"I've heard it both ways." 

Carlton belched softly, grimacing. "You should probably head back to bed. This is just disgusting." 

Shawn tisked. "Lassie, Lassie, Lassie. Have you met Gus ever? My best friend throws up like three times a day. I can handle it." 

Carlton grabbed a wad of toilet paper, using it to wipe his mouth and nose. "I'm done anyway. There's no chance in hell I've got anything left after three trips." 

Shawn stood so Carlton could have room to pull himself together. The toilet flushed and the older man walked weakly over to the sink, bracing himself on either side of the counter after turning on the water. Shawn decided to step up and he grabbed a washcloth, running it under the cool water. Gently, he dabbed away beads of sweat that were collecting on Lassiter's face, surprised when he wasn't swatted away. If anything, the creases on his boyfriend's face disappearing indicated that the action was appreciated. When that was done, Shawn grabbed a small paper cup from the cupboard and filled it with water, handing it over. "Here. Take a few sips and rinse out your mouth. Maybe not in that order." 

Carlton rinsed first and managed to drink a little without immediately spewing. That was a good sign, right? "I'm ready to go back to bed. With any luck, I'll feel better tomorrow morning." 

Shawn took him by the arm and began to lead the two of them back to the bedroom. "Even if you do feel better tomorrow, should you still try to go to work? I mean, you should probably get as much rest as possible, and it doesn't seem like you've been getting much sleep tonight."

They made it back to the bed and Lassiter collapsed down onto it with an appreciative groan. "I have a perfect attendance record," he protested quietly. 

Shawn scoffed. "What is this, fifth grade?" he slid into bed beside Carlton, this time keeping in mind the sensitive state of the man's stomach as he tangled the two of them together. "You know, if you weren't such a workaholic, maybe you wouldn't be doing impersonations of a wild goose mating call all night." 

"I have an excellent immune system, Spencer. I'm not entirely sure that your choice in restaurants agrees with my stomach." 

Shawn gasped mockingly. "Lassie, how dare you? Street gyros are an absolute gem. God forbid I make you eat something other than sunflower seeds for lunch." 

Carlton's body began to relax against his, and Shawn knew it wouldn't be long before his boyfriend fell asleep. "Sunflower seeds don't take up any time," he murmured. 

Shawn rolled his eyes at Lassiter's eating habits (or lack thereof) and listened peacefully as the older man's breathing evened out. With any luck at all, the detective would wake up feeling better and maybe even well-rested enough to make it into work. Shawn made the decision that if he even had the slightest suspicion something was off in the morning, he'd try to give Carlton his famous puppy eyes to make him stay home. 

That, or he could threaten him with Chief Vick. 

Shawn smirked as a soft snore escaped from the other's sleeping form. He treasured these moments that the two had together--the ones where they could both unapologetically be themselves and not worry about judgment from the other. Shawn kissed Carlton's temple, allowing himself to reflect on all of the right choices he made during his life that led to this very moment. With those pleasant thoughts in his mind, Shawn eventually joined Carlton in a peaceful slumber. 

…………………………………………………

Luck may not have been on their side the following morning, but Shawn still took in this moment for everything it was worth. 

Carlton, much to his dismay, woke up sore and nauseous, which Shawn knew had to be bad when it was the man himself who suggested that he stay home from work. Shawn, of course, agreed right away and told him to get more rest and hopefully sleep off the bug. That's how he wound up watching over his boyfriend while he slept, grinning unashamedly the entire time. Though they moved in together a month ago and had stayed over at each other's places several times before that, Shawn rarely got to watch Carlton sleep. Carlton was always the first one up, and oftentimes, the last one in bed. When Shawn did stay up or woke up in the middle of the night, the darkness of the bedroom made it impossible to make out any features. Sometimes when Carlton would agree to watch cartoons with him, he'd dose off quickly, but Shawn's head was usually too comfortable in the man’s lap for him to see his face. Now, sitting on the edge of the bed as his boyfriend slept, Shawn had a perfect view. It was refreshing to see his usually stoic and ornery look peaceful for once, and even though he was 99% sure his boyfriend was currently having a lovely dream about shooting someone, there was a hint of child-like innocence while he slept. 

Shawn was snapped out of his musing when his phone dinged from the nightstand. He grabbed it quickly and turned the volume down, not wanting anything to disturb his sick partner.  It was a text from Juliet, which he had been expecting. Carlton’s colleagues were bound to be a little worried since the man never volunteered to take a sick day. 

Hey, Shawn. Chief Vick told me Carlton isn’t feeling well. Is he alright? Do you guys need anything? -J. O’H. 

Shawn texted her back: 

Lassie’s pukey :( -S.S 

Yikes! Stomach viruses are the absolute worse. Do you need me to swing by with anything on my lunch break? The Chief said I could go early if you two needed anything. -J. O’H

Shawn debated the question, looking down at Lassiter’s sleeping form. He texted back quickly: 

I was going to have Gus swing by and see if his knowledge from his side-job could serve to be useful. If we need anything from you, I’ll be sure to let you know. I’m sure our little Lassie pup will be back to shooting people and screaming at McNab soon. :) -S.S 

Shawn had just sent the last text before he noticed stirring coming from the bed. With a small groan that Carlton would be sure to deny later, he opened his blue eyes and locked his gaze with Shawn’s. “What time issit?” he mumbled. 

Shawn looked over at the alarm clock. “It’s a little past nine. How are you feeling?” 

Carlton seemed to debate this for a moment. “Sick,” he decided. He curled into himself on the bed, his eyes squeezed shut in pain. Shawn noticed he had his arms wrapped around his stomach, a rare sign of weakness that Shawn knew was reserved solely for him. 

“Like I’m-gonna-hurl-now sick? Do you need to go to the bathroom?” 

Another groan escaped Carlton. “Maybe, yeah. I can’t imagine that I have anything left though.” The man swung his legs over the bed and stood unsteadily. Shawn grabbed him by his arm and gently guided him to the toilet where his boyfriend quickly lifted the seat and knelt on the floor. A dry heave instantly wracked his entire shaking frame and Shawn was quick to start rubbing his back to offer any form of comfort he could. Carlton dry heaved again, this time wincing in pain as his stomach lurched. 

“Just try to breathe,” Shawn said softly. 

“I’m not a child, Spencer,” Carlton snapped weakly. “I know-” he was cut off by a sick-sounding belch that was followed by a trickle of bile that left the older man shuddering. 

Shawn ignored the cranky attitude and continued to comfort him. “Are you in a lot of pain?” 

Carlton nodded. “I feel like I’ve been shot in the gut.” 

Deciding to take a risk, Shawn’s hand crept up the hem of Carlton’s SBPD t-shirt where it rested gently on the man’s thin stomach. He could feel it jolt underneath his palm with every heave and he made the executive decision to rub it gently. Surprisingly, he wasn’t shook off, and even more surprisingly, Carlton let out a sigh that sounded appreciative as he rested his head on the arm that was draped across the toilet. “Are you finished?” Shawn asked. 

Carlton nodded. “But don’t stop.” 

Shawn smiled genuinely, the request reminding him that his partner, despite his rugged exterior, had complete trust in him. “I’ll continue, but not on the bathroom floor. This can’t be good for your old-man knees.” 

Carlton lifted his head, and though Shawn couldn’t see his face, he was sure those pools of blue were glaring at him. “I’m six years older than you, Spencer.” 

“But already much, much greyer,” Shawn reminded him, kissing the top of Lassiter’s salt and pepper head. 

Carlton flushed the toilet and leaned back in Shawn’s welcoming arms. “Don’t forget I have guns hidden throughout the house.” 

Shawn chuckled. “Eight, to be exact. Although, I moved the one that was buried in the pistachio bowl. We don’t hide guns with snacks, Lassie.” 

“Excuse me for not knowing that I was going to end up living with the living embodiment of a hungry, hungry hippo.” 

“That’s Gus,” Shawn retorted, helping the detective stand and leading them back to the bedroom. “I’m more like a raccoon that lives off of other people’s leftovers.” Shawn pulled Lassiter down onto the bed, immediately curling around the man’s lanky frame. He resumed rubbing gentle circles into Carlton’s stomach, feeling the gratification as he felt him relax. “The spirits are talking to me, Lassie. They say that you’re secretly glad you live with a foodie because doing so reminds you that meals can be so much more than coffee and protein bars.” 

“You’re not psychic,” Lassiter murmured into his pillow. “And 99% of the meals I see you consume revolt me.” 

Shawn let out a soft ‘aww’ as he nuzzled the back of Carlton’s neck. “My boyfriend has a sensitive tummy.” 

“Do not. I’m just not a human dumpster.” 

“Do so. I think not being able to handle street gyros speaks for itself.” 

“So you admit that you poisoned me?” 

Shawn smirked. “I am simply stating that dating me is going to slowly level up your stomach until it can compete with mine.” 

“Not gonna happ’n,” Lassiter mumbled tiredly. “I am never eating with you again.” 

Shawn hummed, listening as his partner’s breathing evened out once more as he fell asleep. “Whatever you say, Lassie,” he murmured sleepily. Shawn too felt himself begin to drift off. He would just take a quick nap with his boyfriend, and when he woke up he’d have Gus’ encyclopedia brain give him some advice. In the meantime, he was perfectly content right where he was. 

[bang-and-a-blintz]

Through the Darkness

CHAPTER SEVEN - RED AND BLUES

Fandom: Dracula (2020)  

Relationship: Dracula/Roxana(OFC)  

Rating: Mature  

Warnings: None  

Word Count: 3,708

In hindsight, Roxana probably shouldn't have had three strongly poured bloody marys. She should have switched to something less filling after a big meal; like a vodka soda, if she felt like keeping to the same liquor, or a gin and tonic to stir things up. Unfortunately, all the tomato juice and grits and bread and sausage and eggs did not mix well with the sight of someone's throat being literally torn open.

It was nasty, but at least now she could jot down 'successfully grossed out a five-hundred-something-year-old vampire' in her list of lifetime achievements.

"Well, that was…unexpected." Dracula said after a moment, his hands hung in the air like they were held up by marionette strings, "Revolting, yes, but I have to admit, this is a first."

"I…um, I would apologize, but -"

"Yes, you should be sorry! This is an Ermenegildo Zegna." He growled lowly and the Italian name slid off his tongue in such a way that it sent shivers down her spine. Not entirely unpleasant ones, she'd be loath to admit.

"Who cares about a suit? You just ended that man's life!" She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and took a few steps back to distance herself from the vampire. "Besides, you clearly can afford another one."

Dracula rolled his eyes and sighed, his hands now working on their own accord as he began to carefully peel the ruined jacket away from his body. "It's not about the money, Roxana, it's about the craftsmanship and quality of the items; think of the countless hours spent meticulously sewing and sizing each individual article of clothing. All of that dedication and hard work tossed away just because you can't stomach a little bit of blood."

"Unbelievable." She began to pace in a small circle, dragging her nails quite viciously and repeatedly through her unruly locks. "You care more about some bits of fabric than a human being's life."

After shaking off the chunks from the coat, he placed it sloppily over the corpse and started working on his vest. There was that ferocity that he recognized in her, it reminded him of Agatha, and it was that Van Helsing fire that was not so easily snubbed. "You will come to learn, my dear, that death is part of the journey. It is the finished masterpiece. Think of it as your magnum opus! It is the very thing that defines the meaning of every life and is nothing that you should be afraid of."

"You're missing my point completely and, for the record, I'm not scared of death."

Dracula was relieved to find the button-up shirt underneath his vest to be unscathed, but also a little more than slightly intrigued by her statement. He would, how they say, put a pin in it and return back to that later. "Then why are you so upset? It's not like you knew him."

She groaned and threw up her hands in exasperation. Roxana was not about to try and teach an old vampire new moral tricks, that was well above her pay grade.

Rolling up his sleeves, the Count set out to retrieve his belongings from the pockets of his jacket and then fitted the dirtied clothes onto the dead body. For the final touch, he slid his Ray Bans over the man's glassy eyes. "Ah, good enough, I suppose."

Dracula took a step back to view his handiwork while absentmindedly wiped the remaining blood from his face. Roxana stopped her pacing to stare dumbly at the sight before her. The mugger was propped up against the wall with his head drooped down to the side, covering the neck wound so it looked like someone who had little too much fun and passed out on the sidewalk. Not an entirely uncommon sight in this city.

"Please tell me you're not just going to leave him here."

He looked at her with raised brows, "And what would you have me do?"

"Clean up after yourself!" Roxana cried out. The adrenaline rush she got from witnessing a murder had not completely dissipated so now she was left grasping a bout of minor hysteria. "I would think that would be obvious!"

Dracula laughed, "That's rich coming from someone who just upchucked her dinner all over one of my finest suits!"

"Because you decided to floss your teeth with some dude's carotid artery."

"Why are you surprised? You know what I am!"

"Well, excuse me if I was a little caught off guard because it's a hell of a lot different seeing a vampire up close and in action as opposed to a tiny, shitty computer screen!" She was nearly shouting, oblivious to the desperation in her own voice as he drew closer. Her neck craned upwards to try and boldly keep eye contact while his grin grew to make him look like the cat who caught the canary. "Stop smiling like that!"

"Make me." His tone was teasingly low, those eyes wicked and sharp. She noticed how lively Dracula looked after he fed. It was unsettling.

WHOOP! WHOOP!

They jumped apart as sirens suddenly yipped at them and a bright flashlight waved back and forth between their faces. The dark street was instantly flooded by the red and blues spinning on top of the police car.

"Oh, fuck me." She murmured with wide eyes. Her hands instinctively started to raise a little before she forced them back down, reminding herself to act casual.

Dracula leaned over slightly, "Is that an invitation?"

"Please shut up." She hissed back, shooting him a glare. "And no, it's not."

He made a facial shrug and then smirked, tossing her a casual little wink just to rile her up. The short, frustrated huff he got in return was satisfying enough.

"Everything all right here?" The cop rolled down his window and peered out at them. "And how about your friend over there? He's not looking so great."

The light shined over the dead guy leaning against the wall and the pair froze, glancing at one another.

This was her moment, she could tell the officer about the murder and maybe he could protect her against…the vampire. Oh, who was she kidding? Dracula would quicker snap her neck and drain the officer before risking the chance of exposure like that.

Meanwhile, her inner moral soldiers battled fiercely inside her brain over whether or not she should even say something about the murder. On the one hand, the count was a vicious blood-sucker who killed a man in a blink of the eye without any remorse, but on the other hand, it was technically self-defense…on her behalf anyway.

Logic eventually won when she realized that even if she did rat him out, it was highly unlikely the cop would even believe the truth. She would sound like a crazy person. The mental image of Dracula laughing and waving while she, hands uncomfortably cuffed behind her back, watched on with teary eyes as he grew smaller and smaller in the distance because the cruiser she was detained in drove off to the nearest prison…or an insane asylum. Whichever was closest.

Be killed or incarcerated? Neither were ideal. So Roxana went for door number three instead.

Dracula saw the look on her face. The look of a scared little rabbit getting ready to bolt. He had already tensed in preparation for her to make a sudden move but, to his surprise, that peculiar look vanished and Roxana smiled.

"All good here, officer! And yes, unfortunately this drunk pleb is with us. We were just about to get a ride back to the airbnb, sir." She shrugged her shoulders with a laugh. "It was his first time on Bourbon Street."

"Yes, I do believe he had one too many bloodys," Dracula was pleasantly surprised by her change in demeanor and happily played along. "Poor man vomited all over himself before we could find him a bin. Such a lightweight."

The officer squinted a little and they waited with bated breaths as he took a moment, which really felt like ages, to decide whether or not he believed their story.

"Alright then," He said at length and pointed to Dracula, "You make sure they get home safe now, ya hear?"

Roxana's eyebrows rose in disbelief while the Count grinned toothily, stepping over to her. She felt his hand slide up her spine and rest in a light grip around the back of her neck. "Of course, officer. I'll take care of them."

With a nod, the cop turned off his lights and drove back down the street, making a left at the next corner. Roxana let out a breath she didn't know she was holding and dropped her shoulders.

That was a close call.

"My, my, your heart is racing, Roxana." Dracula murmured into the darkness that had enveloped them once more. His thumb brushed over her pulse point and he was thrilled when it spiked at the touch. She went to move away but halted her step when she felt his grip tighten, those claws threatening to make a cut. He turned her to face him and firmly, but gently tilted her head back to force her to meet his stare.

"That was your chance. Why didn't you say anything?"

"Please," She scoffed and jutted her chin out defiantly, "We both know it would've been pointless."

"Still," He spoke softly, his head angling back as he observed her, "You could have told the police officer the truth."

"And have you kill us both? I think not. Remember, the foundation showed me those videos and I know you're immune to bullets. So what good would that have done me?"

Dracula stared at her for a moment and then wetted his lips slowly before speaking, inching closer and closer towards her face. "For the last time, I'm not killing you yet because I wish to get to know you, but if you keep bringing it up, I might feel inclined to change that timeframe."

"Well are you going to be this intolerable all the time? Because if so, then just get on with it, I'm in no mood to play a long con here, big guy."

"No, I do believe the fun has just begun."

"Great. Just great." Roxana was truly done. She could still taste the bile on her tongue like acid, it made her feel disgusting, and she wanted nothing more than the day to end. "Now, if you'll let me go, I'm in desperate need of a shower, a toothbrush, and a bed. Maybe a nightcap too because the last twenty-four hours of my life have been absolutely fucked."

Acquiescing her request, Dracula released his grip and allowed her to distance herself from him once more. He watched as she dragged a hand down her face and heaved a sigh; her blue eyes almost shined in the darkness up at him as she gave him a tired half-assed glare. She then turned and started walking towards Canal Street.

"Where are you going?"

"Home." She called over her shoulder, her manners be damned. "Goodnight, Dracula."

The Count gawked when she didn't even give him a second glance and he did nothing but watch as she made her way to the end of the street and disappeared around the corner. He truly did not understand that woman. Perhaps it was ingrained in the Van Helsing blood to be habitually nonplussed by his vampiric prowess.

He pulled out his cell phone with a sigh as his thoughts drifted to the dead man wearing his now-ruined five-thousand-dollar suit and about a quart of said Van Helsing's DNA. Dracula needed to get rid of that evidence before it came back and bit him in the ass. No pun intended.

"Hello, my lord, how was your day today?" Renfield sounded chipper as ever.

"I need you to dispose of a body."

Dracula grinned from ear to ear as he listened delightfully to the unfiltered frustration in Frank Renfield's long-suffering sigh.

—

What a day, Roxana thought as she shuffled onto the streetcar and plopped down in one of the wooden seats. With a lurch, the machine squealed and rattled as it moved forward along the track. She winced; the benches on these particular modes of transportation were incredibly unforgiving on one's posterior.

Blankly, she stared into nothing, not paying attention as the buildings passed by. The events of the night played on repeat in her mind. A real vampire killed a real person right before her eyes. Was this really real life now? She was too exhausted to try and figure it out.

She felt like an outsider looking in on her body as it ran on autopilot. Her hand pulled the string to stop the car and somehow her feet managed to take her all the way to her front step without incident.

Fifolet meowed at her incessantly by the door but it sounded muted and far away as she unlocked it. Robotically, she made a beeline to the bathroom and shed her clothes along the way. Not even waiting for the water to warm up, Roxana stood unflinchingly under the cold spray and began to clean herself as the temperature increased to the cusp of scalding. She scrubbed and scrubbed until her skin was red and raw. When she was finished, she pressed her forehead against the tiled wall and closed her eyes, simply listening to the water roar around her.

Without thinking, she lifted her hand up to gently wrap her fingers around her neck and couldn't stop her mind from wandering…from remembering the distinct sensation of another hand. His hand. She could almost still feel the vast expanse of his palm grasping her jugular and those impossibly long fingers curling nearly all the way around. Or how he leaned so close until he was just a breath away and anytime she would inhale, those fingers would tighten ever-so-slightly against her flesh.

Roxana's eyes shot open and she dropped her hand like it was on fire. Goosebumps lit up her arms and legs, despite the scorching water. Slamming the nozzle off, she threw back the curtains and began to dry off with furious gusto.

He was a vile creature. A feral beast. Not even human. The mere memory of his hands on her should be enough to appall her entirely. It must be delirium, she thought stubbornly, shaking the abhorrently traitorous images from her mind. She wrapped the towel around her head and strode towards the bedroom.

"I just need to go the fuck to sleep." Roxana muttered to herself and swiped the half-empty bottle of bourbon from the counter on her way. She collapsed onto the bed once she reached it, but sleep did not find her. Instead, she laid awake through the early hours of the morning, watching the ceiling fan spin on and on and on. She steadily knocked back the remainder of the liquor until the corners of her visions blurred and her eyelids became too heavy to keep open.

By the time the sun had risen in the sky, the bottle had rolled underneath her bed, long since emptied, and her light snores could be heard along with the chirping birdsongs. Fifolet patted over and curled up next to the woman, resting her paw gently on her outstretched arm and knowing that her human would be needing comfort now more than ever before.

—

The rest of the week flew by without any sort of batty drama and Roxana was grateful for it. She had a light workload with only two dinners scheduled and each went off without a hitch. All felt to be back to normal within her world. The weather wasn't comfortable yet, unfortunately, so she spent most of her free time relaxing at home. Not that she was using the cold as an excuse to stay inside and away from a certain someone. Nope, not a chance.

After that night, she had woken up with a righteous hangover and truly believed she had made up everything that had occurred in those twenty-four hours, but the textual evidence on her phone proved otherwise. Dracula had messaged her just once, to make sure she had made it home after their encounter, which she had to begrudgingly admit was rather sweet. Other than that, she was surprised to hear nothing more from the Count.

Roxana was cherishing the peace and quiet while she could. She knew that this whole interaction with Dracula was almost one-hundred-percent going to end up with her premature death. It wasn't hard to understand that hanging out with vampires and certain mortal peril basically went hand in hand. Not to mention the pesky fact about her being directly tied to a bloodline of women who had quite a lot to do with this ancient warlord and, spoiler alert, both of those women were killed...by him. So she intended to enjoy the calm before the storm.

Her phone went off next to her as she was boiling a pot of water for her own dinner and she saw an unknown number flash up at her.

"Hello?"

"Ah Miss von Hels, this is Keres Grimaldi. How I appreciate you taking the time as I am sure you must be terribly busy." The cold, feminine voice on the other line was not who Roxana had expected.

She blinked and then glanced around. The only plans she had this evening were drinking a bottle or two of wine, eating pasta, and watching some mind-numbing sitcoms. Yes, she was terribly busy. "Oh, no, not a problem at all. What can I do for you, Miss Grimaldi?"

"I would like to go over some of the details for this upcoming dinner." Keres' tone was icy and authoritative, leaving no room for nonsense or frivolous chatter. Roxana had a hard time imagining this woman throwing any sort of convivial party. "First, I believe you are aware of the delicate situation I am in, as head of the council, and the reason I chose your restaurant as the location once more is that I know that you will handle these delicacies with the same discretion you do with all of your soirees. Your clientele is famous and you appear to have the subtlety to maintain secrecy."

Roxana could not tell if this woman was being deliberately facetious or if she just always had the demeanor of a robotic bitch. Realizing very quickly that she wasn't about to get many words in, the chef put the phone on speaker and began to record the conversation so she could go back over it later to write the details down in her schedule. Work smarter, not harder. With a smile, she continued stirring the sauce as Keres plowed onward with her demands.

"The dinner will take place on the last Friday of the month, just two weeks before Mardi Gras. We shall be seating ten and you will provide meals for only five. It will be just you there and no other employees during the dinner, absolutely no exceptions."

"Okay, I'll have them leave before the clients arrive. You understand that includes my valet, right?"

"Yes, the transportation will be taken care of, therefore parking will not be an issue."

Strange, Roxana thought to herself while pouring the pasta into the strainer. "That works. Anything else? Dietary restrictions?"

As the words left her mouth, she winced and silence filled the room. It was a perfectly normal question under any other circumstance, but perhaps not this one.

"I noticed the other night that you seemed to be familiar with Mr. Balaur."

"I…um," She wasn't sure how she should answer the woman, "It was the first time I had met him, but I guess you could say we have mutual acquaintances."

"Miss von Hels, you are aware of his vampiric nature, are you not?" Well, Keres was certainly not tiptoeing around the subject.

"…Yes."

"Good, that's one less tedious explanation. I will provide the necessary dietary requirements, so you need not worry yourself over that. As for the mayor and his partners, you will want to contact them and decide on a menu that will suit their needs."

"Easy." She poured another glass of wine and took a long drink. "Anything else?"

The line was quiet for a moment and she had to check to make sure the call hadn't ended before Keres spoke up, "No, that will be all for now, Miss von Hels. Thank you for your time."

"Thank you for calling, Miss Grimaldi, I hope you have a great rest of your evening." Roxana really appreciated clients who were straight to the point, for it was often a headache to deal with indecisive people.

"One more thing," Keres' voice made her hand stop midway from pressing the end button, "Watch yourself around him. I've spent some time with Mr. Balaur in the last few years and I have never seen him look the way he did at you and this concerns me, not for your wellbeing of course, but for the future of our council. I will not have him go feral again, not under my watch, so if you know what is best for yourself, I would advise you to attempt to maintain a distance and use the utmost caution."

This caught Roxana off guard and her brows furrowed, "Then why are you having the dinner at Sanguine, if you are so concerned about this?"

Keres let out a laugh and it was anything but joyful. It lasted a beat too long for something that couldn't even be considered humorous and continued to send chills fluttering down Roxana's neck with a foreboding sense of danger.

"Oh, I know better by now than to try and take his toys away."

Taglist:

@festering-queen​ @vissidarte213​ @moony691​ @allis143​ @torntaltos​ @apocalypsenowish​

[rockingbrooklyn]

The Kings of Paradise Guys as Dads! (FLUFF) [KOP-headcanon]

Based on Anonymous request: Whenever you have time, could you do the KOP guys as fathers/or when the MC is pregnant?

I decided to combine both these scenarios and write this headcanon, albeit a bit lengthy and kinda detailed. I've written this with the basic idea of the guys having a daughter, because it really appealed to me. Hope you like it!❤

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~☆~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taki:

When MC first told him about the pregnancy, he had been over the moon. He had dreamt of having a family with her ever since high school. He hugged her tight and the first words out of his mouth were "Thank you MC, I love you so much, I can't even express how happy I am". And he sounded choked.

He started reading a lot. If not working or pampering MC, he would read various Internet articles regarding pregnancy.

He pampered MC much much more than usual. From bringing her mindful gifts to giving her a fragrant bath or a back massage, he would go that extra mile to make sure she was happy and comfortable. It was almost daily that he brought little gifts for MC when he came home from work, much to her chagrin.

Taki is incredibly mature and that showed in his ability to handle any situation- from MC's mood swings to her cravings.

On those nights when the baby would be extra kicky and render MC sleepless, he would sing to MC's belly and rub it to soothe the baby. It was the most tender version of Taki MC had ever seen.

He had kept all the funds that they would ever require for the baby ready beforehand. He has also secretly kept money in various bank accounts for MC. Not that he'd ever mention this to her because she tends to worry, but this is his precaution to ensure that MC has enough to provide for herself and their baby god forbid something horrible ever happened to him. His biggest fear is not being able to take care of his family and watching them suffer in dangerous situations like he did when young, so he has taken every possible measure to ensure that nothing would ever separate him from them.

He has the best health insurances for himself, MC and also for their coming baby.

He has all big mergers and business deals done before the arrival of the baby so that he wouldn't miss out on the initial few years of it's life. He has everything meticulously planned, it's almost like an OCD for him.

Taki and MC decorated the nursery and baby-proofed the house together. The nursery has several momentos from their journey together from high school uptil that moment, and it is something very sentimental for both of them.

He drove MC to the hospital about 2 days prior to the due date, just to avoid any last minute stress. Whenever MC would feel stressed, he would be there to hug her and make her feel at ease.

He held her shoulders and encouraged her to push when she went into labour. It was difficult for him to see her in pain, but in order to support her, he had to remain composed.

He could barely hold his tears back when he first saw their baby daughter. Her face was more like MC, save for her eyes which were an exact copy of his. One look into her eyes, and he swore that he would do anything and everything in his power to ensure that his family would long for nothing. "MC, she's perfect" he said, looking at his wife in admiration.

The only thing MC does after coming home from the hospital is resting. Taki keeps her away from housework. He also takes care of the baby when MC is asleep. MC admonishes him at times because all that waking up late at night will definitely make him fall asleep on his desk (he did once, and he didn't tell MC this, but she knows better).

He strives to come home early so that he can play with his baby girl. MC loves to see Taki giggling and singing with the baby, and she swears she's never seen anything so adorable.

Taki is yet to get used to the diaper changing and upchucking, but he tries his best. He agrees that MC is so many times better than him at all the baby jobs.

Another reason that he comes home early is to keep the other guys away from his daughter. She doesn't need those immature problematic men with horrible gifting sense.

He's lost count of the number of times he's scolded Yosuke and the others for bringing those extravagant gifts for his daughter, but her 3 more than generous uncles refuse to listen. MC and Taki are confused as to what they are going to do with that mini-Mercedes.

Taki and MC sit together with Sydney and gently introduce her to her new baby sister. Sydney takes her role very seriously- she's even more aggressive towards Yosuke when he comes to see the baby.

Taki death-glared Shun hard when he said that he's going to be baby girl's boyfriend. His annoyance level reached maximum when his daughter giggled back in agreement. MC could barely hold back her laughter.

Taki's lockscreen is a picture of MC with their baby girl in her arms, while MC's lockscreen is a picture of a sleeping Taki with their baby girl sound asleep on his chest.

Yosuke:

Yosuke was really excited but also scared when MC told him she was pregnant. He had a less than pleasant experience with his own family, so he doubted his capabilities as a father.

Although he did not let MC in on it, he had been extremely unsure fir the first few weeks. Did he want a baby? Could he handle that responsibility? But the next moment, he thought about how enriched his life had become since MC, and another little MC wouldn't hurt at all. It was then he firmly decided, he was going to do this, by hook or by crook.

He was very excited, albeit a bit nervous about the first ultrasound. When he saw the tiny little bean- their tiny little bean on the screen, he was filled with an array of emotions all which told him that he dearly wanted this human in his life. That was the day when all of his inhibitions were put to rest.

Since the day MC revealed her pregnancy, Yosuke became extremely protective of her- he personally took care of her meals, even hired a nutritionist and a cook for her, got in the best of doctors and obstetricians and made sure he attended each gynaec visit. MC thought it was fun to see Yosuke so excited (and extra) about something.

He easily gets concerned by morning sickness and MC's mood swings. He cannot handle seeing her crying, he gets panicky and ends up doing weird things. Once when he saw MC crying watching an animal documentary, he went into a panic and came back dressed in a bunny onesie- complete with the whiskers and button nose. He was extremely embarrassed because he had no clue what to do, but that made MC smile so it was worth everything.

He's an compulsive Googler. He Googles practically everything that he is unsure about, and gets antsy when Google doesn't have an answer to his question. Honestly, the last thing he Googled was 'How to raise a baby?' If Google were a person, it would have gotten Yosuke arrested.

When the labour pains first started, he was genuinely more scared than MC herself. His hands were sweaty, and MC, through the pain, had to make sure her husband was okay. Inspite of being panicked, he refused to leave the delivery room so the doctors had to unwillingly keep him.

He watched the entire birth with fearful eyes, ready to collapse anytime with the amount of tension.

Throughout the course of her pregnancy, MC seriously wondered if Yosuke was her eldest forgotten child.

When the doctors handed him their crying daughter, there was an overflow of emotions inside him. He cried, cried a lot- his daughter, wet, kicking and wailing, was the loveliest thing he had ever seen. He couldn't believe this little one was theirs. "Thank you so much MC, I love you baby"

He made sure MC was comfortable in the hospital, and that she had her favourite foods- much to the annoyance of all doctors and nurses.

He spent the first 2 nights awake, looking at his new favourite girl. She had his exact mischievous face and eyes too, but her hair and skin colour matched MC.

SPOILER ALERT: Daddy's baby girl gets whatever she wants, and she isn't even 2 days old yet. He wants to bring her up like a princess, although MC is quite adamant that she doesn't want her daughter growing up to become a spoilt, rich brat. But Yosuke also promised her that he won't let their daughter go the wrong way, and he'll make damn sure of it.

He works from home quite often, so that he can take care of MC and play a lot with the baby. He treats both his girls with utmost care, and gives them all his attention. He does not want either of them feel what he did as a child.

Compulsive photographer. Clicks innumerable baby pictures daily, and most of them look the same, but he wouldn't delete them.

The first time his daughter threw up on him, he was like "Honey, why would you do this to me?" while MC tried hard not to laugh at the scene, making Yosuke pout. She replied, "Don't worry Yosuke, I still love you, even if you're covered in baby vomit"

Yosuke cannot see baby girl crying. The first wail itself is too much for him to take, and her tear streaked little face and desperate cries bring him to his knees.

He won't let the other guys hold her until he's made sure they've had a shower and are clean enough. He won't even let them hold her for more than a minute, and ofcourse Shun or even Taki for that matter, wouldn't listen to that which makes Yosuke really sulky.

When MC once joked about their daughter growing up and getting home a boyfriend just like Yosuke, boy he freakeddddd out. No, she's his baby girl, she doesn't need any other boy in her life except him!

Kiyohito:

When MC revealed the news to him, he teared up. He isn't really an emotional person, so seeing him react that way did worry MC a little bit. But he made it clear that he was happy and those were the happy kind of tears.

For his young age, he was a bit anxious at the aspect of fatherhood. But a mini him-&-MC? He couldn't wait to see that one!

He made sure of being not only physically, but also emotionally available for MC because it was the time for the most drastic changes for her, and he didn't want her to go through that alone. He makes it a point to be more vocal towards MC and tell her how he feels.

He also makes sure he's always there to listen to what MC has to say. He pays utmost attention to all her needs. He insists that MC speak out everything on her mind and he very religiously does the same- fears and inhibitions included. Communication is the key to a healthy pregnancy and relationship and noone knows that better than Kiyo.

He tries to be home early, but if he can't, he calls from time to time to check on MC, if she's had her meals, her vitamins and medications, if she's feeling okay and stuff like that. He has tried to attend as many check-ups as he could.

He always offers MC a soothing body massage whenever she's sore or tired.

He talks to MC's belly a lot. He'll whisper sweet things and rub it affectionately wishing that his baby recognizes him.

He's honestly scared when doctors rushed MC to the delivery room. He could not bear her screams and the nurse had to push him out.

When MC urged him to finally hold their baby girl- her stared at her long and hard, not being able to believe that she was here with them. She was the most beautiful girl he'd ever seen besides MC, and she had his exact angelic eyes.

When MC is sent home, Kiyohito usually manages the night duties, and it was then that MC realised: he had a horrible singing voice- it sounded like a constipated alien. But it soothes their daughter nonetheless (that poor baby girl), so MC has never told him that it sucks.

Kiyohito designs many cute onesies, frocks and clothes of a variety of styles for his baby girl. Even at that very tender age, she has a massive closet of her own. MC and Kiyo love dressing her up. He even tries various hairstyles on her baby hair. The other guys find it really adorable and it becomes difficult for Kiyo to get her back once he gives her to them.

He just cannot stand baby poop and vomit. The first time he smelt it, he threw up, no kidding. MC has to do all the dirty work herself.

Kiyohito has hired bodyguards for MC and the baby. He strictly keeps their daughter away from paparazzi. He also keeps her away from his social media. He wants her to have a normal private life. He is also particularly hesitant about his daughter entering into the entertainment or fashion industry because of all the bad politics involved in it.

Kiyo and MC have lost track of the number of diamond studded hairclips their daughter owns, thanks to Yosuke and Shun. And thanks to Taki for getting her that crocodile plush that she really adores. She wouldn't sleep without it and Kiyo is a bit annoyed at the fact that she won't take any of the soft toys he bought for her, to sleep.

Shun:

Shun and MC had been trying for a baby since quite sometime so when MC finally gave him the big news, he was incredibly happy.

He surprisingly cut down on his drinking without being told by anyone. Yosuke teases him a lot about it.

He meticulously tries to adjust his schedule so that he returns home on time for his wife and their new member. He also attends all ultrasound sessions and birthing classes with MC.

Takes MC on a babymoon to some exotic place so that she can relax and unwind.

Is the type to get MC a lot of treats while returning home. He picks up clothes, shoes, food for MC and toys for the baby on an impulse. If he's walking on the street, and he sees something in a shop that he likes, he's sure to bring it home.

He's really romantic towards MC because for the second time in his life, she's made him feel truly alive from the inside.

He wishes that their baby is a girl, because he wants a little girl just like MC. He regularly prays to God for that.

Shun often surprises MC with a bouquet of flowers, a shower of kisses, cuddles, a candlelight dinner or a bubble bath with her favourite bath bombs.

Shun personally gets into the baby-proofing stuff. He does not want to leave any corner of the house untouched.

Just before going to sleep, Shun spends some time on self-introspection and thinks how he can be a better husband and father. Unknown to him, MC hasn't missed the changes in his behaviour and she's thankful to have him in her life.

For all the time he spent carefully managing his schedule, the baby chose to arrive at that exact moment when he wasn't home. Taki, Yosuke and Kiyohito rushed MC to the hospital for an early delivery. Shun at that time was filming the last scene for his last film of the season in another town. So when Taki could finally reach him and tell him about the news, he drove to the hospital as fast as he could. But through the traffic and distance, it took him more than an hour to come. By the time he reached, MC had already delivered their daughter and was tiredly waiting for him.

"Look at our princess Shun, exactly like the one you wanted" MC had barely said the words when he wrapped her in a tight hug and cried to his hearts content. He was happy more than words could express, but also emotional at the aspect of not being able to witness their daughter's birth.

He held his daughter in his arms all night and thanked god for granting his wish. She has taken his dark hair and lip-shape, but the rest of her looks like MC. Once they return home, he has every plan ready to spoil the two of them.

Shun likes to soothe his daughter by playing the piano. When she's fussy, she won't settle for anyone but daddy. Since he's taken a short hiatus from filming, he is almost always at home. He doesn't want to miss anymore of his daughter's milestones.

He's surprisingly a pro at changing diapers, cleaning baby vomit and handling the teething. The other guys were surprised to see him do all the work without even scrunching his nose. They think he must have some sort of superpower.

Shun thinks that the guys are a bad influence for his daughter, and had plans to keep them away from her, but MC told him not to. The baby girl needs to have some entertainment in her life too. It still worries Shun as to what that entertainment might be. He also really hopes that Yosuke doesn't become her favourite uncle.

His daughter is his new muse, his new inspiration. He pens down poems and stories for her and she listens to him with all the attention that she can give at that age- eyes wide, saliva dribbling onto his shirt and hands in her mouth. It is an adorable sight to witness.

Shun has a really good singing voice and it moves MC to tears whenever she sees him singing to their daughter, her head on his chest and her little hand clasped in his- like a protector. His world revolves around his wife and daughter, he's proud of them, for he knows that they're his forever.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~☆~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Link to Masterpost

[thatesqcrush]

Long Way Home, Ch. 3

Rafael x Reader. AU; SVU x Good Wife. Set post s5 Good Wife, Dramatics Your Honor. References: s3, e.21 of TGW. CW: continued angst.

***

Three months had passed. You settled into your new home and your new job. You became friendly with the SVU squad easily. The cases were intense; much different than what you were used to before. Sometimes justice wasn’t always had and you grappled with that. Sometimes you skimmed the legal/illegal line of getting what you needed which drove Barba occasionally into a tizzy. You threw yourself into your work, trying to stuff down and ignore the many objectionable feelings that were rooted deep down.

You woke up to to your phone buzzing. It was a bunch of texts sent in rapid succession from Carmen.

[Carmen, 7:30 AM: Barba needs you at SVU]

[Carmen, 7:31 AM: FYI he’s in a mood]

[Carmen, 7:32 AM: He’s already on his way there]

Your stomach flopped a bit and you sighed. Your boss was a wonderful man, but when he was in a mood, he could be pretty cantankerous. You could begin to feel a dull throb in your head form.

After a quick shower, and popping some aspirin, you made your way to the 16th precinct. The elevator doors opened and you were face to face with a tall, brunette woman.

“Morning Liv,” you greeted warmly. Liv smiled.

“Morning Y/F/N,” She made her way into the elevator as you stepped out. She held her arm over the elevator door. “I hate to bail but there’s an issue with Noah and his school. I’ll be back later. Barba is already here; he’s in my office.”

The elevator started to ring. Olivia gave a small but warm smile. You nodded your goodbye and made your way towards Liv’s office.

As you made your way over, you bumped into Carisi who was also heading towards Liv’s office.

“Morning Y/F/N,” Carisi greeted you brightly. “Here for Barba?”

“Hey Sonny,” you greeted in a sing-song manner as you both entered Liv’s office.

Your boss was going though a stack of papers on Liv’s desk. He looked up at the two of you, and sighed before taking a swig of coffee from the cup in his hand.

“Carisi, Y/F/N,” Rafael clipped. “Patrick Roonery was convicted of raping and murdering his boss’ wife 13 years ago. New DNA evidence has exonerated him. However, McCoy wants me to investigate further, because the judge may have withheld some evidence to secure the conviction. I need you Y/F/N to speak with the original jury members and see if they remember anything odd. Carisi go with Y/F/N and use that recently acquired law degree.”

Rafael sighed, continuing. “If this is true, this could have huge repercussions. I have never been more jaded by the bench than I have now. Cuesta is a well respected judge. He’s known in the community. This won’t be easy.”

“On it,” Carisi affirmed. You nodded, before furrowing your brow. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah, just a headache and my stomach is a little off. I am just hungry. No time to grab anything to eat. I’ll just hit up the break room before we leave,” you replied.

Amanda poked her head and knocked. “Barba, we got the files from the Cuesta hearing. It’s a mess. I set it up in the spare interview room so you can start to go through everything,” she sighed.

****

Amanda was not kidding when she said the file was a mess. Something did immediately appear to be off. You just wasn’t sure as to what.

Grabbing the list of jurors and their addresses that Carisi just printed out, you headed out with him to interview.

Rafael watched you exit. “I like her, she’s a good fit,” he remarked to Amanda.

“Shame what happened to her husband,” Amanda replied with a sad smile. “Just awful.”

Rafael paused for a minute before resuming re-stacking the papers into the evidence box. “What did you say?”

“She didn’t tell you?” Amanda asked, her accent twinging. “Her husband was that hot shot lawyer from Chicago who was murdered by his client in the courtroom. Will... something,” she trailed off.

Rafael shook his head. “Gardner?” He questioned.

“Him! That’s right,” Amanda tapped her temple. That’s why she’s out here.”

“And she just told you all of this?” Rafael pressed Amanda.

“No. I just remember when it happened; there was a picture of them in the paper. I recognized her almost immediately. But she hasn’t said anything so I didn’t want to. Not my place, you know?”

****

Later that afternoon, you and Carisi were on the way to the last juror’s residence.

“After this gent, how about we go get some food? I know a great pizza joint two blocks over,” Carisi replied with a grin.

You walked up the front stoop of a Brooklyn brownstone with Carisi. “Sounds good, I could use something to eat. Your dime, not mine,” you teased.

You found the apartment and buzzed. After a few subsequent buzzes, no one answered. Carisi looked up at the top of building. “Let’s go grab a bite and then come back; maybe we will catch them on the way back.”

At that moment, the doors opened and a man stepped out.

“Excuse me,” he replied, walking past you. You caught a whiff of his cologne and your world stopped in its tracks. The scent of the stranger’s cologne - Will’s cologne - overtook your senses. Your stomach churned and you could hear your heart pounding in your ears.

Carisi began talking to the man, initially oblivious to your discomfort. You leaned over on the railing, your eyes brimming and you willed yourself to not upchuck the contents of your stomach.

“Y/N? You okay? Y/N?” Carisi tapped your shoulder.

You took a breath and stood straight, nodding, while wiping your eyes. “Yes,” you replied shakily. “I—“ you started before promptly throwing up on Carisi’s leather shoes.

Your eyes widened in horror. “I am so sorry,” you apologized.

Carisi raised his hand up. “Well, my appetite is over. Let’s head to that shop anyway so we can get you a soda and I can get cleaned up and you can tell me what that was about.”

****

Carisi listened intently as you spilled everything that had been kept in for the past few months: the shooting, the funeral, the decision to get away from everyone who seemed to mollycoddle you immediately after, the intense desire to step away and create a whole new life back home.

“I am really sorry about your shoes. Take them to be cleaned and send me the bill,” you apologized before taking a long sip of the 7Up Carisi grabbed from the pizza-shop refrigerator.

“Y/N,” Carisi replied gently while reaching out to touch your hand. “It’s fine; I am really sorry about what happened to your husband. I read some of his law reviews at Fordham. He was damn fine lawyer.”

You nodded in agreement. “We were planning the next phase of our lives. I know tomorrow is never promised but I just didn’t think it would happen to me.”

Carisi reached over and wiped the lone tear that had fallen on your cheek with a greasy tissue. “Whatever you need Y/N, you can count on me, the squad; we’ve got you.”

[iamwhelmed]

Homesick: Chapter 1

I wasn’t originally gonna post this here, but eh. I post everything else here, may as well post this too This one is only going to be 3 chapters, nothing that demand my attention the way WOHT does. This is a writing exercise pretty much, just a fun one!

Summary: Raven finds herself carrying Beast Boy's child and struggles with the fear of losing him and the impending responsibility of being a mother; Starfire finds Robin in a precarious position with another woman. The two leave the tower to live on their own for awhile, just to figure things out. Beast Boy and Robin may be losing their minds, and Cyborg tries to keep everyone together.

Read on AO3

Read on Fanfiction.net

The nausea was twisting on her, like a fist in her stomach that rumbled and hissed and seethed every time she moved- not that she was doing a whole lot of that from her seat on the bathroom floor. She wasn't sure if this bout of nausea was the sheer force of terror washing over her spine in a shroud of blinding panic, or if it was a symptom…

She was, after all, pregnant. The stick in her hand, pink and cheery with a positive sign despite her ever-frantic mind stirring, said as such. She couldn't find it in her to muster up a glare at the + and the way it mocked her, not when her body was trembling and it was taking every ounce of control she had to not bust open every light fixture in the entire tower. Cyborg would flip majorly, lose his circuits, and attention was the last thing she wanted to call to herself right now.

She dropped the stick limply into the can beside the toilet, raising one hand to rub soothing circles into her temple as the other braced her body against the cold rims of the porcelain throne, keeping her steady in case her body began heaving uncontrollably.

She'd known, if she was honest; she'd known the first morning several weeks ago when she'd shot up out of her warm bed after a late night of reading to go upchuck. She'd kept herself calm, mediated on it, went down a list of reasons why she wouldn't-- couldn't-- be with child.

Or maybe it was just denial.

She groaned, lips curling into a grimace as she dragged her nails across the toilet's edge. How far along was she? She wasn't sure. Somebody else may have been able to pinpoint the exact… intimate moment… that placed a budding life inside of her. She, unfortunately, could not. Beast Boy, for all his bark over the ladies, turned out to actually have some bite to back it up.

A lot of bite, actually, and he bit often. Which was why she was here now, clutching onto what little was left of the herbal tea she'd tried to calm herself to sleep with earlier that morning. It was still hardly 5 am, early enough the sun was still hours away from making its grand entrance, which meant she had hours to figure out what exactly she was going to do before Robin inevitably woke up and demanded to know why exactly she looked distinctly paler than usual.

"Think, Raven, think!" Talking to herself helped calm her nerves, if only by a fraction, but her stomach churned with every syllable in protest. All right, facts:

1. She was pregnant, pregnant with Beast Boy's child; specifics were important, she could hear Robin's encouraging voice reminding her.

2. Beast Boy, the guy who still tried to convince others to call him "Beast Man", the guy who still regularly pulled pranks on his fellow titans, the guy who was still full of hope and enthusiasm and youthful passion… he was not ready to be a father.

3. Quite frankly, she wasn't sure she was ready to be a mother.

She took three deep breaths, trying to settle the urge to throw up the rest of her herbal tea, and perhaps preemptively empty her stomach of anything else she may decide to stuff it with the rest of the day.

4. There was no hiding this from the rest of the titans, especially not Robin and Beast Boy. Robin was the protegee of one of the most legendary detectives to walk the earth, and a leader who was defined by his dedication to his team and his friends-- his family. And Beast Boy?

Oh, Beast Boy knew her too well. He knew every nook and cranny of her soul, but perhaps more importantly, he knew her body. The first few times they'd… spent the night together… he'd spent hours afterward watching her sleep, taking in her shape, her tone, her skin, all of which would be affected by the impending life burrowed deep inside of her. She'd loved his attentiveness, loved waking up in the morning to his body woven protectively around hers like a second blanket. He'd always been gentle with her, understanding, and she'd acted in kind as they got to know each other on a more physical level, show each other just how much they loved having that special permission to touch each other, press kisses in places nobody else could, see and touch places nobody else could.

She could hide it for a month, maybe, but the moment she started showing, he'd know something was off, and that was if his impeccable sense of smell didn't give her away beforehand. Raven cursed, wondering what he would say, or maybe how wide and petrified his eyes would get before he inevitably either freaked out, or swallowed his fears and did "the right thing", only for the pressure to be too much for him to bare.

But what other choice did she have? She couldn't very well hole herself up in her room and wait for their child to come tumbling out of her in the middle of her bedroom floor, not that she would get as far as three weeks before Starfire and Cyborg and Beast Boy set up alternating camps outside her bedroom, waiting for a chance to talk to her because something was clearly very wrong.

No, she had to hide somewhere else, just until she figured all of this out. She'd leave a note, let her friends know she was fine, that she would eventually come home to them. But her home was starting to feel like a nightmare she'd accidentally conjured for herself. She didn't have to hide the entire pregnancy, right? No, she would go away for a little while and return with a clearer mind. That way, she could face her team. Face Beast Boy…

Her legs trembled under her full weight as she stood up. With a hiss, she braced herself against the bathroom counter. "Azarath… Metrion… Zin-"

There was a knock at the door, light, but present. Her body seized up, and behind her she could hear what distinctly sounded like the shower curtain ripping from the wall, edges squeaking against the tile of the shower walls as it clamored loudly to the floor, making her wince every bit of the way. Great job not drawing attention to yourself, Raven. She swallowed, hard. "Y-Yes?" She hated the way her throat choked her words into weak stuttering.

"Friend Raven," Starfire, then. Great. Then again, not the worst possible person, she mused. "I heard the throwing up, and I wanted to be sure that you were-"

"I'm okay, Starfire." She took small puffs of air through her nose, keeping her body and her voice even. "Probably just ate something a little past the expiration date is all…"

"But you are unwell, yes?"

Extremely. "I'll be fine, Starfire--" Her stomach lurched, and before she could curse the inopportune moment, she was heaving into the toilet again. The last of her herbal tea lurched from her mouth like a stream into the toilet's still warm embrace, and yet the little infant yet to grow so much as eyes was forcing her to further expunge her stomach. Bile mixed with water filled the toilet soon after, left her throat burning as she wiped haphazardly at her mouth with the back of her wrist. Not even a month old and her little one had a knack for inconveniencing her at the worst moments. She glared sardonically down at her stomach, still flat for the time being, and soothed very little by the hand that'd taken to rubbing circles into it.

The bathroom door opened, though she definitely remembered locking it. She turned her head to the side, just a fraction, just enough to see Starfire literally doing the most silent job she'd ever done of literally tearing a door off its hinges. The metal creased under the force of her hands, but she very delicately pulled the door to the side and off the wall, slowly so as to not make a ruckus. She placed it on the wall beside the door's threshold.

Her stomach lurched again, and she hurriedly burrowed her head into the toilet in preparation for the toxic sensation of heaving whatever else she had left to vomit. Come on, give me a break! If this was in any way an indication of what this little one's sleeping habits would be like, she was going to need help. A lot of it. She grinded her teeth as another wave of nausea hit her, and she heaved over the toilet, feeling her chest strain with every feeble attempt she made at throwing up. Warm fingers rested at her back, rubbing up and down in slow, settling paces. Her stomach immediately seemed to relax, the queasiness that'd enveloped her since four this morning melting away. She stayed hunched over the toilet, though, just in case. Starfire never ceased in her ministrations, pausing only to move a lock of hair out of her face, which she was only realizing now was paved with a thick coat of sweat. She'd seen the box on the counter, she was sure of it. There was no use hiding.

"Raven…"

"He can't know, Star."

"I do not understand. You wish to hide such a joyous occasion from Friend Beast Boy?"

"It won't be so joyous in nine months when he's got no clue how to be a father."

"I do believe Beast Boy has been good with children in the past?"

Raven pulled away from the toilet, and Starfire was on her in a second, gentle hands helping her to rest against the bathroom counter. She gave Starfire the best smile she could muster in her state, not much considering forcing a smile was difficult even when her insides weren't struggling to accommodate a second body. Starfire smile back though, getting the message regardless. There was no need to thank her, she was merely doing what a friend ought to do. "No, Star, he's good at entertaining kids. Raising them is…" Different. A responsibility-- not just to their child, but to her.

Maybe that was the issue.

Starfire frowned, then moved away from the toilet to sit next to her on the tile floor, up against the counter. She pressed her legs to her chest, wrapping her arms around them, as though she was the one with a small bump to hide. "What are you going to do?"

Raven sighed, closing her eyes, hoping that the quiet she found now would give her room to think, maybe come up with a different solution, but nothing came. "I have to leave, Star."

"But--!"

"Not forever, and not for long." She glanced to her side to see the look of panic on Starfire's face fade to apprehension. "Just long enough to think. Decide what I'm doing to do."

Starfire's fingers twisted around each other, the way they did when she was stumbling over her thoughts. Raven could feel the trepidation coming off her in waves. She raised an eyebrow at her, waiting for her to tell her exactly what was on her mind. The tense line that had been on Starfire's face dissolved to a frown as she glanced from the floor to Raven's face. "And what if… you do not decide to come back?"

Part of her heart, squeezed and dry from all the worrying she'd done earlier, thawed at the love she felt in Starfire, like the very edges of a warm fire on a cold winter night. Of course Starfire was going to fear her departure, caring was what Starfire did best. "Starfire, I will come back. I have to eventually, even if that means I have to be away for a few years-"

"Years! But will Friend Beast Boy not be upset to miss such a period of time in his child's life?"

Raven's heart clenched again. "I.. I don't know. It's certainly not in my plan to be away that long, but if I give him a few more years to--" To what? Mature? Did she really want that? True, he was obnoxious, and sometimes he could be disgusting (Stankball, check and point), but his boyishness kept him warm, kept him bright and welcoming and, Azar help her, charming. Her worst fear was that he would lose that charm, lose his smile. She loved him, loved him more than her powers let her indulge in sometimes. To ask that he change because of a child he didn't even know about…

No, she didn't want him to change. That wasn't the issue.

"Raven?"

"I-I can't." She hated the way her voice broke. "I can't ask him to take on this responsibility, Star. As it is sometimes I think I'm too much. A child would just mean…" Death for the relationship. Turmoil for her.

There was a warm hand on her shoulder, and it squeezed gently, affirmingly. "I think it would be best if you spoke to Robin first. He is our leader for a reason, yes?"

Raven closed her eyes again, smiled to herself. Of course, Robin would be able to handle this, help her think things through. He was a rock in that way, understood her in a way nobody else could (aside from him but she couldn't talk to him about this, not yet). He would be there for her, just as Starfire was here for her now. Why had she been so scared of him knowing before? She smiled at Starfire, and it was weak, she was weak, but it was enough. She nodded.

The walk to Robin's room was slow, tedious, but Starfire's presence alone seemed to quell the urge her stomach had to make a mess of her intestines. She placed one pale, trembling hand where the baby sat-- would sit-- and took a deep breath. Starfire placed her fist on his door and knocked a few times, gently. The hour was still early, a quarter to six, and the sun was still not due to rise for another hour at least. Robin wouldn't be up for some time usually, but this was important. "Robin, I am sorry to disturb your sleep, but Friend Raven and I need to speak to you. It is of utmost importance!" There was no response, not even a shift in sound on the other side of the door. Raven glanced to Starfire, who was walking a thin line between frowning and pouting.

"Starfire, it can wait for another hour." She turned around to leave, but Starfire gripped the length of her hood and yanked her right back, causing Raven to sharply take in the air she'd been denied in that one moment.

"No it cannot." She typed in a number on the keypad to Robin's room, face set in a thin line of determination. Raven found herself squirming, ready to hightail it back to her room. The sliding door to Robin's room opened, and Starfire seemed to freeze. There was a sudden change in the atmosphere, and Raven could feel it the way one could smell a fruit turning. The air became thick with emotion, emotion Raven rarely felt in the tower, and only felt it in strangling strength once. When she did feel it on the regular, it was in such a small dose that it was as easy to look over as it was to roll her eyes, spawned usually from a round between Beast Boy and Cyborg where one swore up and down the other cheated. But this? This clouded her mind, took her heart and clawed at the already-worn muscle. Starfire stood stock-still at the door, eyes wide with an emotion Raven took a moment to recognize.

Betrayal.

She said nothing, just approached Star's side and glanced into the room.

Robin laid asleep, peaceful, one of the rare moments he ever let himself rest, become unaware and at ease for a moment's time. But Raven could sense, amid the terror that was slowly easing into Starfire, the new level of relief that seemed to consume Robin as he slept. She had a feeling it had something to do with the woman fast asleep beside him, wrapped around him in a tangle of blankets and-- surprisingly drapeless-- limbs. Both were dressed, of course, Robin never took off his mask and his uniform rarely came off, but the woman was in a state of considerably less dress, clad only in what appeared to be a thin pair of underwear and what must have been one of Robin's old training shirts. Both were fast asleep, dead to the world aside from each other, moving only to get closer together at the gust of wind his open door allowed.

Raven would have been in a state of shock herself, had she not been so emotionally drained from the last two hours. She turned to look at Starfire, who had begun quivering, the wheels of her mind processing the site before her with such a painful progression that Raven could see her heart breaking with every second that passed. Quickly, she grabbed Starfire and pulled her out of the doorway, leaving the door to Robin's room, and Robin's questionable state, to close. "Starfire…"

"No. He would never…"

Raven sighed, knowing very well what Starfire was feeling, and she didn't even need to use the powers granted to an empath. It was obvious what had transpired, if not because of the lack of pants on the woman in his arms, but because of the peace she'd picked up on, peace that, in her experience, only transpired after somebody got their rocks off. Starfire was a trusting soul, but with this came a naivety that rarely reared its ugly head. She would process the truth in time, given some space, and that is why she was talking before she even knew what she was about to say. "You know, I could probably use some company while I'm away."

Starfire turned her startled eyes, full of tears and disbelief, on her. Raven sighed and massaged her stomach with her hand again, feeling her stomach churn under the new emotional weight that'd suddenly commanded the halls. "I'm not sure if it's the baby or my powers, but I think dealing with this alone has made things a million times worse. I'm leaving, Star." But I want you to come with me. It wasn't a lie; the aching dullness of her stomach seemed to fade once she had a confidant. And the stress of dealing with pregnancy alone had subsided once Starfire's warm hand had shifted up and down her back, like a veil lifted from her head. Company was exactly what she needed. Starfire blinked a few times, owlishly staring off into space, tears that had welled cascading in trails down her cheeks to her chin. It took her a few moments, but she nodded. Raven sighed and turned away, high-tailing it in the direction of her room. "Go pack. We only have an hour before Prince Charming wakes up."

[atc74]

I Improvised

Square Filled: Date Night

Warnings: Sam puking, kids being caring, Jack babysitting, Dean being a sweet little bean

Summary: Dean and his wife!reader are getting ready for date night when their sitter, poor Sammy, comes down with a case of the pukies. 

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Word Count: 1104

Written for: @spngenrebingo @jayankles Bailey’s Quotes Challenge, my prompt is in bold below. 

Beta’d by the incredible @hannahindie. Thanks Doll!

Tonight was the one night a month that you truly looked forward to. Being a hunter, married to a hunter and raising children in the world was not an easy task, but you and Dean made it a point to have date night at least one night a month, no matter what was going on in your lives.

As you showered, making sure every inch of your body was smooth and soft, your thoughts drifted to your husband. Dean was everything you had hoped for when you dreamed about love as a little girl. He was handsome, loving, generous and selfless. He was an amazing lover, partner and father. A scream ripped through your reverie, startling you enough that you almost slipped on the tile floor.

You slammed the water off and grabbed your towel, drying your feet as much as you could to prevent another slip on the cold, concrete floors. With the towel wrapped hastily under your arms, you threw open the door and ran down the hall in search of the scream. You weren’t sure if it were your son or daughter, but it had made your blood run cold when you’d heard it.

“Dean? Brenna? Bradley? What’s wrong? Where are you?” you called out for your family as you reached the library. There were books and toys scattered about the room, but no sign of a Winchester anywhere. “Sam? Jack?”

You continued onto the kitchen, but still nothing. You came back down the hall that held the living quarters. The door to your room was shut, as normal, but Sam’s door was open, hushed voices coming from inside. You quickly grabbed a robe from your room before heading to Sam’s.

“Hey, what is going on? You can’t just scre-!” you stopped mid sentence at the sight before you.  

Your brother-in-law was on all fours in the corner of his room, his head in the trash bin. You watched as he dry heaved into the basket. Your children stood on either side of him, Breanna holding his hair back while Bradley rubbed a hand up and down his back. If it hadn’t been so gross, your heart would have shattered at the sweet gesture.

“Sam? Are you okay, Buddy?” you walked closer, your children looking up at you with big eyes.

“Mama, I think Uncle Sam is sick,” Bradley announced.

“He’s real sick Mama,” Brenna added in.

“I can see that,” you acknowledge their uncle upchucking in the garbage and shooed them back. “Sam, can I get you anything?”

“Bed,” he groaned out.

After you managed to get Sam into bed, with some crackers and ginger ale on the bedside table, and a clean bucket on the floor, you swiped a cold cloth over his face.

“I’m sorry, Y/N. I know it’s date night and I ruined it,” Sam said quietly.

“Hey, hey, don’t worry about that. Let’s just worry about getting you better,” you shushed him and he quickly fell asleep.

When you returned to the library, the room was even more quiet than before. You still had not seen Dean, but now the children weren’t there either after you told them to pick up their toys. The toys were straightened, but they were nowhere to be found.

Since date night was a bust, you returned to your room to throw on some leggings and one of Dean’s shirts. As you rounded the corner, you heard hushed voices again, this time coming from the kitchen.

Bradley popped out into the hall. “Hi Mom! Whatchya doin’?”

“I was looking for you and your sister and your dad. Where is he?” you asked, noting the smirk on his face that looked so much like Dean’s.

“Um...h-he’s in the library...” Bradley stuttered out.

“Uh huh, sure he is,” you looked down at him, your hands on your hips. “Quit stalling, Mister. Where is your father?”

“I’m right here, Sweetheart. Hey Bud, why don’t you go help your sister, ‘kay?” Dean crouched down next to your son. Bradley took off down the hall.

“What are you hiding and why is our son covering for you?” you demanded of your husband.

“Well, I was putting together a surprise for you since date night got all jacked up,” Dean said sheepishly.

“A surprise?” you were a little shocked. Dean always had been a romantic but since the children came, there hadn’t been much time.

“Yeah. I made the kids favorite dinner for them and then they are bunking down in Jack’s room to watch a Scooby marathon, then you and I are heading out to the garage for an improvised date night,” he informed you.

You and Dean delivered dinner to Jack’s room for all three of them. Dean left a list of instructions for Jack and the two of you slipped out quietly as Scooby played on the television.

Dean asked you to close your eyes as you approached the garage. “Please? I know this has been a long month and with Sam getting sick, we had to cancel. Just...please?”

“Alright,” you conceded, closing your eyes. Dean’s large hands guided you through the door and down the few stairs. You could smell motor oil and gasoline, but also something that smelled slightly of...garlic?

You heard a scraping on the floor and Dean’s hands pushed down gently on your shoulders, silently asking you to sit. He pushed your chair in and told you to open your eyes.

He had hung a few twinkling lights around the work bench and set up a table with a checked cloth on it. Your favorite pizza was still in the box on the table with a bucket of beer on ice and candles.

“You did this for me?” you asked.

“Well, I did this for us. I know you aren’t a hundred percent about leaving the kids with Jack; I’m not either, but we still get a sitter and date night,” Dean handed you a beer. “I improvised.”

“So this is what Bradley was helping you hide?” you guessed.

“Yeah, Brenna, too. She set the table, but was mad I wouldn’t let her light the candles,” Dean laughed.

“Thank you for date night, Honey,” you closed the gap between you and pecked your husband on the lips. When you pulled away, he was left wanting more.

“Is that it? That’s all I get?” he scoffed.

“Winchester, I am starving and you know better than to stand between me and pizza. Don’t worry, we got all night,” you grabbed a slice and threw your husband a wink. “I see the blankets you set up in Baby’s backseat.”

“I thought it was a one-night-stand…and now we’re married...” Dean quipped. “I gotta keep the romance alive, Sweetheart.”

Taglist: @sis-tafics  @holyfuckloueh @gh0stgurl @hobby27  @bethbabybaby @anspgene @cyrilconnelly @just-another-busy-fangirl @just-a-touch-of-sass-and-fandoms @roxyspearing @heyitscam99 @iwantthedean @mogaruke @smoothdogsgirl @x-waywardaf-x @myoutletforfanfiction @growningupgeek @spnbaby-67 @emoryhemsworth @impalaimagining @feelmyroarrrr @docharleythegeekqueen @katymacsupernatural @hennessy0274-blog @rockhoochie @charliebradbury1104 @pinknerdpanda @hannahindie @wingedcatninja @highfunctioning-sociopath @speakinvain @evansrogerskitten @percussiongirl2017 @blacktithe7 @theoriginalvicki @mrswhozeewhatsis @sweetpeamoose @sandlee44 @mottergirl99 @meeshw777 @squirrel-moose-winchester @milkymilky-cocopuff @meganwinchester1999 @spn-dean-and-sam-winchester @grace-for-sale @andkatiethings @nanie5 @monkeymcpoopoo @adoptdontshoppets @drakelover78 @dolphincliffs 

The Dean’s List: @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @supernatural-jackles @trunk-full-of-ideas @kayteonline @ruprecht0420 @kathaswings @bringmesomepie56 @deandoesthingstome @starry-chaos  @dean-winchesters-bacon @pisces-cutie @akshi8278

[stark-raving-strange]

This is a response to a post by @doctorstrangeaskblog

A prompt looking for :

Okay, seriously, I NEED a scene in which Stephen is fighting a bad guy and the bad guy avoids his spells and gets really close and scratches Stephen, ripping half of his top robes, so Stephen, since the villain is so close, simply punches their face really strong, making them faint, and all the other heroes who were fighting just stop and admire how strong and fit Stephen is regardless of magic

So here it goes,  not beta  but think mostly ok  hope it fills a need!

Read on AO3

Who Knew what was under the blue?

“Strange you good?”  Tony’s voice sounded through the com device in the sorcerer’s ear.

Stephen presently  hovered 50 feet from the street and  face to ‘face’  with one of the current representatives of an inter-dimensional threat.  Said representative was roughly the size of a small apartment building but  with a dozen more flailing tentacles each  tipped with razor sharp claws waving from its blob like body.  Just another day on the job.

Several of the Avengers team  were spread out in a wide circle around  the creature as the sorcerer attempted to keep its attention focused on himself.    

“I’m fine, thank you”,   he responded calmly.  All business.  “Just concentrate on your jobs everyone  and we can wrap this up and go home.”

“ Got it,”  Tony answered  “alright team, get ready to do the deed on  my signal.”   A chorus of aye ayes’ came over the shared com line and Stephen readied himself to do his part.    

The creature, identified as a Markkuah, was now surrounded by a dozen relic wielding Avengers.    When the being had first appeared they had initially met it with a brute force approach which  was quickly found to be extremely counter productive.  Thor’s initial enthusiastic attack on the being only served to enrage it and empower it further.   Any damage done by traditional or magical means only resulted in almost instant healing and a noted increases in size and power.  

Stephen and Wong were able to identify the creature and also it’s space of origin. Destroying it was impossible and  returning it to its home was the best and really, only option.  It could be portaled back now that they knew its place but it was surprisingly quick and could phase in and out making portaling very difficult.   The solution was a mystical containment field to prevent phasing and allow a successful portal to send it home.

Each member of the team now  possessed an enchanted sistrum which when shaken in unison would produce a resonance that would contain and neutralize the creature’s ability to phase allowing Stephen to portal it home. He also needed to be within the containment field to form the portal.  He hovered there keeping the beast occupied allowing the Avengers to do their part.

Stephen dodged a pair of flailing tentacles throwing up a shield and thn purposely presenting himself as a target.  He needed to keep the attention off the others for this to work.

He ducked another attack and swooped in close to basically poke the Markkuah’s huge single eye.   The creature wailed in anger and continued to try to swat Stephen from the sky.  

Strange steeled himself and muttered time to  get ready folks.   He  focused on  the Markkuah and called loudly “ NOW Tony!”

Tony quickly relayed to the team,  “GET SHAKING NOW!!!”  The metallic sound of the sistrums being rattled began  at first a cacophony but as the team synchronized their shaking the rhythm emerged.  The sound began to grow in decibels and energy. A glowing golden  power arced from sistrum to sistrum  surrounding Stephen and the creature.

Stephen heard Tony  on the com encouraging the team, “ Good job everyone, keep it going!  Stay on the beat and DO NOT STOP until the  wizard says to. I repeat DO NOT STOP FOR ANY REASON!!  We only have one shot at this!”

Now  came  the tricky bit.  Stephen needed to drop his shields to create the portal  timing was everything and he would be vulnerable.      He waited and watched for his opportunity and acted.

Strange took a breath dropped his shields and began forming the portal.

Of course it couldn’t be easy….the creature’s  head suddenly swung back and forth, its  oblong skull the size of tanker truck with protruding teeth and one large bulbous eye at one end. Seeming to sense the moment of vulnerability in its foe, the creature hissed and spewed forth a gushing stream of viscous slime directly at the hovering man.  

The sorcerer dodged but not in time to avoid a good portion of the projectile vomit and the fluid splashed across his chest.  Thankfully  the cloak had reacted and covered Stephen’s face before snapping back out of the way.    The burning sensation began immediately as the  acid like substance began eating  through his robes  a quick spell disposed of his affected clothing leaving him with a bare torso and a deep sense of indignation.  The Cloak agitatedly fluttered in sympathetic pique.

Stephen  heard Tony cry out his name over the com in warning but too late.

The momentary distraction had brought Stephen literally face to face with the alien and its gaping maw.  In a split second he found himself inside the foul smelling mouth turning and staring back through a cage of teeth.    Magic was not an option but pure rage had some advantages.  He could still hear Tony calling him as well as the unabated hum of the sistrums. Good still rattling,  there was still a chance!

With the Cloak at his back, Stephen concentrated, and focused on his own physical form energies and training.  With precise and powerful movements he began kicking at the teeth before him.  

Tony stared wide  eyed and  full of horror  up at the creature above him as Stephen disappeared into its mouth. .  Tony yelled for his lover even as he  continued to carry out the shaking of  his sistrum unfalteringly.   He hated this part intensely.

Despite the loud sound around them,  there was a moment of stillness that shattered as the creature roared in pain as its sword like teeth burst out of its mouth and rained down  onto the pavement around it.  A burst of red erupted from the Markkuah’s mouth as the sorcerer escaped and turned to deliver a series of powerful kicks to the alien’s face. The creature roared again and reeled back away from the physical assault,  The damage was already being repaired but the moment was all Strange needed.  The humming of the rattles was deafening  the energy intensifying.            

“NOW  ! “   Stephen’s voice boomed as he created a huge  glowing portal and threw it at the Markkuah.  The creature screamed as it struggled but was unable to phase to escape the fence of mystic sound.  

With a crashing sound the portal closed  and the sistrums vanished from the hands that held them.   

The silence was oddly very loud.   After a moment of held breaths and caution, a victory cheer went up and the team converged to meet in the center of the now creature free circle they had  formed.  

Strange took a deep breath and let it out in pure relief.  Success!  He looked down and waved at Tony who was safe and motioning him to come join them on terra firma..   The sense of relief was indeed strong and was responsible undoubtedly for Stephen forgetting his state of partial undress.   

He of course was also  not aware of the dramatic picture  he was making.  

Bare chested to the waist,  lean muscles taught and covered in a sheen of sweat, his head held erect  and  proud, his  hair a chaotic mess.   His broad shoulders straight as he gracefully descended.  His lithe powerful form framed by the majestic scarlet billows of the Cloak.

A series of whistles and catcalls loudly going up, truly confused him at first.   He stepped foot back on the ground and the whistles intensified and   as his team mates surrounded him he began to get it.  

“Wizard that was impressive!  You have obviously trained well in hand to hand combat!”   Thor clapped him on the shoulder.   “I see now that you work out as well.”  he actually winked and smiled appreciatively.

Stephen could feel a mortifying blush start to creep from his chest to his face. Shit.

“Yes, well done”  Natasha agreed and  gave Stephen a very thorough look up and down. “Yes,  very nice Doctor,” she met his eyes pointedly.   “Who would have ever guessed?”  she smirked starting again at his bare chest .   Stephen got the clear sense that it was not his fighting style she was commenting on.

Stephen sighed. Rolled his eyes  and good naturedly took the compliments and ribbing.   The Cloak was obviously either enjoying the teasing or was genuinely proud of the recognition Strange was getting for his skills and form.  Hard to tell, but it was not making any attempt at all  to shield Stephen’s modesty. Choosing instead to continue billowing majestically around him.

It was Tony who came to his rescue.  Sort of.  Suit retracted now, Tony came and stood next to him placing a possessive arm around Stephen’s waist.  “Ok all of you looky loos ,  eyes off, he’s mine.”   Oh gods Stephen mentally groaned as  his already cataclysmic  blush intensified.

 Tony continued, “What ‘d you think he was just all sparkly magic and brains?”  

Stephen hung his head and grunted.  

“Nope! This here is all hero, babies!  He is 100% hot  fighting man martial arts and muscles!    Yup! .  Eat. Your. Hearts. Out !”  he said triumphantly and patted stephen’s lean stomach.  

Chuckling and outright exaggerated AWWWWs of ‘disappointment ‘   rang out all around them.  Stephen knew his blush level was now volcanic and no doubt he was going to perish of embarrassment any moment now.  

Tony took pity at last .”OK gang.  well done!! Good days work.  Head out. Hit the showers.  Have a good night and we meet to debrief in the morning.”   As the group departed in different directions  Tony  tightened his hold on his sorcerer’s waist.  “ Let's go home babe, get you a bath.  I’m so proud of you but ….’

Stephen looked up questioningly  “But?

“As Hot and as absolutely capable in all ways as I find you at this very moment, and believe me you are the fucking definition of hot right now,” Tony’s face was serious but sympathetic, “ You reek of alien upchuck, sweetheart.”

Stephen barked out a laugh, “ I really do.”  he agreed as he formed a portal to the Sanctum.

Tony kissed his cheek as he  ushered them both through the sparking ring.  

.

[bizarropurugly]

okay I’m actually back this time, I really am

I’ve been immensely sick from withdrawal, and I know for sure that’s what it is because I was immediately better after I had my medicine

I was so nauseous that it made it hard to do literally anything. After a certain point, even laying down made things worse, particularly any time I would move my head at all, even just to flip over. 

I started throwing up to try to alleviate it. Which is a kinda funny thing, I thought I had gotten over my emetophobia enough to be able to do this but I’ve relapsed HARD on it. So hard that I had to force myself basically every time, and it got to the point that even jabbing a toothbrush into my throat wouldn’t make me upchuck. My body outright adapted and I started to involuntarily relax my throat instead of gagging, which meant I had to get aggressive and unpredictable with the jabbing. Even then, I could only come up with a little. I spent years of my life so strongly resisting puking that my body refused to do it, and I thought I had kind of fixed this but it was not the case.

It kind of helped but a lot of it was temporary and depended on whether the thing I ate was being bothersome. I had a really hard time eating these past 2 weeks and lost nearly 10 lbs over how little I was eating. I drank plenty of fluids but it was still a miserable affair and I was incredibly sensitive to almost everything. I subsisted primarily on water, protein shakes, chicken noodle soup, and tiny baked potatoes. 

The actual sleep study was a miserable, miserable affair. The naps I was supposed to take were scheduled and really shouldn’t have been called naps because I’m given only 35 minutes max for them. And with the nausea on top of my syncope acting up from the stress and from the cabin fever, it was just... miserable. I wasn’t allowed to shower or do anything considered “stimulating”, which meant I mostly watched tv and scribbled a few things.

When I finally got to have my meds again, though, I overdosed and wound up in the ER. I took my full strength dose too soon, basically. I couldn’t breathe and my blood pressure had plummeted so badly that they couldn’t get blood samples out of me for testing. I have several bruises all over my arms from the attempts. It wasn’t that they couldn’t find a vein, but that the blood wouldn’t flow. I was flipped upside down, patted and smacked, and they were considering laying hot water bottles on me because my skin was like ice. In the end they decided to stretch what they had. It didn’t help that I had started violently twitching during the sleep study and kept weakly flopping and kicking from the general discomfort along with the needle-poking.

I got to experience a catheter for the first time. That was fucking miserable and since it doesn’t give you the satisfaction of peeing you still feel like you need to go for a little while. But I didn’t have the strength to sit up on a toilet.

On top of all of that, I’m so severely constipated that I spent the other night in agony because standing up made me want to push and laying or sitting down just hurt. It felt like someone shoved a cactus up my ass and that my innards were filled with sharp rocks or needles. I’ve managed to reduce that pain but I constantly feel the need to push when I go to the bathroom. And now I’m filling the toilet with enough blood that it looks like I made koolaid, but I have no access to a doctor until at least monday, possibly longer. I’m trying not to panic about it.

I did my first day back at work and I ended up leaving an hour early because I was having such a hard time. At one point I went lightheaded simply because of the pain I was in.

[elliotlikespuke]

More sick Rin please!!! (Also, I hope you're doing ok. I noticed you haven't been on lately. Much love ♡)

Wow this took me 15 years to write. Sorry I haven’t been on much lately! I am alright, but things are just busy lately. This wasn't meant to be shiny but it turned out kind of shippy so... enjoy.

Warning: there’s puke.

Rin hated the pool at this time of day. The water had a different feel after so many people had been in it, and he knew it wasn’t as clean as it certainly should be. He hated the swim team at this time of day, who were all yelling excitedly, 15 minutes before practice was over. He hated the smell of the chlorine, and the sound of the whistles and the way he felt unsteady on his feet, but mostly he hated the stupid fucking migraine that was ravaging his brain.

Plenty of people had asked if he was okay, but he had just replied with a glare or a monosyllabic answer, hoping to get them focused on swimming again as soon as possible. He had only stepped foot in the water once, and was very much looking forward to dry land training tomorrow which is no less physically demanding, but much quieter at least.

Every pound of his head made him dizzier, and every time his head spun he grew more nauseous. He wanted to be home in bed, but the school policy dictate that unless it’s contagious, you are expected to attend classes and participate in group activities. With no more complaining than he usually did, he went to class and participated like normal (ie. not at all). He had felt more or less okay, sure the pain shooting through his head was a nuisance, and he could hardly open his left eye for fear that the bright light shining in through the window would worsen the headache, but he felt that as soon as he could lie down, his condition would improve and he would be back to normal. He may have been right, but he would never know because immediately after school there was a three-hour-long swim practice in the school’s brightly lit, olympic-sized pool. The light reflecting off the water was enough to make him want to cry, but add to that the whistles, the shouting, and the team cheers, and Rin’s migraine got so bad he thought he might pass out.

Migraines, for him, never made him puke unless they were bad, meaning stay-in-bed-for-three-days bad. The boys on the team were yelling for the boys in the water to finish their laps, or beat their best times or whatever, but Rin wasn’t listening, because he was already fantasizing about lying down and falling asleep as soon as his head it the pillow.

“Hey,” Sosuke said behind him. Rin groaned quietly, and counted his lucky stars that it wasn’t Nitori behind him. “What’s wrong?”

It was phrased less like a question and more like “you’re going to tell me what’s wrong”.

“Just a headache.” Lie. But the longer Rin had his mouth open, the more certain he was that his lunch would soon be splattering on the pool deck in half-digested chunks. Sosuke handed him a water bottle he had been holding, and Rin took it gratefully, although the action of swallowing made him want to upchuck everything he had eaten in the past 10 years. He grimaced as he handed the bottle back to his friend. “Do you want to go lie down,  and let me wrap up the last 10 minutes of practice?”

Rin almost cried with relief. Before he could answer yes, please, oh my god you’re a godsend, his stomach answered for him in the form of a very wet and forceful gag. It nearly bent him in half trying to bring up long-digested food. Sosuke immediately put a large hand on his back, ready to help him through the next few minutes of what would surely be hell, but Rin straightened and started his walk towards the change rooms to gather his things. Sosuke yelled to Nitori to look after everyone, and walked briskly towards the change rooms, hoping to catch up with Rin before he started puking. He thought back to the winter break where Rin had been sick, and how much he’d cried. Sure they had only been kids, but that level of fear over puking doesn’t go away easily.

Rin was standing under the shower with one hand braced on the wall, and the other holding his gut when Sosuke finally reached him. His eyes were closed tightly against the fluorescent light in the showers, which flickered ever so slightly. As Sosuke approached, he retched, a horrible, wet, scratching retch that surely tore at his throat from the inside out. Finally, something splattered at his feet along with the water, and slowly ran down the drain.

Sosuke approached him slowly, making his presence known, and as he placed a hand on his back again, Rin was sent into another gag, forcing his head down and tightening every muscle in his abdomen.

“Don’t open your eyes,” Sosuke warned softly. The puddle of vomit at his feet would surely make him panic more. Rin took a gasping breath through his mouth, and fought down another gag. “Don’t fight them.” Rin let go, and gagged again. Sick splashed onto his feet and he shuddered, but the water washed it away.

He turned to Sosuke. “You left the team unsupervised.” “Relax, Nitori’s in charge.” This did very little to relax Rin, but he supposed it was better than leaving them with no one in charge.

Rin wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and washed it off gingerly in the running water. Luckily, he didn’t get a good look at what was on his hand. His mouth tasted like boiled garbage, and he spat into the drain.

“That’s disgusting,” he whispered to himself. Sosuke laughed his deep, calming laugh and asked,

“Can you make it back to our room okay or do you need an escort?”

Rin shoved him, but obliged to accept his offer anyway.

[tkreactions-blog]

Preference: How You Take Care of Them When They’re Drunk (Fantastic Beasts)

Mod T: Sorry again for the very long hiatus! Mod K and I are trying to get things in order so we can post more often again. We <3 you all!! Scenario

You had a long day of work and came home late. It surprised you when no one else was home but were a little happy that you got some alone time to recuperate. You had nearly fallen asleep on the couch when you heard the front door open and the rowdy noise of some drunk laughing.

Newt Scamander

You sat up a bit as you saw Newt, a large grin plastered on his face, stumble in after closing the door. It was hard to believe he was drunk, but there he was.  He stared at you for a moment before putting his finger to his lips and shushing you, muttering something about waking you. You gave him a small nod before helping him change into his pajamas and get tucked into bed. The next morning, you had coffee ready, and a light a breakfast.

Jacob Kowalski

You immediately went over to the door when you saw Jacob practically fall over. You closed it behind him as he made passes at you and tried to drunkenly kiss you. He followed you as you headed into the bathroom and you got him into the shower. It took him out of his stupor just a bit before you helped him to bed. If he wanted coffee in the morning, he could make it himself.

Queenie Goldstein

Queenie already told you she planned on going to a party with some of the girls, so you had a feeling she would at least be tipsy. When she stumbled through that door, you couldn’t help but laugh a little. Her face was almost full red. She made a beeline for the bathroom. Instead of following her, you went to the kitchen and dampened a cloth, as well as filling a cup with water. You then went into the bathroom and, in between her retching, wiped her forehead and had her swish out her mouth with water.  

Tina Goldstein

You never really took Tina as the type who would get drunk, but here you both were. She stumbled in that night with the smell of alcohol all around her. You helped her into the bathroom and started the shower for her. She started throwing up before she got in and you tried to make her as comfortable as you could. Once she was finally able to get in the shower, you made sure things were set up for a comfortable night of sleep.

Percival Graves

Graves was always a well put together man, but when he stumbled in the front door and could barely speak, or even walk, you weren’t altogether quite sure what to do. After all, he was a large man and you weren’t sure you could really do much if he toppled over. Somehow, however, you managed to help him into the bathroom. He was nearly undressed and about to hop into the shower when he doubled over and began vomiting. You got him a damp towel and tried to help make him as comfortable as possible while he upchucked everything in his stomach.

Seraphina Picquery

Seeing Madam Picquery drunk was amusing at first. She was always so well composed and in charge of everything that being intoxicated seemed almost a nice breath of fresh air. Until she got too drunk and couldn’t safely apparate home. You helped walk her home and get her comfortable, leaving a trash can near the bed in case she threw up. Before you went to bed yourself, you ensured that there would be a nice, fresh brew of coffee available in the morning.

Credence Barebone

You never expected for Credence to become drunk, but yet there he was, on your doorstep, angry and crying and reeking of alcohol. Naturally, you let him inside and tried to console him, but before you could make much progress, he ended up getting sick. You let him battle it out with his stomach before helping him to bed comfortably. You hoped he wouldn’t remember the unpleasant experience tomorrow...

[samingtonwilson]

Approximately This Big (Bones x Reader)

Title: Approximately This Big (which refers to something reader says whilst motioning. it’ll make sense if you read it)

Prompt: does watching what to expect when you’re expecting count as a prompt?

Word count: 2,688 (good god)

Warnings: language, pregnancy, vomiting

A/N: I was watching what to expect when you’re expecting (as i just said) and for some reason felt like writing something. Bones came to mind before anyone else could and i feel like it’d be interesting to be married to him, so here’s something that i wrote in the middle of the night that likely sucks! (tell me what you think, though) ENJOY IT (or try to, at least)

With each passing second, the room seemed to be growing colder. Despite the thickness of the blankets draped over and tucked under you, you had to use all of your strength to prevent violent shivers from rattling your bed and body. You didn’t have any sort of desire to wake the sleeping man beside you— being the Chief Medical Officer, he needed plenty of sleep to handle any sort of illness and injury that came through the medbay doors. And you needed him to sleep so you didn’t have to handle any bit of moody-broody-Leonard.

It wasn’t that moody-broody-Leonard was more of a pain for you than his exhaustion was for himself. But if you had to watch him take his aggression out on another mediocre, replicator-produced meal, he would find himself back in the medbay— except it would be to sleep on a biobed.

For the coming three hours, the chill that seeped through the blanket and bit at your skin didn’t cease no matter how much fatigue weighed against your eyelids and no matter what actions you took. You pulled the bulky blanket around yourself tighter, you blew your warm breath onto your hands, you cuddled into your husband’s chest further, you prayed to the gods of space and took the name of the USS Enterprise’s lord and savior, Jim Kirk. Nothing helped— least of all Leonard pulling on the blanket so he hoarded more than half of it. It was actually increasing— the cold and the subsequent physiological reactions, that is.

You felt your stomach flip uncomfortably and your ice-like fingertips pressed against your pursed lips. The feeling of bile rising in your throat and air constricting in your lungs had your eyes opening wide enough for all fatigue to be lifted and a heavy dose of nervousness to practically tape your eyelids to your eyebrows. You squeezed your eyes shut with great force and increased the pressure of your fingertips, taking a long and slow breath through your nose.

When another chill that traveled up your spine had your shoulders quaking and your stomach hitting your pelvic bones, you decided you’d had enough. You tore the should-have-been warm fabric from yourself and climbed out of bed. Had your knowledge and affinity for the medical field been greater, you would’ve taken note of the weakness in your legs and the spinning of your light head.

It felt as if every sense in your body had been heightened— an unwelcome phenomenon that would have been welcome under circumstances such as wine tasting and chocolate eating. You wanted to drag your feet against the floor but the urgency of the upcoming bodily tragedy forced your legs to move faster in spite of the burning of your muscles.

Finally in the bathroom, you threw the toilet seat up and emptied the contents of the stomach you were unaware could hold so much. You combed your fingers through your hair and squeezed your eyes shut again as another wave of nausea weakened your reddening knees and aching sides.

Though the door shielding the rest of the quarters from the bathroom was quite thick and didn’t often allow noise leaks, you tried to make as little sounds as possible— moody-broody-Leonard haunted your thoughts even in such a condition.

Your efforts went to waste, however, as a series of knocks emitted from the metallic door. You groaned to yourself and cleared your throat before speaking, “Yes?”

“Is everything okay?” His voice was beautifully heavy, deeper than usual and created a higher amount of comforting vibrations— even after so many years of hearing it, your heartbeat still picked up pace at the augmenting of his Southern drawl. In this situation, though, it calmed your heart from a hummingbird pace to a post-cardio-workout pace.

You dragged the back of your hand over your lips and pushed off the ground, sighing at the soft sting in your knees. Once you were standing, you cleared your throat again as you flushed the toilet. “Yes, it’s all fine.”

“Didn’t sound fine.”

“I know ‘what’s mine is yours’ and ‘in marriage you share everything,’” you began, placing your hands under the gushing water of the tap and waiting for it to warm, “but I’d really like it if we drew the line at listening to what happens in here.”

You heard him snort. “Speaking as your husband, I’m on board. But speaking as your physician, there are no lines when it comes to your health.”

You smeared toothpaste onto your brush once you’d rinsed your mouth and were unsatisfied with the ever-present stink of vomit, leaning your hip against the counter and holding your brush inches from your lips. “You sound sexy when you’re sleepy. Speak more.”

Before he could speak and before you could actually scrub your teeth, you paused. “Not about medical things. Or what you heard.”

He let a few beats of silence pass. “You’re a damn blanket hog.”

You smiled as you did your best to rid your mouth of the disgusting, acrid taste of upchuck. You only hummed an offended sound in response.

“We’re equal in this relationship, so I expect the blanket to be divided evenly, too.”

You spit the foam from your mouth and rinsed quickly, finally feeling clean. You smiled to yourself. “What happened to ‘marriage is based on compromise’? ‘Give a little, take a little.’”

“So give a little, sweetheart.”

You glanced at your reflection and had to stop yourself from grumbling. Your eyes were bloodshot and watery, the lines under them dark and deep, and your lips appeared and felt swollen.

Your stomach flipped once more but you swallowed thickly and nodded to yourself, allowing the door to open. Immediately, you slapped your hand over your eyes and hissed. “Why are all of the lights on?”

Leonard placed his hand on top of yours, his skin comforting and much warmer. He called for the lights to dim a bit and pulled your hand from your eyes. “It’s safe. Open your eyes.”

You opened them one at a time, pulling a soft laugh from him. “Why are you up?”

“Question after question. My shift starts in a little over an hour,” he said, stifling a yawn and shaking his head as he glanced at the time. “As does yours.”

You shut your eyes again and your body slumped into his chest, his arms going around you instantly. “I barely slept.”

“Yeah, you look it.”

You pushed at his abdomen and clicked your tongue. “Husband of the year.”

His chest against your back, arms around your waist, and chin set on your shoulder, he sighed out. “I’m sorry. Forgive me?”

Your eyes shut again and your posture relaxed a little as he pressed his lips to your shoulder blade and let one of his hands duck under the hem of your loose shirt. His fingers splayed out against your skin and you shook my head. “It's not that easy.”

His hand then held your hip, turning your body to face him. His pupils were blown to their furthest extent and his lip parted as he breathed evenly. He watched every movement of your eyes and leaned forward just to stop a centimeter or two from your lips. “You brushed after throwing up, right?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Yes.”

“Just checking, darlin’.”

When he finally kissed you— deeply, so you could feel it even in your toes— his arm encircled your waist to eliminate the distance between your bodies. There was no impatience in his lips as he moved slowly and with great intent to steal as much of your time and breath as possible.

As his lips pressed against your neck after you’d pulled away to breathe, he spoke so the vibrations of his voice coursed through your body. “If you want, we could get into the shower… I could make it up to you. Over and over.”

Under normal conditions, you wouldn’t have waited to say yes. But the subtle shaking of your limbs and uneasiness of your stomach forced you to say no with a shake of your head and a sorry excuse for an excuse.

Throughout the workday the churning of your stomach subsided while the tiredness of your limbs remained— that is, until you smelled anything and everything that was being eaten in the mess during lunch. You were forced to excuse yourself and eventually took refuge in the deserted botany laboratory. In your mind, you continued to reiterate the normalcy of your symptoms and repeatedly attributed it to something you must have eaten.

It wasn’t until a cramp pulled your posture askew that you took the advice of a concerned ensign and rode the turbolift to the medbay. You did your best to avoid the exam rooms as you knew Leonard had several quarter-yearly physicals scheduled and calmly asked a nurse for Dr. Sirleaf— the only physician you trusted not to give into Leonard’s potential interrogations following the spur-of-the-moment appointment.

You sat on the biobed swinging your legs and toyed with the hem of your blue Starfleet issued uniform. You watched Sirleaf tap at the screen of her PADD and carry on making the faces she began making the moment her tricorder whirred over your torso. She had only asked you for a list of your symptoms since then.

“With all due respect, Doctor, you’re freaking me out.”

She smiled down at her screen, then looked back at you with a compassionate expression. “You’re healthy, there’s no need to worry about that.”

“So then what’s wrong?”

She pulled the stool from beside the sink to place it before the bed, sitting down as she set her PADD aside. She took a breath and covered your hands with hers. “I’ll just get right to it. You are pregnant— few weeks along which is why you’re cramping, excessively tired, and restless.”

You blinked.

You couldn’t find a reaction aside from widening your eyes and staring at the doctor in front of you. If you’d thought the flipping of your stomach was uncomfortable before, you were on a completely different level of distress now.

She read the panic on your features. “You do have options and, since you’re healthy, there’s minimal risk if you choose to termin—”

“No, no,” you managed to say in a volume soft enough to barely be heard. You chewed on your bottom lip for a few seconds. “That’s not— I have to talk to—” you stopped talking and shook your head. “Leo, I have to talk to Leo.”

She nodded and clasped her hands around yours tighter. She smiled so her dark skin creased with deep laugh lines. “Of course. As long as you know that at the end of the day, the decision is yours.”

“Yeah, I know. I just— I don’t know,”  you cleared your throat. “It’s not about our marr—” you sighed for what felt like the seventeenth time in ten seconds. “He’s— He’s my best friend, I have to tell my best friend. I mean, who else do you tell?”

Once she had completed rattling off a set of instructions and recommendations for appointment frequency and obstetrician options, she asked if you had any questions and you shook your head. She wasn’t the one you wanted answering your questions.

You didn’t have to ask her twice to call Leonard and, in waiting, you tore at the skin of your bottom lip until you tasted copper against your tongue. You then resorted to biting your fingernails, counting the seconds until Leonard appeared on the other side of the door— seconds of which there weren’t many.

He was frowning when he saw you, his lips turned down and agape in a deep scowl. The sight you must have been with tears streaming down your cheeks and your fingertips pressed to your lips.

He took quick steps towards you and placed his hands on your upper arms. He was searching your widened eyes. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

You couldn’t find words aside from a stammered, “I-I’m.”

The worry in his eyes, in his grimace, in his grip on your arms was evident. You thought he must have been mirroring your fear, your anxiousness perfectly. “Darlin’, you’re killing me here. Please talk to me.”

You cleared your throat and gathered whatever residual courage sat in the back of your mind. You wet your raw lips and tried not to lose your train of thought as he leant his forehead against yours. “Leo, could you—” you clicked your tongue. “For a minute, could you just be my best friend? Not my husband, not my doctor— just my best friend.”

He lifted his head and nodded quickly. “Yes, yeah. Anything you need.”

“It’s nothing bad— not in my eyes, I don’t think.”

A relieved breath left his lips. His hazel eyes were still worried. “Okay.”

The floodgates opened. “But it’s not just about me. And it’s still early— in the marriage, in this five year mission. It’s still so early. But there’s never a perfect time for anything— there’s no such thing as perfect timing. Space’s emptiness just feels so far from being a perfect place for this. Fuck, I feel like… Like I want to scream, and cry, and yell but I’m also—”

You finally looked at Leonard and felt yourself smile a little as you traced his features— the slope of his nose, the width of his eyes, the shape of his lips. You used the heel of your hand to wipe your cheeks. “I think I’m happy— a little.”

He laughed a bit shakily. “You know, you're really throwin’ me for a loop.”

“I have no reason to be afraid, right?” you pinched the fabric of his shirt that matched yours in color. “Of your reaction, I mean. No reason to be nervous?”

His palm sat against your cheek so his thumb could glide over your cheekbone. “Why would you ever need to be afraid of how I’d react to something?”

“Because it’s— Because it’s big.”

“How big?”

You held your hands up about a foot from one another. You shook your head and widened the gap so the space between your hands was near your full wingspan. “Approximately this big.”

He snorted and shoved your shoulder. “(Y/N), seriously. What’s going on?”

You took a deep breath— in through the nose, out through the mouth. “I am pregnant.” A few seconds later, when Leonard only stared at you, you inhaled deeply again. “With a baby. It’s yours— which I hope is obvious.”

“Pregnant?”

You nodded. “I wasn’t... sure about it when Sirleaf told me. Well, I wasn’t sure about it until, maybe, two minutes ago. But I think it could be a good thing. I mean, you know what all of this is about from experience with Joanna and having a spouse that’s a doctor can only help.”

You looked over his features that stayed frozen. You felt your smile fade. “But if you don’t— If you don’t want it, we can—”

“I say this with as much love as possible— are you out of your damn mind?”

“I hope not.”

“You were afraid to tell me you’re pregnant.” He shook his head once and looked away from you. “I don’t— It is early, in the marriage and in the mission. But none of that matters. We’re having a baby, why should anything else matter?”

“Yeah?”

He nodded and pressed his lips to your forehead prior to meeting your eyes again. “I love you— God, I love you so much. You should never be afraid to tell me anything. ‘Share everything,’ remember?”

You smiled at him, biting down on your bottom lip and reaching up to brush his dark hair back and out of his forehead.

When he hugged you tightly to his body, you spoke against his chest, “This doesn’t change the line I’ve drawn in regards to the happenings of the bathroom.”

You could picture him roll his eyes. “Oh, darlin’, this definitely changes it.”

“I’m the mother of your child, McCoy. You should pay heed to my needs.”

“You drive a hard bargain, other McCoy— but no.”

[mistressofgitterandbones-blog]

Bottle of Fairy Dust and Tears

The sound of nickel chinking against the apartment door must have jolted my 5 inch fairy from his stupor. Wings snapped in the air sent a flurry of dust most and light particles into the room. Tat alighted on my shoulder. “Ugh.. I can still see you. No obscene amount of wine can eject me off this tinkerbell asylum” My hand swatted Tat like an annoying fly. I tottered to a mass heap of sundry articles that faintly resembled a bed, floundering in a supine state . I sputtered incoherent fragments of words that were frayed on my tongue. Unintelligible mutterings were a slight improvement from the whimpers that escaped from my mouth yesterday, and the day before that. Whimpers, as pathetic as they sound, were really just quiet admissions, finally buckling into the pain. An admission of reality you’ve continually shunted from. Still, traces of a hope can still be found in the silent spaces in between, despite the stacking odds. It can still shoot through the barren cracks. For most people, this is a visceral sensation calling you to attention. My hope was more, shall we say, corporeal. Irksome. My hope came in the form of a fairy. His presence was, understandably, difficult to ignore than a mere feeling. Fairies like Tat appear only in the most dire cases. He was now an obligated promise I had to make to myself to hold on a little bit longer. Sort of like being responsible for a stray mutt. I couldn’t exactly kick him out . Or maybe my already defunct sanity has exhausted its resources and left me high and dry. All in all, my hands were clinging onto a salvaged swath of worth to steady faltering legs. Legs that showcased days old patterns, stark on wan skin. Legs that lay bare under too many waning moons and not enough sunrises. “Are you okay? Um..Do you need anything?” Tat began to swarm around, checking vitals signs were adequate, or acceptable under the circumstances. This was the second night swaddled in alcohol. An ill-chosen defense from hands too brutish for a faltering frame and mind. This puny creature seemed inadequate for such fractured and ill-fated matters. One has to wonder how could a creature of paltry size to the scale of the human eye be of any consequential guidance or support? But I’m still surviving so evidence stood contrary to my uncertainty. I’d come to realise the essential quality within hope is its quiet stature, its soft catalyst. There lies its strength. It can seem so inadequately small to aid in traction, to move against the grain of our circumstances, but is an ever-present vigil in our darkest hour. This embodiment of hope, this fairy, knows the softest voice in the room has the space in which to listen, gather, compare, construct accordingly. It resides in the overlooked spaces between the noise. A space where knowledge is stored and generated. A space of beginnings. Tat was my beginning, and my end. And an incessant ear ringing in between. A dogged attempt of pressing my eyelids together was foiled by nimble fingers plying them apart with an unnerving ease. An undeniable strength concentrated in a minute form. I shut my eyes again only to be jolted by a sharp sludge of liquid hurled at my face. Its coldness felt like a glacial slap against my clammy skin. “Are you kidding me?!” I rubbed my eyes incredulously, mouth agape. “What in the actual winged nut-house is wrong with you?” I motioned upwards to wrangle the impudent toad but stopped myself as my stomach accelerated in an uncomfortable direction. “Maybe you should have some coffee. Better to sober up a little. Yes, yes.. I know I had some milk thistle somewhere.” His lilt voice and swift movement jolted my queasy, fragile constitution. “Oh no.” I willed with all my might to settle the tsunami that was inevitably hurling towards my mouth. Tat held my tangled, feral hair back as my eyes blurred against a grimy cascade of rejects and regret. In the midst of upchucking my dignity I heard that lilt. A soft voice brushing against my ears, reminding me of my soft parts. I wasn’t broken completely. Tat was still here. I was still here.

I found myself in a fetal position cradling against a clean coverlet, no vomit in sight, and hands stroking my hair. Hands that were neither small nor particularly gentle lately. Hands I shamelessly needed on my skin. “My silly cub.” He held a cup of coffee under my nose, letting the steam and glorious scent waft through my senses. If I could just capture this moment, place it in a frame of simplicity. A fleeting thought that is fractured and malleable component to our ever constructing lie we tell ourselves. It enables us to step further in our idealized story. I have a piece contained. The piece of this person kept safe before the darkness overlapped again. It shows the hands that held me as I cried my ugliness, carefully cutting out the piece where those same hands used my skin as a canvas of bruises. We always cut, cut, cut. So what are we left with? An incomplete person that matches our fabrication. So I lay still wrapped in the scent of coffee mingled with cigarettes and heady wood. Encased in my engorged fairytale. Lips parted, I arched my back, leaning into him willing these scents as a vector to guide him towards a warmth building up. He emits a growl but places the cup in my hands, kissing me on my forehead. “Coffee first.. And maybe have a shower? The scent of vomit was never really a turn-on” I faltered, admonishing myself in silence as shame wafted over me. I took a sip only to utilize my hands away from the awkwardness seeping through the room “Why did you leave anyways? I thought we talked about what happened. I thought. I thought we were okay. But you just left and got yourself into this state.” Tension and hurt contorted his face into new angles. Angles promising a burgeoning frustration if I didn’t act quickly. “It wasn’t a reaction from last night. I promise. Everything is fine. I love you.” I brushed against his arm, testing. “I just lost track of time.” “Lost track of the glasses of wine you drank more like.””He sat back, arms folded, eyes creating a vortex in my line of vision leaving nowhere to evade or look besides his questioning and stiff countenance. I felt my skin flush; a warmth that resembled a fever. There was a coldness to it, a raw wind coursing through my blood giving that edge that made me want to grab that scissors from the coffee table and begin cutting out my deficiencies I clearly couldn’t compensate for. I instinctively recoiled and deflected. My body tensed as I folded inward. “I didn’t know I needed your permission to have a few drinks with my friends. Friends. I suppose that concept is rather alien to you, since you seem to have so many in your life.” Words spilled from my mouth before I could catch them. These inexorable moments always seem to have a slower, disoriented pace than usual. “How would I have time to have friends?” The word friends hung sharp and penetrating in the air. “When I have a girlfriend to watch over and care for like an inept, self-destructive child. Is it any wonder I reacted the way I did yesterday when I have this mess to cater for day in and day out.” I winced. My mind was plucking out fragments of yesterday. There was no delicate arrangement in how I grafted the fragments together. They lay stark in my head. They were banded together by a bellowing voice and trembling body who wouldn’t be held as I cried those ugly tears. Only a cold, barren bathroom floor. “I’m sorry.. I didn’t mean..” “Yes you did. Excuse me, I have to go pick up my actual child. The maturity level will be to a higher standard than here with you.” He stood up abruptly. “Do this relationship a favor and take a look in the mirror today. Seriously look deeper, find a semblance of that girl I met when we were younger. I fucking miss her and I’m sure you miss her too.” He sauntered to the door and paused, lingering to match the slow trickle of the dripping tap. He glanced behind his shoulder, furrowed eyes dropping, along with his frown lines and anger. “I hate what you do to me. I hate who I turn into. I’m. I’m not that guy. Please, don’t make me that guy.” The door slammed behind him, hooking me in the scent of cold, pungent coffee punctuating the air. I heard flickers of a soft, light wings flap so gingerly the air seemed too heavy breathe through. He carried a wad of tissue, waiting expectantly for tears for flood my face but none came. Emotions wrung dry today leaving a face dry and hard. My body felt hollow. I guess it had been for a long time. “Why are you still here? Do you like cleaning my apartment? Do you enjoy  watching my pathetic life slowly disintegrate into nothing? You say you’re the emblem of hope but you’ve done absolutely nothing of value since you’ve arrived.” “I’m here by the very fact of hope. It is not up to me whether I stay or go. You hold that choice.” I sighed. A flicker of annoyance appeared on his face only to be replaced by a gentle expression I came to know and was currently taking advantage of. I was a selfish asshole. He alighted on my hand, placing his on my cup to warm up my coffee. “Drink up. Then go have a shower. All is not broken but you got to do some heavy lifting yourself. I am only a 5 inch fairy after all.” With submission, I gulped the rest of my coffee and staggered meekly to the bathroom ready to wash away the dirt that had been accumulated in my life for too long.

The humming of the shower was lulling me asleep until an insistent and reverberating rapping stirred me. I looked up to two wet and ragged fairies slapping repeatedly against the window pane. An annoyance quickly dissipated giving way to a satisfied grin creeping on my face. I hesitated. The Fairy council has strict rules about meetings or social calls with other fairies and their respective humans that is not mandated or approved. Proper protocols must be adhered. Meetings must also be recorded for regulatory and archiving purposes. Tedious but necessary nonetheless. Although that was not my immediate reasoning for hesitating. One specific reason was an insufferable excuse for a fairy. More like a fluttering troll. I’m surprised she could tend to her own wings never mind guide her charge with all her caterwauling that spews from her mouth. Basking in my delight in such visual delights of her discomfort I quickly admonished myself for indulging in such weaknesses, human weakness. A fairy must be diligent and abstemious in such matters. Our calming and stoic nature maintains a homeostasis around humans. It helps to ease their suffering. We are but mere receptacles for their pain. A monument of hope, solidified and sedentary in the throes of life mangling our person. Remembering there was another fairy accompanying her I quickly flew over the window to let them in. “It’s about time. I was beginning to think Molly’s alcoholic breadth had finally killed enough brain cells to render you witless – which wouldn’t be too much of a stretch to achieve considering there is not too activity going on in the first place” Mina tapped my forehead pointedly before violently shaking herself dry. She raised a hand covered in a ragtag piece of cloth level to my nose. I raised my eyebrow. “What do you expect me to do with this grimy dishcloth exactly?” “I expect you to practice your hostly duties and hang up my shawl” “I am not your host. I didn’t even invite you. You’re not even permitted to be here.” I swatted her hand away, casting her rag to the floor. “Unbelievable. It seems you’ve adopted more of Molly’s fine qualities I see. I’m not the only one breaching the rules. So much for maintaining an objective role in your person’s life. I think someone is drinking from the human fountain too much.”Affronted, she gingerly picked up the dishcloth and placed it on the bed, ironing it out with her fingers. “Oh Mina, it is not made of woven silk. You constructed it from materials you found in dumpsters and streets.”The fairy I kept forgetting was here chimed in. “Apologies Tat, she is just a bit frazzled. We all are. We wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t serious. This is a delicate matter we have to broach. Mina is not the most tactful as you know. I..” “I’m not the most tactful? Tat doesn’t even have the basics of manners down. No. He’s too busy drowning in Molly’s personality to notice what is happening to us.” Her wings flurried in a haze as she pushed a finger into my chest. “So don’t apologize to him. He should be grateful we’re even here in this molded apartment. The only charm this place has is when Molly isn’t in the room.” She spat out Molly’s name as if spewing the distaste from her mouth. Feeling a peculiar sting from her comments, I stilled myself from acting upon an urge to grab her wings and twist them into a tightly bound knot emblematic to her personality. I sighed. But she was right on one account. I willingly let Molly’s thoughts and actions intersperse with my own. When we are assigned,we are bound to our humans base personality so they can acclimatize but we should not indulge in their impulses. We could easily forget our purpose while being swept up in the human conditions and all of the glorious connections and emotions that spark an existence, like a match running along a striker. Humans forget they can see and feel life with such penetration and intensity. Every experience is a validation of existence. I was drunk on it. I was drunk on her. A selfish thought traveled through me. Did I even want Molly to find peace. If she fought her way out. I would need to move on. I wouldn’t be able to see  her anymore. Tamping down my unsavoury thoughts as quickly as I could I turned to Mina. “Since you haven’t had the prudence to follow protocol, please keep this meeting brief so I may write to the council in case you failed to clean up your trail coming here.” “Ever the professional. You act like the professor to us mere pupils but who has been corralling wayward fairies off the street, marshaling them back to their purpose, making sure their humans are taken care of. I have been picking up everyone’s slack while you have locked yourself away leading an impeccable example of hope.” Mina rolled her eyes and fronted up to be me. “So you can step off that professional high ground because you have been everything but professional.” She stood solid in front of me as I suddenly felt small and permeable, as if the emotions swarming around this room were wringing my body till there was nothing inside left. I rubbed my temples hard willing her voice to disperse into the air. “Really Molly, If there was a significant issue here don’t you think the council would have notified me. I’ve had my hands tied here. Molly is passing a fragile threshold. It’s make or break but I think I’m finally reaching her. I think I can help her. I might have lapsed regarding my mentoring but I would have noticed the severity of the problems” I placed my hands on her arms and smiled. “It is commendable and prudent of you to convey your worries. It is duly noted. I appreciate the time you gave to inform me. It won’t be forgotten.” Mina shrugged my hands away and directed a firm gaze towards me. “Don’t patronize me. I’m not doing this for you. There mere fact that everything goes unnoticed by you does not mean it isn’t occurring. A good chunk of fairies around the world are wayward. They are rapacious for emotions and their chargers have suffered. Incentives to adhere to the rules and to remain austere in their practices are minimal if at all present. And I have to say I question your commitment. I question your adherence to our codes. And I am not the only one. Your feelings for this girl has left you distracted. You are unfocused. Obsessed even.”She held her head high, hands on hips. “It is after much deliberation that we arrived with the only course of action available for us. For the betterment and progression of our fairies and humans I request your denouncement so I can be chosen as the official field commander.” A heavy sigh rolled from my mouth. This was absurd. The room weighed down on me. Throat restricted and wings overheated and heavy I flew to the window to let some air in. A new wave of annoyance passed over me. It derived not from this conversation but from the time imposed upon me. I wanted to clear them away before Molly walked through the door. Sighing once more, resignation felt in every part of my winged form. “You need to write up a petition and collect more than 50 signatures for that to be even considered.” Mina clapped her hands. A swell of smoke appeared, dancing between her hands, malleable like clay forming a tabular outline which solidified. She popped the lid open and handed my a roll of tattered parchment. It unfurled to the floor. I quickly skimmed through the innumerable list of names collected. My eyes changed depth of perception so that the names blurred into smudges of nonsensical ink. I had never questioned my capability as a leader and thrived on guiding fairies in fulfilling their duties that encapsulated their entire being in one purpose – to serve their person, personify hope. As I gathered memories of the last few months they are alarmingly devoid of wings or guidance of those wings. I had lost touch of my cadre. I felt a ping of unease as I looked at the desperate and sodden fairies stood before me. With a prick, my ego was broached and deflated. The clarion of their pain and worry was written across their faces. I knew my responsibilities. The burden it carried. I could already see the weight slipping off me as I loosened the shackles and status. It was okay. I was in this room room.I was with Molly. I was taken care of my the mere act of caring for her. I didn’t need my wings anymore. Even if I only had a short time left with her. “As you wish.” I conjured a pen from a dust and smoke residue Mina built up. Signing it I felt a bitter freedom that felt terrifying and truthful. I knew what I was really giving up. “I was expecting more of an opposition than this. But I’m not surprised. I’m afraid you’ll be a cautionary tale.” Said Mina. She placed a hand on my cheek, contorting her features to a sadness I never seen on her before. “May the last thing you remember is her love for you.” With that sentiment they flew away into the night.

My back pocket vibrated as I contemplated if I should just pack up and leave. Tat would follow me to the ends of humanity. I wouldn’t be alone. I bitched and moaned about freaking fairy dust falling all over my furniture and his incessant hovering and mollycoddling but it was actually nice having someone caring about me. He could see pass the squalidness of my life. For the first time in my life I felt comfortable and validated with someone. Even if he was just a fairy. Or a figment of my imagination. Laughing at my craziness I extracted my phone to check an incoming message knowing too well who it was from. “Can we please meet up? Today unsettled me. I don’t want to leave things the way they are. I know we can work through your issues. I don’t want to hurt you anymore. I love you.” What was wrong with me. I shouldn’t even contemplate answering him never mind agreeing to meet. Flashes of bruised cheeks and tears came like an onslaught. Fear mingled with my desire to see him. Bereft, I tumbled into my desire, hung my fear on my neglected rack too cloistered with misjudgment already. Fuck. I loved him. More than myself apparently. Maybe I was to blame, accountable to the standards we set in place. If I respected myself more. Set a tone maybe he wouldn’t.. I stuffed my phone in my back pocket berating myself. I would analyze myself to the grave if I didn’t stop. I grabbed a pen and paper, scribbling feverishly, sticking it to the fridge. I couldn’t just give up hard won years of work and commitment over a few lapses. Lapses, the word lingered precariously in my mind. Donning my coat I slipped out of the apartment leaving a snoring fairy to fill warmth in my otherwise lonely and uncherished home.

I sat by the threshold, noticing a layer of dust caked in the corner. I wondered how long I’d been sitting here, waiting for Molly. She had left a note which caused my stomach to coil up. It was uncharacteristic of her to leave notes. There was comfort in her habitual inconsiderations. An eventuality I could trust. So the note marked an odd finality to it despite the words promising her return. How long have I been sitting her? I guess there is not much more to do but let the dust mark time and read the note in rhythmic repetition. I gulped down stale air. How many days has it been? I should open a window. But I wanted to preserve every last drip of her in this room. The world would refuse to enshrine her so I must. She said she would return. The words seemed hollow on the page. I could barely look at it anymore. Crumbling it up I sunk into another waning evening as the darkness encroached into the apartment. I’ll just sit here a little while longer. I realized I was swallowing tears while I waited, wingless in the dark.