#stomping grounds predictions

[wingedjellyfishflight]

Harem in Reverse

"You're soon to be 26, Your Royal Highness. You must put together your harem soon or risk being married off to whomever the regent chooses for you." You sigh, nodding in agreement. Choosing a direct husband would be against the rules, and frankly, you weren't interested in interviewing for the perfect man. Choosing many for their adherence to various qualities, though. That would be a good choice. "Shall I put forth a call for certain attributes? Strong arms? Large chest? Impressive intellect?"

"No, I want to review the troops this week. I will find my consorts among the best our nation has to offer." The advisor looks stunned.

"Your Royal Highness, those are rough men. They do not have the breeding or training to handle you gently as a consort should. They are-."

"Advisor Williams, I know what attributes I am looking for. Schedule me to review the best of the troops, then. If none catch my eye, then I will consider others." The advisor nods, frustrated at not being heeded, but knowing they must follow a direct order.

The following week, you are almost nervous while getting ready, the beginning of butterflies in your stomach. If you weren't so tired, you're sure it would be worse, but the night before was yet another attempt on your life. They are becoming more frequent and more violent now.

Sighing, you hurry to the courtyard where your mount, Rosebud, is waiting. A gift that you feel had been meant to be another threat on your life. The mount was no ordinary horse or pony. Instead, it was the largest draft mule you had ever seen. If you had treated him like a horse, you're sure the thing would have stomped within minutes. He was a vain creature who had to be sweet-talked and treated with utmost respect before he would agree to do much of anything. He was covered in whip and spur scars, telling anyone that he was difficult to force submission from, despite their best efforts. Not that you thought anyone could force an animal born of a mammoth jack donkey and a Shire horse to submit physically. You loved each and every scar, the signs of his stubborn nature on display for all to see.

"Hello, sweet boy." You greet him and let him snuffle you over, waving off the over eager stable hand. "May I ride you today? I am to inspect the troops." He blows a huff of air and turns his head away. You slide your hand along his proud neck and across his withers to the saddle. Checking it over, you deem it done well enough and climb on his back. Your legs spread wide across his broad barrel. Your advisors turn away, knowing that you will refuse their most strident pleas to ride sidesaddle.

"Let us inspect the troops." With that, the company is off at a quick walk to the parade grounds. Your group of advisors and the personal guard that you only marginally trust join the General and his entourage at the front of the formation. You strongly dislike the General. He is somehow the worst mix of ass kissing and condescending.

"The army is excited to be inspected this morning, Your Royal Highness." You barely manage to cover your snort. There is no way they are happy to be here standing in the sun to be inspected on your whim. You move from company to company, looking over the men and pointing out individuals to be inspected, but seeing none you would consider as consort. Reaching the special forces, the rabid dogs as your advisors refer to them, the General is incensed to see that the leader of one is missing.

"Where is the Captain? This is not an optional inspection!"

A man steps forward, "He was injured in a skirmish this week and is still confined to the hospital, General Argus." Looking over the group, you see several still sport bandages and healing abrasions. You nudge your mount closer, his ears perked forward in a match to your curiosity. The General apologizes to you for the disrespect of the men for not appearing but is cut off.

"Your Royal Highness. Escaping the hospital took longer than predicted. For that, I sincerely apologize." You turn, seeing a man limping toward the formation at a quick pace. This must be the Captain. As he falls in, you dismount your mule, resting your hand on his broad neck. Your personal guard hurriedly surrounds you, standing much too close. Rosebud takes exception to being crowded, ears flattening against his head. He strikes out like a snake. His teeth click just shy of the nearest man, who stumbles back yelling and unsheathes a sword. Without a thought, you draw your own ceremonial dagger.

"Touch one hair on Rosebud, and I will gut you." Everyone around you freezes before slowly backing away. "I will not be crowded by your incompetent forms when I am here to inspect the troops." They retreat from your anger, not wanting to risk you calling for their death. Rosebud drops his head, relaxing, and you absentmindedly rub his long ear the way he loves. His lip twitches and his eyes half close for a moment before he pulls away. You step forward, and Rosebud matches your pace, keeping his shoulder just behind yours. It took months to build up a relationship with him, and now he is putty in your hands most days.

An advisor tries to signal you to stay back, but you ignore them, your eyes on the men, looking for the best of them. You memorize the name of the Captain and another likely candidate, signaling Advisor Williams to your side. He groans but carefully walks to you, eyes locked on the increased alertness of Rosebud.

"I will have an audience with this Captain Price and Colonel König. As soon as the men are dismissed. In private." You walk forward and give a cursory inspection to the man who had spoken on the Captain's behalf. His uniform is impeccable, you are happy to see. You don't want them punished on your behalf. The smirk on his face beneath his mask sends a thrill through you. Another man who is not cowed by your station. That is important in advisors. Lieutenant Riley, his uniform says. You nod and mount Rosebud again, rejoining the pack of advisors to inspect the remaining troops. No others catch your eye.

Walking into your State room, you signal for everyone except the two soldiers to leave. While unusual, they are compelled to do so by your haughty glares and Advisor Williams guiding them away, barring the doors behind him and standing guard. Sitting in your throne, you drag your eyes over the men. Colonel König is wearing his customary face covering, and Captain Price has the cover he is well-known for in his hands.

"I have a proposal for you both that I want you to carefully consider. This proposal will not be spoken of again if you decline and it will not leave this room." The men perk up, and you see heat in their eyes as they consider one of the possibilities of your words. "I need advisors who are not advisors." That throws them off, and you see the Colonel shift uneasily. "These advisors would be the closest of any man or woman to me. They would teach and protect me with their very lives. My life is under threat and has been since the King and Queen died, my uncle taking over as Regent. I need advisors who will help me oust him and take my rightful place on the throne without contest and without raising his suspicions. Thus, I need men who will join my harem." You pause, savoring the way their faces change as they process this.

"Your Royal Highness, are you asking us to find you men to join your harem? That is most unusual, but we will do our best." You shake your head at Captain Price.

"Yes, but not in the way you are thinking. I am asking the two of you to join my harem and to advise me on the best men to round out such a harem. To be advisors and leaders in removing the despot from his fake throne. To be my lovers, spoiled in every way and to guard me from all attempts on my life. I want you both, and I trust you to choose others and to bring them to me for approval. If you decline this position, we shall never speak on it again."

"Yes, I would be honored to be chosen for your harem, Your Royal Highness." Colonel König does not hesitate to agree. He feels he has loved you from afar for years, and this is an opportunity he will not squander.

"I would be as well, Your Royal Highness." Captain Price is confident that declining now would be a mistake, and he is not a man prone to mistakes. "I have a few men in mind that would be good additions. They are a bit of a package deal." You nod, expecting as much.

"Their names?"

"John MacTavish, Simon Riley and Kyle Garrick, Your Royal Highness."

"I have two in mind that would be good choices as well. Hiro Watanabe and Kim Hong-jin. They are foreign, but good, loyal and strong men, Your Royal Highness."

The smile you bestow them with is almost a surprise to the men. "Then, I wish for you to gather your men and their belongings. You will join me tonight, my consorts."

"Yes, Your Royal Highness." The men bow and leave, stunned at the way this meeting has gone. You order Advisor Williams to prepare the harem quarters and pack your own belongings secretly. It would be folly to live apart from the men who will be your new private guard and you would be lying if you weren't excited to see under those perfectly done uniforms.

[fatecantstopme]

Changed

Pairing: Dean Winchester x plus size!reader

Summary: Enemies to lovers…the three times you and Dean/Sam work together and the final time when everything changes

Warnings: canon violence, cursing, use of pet names, body shaming, mentions of injuries and wound care. SMUT, face sitting, oral (F receiving) unprotected sex (P in V).

A/N: y'all I'm sorry, but I made Dean a total asshole for the beginning part of this. I had to for the storyline...don't hate me, it's got a GREAT ending.

You'd been hunting for close to five years when you first met Sam and Dean Winchester. The three of you happened to be working the same case in a small town in Ohio.

You and Sam hit it off instantly, but Dean was much more closed off and stand-offish. In fact, he was down-right rude most of the time. He made it very clear he didn't like you, nor did he want your help with the case.

Sam tried to get Dean to be a little more friendly, but it didn't matter what he did, Dean was not a fan of you and he showed it.

"If this wasn't an entire nest of vampires, I would be absolutely fine walking away from this," you said to Dean. "But I'm not about to let the two of you go in there alone."

"We don't need your help," Dean snapped.

"Well you've got it, so suck it up."

Sam stepped in. "Why don't we all just calm down."

"Shut up, Sam!" you and Dean yelled at the same time.

Sam threw up his hands and stepped back. He didn't wanna argue with either of you.

"I don't need help from some geek who probably can't even fight," Dean hissed.

"What's that supposed to mean? I'm a damn good fighter, Winchester," you growled.

Dean looked you up and down with disdain. It was very clear where his brain went and you did not appreciate his assumptions. Maybe you didn't really look like a traditional hunter, but you were good at it.

"No offense, (Y/N), but you don't exactly inspire confidence in your fighting abilities."

You took a deep breath and tried not to lash out. "You're an asshole, Dean Winchester, and honestly I don't care what happens to you, but your brother is a good person. You might both be amazing hunters, but I'm not letting Sam go in there without more than just you for backup."

Sam cut in before Dean could respond. "I agree with (Y/N), Dean. She's coming with us."

Dean shot his brother a dark glare, but Sam didn't back down. "You know what? Fine. If she dies, it's her fault."

"Fine with me," you snapped back at him.

Dean stomped out of the motel room, leaving you and Sam alone.

"I'm sorry about him," Sam said softly. "He's been different since Dad died."

You shook your head. "Don't apologize for him, Sam. I'm just worried his head isn't in the game and it's gonna get you killed."

Sam sighed. "I know. I'm worried about him too."

You let out a long sigh. "The only thing we can do is hope we all make it out of this alive."

Sam nodded his agreement. "Let's go before he gets even more annoyed."

You grabbed your gear and headed out the door after Sam.

As you'd predicted, clearing out the vampire nest required all three of you. By the time the last vamp fell to the ground--headless--you had more than proven yourself. Or at least, that's what you thought.

Sam, ever the gentleman, was extremely grateful for your help. "We couldn't have done it without you," he commented.

You were about to reply when Dean let out a rude scoff. You turned your attention to him with narrowed eyes. "Got something you wanna say, Winchester?"

He glared at you. "We would have been just fine without you."

"You know what? Screw you. If you wanna make terrible decisions that might get you killed, go for it, but don't drag your brother down with you."

Dean looked like he wanted to say more, but you'd stormed off in the direction of your car. You wanted to get back to the motel, shower, and go to bed. You needed to be on the road in the morning--on your way to another case.

Once you were out of earshot, Sam snapped at his brother. "Dude, what the hell has gotten into you?"

"What? You got the hots for the fat chick?"

"Don't talk about her like that, it's incredibly demeaning. Besides, she more than proved herself tonight."

"Whatever. Let's just get the hell out of here."

The next morning, you said your goodbyes to Sam, offering him your assistance in the future should he ever need it. You didn't bother to address Dean, knowing it was unlikely he would even respond.

Once you hit the highway, your mind began to focus on your next case--leaving the Winchester boys far behind.

**********

It had been close to 6 months since the hunt with Sam and Dean, and you were surprised to get a call from Sam requesting your assistance on another case.

"We think it's demonic omens," Sam explained.

You sighed. "How bad we talking?"

"We're not sure, but we could really use your help."

"Did you clear it with your brother?"

There was a long pause on the other end of the line that told you everything you needed to know.

"Sam..."

"Look, I didn't say anything to him, but even he admitted we needed to call for help."

You sighed again, running your fingers through your hair. "Fine, but only because you asked."

"Thank you, (Y/N). I really appreciate it."

You hung up the phone and packed your bag to head to the middle of nowhere Oklahoma.

You didn't often meet people you didn't get along with, but Dean Winchester was certainly one of those people. You hated him and he quite obviously hated you. You weren't sure what it was about you he disliked so much, but you didn't appreciate the way he treated you.

There was something in the way he looked at you--disdain or disgust, you weren't sure, but you'd seen it in other men's eyes. You knew what it was...it was a judgment you'd seen a thousand times before. You'd struggled with your weight your whole life and some men (and women too) had the tendency to judge you based on your physical appearance.

It didn't help that you were a woman in a very male-dominated job. Male hunters had the tendency to judge you with a single look. It didn't matter that you were smart and capable--that you were a great hunter in your own right. All they saw was the outside and that was all they needed to decide what you could do--what you were capable of.

Unfortunately, Dean Winchester was apparently one of those hunters. Sam clearly saw there was more to you than appearances and you appreciated being given the benefit of the doubt. Sam had given you the chance to prove yourself and you'd done so, but that didn't seem to change Dean's perception of you.

You'd be lying if you said it didn't hurt more because of who he was. Dean Winchester was a well-known figure in the hunting community, as were his father and brother. You knew he was a truly amazing hunter and part of you craved his approval. There was also something to be said about the way he looked...the man was gorgeous in an almost offensive way. You couldn't stop yourself from noticing, but you were painfully aware he did not find you attractive. As stupid as it might sound, his disdain hurt you deeply.

You sighed as you stared out the windshield at the road ahead of you. You didn't want to focus on the negative, especially when you were on your way to face what appeared to be several demons. You needed to be on your A-game...you'd be damned if you let yourself get distracted by a mere man.

Several hours later, you pulled into the parking lot of the motel the Winchesters were staying at. You went up to the motel room door and knocked, sending up a silent prayer that Sam would be the one to answer the door.

Someone must have been looking down on you favorably, because moments later, the door swung open to reveal Sam Winchester. "Thanks for coming, (Y/N)."

You smiled at him. "Of course. You call, I come."

Sam gestured for you to come in. "Dean's out getting food."

"Oh." You didn't know what else to say--part of you wished he was here so you could just get it over with, but another part of you was glad to prolong the inevitable for a little while.

"He'll be back soon," Sam said lamely.

"Okay. Should I get a room then?"

Sam shook his head. "You can have my bed. I'll sleep on the couch."

"That's absurd, you're significantly taller than me. I'll take the couch or get my own room."

"There are no more rooms," Sam said with a shrug. "So take the bed, please. I'll feel like an asshole if you sleep on the couch."

You chuckled lightly and tossed your bag onto the bed nearest the door. "Alright, fine. I wouldn't want to offend your gentlemanly sensibilities," you teased.

He smiled, but before he could respond, the door swung open and the elder Winchester walked through carrying a bag of diner food.

You swallowed thickly, hoping he wouldn't have anything nasty to say right away.

Unfortunately, it seemed your luck had run out. "What's she doing here?" Dean asked in annoyance.

"She's here to help," Sam answered.

Dean threw the bag of food on the table. "I'm sorry--when I told you to call for backup, this is who you called?"

"She was available and she's more than capable," Sam argued.

"I don't give a damn. You should have called someone else. She'll get herself killed--or one of us."

"She has a name," you snapped. "And she's right here."

Dean turned his attention to you and you could see the fiery anger in his gaze. You didn't understand what about you made him so angry, but he certainly didn't give you a chance to ask.

"Have you ever even faced a demon, (Y/N)?" The way he emphasized your name was dripping with condescension.

"Actually, I have. More than once."

A flash of surprise crossed his face, but was gone quickly. "How many people died when you did?"

"One," you answered, trying to keep your voice level. "The innocent woman some demon scum was wearing."

"Were you alone?"

"Every time."

If you'd expected Dean to be impressed, you'd have been sorely mistaken. "This will be a hundred times worse. Half this town is demon-infested and countless people will die. Can you handle that?"

"It's the job," you answered as calmly as you could.

Dean regarded you quietly for a moment, before seeming to accept your answer. "Don't get us killed." He turned away from you and sat down at the table to eat his dinner, ignoring you once more.

You glanced over at Sam who looked extremely uncomfortable, but he didn't comment on anything that had been said. Instead he asked his brother if he'd gotten enough food to share with you too.

Before you were able to say you'd already eaten dinner, Dean made an offhand comment that struck a nerve.

"I don't think we have enough food for her even if you and I don't eat."

Sam gasped. "Dean!"

You froze for a moment, tears pressing against your eyes, but you didn't dare shed them. You pushed your emotions down and took a deep breath. "I actually already ate."

"Thank god," Dean mumbled.

"That's it!" you snapped. "What the hell is your problem with me, Winchester?"

He looked up at you with an annoyed glare. "I don't like you and I don't trust you."

"I don't care for you either, but that doesn't mean you have to treat me like shit. I haven't insulted you a single time, but you've managed to insult me several times from the moment we met. Either shut the hell up or I'll be forced to fight fire with fire."

He raised a single eyebrow at you, but he didn't say a single word. You were surprised at his silence, but you were done with the conversation. "I'm going to shower."

As soon as the bathroom door closed, Sam threw a wrapper at Dean. "What the hell, man?"

Dean shrugged. "What? I don't like her."

"What the hell did she ever do to you?"

"She didn't have to do anything. I just don't like her."

"Fine, but don't treat her like that," Sam requested. "She doesn't deserve your animosity...and you're better than this."

Dean didn't comment one way or the other, his silence signaling the end of the conversation.

"That was incredibly stupid of you!" Dean yelled.

"Oh fuck off, Winchester!" you yelled back. "You'd be dead if I hadn't!"

"I didn't ask you to save me!"

The argument was a waste of breath, but Dean didn't want to let it go and neither did you. You'd saved Dean's life during a fight with a demon and it put your own life at great risk.

"A simple 'thank you' would suffice," you growled.

"You could have gotten Sammy killed, you idiot! He had to save your stupid ass because you wanted to play the hero!"

"Dean, that's not--" Sam began.

"Why can't you just be thankful you're not dead?!" you snapped. "And neither is your brother, for that matter!"

Dean's eyes were filled with a rage so dark it frightened you. "I don't understand how you've managed to survive this long on your own, but I doubt it'll last much longer if you keep pulling stupid stunts like that."

You'd managed to regain control of your temper, so you bit your lip to keep from yelling at him again. "You know what? I'm done. Don't ask for my help again."

"(Y/N) wait--" Sam called.

"No, Sam. I'm done. I can't put up with his attitude and you know what? I don't have to. Please don't call me again unless you're hunting alone."

You walked away from both men, fully expecting to never see either one of them again.

**********

Fate, of course, had other plans. One year later, almost to the day, you saved Sam Winchester's life...

You'd been working a case in a small town in Texas and you'd heard rumblings of a missing FBI agent who had been doing research in the town a couple days before you'd arrived.

You knew it was unlikely a real FBI agent had been conducting an investigation here...the events that had led you here clearly indicated the presence of a witch--a damn powerful one at that. As such, it was clear to you a hunter pretending to be FBI had been on the case before you.

You quickly put the pieces together and realized the witch you were hunting had likely kidnapped the other hunter and was doing god only knows what to him.

The more people you talked to, the more certain you were that the missing hunter/FBI agent was none other than Sam Winchester. All of the descriptions people gave you sounded exactly like him.

You tried calling his cell phone several times, but he didn't answer. You didn't want to place the next call, but you didn't see another option. You pressed his name in the phone and put it to your ear.

"Why are you calling me?" Dean's voice asked from the other end of the line.

"Do you know where your brother is?"

"I haven't spoken to him in a while."

"So that's a no?"

You heard him swear under his breath. "Why does it matter, (Y/N)?" he snapped.

"I'm hunting a witch that I think your brother was also hunting. He's missing."

"What do you mean, missing?"

"I mean no one in town has seen him in two days."

Dean was silent for a moment. "Where are you?"

"Lockhart, Texas."

"I'll be there by tomorrow morning."

He hung up without saying anything else, leaving you alone with your worry.

You knew you didn't have time to wait for Dean's arrival. You needed to find Sam...witches were no joke. You'd never forgive yourself if he died because you waited.

You started diving into your research, trying to identify the witch. This is what you were good at, but the added pressure of finding Sam clouded your brain.

You took a deep breath and tried to clear your head. You needed to focus--Sam needed you.

You turned your attention back to your work and noticed you had more clarity. Before you knew it, four hours had passed. You felt like you were no closer to finding this witch than you had been that morning.

You were about ready to give up for a while when you noticed something you'd missed before. You started flipping through the pages you had on the table in front of you and gasped softly. "Her," you mumbled, underlining the name on the page.

You quickly looked up the woman's address and within minutes, you were rushing out the door, on your way to--hopefully--save your friend.

When you pulled up in front of the house, every instinct you had told you you were in the right place. You couldn't explain why, but you just knew this was it.

You double checked your weapons before getting out of the car and making your way around the back of the house as quickly and quietly as possible.

You manage to get into the house without notifying the occupant and began creeping your way through the house, checking each room for signs of Sam or the witch.

You knew there was no basement in the house--Texas homes don't have basements--so there were a limited number of places Sam could be.

You'd cleared the first floor and slowly made your way up to the second floor. As you neared the first room, you heard two voices talking from farther down the hallway.

You immediately made your way towards the voices, moving slowly so as to not make any sound. As you got closer, you heard a female voice followed by a male voice you instantly recognized--Sam.

You continued on quietly until you reached the door. You listened closely, trying to make out what was being said.

"All you have to do," the female voice said, "is tell me who else you're working with."

"I told you," Sam's voice said angrily, "I'm working alone."

"Then why is there a woman looking for you?"

"A woman?" Sam's voice was laced with confusion.

"She's been asking around town about you."

"I don't know what you're talking about."

Sam cried out in pain and you nearly barged through the door on instinct. You controlled yourself, continuing to remain motionless while listening.

"Samuel...stop lying to me. Who is the woman?"

"I don't know," he insisted before crying out in pain again.

After a few moments, Sam spoke again, slightly breathless. "Look, if you're gonna kill me, just do it. I have nothing more to say to you."

The witch laughed darkly. "Perhaps you're right. You're of no use to me anymore."

Sam yelled in pain and you knew it was time to act. You swung the door open and entered the room with your gun pointed ahead of you. Your eyes quickly scanned the room, landing on Sam, who was sitting in the center of the room, arms tied to a chair. Your gaze next landed on the witch who was in the middle of chanting some sort of spell.

It took you less than a second to decide what to do, and that second was all you needed. You pulled the trigger and watched the bullet strike the witch's chest. She looked shocked, eyes locked on your face as she fell to her knees. Her gaze never left you as she took her final breath, now nothing but an empty vessel on the floor.

You ran over to Sam, taking in his injuries quickly. Seeing nothing of immediate concern you started to cut his bindings.

"(Y/N)?" he asked. "What are you doing here?"

"Hunting a witch, obviously."

He chuckled lightly. "But how did you find me?"

"A little bit of skill and a whole lot of luck."

"Somehow I doubt that," he said softly.

Your eyes met his as you cut the final rope. You offered him a small smile, but remained silent.

"Seriously, (Y/N). Thank you."

You shrugged. "You would have done the same for me."

"I didn't think I'd ever see you again after last time," he admitted.

"Honestly, I didn't either," you whispered. "But when I realized you were here, I knew I couldn't leave you. I, uh--I called Dean."

Sam's eyes widened in shock. "You did what?!"

"I was worried about you and you weren't answering your phone, so I called him. I hoped he'd know where you were."

Sam sighed. "We actually haven't been hunting together for a while."

You nodded. "He mentioned that...but he's--um, well he's on his way."

"Great," he mumbled. "Come on, let's get out of here."

"I'm sorry," you said softly. "I didn't know."

"It's fine, (Y/N). You didn't know."

Unsurprisingly, Sam was staying at the same motel as you, so you drove him back. Once you arrived, you helped him out of his shirt and began to clean his wounds. Several of them were deep enough to require stitches, but there didn't appear to be anything life threatening.

"You're very lucky," you muttered.

Sam grabbed your hand, stopping you in the middle of a stitch. "It wasn't luck, (Y/N/N). You saved my life."

You sighed quietly and continued sewing his skin back together.

"I'm serious. I owe you my life."

"You don't owe me anything."

"I do. I guess both of us do now."

"What?"

"You saved Dean's life last year. He might have behaved like an ass, but he owes you his life as much as I owe you mine."

You finished the stitch and moved on to the next cut. "We're hunters, Sam. It's what we do."

"Doesn't mean I'm not grateful."

You offered him a soft smile. "Well then, you're welcome."

After about 30 minutes of constant wound care, you'd managed to clean and stitch up all his cuts. He'd been awake for almost 2 days at this point and just wanted a shower and some sleep.

He agreed to take a shower while you ran out and got some food that you practically forced him to eat before he collapsed on the bed, sound asleep within seconds.

You ate your dinner quietly, watching the large man sleep. You were incredibly glad you'd managed to save him--it would have haunted you forever if you'd been too late.

Eventually, you crawled into the other bed and passed out, forgetting for a moment that Dean Winchester was still on his way to Lockhart in search of his brother.

Early the next morning, you were awoken by loud, insistent knocking on the motel door. You dragged yourself out of bed, muttering under your breath as you made your way over to the door.

"Calm down, I'm coming," you hissed quietly. You looked through the peep hole and saw a slightly disheveled Dean Winchester standing on the other side.

You opened the door and he practically ran into the room, eyes searching the space for his brother. His gaze finally landed on Sam's sleeping form and his whole body instantly relaxed. Sam was peacefully still--exhaustion keeping him asleep.

You walked over to Dean and tentatively touched his arm to jostle him out of his trance. "He's alright," you murmured.

Dean shook his head to clear it and turned to you. "What?"

"Sam's okay," you repeated. "Just some cuts and bruises, but he'll live."

"What happened?"

You explained what had happened and how you'd identified the witch and found Sam.

"You saved his life," Dean whispered.

"He would have done the same for me."

"Still...you didn't have to, but you did it anyway. Thank you."

"You don't need to thank me."

"Yeah," Dean mumbled. "I do."

You were both silent for a moment before Dean continued talking.

"Sam and I--well, we haven't been talking lately. I--I would have been devastated if something happened to him before I could apologize. I was mad and stupid and I said things I didn't mean...but he's still my brother. I can't lose him."

For the first time since you met him, you saw something more to Dean Winchester--something beneath the facade. It was obvious he truly loved his brother and in this moment he was showing a rare piece of humanity that shocked you. Maybe beneath the gruff, rude exterior, there was something genuinely good.

"Why don't you get some sleep," you said softly. "I'm sure you're tired from your drive and Sam will want to see you in the morning."

Dean turned his gaze back to you. "Thanks...I--uh, I am kinda tired." His face told you he wanted to say more, but he couldn't find the words.

Your expression softened. "I'll take the couch. Don't worry about it."

He shook his head immediately. "No, go back to sleep. I'll take the couch."

You decided not to argue, instead crawling into bed and falling asleep quickly. Something about Dean's presence made you feel safe.

The next morning, you awoke to the sound of voices in the room. As you oriented yourself, you realized it was Sam and Dean talking quietly across the room. You remained quiet and still, ears listening to the discussion.

It was clear they'd been talking for a while and the conversation had turned to the current situation.

"I can't believe she saved you," Dean whispered.

"Neither can I, to be honest. I don't even know how she found me. She said it was mostly luck."

"A year ago, I would have agreed with that," Dean stated. "But now? She's saved both of our lives--I have to admit she's a damn good hunter."

A small smile played on your lips and you were glad they couldn't see your face from their angle.

"That's a lot coming from you," Sam said in surprise. "What changed?"

"Honestly? Me," Dean answered. "A lot has happened in the last 6 months Sammy. I've taken the time away to really get my shit together. I was just so damn empty and I was taking it out on everyone, including you. But I've said some terrible things to (Y/N) and I don't know how to apologize. Hell, I don't even know if she'd want me to apologize. I treated her terribly and I wouldn't be surprised if she hated me."

"I'm pretty sure she does," Sam said softly. "But that doesn't mean you shouldn't apologize or you can't fix it. You owe her your life as much as I do...that should mean something."

"I know," Dean admitted. "I've been such an asshole to her. I don't even think I deserve her forgiveness."

"It's worth a shot, Dean."

You couldn't see Dean's face, but you could hear the emotion in his voice. It made you think he truly meant what he was saying. Before this moment, you wouldn't have even considered listening to a word this man had to say to you...but now you felt like you owed it to him--or maybe yourself--to hear him out, should he choose to apologize.

You'd gotten out of bed not long after overhearing Sam and Dean's conversation. After a nice shower, you were getting your things together to head back out onto the road--onto your next hunt.

"I'm gonna grab some breakfast," Sam called out. "You guys want me to bring you something?"

"Coffee and a breakfast sandwich, please," you said in response.

"Coffee and an absurd amount of bacon," Dean added.

Sam groaned. "You are so gonna have a heart attack."

"I'm not gonna live long enough for that, Sammy, so don't worry about me. Bacon is worth it."

You chuckled softly and Dean shot you a look. When he noticed the soft smirk on your face, he smiled in return. "I think (Y/N) agrees."

Sam sighed. "Whatever--I'll be back in a while."

You waved at Sam's back before returning your attention to your duffle. You threw your last couple items into it before zipping it up.

"So..." Dean said awkwardly from behind you.

You sighed heavily before turning to face him. "Yes?"

"I...I, um--fuck," he muttered. "I owe you an apology."

You folded your arms across your chest. "Go on."

You'd never seen him look so uncomfortable and a part of you was happy about it. You felt bad for feeling that way, but after everything Dean had said and done to you since you'd met, he more than deserved it.

"I've been a major asshole."

You nodded your agreement.

He had the grace to look embarrassed. "I've said some truly horrible things to you and uh--about you. Things I never should have thought, let alone said aloud."

He fell silent and waited for a moment as if he was hoping you would disagree.

"Is that all?"

He exhaled slowly. "Look, you saved my life and I treated you like shit--then you go and save my brother's life even after everything I've done."

"I didn't do it for you."

"No--no, I know. I just...I suck at apologies."

You chuckled lightly. "A bit, yeah."

"What I'm trying to say is--I was wrong. I was wrong about everything. I was wrong to treat you the way I did and I'm so fucking sorry, (Y/N). I'm sorry I hurt you and I'm sorry I was such an asshole. I don't have a good excuse--I was broken and hurting and I chose to take it out on everyone around me. I'm not trying to excuse what I did--I just want you to know that I'm not usually like that. I've spent the last year trying to find myself again and I'm closer than I've ever been. But, umm that's not the point--it's not about me. I--fuck--I'm just so goddamn sorry, (Y/N)."

You offered him a small smile. "I genuinely appreciate your apology, Winchester. Especially because I can see how difficult it was for you to do it."

He looked relieved. "I'm not good at this sort of thing."

"It's okay. You got your point across."

"Oh, one more thing."

"Hmm?"

"You're a damn good hunter."

You smiled genuinely for the first time and Dean couldn't help but notice how it lit up your whole face. Your smile was contagious--and he found himself returning the expression.

Before you could thank him, Sam came back with breakfast.

"Am I interrupting?" Sam asked.

"No, we're good," Dean answered.

Sam looked at you and you nodded. He looked relieved, but he didn't comment on the situation.

Dean's stomach grumbled and he reached for the bag of takeout. "Let's eat."

"Are you sure you don't want to come with us?" Sam asked.

You shook your head. "I appreciate the offer, but I think you guys need some time alone. Rekindle your relationship, mend fences, etc."

Sam nodded. "Alright, but please call us if you need anything--and I mean anything."

He wrapped you in a hug, which you happily returned. "You know I will."

He stepped back and headed out to the car, leaving you and Dean alone.

"Well, I guess this is goodbye for now," Dean said.

You turned to him with a smile. "I guess it is."

You stuck your hand out and Dean shook it tentatively.

"We're not at the hugging stage yet, Winchester," you said lightly.

He chuckled softly. "I've gotta earn that?"

"Oh yeah," you teased.

Dean grinned, liking the teasing tone in your voice. "I'll work on it. Stay safe, (Y/N)...call us if you need anything."

You nodded. "Same to you. Keep Sammy safe, okay?"

"I always will."

**********

You dragged yourself across the floor of the old, dirty warehouse, pain radiating through most of your body. You heard the footsteps of the creature you'd been hunting as it crossed the room towards you. You could see your cellphone lying several yards away, your gun not far from it. You knew this was it--you were gonna die.

You were breathing heavily, the pain almost unbearable. You didn't want to die, but you knew you wouldn't be able to reach your gun in time.

The creature took another step towards you and growled lowly. You looked up at it and resigned yourself to death.

"Hey, ugly!" a man's voice yelled from behind the creature.

The creature turned in the direction of the voice and a gunshot rang out. The creature cried out in pain and dropped to the ground dead about a foot from you.

You released the breath you'd been holding, the sharp exhale making your ribs ache. You heard footsteps rushing towards you and what you saw made you smile a little.

"(Y/N)!" Sam yelled as he dropped to the ground beside you. "You okay?"

Dean was right behind him, coming to a stop on the other side of your body. You could see the concern in both of their faces as their eyes scanned your body, looking for serious injuries.

"Hey guys," you said softly. "I'm alright."

"Can you stand?" Sam asked.

You nodded and the boys started to help you up. You groaned in pain, exhaling slowly to try and ease it.

"Easy," Dean said softly. "I've got you."

Sam raised an eyebrow at him, but didn't comment. He just continued to help you until you were standing up fully. Dean's arm slipped around your waist and pulled you against his side, holding you upright.

"Lean on me, okay? I've got you." He turned to his brother. "You handle the monster, I'll get (Y/N) to the car."

Dean moved slowly, allowing you to lean into him as you limped beside him. "You alright, (Y/N)?" he asked softly.

"That damn thing beat the hell outta me...definitely some bruised ribs, pretty sure I sprained my ankle, and I've got some pretty deep gashes on my back and hip. Otherwise though, I'm peachy."

Dean chuckled softly. "Tough as nails, this one."

"Minus the whole 'almost died' thing."

"Hey, don't worry about that. Happens to the best of us."

"I've noticed," you said lightly.

He laughed. "Rude."

"Seriously, though, thanks for saving my ass."

"My pleasure, (Y/N). Besides, I owed you."

You whimpered slightly when Dean shifted to help you as you approached the stairway.

"Shit, (Y/N), sorry. You okay?"

"I'm fine," you lied through gritted teeth.

"Liar," he mumbled. "Hold still."

You did as he asked, watching in confusion as he took a step away from you, sliding his left arm under your legs and scooping you up into his arms.

You gasped in pain and surprise. "What are you doing?!"

"Sorry if that hurt you, but this will be a hell of a lot easier--and less painful for you."

"You are not carrying me down the stairs, Winchester," you hissed.

"You gonna stop me?" he asked harshly. When you were silent, he smirked smugly. "Didn't think so."

You held on tightly as Dean carried you down the stairs with shocking ease. You knew you weren't light and it surprised you he was able to carry you without issue.

When he reached the bottom of the stairs, you stirred against him. "You can put me down now."

"Not happening. I'll put you down when we get to the car."

You stared at him in shock. The man in front of you was so different from the man you'd met almost three years prior. Hell, he was even different from the man who'd apologized to you 8 months ago.

"You've changed," you whispered.

He glanced at your face, cheeks tinged pink. "For the better, I hope."

You smiled warmly. "Definitely."

Dean had driven you back to the motel, leaving Sam to bring your car back. Instead of taking you to your room, Dean brought you to his and Sam's to get you cleaned up and to check your wounds.

"Alright let me see your back," Dean said gently.

You shifted to lift the back of your shirt up, allowing Dean to see the claw marks on your lower back.

"Shit, those are deep," he muttered. "You're gonna need stitches."

"Great."

"I've got everything we need." He got up and grabbed his kit, pulling out the supplies he needed to stitch you up. "So I need unhindered access to your back."

You looked up at him, unsure of what he was saying.

He bit his lip and shifted his weight. "I, uh...I need you to take your shirt off."

Your eyes widened. "Absolutely not."

"I'm not trying to make it weird, but I need both hands to stitch, so I can't hold your shirt up too."

There was zero chance of you taking off your shirt in front of Dean fucking Winchester. Absolutely not. No way in hell. He looked like that and you...well you didn't like anyone to see you without a shirt off.

"How 'bout I lay down on my stomach and pull my shirt up so it's out of the way?"

He sighed. "Fine, it's a reasonable compromise."

You nodded gratefully and laid down on your stomach, but the moment you did, you cried out in pain and rolled onto your side.

Dean was beside you in an instant. "What's wrong?"

"Ribs," you muttered.

"Shit..." he paused for a moment. "(Y/N) please let me help you."

You looked up at him, tears filling your eyes--a mixture of pain and embarrassment.

"Hey," he said softly. "You're okay. I know it's not fun, but I need to get you stitched up before the cuts get infected."

You bit your lip and nodded. "Will you turn around until I'm ready?"

Dean offered you a soft smile. "Of course." He turned around and waited for you to tell him you were ready.

You moved slowly, lifting your shirt off over your head, inhaling sharply at the painful movements. A whimper left your lips, the pain forcing the sound out.

It took all of Dean's self-control to not turn around when he heard your soft whimper, but he'd promised to wait.

You balled your shirt up in front of you, using it to hide your stomach and as much of your chest as you could. "Okay," you whispered.

Dean turned around slowly, keeping his gaze on your face. He was very tempted to look down, but he knew it would be unwelcome. He settled onto the bed behind you and began to clean your wounds.

You hissed at the contact, wincing away from him.

"Sorry, sweetheart."

Your eyes nearly popped out of your head--shock settling into your bones at the sound of the pet name.

You tried to remain still as he continued cleaning, despite the pain that was radiating through your body.

"Alright, they're clean," Dean said gently. "Time for the stitches."

You tensed up as he gently placed his calloused hand against your skin.

"Just relax, okay? I've got you."

You did your best to relax and Dean started to stitch your skin back together. About halfway through, Sam arrived back at the motel.

"Yikes," Sam said when he saw the deep gashes on your back. "Those look gnarly."

"Yeah, it's not great," you muttered.

"Sorry, (Y/N/N)," Sam commented. "I brought your car back though." He held up the keys with an awkward smile.

"Thanks, Sam."

"Sammy, why don't you go round us up some food?" Dean requested.

Sam raised his eyebrows as he looked between you and Dean. "Alright, sure. What do you want?"

"Burgers and pie," Dean said immediately.

"(Y/N)?"

"Yeah, sounds good," you answered.

"Alright, I'll be back." Sam grabbed the Impala keys off the table and headed back out.

"You still with me, sweetheart?"

"Mhmm," you hummed, voice laced with pain and discomfort.

"I'll be done soon enough," Dean said gently. "Then onto the ones on your hip."

"Fuck," you muttered. You'd almost forgotten about the deep cuts on your hip, but the pain started back up at the mention of them.

"I'm going as quickly as I can without giving you some seriously hideous scars," Dean whispered.

You smiled a little at the sweetness of his words. "Thanks," you murmured.

Dean found himself fighting the urge to place a soft kiss to your exposed shoulder. He wanted to provide you comfort, but instead he was actively causing you pain--and he hated it.

After several more minutes of silence, Dean finished his last stitch. "All done."

You sighed gratefully. "Thank God."

"Actually, it's just Dean," he quipped lightly.

You laughed warmly, but the action hurt your ribs, causing a soft groan of pain.

"While I liked hearing you laugh, I'd rather not cause you more pain than I have to."

"Then don't make me laugh, Winchester," you teased.

He grinned. "I'm just naturally hilarious."

You chuckled again, trying to suppress the sound to prevent any pain.

"Alright, lose the pants."

"Excuse me?"

"I've gotta get to your hip somehow, sweetheart," he stated.

You groaned softly. The last thing you wanted to do was be essentially naked in front of him. "Fine, but I'm putting my shirt back on."

"Absolutely not. That thing is dirty and ruined. You're not putting it anywhere near those cuts." He started rummaging through his bag and he pulled out a flannel shirt. "Here, put this on."

You looked at him in disbelief. "I don't think I'm going to fit into your shirt."

He looked confused. "Of course you will. Just put it on."

You took the shirt from him, still convinced there was no way it would fit you. He was a large man, but you had a very full chest and soft stomach...you were used to not fitting into a man's clothing.

"Turn around," you whispered.

Dean sighed softly, but he turned around to give you the privacy you'd requested.

You pulled yourself up with a groan, tossing your dirty shirt onto the floor. You slowly pulled the flannel shirt on over your arms and nearly gasped in surprise when you realized that not only did the shirt fit you, but it was a little big on you. You buttoned the shirt quickly, feeling more than a little pleased at the way it fit. Plus, you couldn't help but notice the shirt smelled like Dean--like soap, leather, and a little bit of whiskey.

"Can I turn around now?"

"Oh...yeah."

He turned around and felt a tightening in his chest as he took in the image of you in his shirt. He didn't know he'd feel this way when he'd given you the shirt to wear, but damn--he couldn't help but notice how sexy you looked in his clothing.

"Told you it would fit," he said with a smirk. "Even looks big on you."

You blushed. "So you were right one time."

He laughed. "I promise it won't be the last."

You rolled your eyes, but a small smile remained on your lips.

"Now the pants."

"I am not taking off my pants, Winchester."

"How am I supposed to clean your wounds through your pants?"

You groaned. "God, this is embarrassing," you muttered.

"Nothing to be embarrassed about, sweetheart. I'm just trying to help."

You groaned a second time. "Fine," you grumbled.

Dean bit his lip and looked away. He needed you to stop making those damn sounds or he was going to lose his mind.

You looked up at him warily, making sure his gaze remained averted from you. You removed your pants as quickly as you could without causing yourself more pain. A few moments later, you were standing there in nothing but your underwear and Dean's shirt. Thankfully, the shirt was long enough that it covered you both in the front and back.

"You good?" he asked softly.

"Yeah...where--where do you want me?"

Dean groaned softly, desperately trying to keep his thoughts to himself. He didn't think you'd appreciate hearing where he really wanted you.

He kept his eyes trained on your face. "Lay down on your side so I can see your hip."

You swallowed thickly, feeling the change in the air of the room. You slowly lowered yourself onto the bed, shifting to lay on your side.

Dean grabbed a pillow. "Lift your head for me." You did as he asked and he slipped the pillow under your head to make it more comfortable for you.

He climbed onto the bed behind you and exhaled slowly, trying to keep his shit together. You looked gorgeous in his shirt, round ass barely peeking out from beneath it. He felt the strong urge to smack it, but he had a feeling you'd knock him out if he did.

"Damn," he whispered as he looked at the deep claw marks on your hip. "I think these are worse."

"Yeah, they don't feel great," you muttered softly.

"I'll try to be gentle."

Dean began to clean the wounds, sadness lacing its icy tendrils around his heart every time he heard you make a pained sound.

"I'm sorry, (Y/N/N)," he whispered.

"It's fine," you ground out. "Wait, did you just call me (Y/N/N)?"

He winced slightly. "I--uh--I did. Is that okay?"

You were quiet for a moment as you contemplated it. "Yeah...yeah it's okay."

He exhaled gratefully. He hadn't meant to call you a nickname--it had just kinda slipped out. He was glad it didn't upset you.

Dean had just started the stitches when Sam came back with food.

"Woah," Sam said as he caught a glimpse of the two of you on the bed--and you without pants.

"I'm stitching the wounds on her hip, you idiot," Dean said sharply.

"Oh--wait, why is she wearing your shirt?"

"Because hers was dirty, Samuel. Any more questions?"

Sam threw his hands up in defeat. "My bad--my bad."

"You better have brought me pie," Dean grumbled.

"I didn't forget the pie," Sam said in annoyance.

Your stomach suddenly grumbled loudly. "Apparently I'm starving," you said lightly.

"As soon as I'm done with the stitches, we can eat."

Sam held a container of fries out to you. "Want some?"

"Oh thank God," you muttered as you took the container from him.

"Quit moving," Dean admonished.

"Sorry," you said sheepishly. "Fry?"

He glanced at your extended hand and simply opened his mouth. You looked at him in confusion and he nodded to his hands. "I can't exactly grab it."

"Oh, right." You took a fry out of the container and held it out to him. He leaned forward and took the fry from your hand, a soft moan of enjoyment escaping his lips.

You felt a warmth spread through your lower body and your breathing became a little more labored. You swallowed thickly and averted your gaze, unable to look at him without blushing.

You continued eating your fries quietly as Dean finished stitching the cuts.

"All....done," Dean said softly as he finished the final stitch.

"Thank you," you said softly. You started to try and sit up and Dean grabbed you to help. "You're not gonna let me put my pants on, are you?"

Dean grinned ear to ear. "I mean, I do like you like this, but I'll let you put on pants--if you insist."

Your eyes widened slightly and you blushed deeply.

"But not your pants, of course," Dean said with a smirk. He dug into his bag again, producing a pair of well-worn sweats. "Here you go, sweetheart."

"Just because your shirt fits, doesn't mean your pants will."

He looked you up and down slowly. "Oh they'll fit, they'll just be a little long."

Sam looked back and forth between the two of you for a few moments. "Am I missing something here?"

"Nope," you both answered.

"Okaaaay..."

You leaned down to start pulling the sweatpants on and as you tugged them up your thighs, you realized Dean was once again correct. The damn things were gonna be loose.

You stood up slowly and pulled them up the rest of the way, tugging on the string to tighten them enough so they wouldn't sag. You looked down at your feet and chuckled at the fabric pooling around your feet.

"Need some help?" Dean asked lightly.

"Could you maybe roll up the bottoms? I don't wanna fall on my face."

He grinned. "It would be my pleasure."

He dropped to his knees in front of you, earning a gasp of surprise from you. He slowly rolled up one pant leg, looked up at you with a little smirk, then rolled up the second pant leg. He looked back up at you with the same expression on his face. "Better?"

You didn't trust your voice, so you simply nodded.

He pulled himself up, suddenly towering over you again. Your knees felt weak--and it had nothing to do with your injuries.

"Uhhh...dinner is getting cold..." Sam muttered awkwardly.

"Mhmm," Dean hummed, gaze still fixed on your face.

"We should probably eat," you whispered.

Dean's tongue slipped out of his mouth, wetting his lips. His gaze was almost hungry as he regarded you, a soft smirk gracing his handsome face. "I am quite hungry," he murmured. "Very, very hungry."

You felt your pulse quicken and your lips parted slightly. The way he was looking at you made you think he wasn't referring to a hunger for burgers or pie...but you knew that couldn't be possible. Dean Winchester didn't want you--not like that.

You took control of the situation, stepping around Dean to limp towards the table. Dean quickly slipped an arm around your waist to help you.

"I'm alright, Dean."

"I'm not letting you fall and worsen your injuries."

You smiled up at him as he guided you to a chair and gently lowered you into it. He sat down in the chair beside yours and grabbed a burger for each of you out of the bag.

Sam had already eaten his dinner, so he was just watching the interactions between you and Dean. It was obvious he was confused, and to be honest, so were you.

Last time you'd talked to Dean, he'd apologized for being a massive asshole, but this transition was completely unexpected. You didn't know how to address it, or frankly, how to feel about it.

Instead, you decided to ask a question that had been tickling the back of your mind. "So...how did you guys find me?"

"Oh, that was all Dean," Sam admitted.

"Well you're the one who identified this case," Dean said with a shrug.

"Yeah, but you figured out where the monster was taking its victims--and then we saw your car."

"When we got inside the warehouse, I heard you yell in pain and I just--well, I just took off," Dean said.

You looked at both of them with a warm expression. "Well, thanks for saving me."

"You already thanked me," Dean said softly. "Besides, we both owed you our lives."

"He's not wrong," Sam added.

"Well, I'm thankful either way."

"You're welcome, (Y/N/N)," Dean said with a warm smile.

Sam gave his brother a weird look before looking back at you. "You're welcome."

The three of you continued to eat your dinner in relative silence, Sam or Dean occasionally chatting with each other while you looked on.

You watched Dean quietly, really taking him in for the first time. He was so incredibly beautiful--almost painfully so. His eyes were so kind, so much kinder than they'd been when you'd met. More importantly, he seemed lighter--more whole, than before.

You felt a stirring in your chest as you gazed at him, hating yourself for it. You shouldn't have any feelings for him--you couldn't. You wouldn't put yourself in that position and you certainly didn't want to be another notch on Dean Winchester's bedpost.

"You alright, sweetheart?" Dean asked softly, shaking you from your thoughts.

"Hmm?"

"You were staring at the side of my head," he said lightly.

"Oh, sorry. I completely zoned out."

"Don't worry about it. You're allowed."

The smile you gave him quickly turned into a yawn. "I suddenly got really tired. I think I'll go back to my room to sleep."

Dean practically jumped out of his chair. "I'll take you."

You gave him an odd look. "I think I can manage to limp my way three doors down."

"Well, I'd feel better if I went with you."

Your expression softened. "Alright, alright. Lemme get my shoes on."

Dean grabbed your boots and sat them in front of you, but when you bent down to get them on, you gasped as pain radiated from your bruised ribs.

"Here, let me help," Dean said gently.

You gladly accepted his help, allowing him to get your boots on both feet. He helped you out of your chair and Sam stood up as well. He hugged you gently, which you returned in kind.

"I'm glad you're okay," Sam whispered into your hair.

"Thanks, Sammy," you murmured.

He stepped back and gave his brother a look you couldn't decipher. "I'm gonna shower and then hit the hay."

"Sounds good. I'll be back in a bit," Dean said before taking your hand and helping you towards the door.

Once you were outside, Dean was instantly more protective of you. Either he was worried about you falling on the hard cement or something attacking you. Whichever one it was, his protectiveness warmed your heart.

"Want me to carry you again?" Dean teased lightly.

You smacked his arm affectionately. "I can walk on my own, Winchester. Slowly..."

He grinned. "Whatever you say, sweetheart."

"So about that...since when do you call me sweetheart?"

"Since today, I guess," Dean muttered.

"A pet name and a nickname in the same day...interesting."

"Interesting good or interesting bad?"

You looked up at him. "I haven't decided yet."

"Fair enough."

"This is it," you said as you stopped in front of your motel room. "Thanks for walking me over."

Dean gave you an odd look. "I'm not leaving you at the door, (Y/N)."

You chuckled. "I didn't wanna assume."

You unlocked the door and Dean helped you in. "Lemme check the room, okay?"

You watched Dean walk around the room, checking the closet and the bathroom for anything that might want to hurt you. Finding nothing, he came back into the room, much more relaxed than before.

"So no monsters in the closet?" you teased.

He smiled. "You're safe."

"I already felt safe," you said softly.

"Oh?"

You blushed and looked at the floor, a little embarrassed that those words had left your lips.

Dean crossed the space between you and slid a hand under your chin, lifting it gently to meet his gaze. "Are you saying I make you feel safe?"

His voice was soft and affectionate--it put you at ease. "Yes," you whispered honestly.

Dean smiled warmly. "That's the best thing you could ever say to me."

"Easy to please, I see," you joked lightly, trying to keep your cool.

"Not usually, but you seem to be an exception to the rule."

The way he was looking at you sent a warm feeling through your body and you felt heat pooling in your lower belly. His hand was still on your chin, but you wanted to feel it everywhere.

His thumb began to gently brush against your skin, hand sliding up to your cheek. You leaned into it and your eyelids fluttered closed for a moment. You felt dean's thumb brush gently against your lower lip and you inhaled sharply, eyes opening to meet his fiery gaze.

"Can I kiss you?" he whispered.

You desperately wanted to say yes, everything in you was screaming to say yes...but you couldn't. You needed to know what his intentions were.

"What do you want from me?" you whispered.

He looked taken aback. "I thought that was obvious."

You took a step back and his hand dropped from your face. "I know your reputation...I don't wanna be just another one night stand or some story you tell the boys around the campfire."

He looked hurt--almost as if you'd slapped him. But he seemed to realize you were right...he did have a reputation. "I know it's hard to trust me...I haven't been good to you in the past, but this isn't some one night stand, pity sex thing. I want you. I want this."

"This?" you whispered.

"You're so damn strong, (Y/N). You're smart and funny, you're an amazing hunter and an even better woman. You're brave and selfless and so incredibly loyal. I'm sorry I didn't see it when we first met, but I see it now. I can see what Sam saw in you when we first met. I've spent the last 8 months thinking about you constantly. I want something real with you, (Y/N). It scares the hell out of me, but I need you in my life...if you'll have me."

You listened to his words and you heard the emotion in them. You could feel how much he cared about you--how deeply he meant what he was saying. "I never thought you'd want someone like me."

He looked confused. "Do you mean perfect? Because that's what you are to me."

You gasped softly. "What?"

"You're not a perfect person--none of us are, but you're perfect for me."

"Have you lost your mind? Any recent head injuries?"

Dean laughed lightly. "Nothing like that, baby. I want this--it's real for me."

"Why me?" you said so softly he almost didn't hear you.

"I think I just explained that, sweetheart," he said gently.

You gestured to your body as you said, "But I look like this--and you...you look like that."

He narrowed his eyes at you. "Don't you dare talk badly about your body, baby. Don't you dare."

Tears stung your eyes and you sniffled softly.

"Look at me sweetness," he said softly, taking your face in his hands. "I know I said some terrible things when we first met--some of them about your body. I said it because I knew it would hurt you--I could tell you had some insecurities and I played on them. I feel terrible for it--fucking awful. But I didn't really mean it, baby. I just wanted to hurt you. Please forgive me--please believe me."

The tears streamed down your face and he gently wiped them away.

"It's okay, beautiful. Talk to me."

You sniffed softly. "I forgive you, Dean...and I believe you."

He smiled warmly as he continued to wipe your tears. He stepped a little closer and placed soft kisses to your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, and finally, your lips.

You leaned into the kiss, returning the affection in kind. When his lips left yours, he brushed the last tears from your face. "You wanna go to bed now, sweetheart?" he asked softly.

You smiled and shook your head. "I wanna get in bed, but I'm not feeling as tired now."

Dean smirked and his arms snaked around your waist, pulling you closer to him as gently as he could. "Oh really? And what would you like to do in bed?"

"I have a feeling you have some ideas."

"Oh baby, I have a lot of ideas...but you've been through a lot today. I don't wanna hurt you."

"I guess you'll just have to be really gentle," you whispered against his lips.

He groaned softly. "I can be gentle...I can be so fucking gentle."

You giggled softly and he smiled, pressing his lips against yours.

"I wanna manhandle the shit outta you just to prove to you that I can...but that'll have to wait until you've healed. For now, I want you to do exactly what I tell you to--and stop me if it hurts too much, okay?"

You nodded.

"Baby, I'm gonna need you to use those words."

"Yes, Dean," you murmured.

He pressed his body up against yours again and you could feel his erection against your abdomen. "You know, I just thought of something..."

"What's that?"

"I think that's the second time you've ever called me by my name."

"What? No--can't be."

"The first time was when you forgave me and then you just said it now...but you usually just call me 'Winchester'."

You thought about it for a moment and realized he was right. "I kinda like saying your name...Dean."

He groaned softly. "I fucking love it, baby. I'm gonna make you scream my name, pretty girl."

"We'll see," you teased.

"Is that a challenge?"

You grinned. "One hundred percent."

"Oh you are in for it now, gorgeous."

You laughed as he pressed his lips against yours before trailing kisses down your neck. He nipped at your pulse point and you moaned softly, earning a grunt of approval from Dean.

"Now remember," he murmured against your skin. "You promised to do what I tell you to, but if you wanna stop, just tell me, okay? I won't do anything you don't wanna do."

You sighed softly. "I trust you, Dean."

"Good," he whispered. "Now take off your clothes."

You gasped in surprise, but quickly started to unbutton your shirt. When it came time to take it off completely, you froze, the familiar discomfort sinking into your mind.

"Hey," he said gently. "Take off whatever you're comfortable with, sweetheart, but I want you to remember that I think you're sexy as hell, okay?"

You nodded and took a deep breath before sliding your shirt off, letting it fall to the floor. His eyes roamed your torso appreciatively.

"Can I take off your bra?" he asked softly.

"Yes."

He unhooked your bra with one hand, and gently pulled it forward, exposing your ample breasts to his hungry eyes. "Fuck..." he whispered.

You felt the strong urge to cover up, but you kept your arms at your sides, allowing Dean to take in every inch of skin he could see.

"You're so fucking gorgeous, (Y/N)."

You whimpered softly as his lips latched onto your nipple, one hand at the small of your back to hold you up and the other massaging your breast gently.

Your hands tentatively rested on Dean's shoulders, and you could feel the taunt muscles shift beneath his shirt. You desperately wanted to feel his skin against yours, so you curled your fingers into his shirt and tugged on it gently.

He released your nipple and looked up at you. "What is it, baby? What do you need?"

You bit your lip and shifted slightly. "I wanna feel your skin."

He chuckled softly. "Like this?" he asked as he ran his hands slowly down your sides.

You shook your head and reached for the hem of his shirt. As soon as your hand managed to touch it, he understood what you were asking. He stepped back and yanked his shirt off over his head.

As much as you wanted to feel his body against yours, you stopped him when he leaned back towards you. He looked a little saddened, misunderstanding your movement.

"I'm trying to appreciate perfection," you said softly.

He smiled and puffed out his chest slightly. "You're the perfect one, baby."

You looked up at him with a smile. "Take me to bed, Mr. Winchester."

He chuckled. "Yes ma'am."

He guided you over to the bed and he sat down on the edge, pulling you down with him. You straddled his lap and ground yourself down against his very prominent bulge.

You gasped into his mouth and he swallowed the soft sounds you made. He grabbed ahold of your hips, careful to avoid the wounds on your left one.

"I think you should lose the pants, baby--underwear too."

You pulled yourself off of him, stepping back to slowly peel off your pants and underwear. Your hands were shaking slightly, nervous about being completely naked in front of him. When you stood back up, you found Dean's gaze glued to your body, eyes tracing every inch of you he could see.

He reached out to touch you, but you took a step back, making him look up at you in surprise.

You smirked slightly, feeling emboldened by the obvious desire in his eyes.

"Baby..." he said softly. "Come here."

You shook your head. "Not until you're naked too."

He raised an eyebrow at you, but a small smirk danced across his lips. He liked your commanding voice--he was almost surprised by how much it turned him on.

He stood up, eyes never leaving your face. He slowly took off his jeans, stepping forward to get out of them. He hooked his fingers into his boxers and lowered them slowly, keeping eye contact with you the entire time.

You inhaled sharply as you took in his size--much larger than you were accustomed to. Your eyes flicked back up to his and his smirk had widened slightly.

"Like what you see, pretty girl?"

"Very much, but I'm a little...concerned."

"About what?"

You looked down at his cock and back up at his face. "You're a little...large."

He laughed softly. "I'll be gentle."

"I'm more concerned about it not fitting."

He grinned. "That should not make me feel so good," he chuckled. "It'll fit, sweetheart. You'll see."

"I trust you."

He smiled and took a step towards you, arms wrapping around you and pulling you closer. He kissed you softly, hands roaming your skin, loving the feeling of your softness. "Fuck, baby--I wanna taste you. I need to."

You gasped softly as two of his fingers gently swiped between your pussy lips, collecting some of your slick. He brought the fingers to his mouth and sucked on them, a soft moan slipping from his lips.

"You taste delicious, sweetness. I want more."

He pulled you down onto the bed with him, tugging your body on top of him. You kissed him passionately, as you ground your hips against his cock.

He groaned into your mouth and his hands traveled up your back, massaging soft circles into your skin.

"Come up here, baby," he begged.

You pulled back, staring at him in confusion. "I don't understand."

He gently caressed your thighs. "I wanna taste you--come sit on my face."

"Do you have a death wish?"

He looked surprised. "What?"

"I'll smother you, Dean."

He rolled his eyes. "Then I'll die an extremely happy man. Suffocate me between those thick, sexy thighs, baby."

Your eyes widened, but you were more than a little intrigued by the concept. You'd never been asked to sit on anyone's face before and you'd certainly never suggested it. You had to admit, you'd always wanted to try it.

"Are you sure?"

"Fuck yeah, babe."

"Okay," you agreed softly.

Dean gently guided you towards his face, helping you straddle his head. His left hand gripped your right hip and he laid his right hand on your left thigh.

"Put my hand above your cuts so I can hold onto you," he requested softly.

You took his right hand and placed it just above the deep gashes on your left hip.

"Good girl," Dean praised. "Now have a seat and let me feast on you."

You lowered yourself onto his mouth, but didn't quite sit down. Instead of admonishing you, Dean dug his fingers into your flesh and tugged you down firmly.

You cried out in a mixture of surprise and pleasure as his tongue slipped through your folds. Dean groaned loudly as he began to devour you.

You had never in your life felt pleasure like Dean was giving you in this moment. The sounds that his ministrations pulled from your lips were absolutely sinful. Your legs had already begun to shake and you were gripping the headboard like your life depended on it.

"Dean, I'm so close," you gasped.

He moaned into your core and his fingers dug further into your flesh, blunt nails scraping against your skin. He didn't stop his actions--the desire to feel you cum outweighing his need to breathe.

Within moments, you cried out as your orgasm washed over you, your thighs squeezing his head tightly. Dean continued working you through your orgasm until you started to squirm away from him. He finally let you go and you leaned back onto his chest as you tried to catch your breath.

Dean moved you as gently as he could, shifting you to straddle his hips as he pulled himself into a sitting position, feet planted firmly on the floor beside the bed. He pulled you against his chest and brushed his fingers through your hair.

"You okay, baby?" he asked softly, lips pressed to your forehead.

"More than okay," you mumbled into his chest.

He chuckled softly as he held you against him, loving the feeling of your softness beneath his fingers.

After a few more moments, you sat up and bit your lip. "Dean?"

He smiled at you. "Hmm?"

"I want you to fuck me."

His eyes widened slightly and he shifted his hips under you, brushing his cock against your core. "I'm happy to oblige," he teased softly.

You sighed as he kissed you deeply, allowing you to taste yourself on his tongue. You moaned into the kiss and his hands slid down your body, lifting you slightly so he could line himself up with your entrance.

"Are you sure you wanna do it in this position?" you asked quietly.

"It's the only position where I can pleasure you, hold you close, and avoid hurting you. So yeah, baby, I'm sure."

You looked into his beautiful green eyes and smiled warmly. You could feel how much he cared about you and it warmed your soul.

"You ready?" he whispered.

"I'm ready."

He held his cock firmly, letting you take the lead as you slowly lowered yourself down onto him. By the time you'd lowered yourself completely, you were both breathless.

The stretch was incredible--unlike anything you'd ever experienced. You swore you could feel him in your lower belly--you'd never felt so full.

Dean leaned his forehead against yours, breathing heavily as he let you adjust to his size.

"You can move now," you whispered.

"Just one moment, sweetheart, I--I need a moment."

"Are you okay?"

He looked up at your pretty face and smiled. "I'm fucking phenomenal, babe...but your pussy feels so goddamn incredible, so tight and warm--I just need a second to control myself."

You blushed at his praise, warmth rushing through your body at his words. You pressed a soft kiss to his lips, then his jaw, before finding the sweet spot on his neck that made him moan.

His hands dug into your flesh as he started to roll his hips against yours. You gasped softly against his skin, pleasure washing over you.

"Hold onto me, sweetheart," Dean murmured softly.

You did as he asked, clinging tightly to his shoulders and tightening your thighs against his.

Dean wrapped his arms around you, careful not to hold you too tightly or touch your stitched wounds. He pressed his lips softly against your collarbone as he rolled his hips again.

He gave you less than a second to get comfortable before he began to thrust up into you in earnest. His feet were planted firmly on the floor, allowing him to piston up into you.

"Dean!" you gasped, nails digging into his shoulders.

Each thrust was calculated and hard, making your body shiver with pleasure. He shifted slightly, pulling you more firmly into his chest, which changed the angle of his thrusts. The new angle allowed him to hit your g-spot with each thrust.

You moaned loudly and dug your nails more firmly into his shoulders and back.

"There it is," Dean murmured against your soft skin. "Feels so good, baby."

"Don't stop," you pleaded.

"I have no intention to."

His thrusts sped up to an almost shocking speed and your whole body vibrated with pleasure. You could feel your orgasm quickly approaching, but you couldn't voice it. The pleasure overwhelmed your mind--rendering you speechless.

"You close baby? I can feel you squeezing me."

In response, you nipped at his shoulder and moaned into his skin.

He chuckled lightly. "That's it, pretty girl. I want you to cum for me--wanna feel you cum all over my cock."

You whimpered softly, "Please."

"I've got you, baby. Let go for me."

Your legs had begun to shake and you cried out in pleasure as your orgasm slammed into you with surprising force. You called his name as he worked you through it, thrusts beginning to falter as he chased his own high.

"I'm close, baby," he whispered against your throat.

You used what strength you had left to clamp down onto his cock, squeezing him as tightly as you could.

"Oh--fuck," Dean gasped. He began to cum inside you, coating your walls with his seed. He sunk his teeth into your shoulder to keep himself from crying out at the intensity of his orgasm.

You relaxed your body against him as his thrusts slowed to a stop, forehead resting against his shoulder as you tried to catch your breath.

Dean's arms were still wrapped around you, holding you close to him as he came down from his high. He placed soft open mouthed kisses to your skin and whispered sweet nothings.

Dean began to shift his body as his member softened inside you. You whimpered softly, body too sensitive for any kind of movement.

"Sorry, sweetheart. You okay?"

You nodded. "I'm okay, just a little sore."

He grinned wolfishly. "That makes me feel good."

You laughed softly and smacked his arm affectionately. "It's a little bit of you and a little of that whole monster fight from earlier."

He made a pouty face, which only made you laugh more. The increased laughter hurt your sore ribs and you winced at the pain.

"Shit, sorry sweetheart."

"Not your fault."

He brushed your hair back from your face so he could look at you better. "You look so sexy right now, baby."

You blushed. "I look like I had the shit beat out of me."

"Nah, you look like you just got well and properly fucked," he teased.

You chuckled slightly. "It was quite nice, I must say."

He grinned. "Just you wait until you're all healed up--I'm gonna fuck you so good you won't be able to walk straight for days."

You gasped. "Oh my."

He licked his lips and kissed you softly. "I could kiss you all night long."

"As much as I would love that, I think we should take a shower. I'm exhausted."

"Alright, pretty girl." Dean stood up, still holding you. You wrapped your legs around his waist to avoid falling to the ground. "I've got you, (Y/N/N)."

You looked down at him. "I know."

He smiled and kissed you gently. "Shower, then bed."

"Yes, sir."

"Oo," he said happily. "I like that."

You grinned. "I'll keep that in mind for later."

Dean grinned back at you. "You're gonna be in for a wild ride, sweetness."

"Is that a promise?"

"Absolutely."

After your shower, Dean carried you back to your bed and laid you down gently. He crawled into the bed beside you and pulled you close so your head was resting on his chest.

He kissed the top of your head and ran his fingers up and down your arm. "I want you to come with us," he said suddenly.

"What?" you asked in surprise as you looked up at him.

"I want you to come hunt with Sam and I...permanently."

"Are you--are you sure?"

"I told you this was real for me, baby. I want to try this with you, and that means you should be with me. I mean--if you want."

You smiled at him and touched his cheek gently. "I would love to go with you."

He grinned happily and kissed you sweetly. "Excellent. I'm sure Sam won't mind."

"As long as we get our own room, I'm sure he won't," you teased.

He laughed. "Oh yeah, we're gonna need that."

You smiled and kissed his chest softly. You yawned and curled further into him, exhaustion finally weighing you down.

"Go to sleep baby. I'll be right here when you wake up," Dean whispered.

You fell fast asleep in Dean's arms and he watched you for a while before sleep finally came to him. He hadn't felt so full and happy in a long time and it was one hundred percent because of you. He felt honored you were willing to give a relationship with him a chance, despite everything that had happened between the two of you in the past. He was determined to do everything he could to make sure you never regretted that decision.

Buy Me a Coffee 💜

[theemissuniverse]

“GOTTA BE QUICKER THAN THAT” KENSHI X FEM!READER

SUMMARY : You always try to attack Kenshi randomly but it never works. (He is blind btw)

WARNINGS : MINORS DONT INTERACT. Nothing major but mentions of kenshi being “hard” lmao

A/N : originally suppose to be with Liu Kang but I have zero Kenshi content and plus it’s funnier with him

MASTERLIST

Kenshi was meditating in his room. Trying to relieve all the stress and anxiety that filled his spirit. It was always something that felt calming to him.

Something disturbed him though. His senses were severely heightened. He could smell perfume. Your perfume. He recognized your scent.

Immediately he stood up and blocked the hit that was coming at him. He blocked the second hit that was coming to his stomach.

Kenshi grabbed your right arm. He twisted it and threw you the ground. You groaned a little. “You have to be lying that you’re blind.”

He chuckled. “Don’t be mad that you got beat by a blind man.” He teased. He held his hand for you to take.

You take his hand and dusted yourself off. “This isn’t over!” You walked off angrily.

“I’m sure it isn’t.”

The next day, Kenshi was speaking to Johnny about the movie he was working on. “I am not being in your movie, Cage.” Kenshi told him.

Johnny whined. “Why not? It will be fun. I promise and-“ He cut himself off when he saw you walking behind Kenshi.

Kenshi awaited for Johnny to continue speaking. “And what?”

“And…” Johnny decided to help you by distracting him. “You’re like totally the most kick ass guy I know. You got to do it.”

“Who do you got that’s playing as me anyway?”

“Someone that’s super hot.”

“Are you calling me hot?”

“Shut up.”

This time, Kenshi recognized you were behind him because you’re heavy footed. So, he waited for you to strike.

You went to sweep at Kenshi’s legs but Kenshi jumped over your move. Kenshi then turned to face you. You went to kick him in the stomach but he blocked it.

Kenshi jumped back at all your upcoming attacks. He then used your own attack against you and swept your feet.

You fall to the ground and groan in pain. “This is just getting sad.” Kenshi told you.

“I will prevail!”

Kenshi helps you get back up. You give Johnny a look that was dying of laughter. You placed your hands on your hips. “It’s not funny.” Johnny couldn’t even argue with you. He fell down from laughing so hard. You rolled your eyes and Kenshi chuckled.

Liu Kang was meditating at the courtyard. You immediately stomped towards him. Liu Kang recognized your stomps and opened his eyes.

“Lord Liu Kang you gotta teach me how to beat Kenshi. There’s no way he can beat me. Are y’all pranking me? Is he not actually blind?” When you realized you didn’t bow to him, you sighed at yourself. “Oh yeah.” You bowed quickly then got back on track. “Are you gonna help me or what?”

Liu Kang stood up from the ground. “You two are still going at it?”

“Yes because I am the best and I will reign as champion.”

He snickered some and motioned towards him. “Try to strike me.”

You gave him a look. “You sure? I don’t want to hurt you Lord Liu Kang.”

“Oh really?”

You tried to kick at Liu Kang and he blocked it instantly. You then tried to throw a punch at him but he blocked it again. You tried to do a roundhouse kick but Liu Kang backed up.

Finally, you tried to kick his feet. Liu Kang grabbed your leg and threw you to the ground. “Ow.”

Liu Kang dusted his hands a little before speaking. “Your first problem is-you’re cocky. You think you can beat him because you believe he has the disadvantage.”

You stood up from the ground and cracked your neck. “Great. What’s the second?”

“Your attacks are far too predictable. Coming from Kenshi- you spend all your time with him. He knows you. Thirdly, his senses are heightened. Even I recognized you were coming to me because you are the only one I know that is so heavy footed. It also would help too if you did not wear that perfume.”

You listened to everything Liu Kang said and took it all in. You then nodded. “So stop being cocky, be unpredictable, stop stomping and lose the perfume. Thanks Lord Liu Kang.” You were about to walk away but you turned to look at him. “Do I have to bow at you every time or-“

“Just go and challenge Kenshi.”

Kenshi was in his room but this time he was doing his exercises. It was strange. You had not tried to attack him all day. His guard was up.

What he didn’t know was that you were in his closet and were waiting for the perfect opportunity to strike. You had cut the perfume out and were going to make sure you weren’t so heavy footed.

You also were gonna take in Liu Kang’s other advice.

Kenshi held his hands together with his head down. You watched as he preformed another exercise.

He was only in his sweats. Kenshi was completely shirtless and you had to admit-he did look good.

‘Focus (Y/N)!’ You yelled at yourself internally before slowly opening the door. You were careful not to make a sound.

Kenshi did not hear you and continued with his exercises. With every step you to took, you made sure to take very slow.

He still did not spot it was you. This time you didn’t go for the obvious strike. You placed your arms around Kenshi’s neck and held him in a chokehold.

Kenshi grabbed at your arms, slightly confused. Then when he felt a familiar scar on your arm, he knew it was you. “(Y/N)?”

“Say I’m the greatest of all time and I’ll let you go.” You told him, still having him in a chokehold.

Kenshi elbowed your gut. Your arm’s immediately let go of him. He then twisted your arm and threw you but he had thrown you on the bed.

You plopped on the bed. You looked around and then back him. “This is a little kinky don’t you think?”

Kenshi chuckled. “You started it.”

You went to kick his stomach but he blocked it. You kept throwing punches at him and he stayed blocking them, on defense.

You finally got him good. You landed one right on his nose. His nose was bleeding slightly. He felt his nose and then turned to you. “You really want to do this, (L/N)?”

“Bring it.”

“Okay.” Kenshi got in his offense stance. “But if I win you got to go on a date with me.”

Your eyes widen a little at his advance. “Oh? Maybe I’ll lose then.”

He snickered. This time, Kenshi threw the first punch. You blocked it. This time you felt forced to be on defense mode while Kenshi was on offense.

This happened for some time. He kept going at you blow for blow until eventually he had got you good. He kicked you into the stomach so hard, you fell to the ground.

Kenshi heard the loud thud on the ground and instantly got worried. “Are you okay?”

You didn’t reply. You flipped yourself back up and landed on your feet. You went to hit him on the right side of his face. Kenshi blocked it. He went to hit you at the left side of your face but you blocked it.

Kenshi tried to kick you but you kicked his leg back. He stumbled a little. You gave him a good punch to the gut and he stumbled again. You finally threw him on the bed.

You got on top of him and you rested your arm around his neck. You were choking him. “Concede.”

He tapped your arm, motioning to you that he conceded.

You let go of him. You blinked your eyes in shock. “I did it?” You laughed slightly. “I won! Ha! Say it!”

If Kenshi could roll his eyes, he would. “You’re the greatest of all time.”

“Don’t you forget it. I cannot wait to brag to-“

Kenshi couldn’t take it anymore. He brought your chin down to him and kissed you. You sat there, a little shocked but you kissed him back none the less.

His lips tasted beautiful. Kenshi felt like a delight. Especially when his other hand started to grab onto your hip.

You pulled away a little. Kenshi touched the bottom of your lip. “I still want a date.”

You felt himself grow a little hard and you chuckled. “Worry about a cold shower first.” You got up from him and opened Kenshi’s door to call out to your friends. “Guys I beat him! In your face! Screw everyone that said I couldn’t do it.”

Kenshi smiled and laid back on the bed. What you didn’t know was that Kenshi had let you win. In reality, Kenshi was just the better fighter but he knew how much it meant to you for you to win so he let you.

And he didn’t regret it one bit.

[blueberrycig]

when patrick lets you win  !!!!! college !!!!! wc: 1048 she's steamy so 18+ meeoww

the sun hangs high. you can feel the heat over every part of your exposed skin. it’s intense. hot. sticky. It’s difficult to see him through the glare of the sunbeams, but what a treat to cast what little of your sight over his shirtless torso. patrick grunts, returning your shot with fast speed and muscles rippling as he pretends to not take it easy on you. 

“nice serve,” he calls out from the baseline. his voice is deep, steady and smooth, as if you hadn’t been striking balls back and forth under the sweltering sun for the past hour. your skin tingles at his address. you fight not to peel the stupid tennis dress off your melting body, however it would be a better idea to share a cold shower with your opponent. 

“can you handle another?” you say, voice dripping in honey and mischief.

patrick’s smirk is devilish, eyes sparking with smugness. you know exactly what he wants. 

you toss the ball high and rocket it over the net. you’re focusing on him more than where the ball went. you watch the way his body reacts with anticipation, already predicting your movements before you’ve thought of them. he returns with power, and you lunge for the ball, both dancing for dominance. you can’t remember a moment where you peel your eyes off each other. 

the tension is growing and you can feel electric currents in the air as the ball cracks up and down between you. a drip of sweat trickles down the valley of your boobs, where you hope his tongue will follow as reward whether you win or lose today. 

suddenly, with one last smack, you win the point. you’re breathless yet unsatisfied, staring at your boyfriend with fury. you feel heat threatening to spill out your body as he wipes the sweat from his brow bone and strides towards the net, taking large gulps from your discarded water bottle. 

“you let me win,” you sneer, stomping to meet him in the middle. “asshole.” 

patrick grins that stupid fucking smile as you stand inches apart, only a flimsy barrier of mesh between you. he attempts to hand you the contents of what’s left in the bottle but you swat it away, trembling with rage as it bounces off the ground. “baby, it’s hot out. we can go makeout or something where there’s ac.” 

you’re sulking and not meeting his gaze, “not your call.” 

“let me see your face.” he hums. you haven’t learned to deny his requests yet, his dominant nature casting a net over you over the past few months. you peer up through your lashes, trying to hide your pout but you annoyingly can’t help it. 

patrick fucking loves it when you get mad at him and look like this, fighting against every instinct in your body yet still responding to him. it’s like you worship him or something. the arousal builds in his core and he feels his shorts begin to tighten.

patrick’s strong hand weaves through the back of your hair, and he forces you against him, smashing your lips together and pressing deeply. he knows how much you want to breathe him in, even in moments when you want to kill him. your hands are on his bare, sweaty chest as you attempt to pry him off, but a moan escapes as he forcefully deepens the kiss and your fingers dance down his flexing muscles.

he feels exactly when you melt into his touch, slinging your arms around his shoulders, wanting more. you always do. weak thing. 

it takes no effort to pick you up by the waist and place you down gently on his side of the net, not daring to break the kiss. you feel hot to the core, the hairs on the nape of your neck standing to attention. your tongue slides against his, both being reckless, messy and greedy with each other. a display too wet for a public space, you’re feeling the electricity as the wetness also gathers in your panties.

smack. 

you squeal as he paws at your, now searing, bottom. the heat of his touch sizzles against your skin, and you instinctively roll your neck back, wanting to fuse into him and bury into his skin. the fabric of your dress dances up as he kneads and grabs your hot, well-rounded ass. you press into him instinctively. more, more, more. so greedy.

you can feel his thickness against your belly button as his wet mouth attacks your sticky neck, kissing and licking all the way down your clavicle. the earth is spinning as you both taste salt and sweat. 

his hands are everywhere, peeling away the dress and up under it. 

“patrick,” you try to say in between breaths, body arching into his. 

he’s lapping at your neck and his fingers are gliding teasingly over the fabric covering your heat. “hmm?” 

“people might come soon - ah.”

“i don’t care.” he mutters against your skin. he takes a large hand and grabs your face, cheeks smushing under his grasp. “they can watch.” 

you’re looking at him with those doe eyes, lips plump as he forcefully commands your face. so ripe. so ready for him. it’s exactly how he likes you. 

you laugh, unexpectedly, and he lets you go, humour twinkling in his eyes too. 

“not all of us have gone pro,” you tease, pushing him off you and jumping back over the net. you begin to collect your belongings off the court and look back at him. “some of us actually don’t want to get kicked out of college, thanks.” 

it pains you to cut the fun short since you’re hot to the touch and your panties are completely pooled with desire. you’re somehow content though. he’ll follow you wherever you’re going.

he laughs, running a hand through his wet, brown mop of hair and looking down at his glaring hard-on. he copies, hopping over the net and immediately taking the gym bag out of your arms and throwing it over his shoulder. 

your darling boy swings an arm around you as you begin to walk back to your dorm room, “continue in the shower?” 

[jq37]

neme(sis)

Summary: The Rat Grinders actually fight the Bad Kids on the Hangman instead of just sending dragons and Adaine has to do some quick thinking.

"Adaine Abernant."

Adaine winced, clutching her head as Raulothim's Psychic Lance pierced her mind. It figured Oisin knew the spell. Raulothim was a dragon after all. She wondered if he learned it in class like her or if he'd come to school already familiar with the spell because of his dragon ancestor who was currently trying to swallow Gorgug, axe and all. She didn't wonder for too long though. There wasn't time.

"See what you can do with access to proper spell components?" Oisin called from the other side of the room, his tone mocking.

"That spell doesn't even have material components!" Adaine called back in spite of herself. Insulting her was one thing but getting basic spellcraft wrong while doing it? Unacceptable. She ignored his expression, smug from getting a rise out of her no doubt, and surveyed the battlefield. The Rat Grinders had caught them on their back foot. Things were going OK but they were playing defense. And no one was where they needed to be. Spellcasters too close to melee, fighters out of range. Only Gorgug was arguably in the right place but he was far too close to being dragon food for her liking. Fabian needed to be closer to the action, Riz needed cover, and she…

Adaine suppressed a smile, idea forming in her mind. She needed to be in punching distance.

"Scatter," she said, raising a hand. Five creatures: Gorgug, Riz, Fabian, Kristen…and Oisin.

Her party members didn't fight the spell, well used to the feeling of her magic working on them mid-battle and knowing that it never meant harm. As she moved them to more advantageous positions, she was hit with a flash of the future: Oisin resisting the spell. She reached out and nudged fate just a bit. Nearby, Ivy walked dangerously close to a breath weapon attack. Oisin startled, moved to grab her, and--pop. Suddenly, he was standing right next to Adaine who was already rearing her fist.

"Counterspell!" Oisin called, runes on his forearms glowing. The expression on his face was even more smug as the blue energy charging on her fist fizzled.

"Predictable," he said.

"Gullible," Adaine thought, halting her fist without following through on the punch and stomping her foot on the ground to activate the teleportation circle they were both now standing on. Because of course the boy with the empty house and unlimited funds would have a teleportation circle installed so he could have his friends over as often as possible. Teleportation via spell needed a willing creature but a Circle? That just needed proximity.

As the spell went off, she concentrated. The benefit of a teleportation circle was that it couldn't go wrong like a normal Teleport spell could. It wasn't supposed to anyway. But any magic could be tweaked if you pushed hard enough. She remembered winding up in the wrong room in the twisted version of Mordred inside Riz's briefcase and concentrated on that feeling. She was sure she was going to have a headache in the morning but that was more than a fair price. She wrenched control of the spell, just enough to force the circle to spit them out a little bit outside of the paired circle in Mordred. There was a flash of light and--forget having a headache tomorrow. Her head felt like it had been bashed in with a pickaxe the moment they landed on the floor of her bedroom. She didn't think she'd be able to get back up for a minute or two--she didn't even try. Oisin didn't seem to have that problem though. He got up and stood over her.

He smirked. "I thought the elven oracle was supposed to be more of a challenge. I knew we'd come out on top but I didn't think it'd be so easy." He raised his hands, readying a spell, but the sparks at his clawtips died as quickly as they were produced. He tried the spell again to the same result, too focused to notice the sudden subtle sheen to the patterns painted on her bedroom walls.

A Sending spell pinged in her mind. "Ten seconds, dear sister."

A smile played on Adaine's lips.

"What?" Oisin demanded.

"Just that you all have been so obsessed with being our nemeses this whole time. But that was never gonna happen with you and me. That position is already filled."

There was another flash of light and before it even cleared, Adaine felt the tingle of magic settling over her like a second skin. Her sister's abjurer's ward extending to cover her reflexively. Just beyond the ward, she could feel the temperature in the room start to drop--a side effect of the Cone of Cold that was about to erupt from Aelwyn's outstretched hands.

"You're familiar with my bitch of a sister, right?"

[presidentbungus]

Distractions - engie/medic, ~1k

ao3

finally returning to the time-honored art of feverishly scribbling down a short little science party fic in the middle of the night. my brain disease is back. please enjoy

“I have to say, laborer, I expected better from you.”

His back hits the wall, bare head thunks against it. He lost his hard hat in the first scuffle. And his shotgun. And his pistol. The metal of the gun barrel pressed against his forehead ain’t cold anymore.

Part of him wishes the son of a bitch would get on with it already. The other part of him, though, is the one that’s making him sweat like a stuck pig, and is the one locking his mouth shut.

Good ol’ instinct for ya. Won’t even let you bite yourself in the ass.

Spy just sits there for a second, that smug-poodle look on his face, and he tilts his head. Keeps making a show of fidgeting with the trigger, like he doesn’t even know how stupid it looks. “Not going to say anything? Any last words, laborer?”

“What, you want an autograph?”

He laughs at that, but not in the nice way. “I don't think you are in a position to speak to me that way."

"I think you're in a great position to take a hike and go stick that goddamn muzzle—“

Spy makes a big old ruckus of adjusting his grip on the gun, so he shuts up.

“You are pathetic,” Spy says, sweet ‘n simple. “Hm?”

What a hypocrite. Engineer might hear something—Spy’s being too full of himself to pay any attention. Tap-tap-tap. Footsteps, perfectly even.

“Are you not going to reply to me?”

Engineer just smiles, politely. “Ain’t you supposed to be a good spy?”

Spy hears it too, by now, and he should know better than to relax his grip on the gun when the calculation runs through his pea brain.

Flash of white. Stomp-stomp-stomp. A glower that’s mad enough to probably kill on its own. Engineer grips the barrel of the revolver in his fist while he's distracted, points it at the ceiling as a gunshot rings out and a lotta emotions run through Spy’s face at once—fear-related, mostly.

And, well, he should’ve known better than to put his back to a doorway.

He doesn’t even get to turn around before Medic grips the back of his suit and thrusts the übersaw straight through his head. Engineer whistles at the bit of brain coating the edge as Medic twists once, laughs, and dislodges it, leaving Spy to fall to the ground like a bag of rice.

“Shameful,” he tuts.

Engie stands up, dusts himself off, goes to grab his hard hat but he’s stopped by an arm wrapping around his waist, pulling him in close.

He half-complains till Medic pulls him into a very sudden kiss and, well, that shuts him right up. Whenever they pull away (which takes a while) Medic frowns and says: “What, not even a thank-you?”

“Well.” He’s a little breathless, to be honest. “Gimme a second.”

Medic hums and releases him. “I marched across the entire field. Soldier is going to try to murder me when I get back. Nevertheless he will not succeed, but it will be annoying. You should be grateful.”

“The whole field, huh? And you knew I was in trouble?”

“I have a sixth sense for these things, Engineer. And you are very predictable, you know.”

Engineer finds his hat in the corner of the room, dusts it off, and puts it back on, going back over to Medic to pat his admittedly finely sculpted chest. “Well, either you’re psychic or you put a chip in my spine you’re refusin’ to tell me about. Which one do ya think’s more likely?”

“It’s very important to me to keep tabs on your health,” he says, simply.

“I’m sure it is.”

“Besides, don’t act like you weren’t waiting for me to come rescue you.”

"Well, it’s your fault for making me dependent,” he muses, yanking on that nice straight tie of his just for the little wheeze that pulls out of him. “I could handle it myself if I really wanted to.”

“Oh, I'm sorry." Medic puts a hand on his back, grins, and then lifts him up in a bridal carry, cackling as he yelps, gently knocking their foreheads together. Then: "I suppose I'll just have to stop saving you, Schatz. Keep you on your toes, yes?”

“Hey now. Never said that.”

“I just feel so unappreciated, Engineer… never get any thanks for the things I do…”

Well.

Engineer grips him real tight by the tie (again) and brings him in and they almost fall over on top of each other, but Medic catches himself on a wall which Engineer bangs his head against and somehow they manage to find their way to each other in the meantime. The kiss is short, sweet, and vicious, and Engineer pulls away to wait for Medic to go in himself and he does not hesitate one second, which was really the whole endgame anyway. Eventually Medic sets him down and pins him instead and that’s great and all but right against the wall where he is, a lot of what he’s getting is just a nice round view of Spy’s mangled corpse spilled across the ground.

Which is definitely something. It’s hard to find space with how Doc’s basically mauling him but eventually he manages to push him back, and he takes a second to catch his breath and says: “I’m sorry but the corpse is kinda ruining the mood for me.”

Medic looks back… then forward, to Engineer, with a huge sigh. “That makes sense.”

Engineer smiles, finally releasing his death-grip on Medic’s tie and placing a hand on his chest that in concept is supposed to push him away, though he stays right in place and doesn’t seem to get the message. “And look, I’m sorry to be the one who has to say this, but we should probably get back to work soonish, anyway.”

He pouts. “Oh, nonsense.”

“How long’ve you been away? Soldier’s gonna rip you apart.”

“I will simply rip Soldier apart before he rips me apart.”

“… I don’t think that’s how it works.”

“You don’t know that.”

Engineer can’t keep down a scoff. “We are the two people on the whole team who shouldn’t go missing under any circumstances.”

Medic finally pushes away, grumbling. “You always do this.”

“I like my job. You like your job, I think. Right?"

"... Well..."

"Oh, c'mon, darlin'."

He leans down until their foreheads are touching. “I’m afraid I don’t like my job as much as I like you.”

Engineer can’t resist the urge to peck him on the nose after that, but he swiftly sidesteps the revenge kiss and starts heading out of the room. Whatever indignant thing Medic shouts is covered over by him shouting back: “We’ll reconvene!”

And all he gets back from that is a very protracted groan, and at least the mental image of two hideous kitten-eyes, and that's good enough for him for now.

[updownlately]

it's been seven minutes (since i lost the girl of my dreams)

| leah williamson x reader | angst | a/n: got this idea earlier today but didn't get the chance to write till now (aka 3:30 am). inspired by 7 minutes by dean lewis (shocker)

~~~

It’s been ten months of you both dating before your world comes crashing down. You would've never predicted that a singular text would be the beginning of the end.

Driving to your girlfriend's house at nine pm on a Wednesday night was not in your plans for that day, but you didn't mind- you never minded when it came to Leah, you'd do anything for her.

You could've never predicted the eight words that suckered punched you in the chest soon after your arrival. Upon entering, you'd noticed the awkward tension in the foyer as you were greeted in, the always-confident blonde wringing her hands as she ushered you in, deftly avoiding giving you a greeting kiss. It was only as she brought you to the island, took a handful of deep breaths and started speaking did it all sink in. Unsuccessful in your attempt to swallow the lump in your throat, you felt the blood rush in your ears as the defender spoke, not meeting your eyes.

"I don’t think we were meant for forever"

It's been seven minutes since all your hopes and dreams for the future came tumbling down, ablaze, unable to be saved. Seven minutes since your tears started to silently fall, any attempt to wipe them futile as you tried to ignore Leah's sympathetic look.

Since then you'd been driving around aimlessly for the better part of six minutes- blurred vision, no idea where you were going, no care where you ended up, just as long as you were away from the blonde- far away from the one who just ripped your heart out of your chest and let it fall unceremoniously on the ground, ready to be stomped on.

Five days is how long it took before you even remotely start to feel human again. You’d been through heartbreaks before, of relationships that were much longer, but somehow nothing had ever hurt this bad, this much. None of them had meant anything remotely close to this. You'd finally thought you'd found the one- finally convinced that love did exist, only to be proven wrong, your innocent assumption blowing up in your face.

For you she was forever. You’d come to that conclusion a few months ago, when she had joined you as you sat on the grass, head tossed back, your music playing softly as you let the weight of life crash down upon you. You'd let yourself break in front of her, trusting that she'd catch you, and she did. She caught you, held on tight, picked you up, that is, until she let you fall the remaining way, all by yourself.

It had you silently wondering if she'd ever meant those three words when she'd whisper them to you late in the night. If her promise of I love you ever meant anything to her. Had the words always been as empty as what you felt now?

Two weeks pass before you see her again, your heart clenching in agony as you see her smiling shyly at her phone, a red hue coating her cheeks as one paints your vision. That used to be you, and now it wasn't, and you'd be lying if you said that your heart wasn't wrenching in pain, chest constricting so tight you feared you'd forget how to breathe. So caught up in your love, you'd never stepped back to see if it was reciprocated, and you couldn't help but feel like an idiot now.

It's why one month later you’re signing your papers for your transfer, the new year the perfect time for a new you, a fresh start.

If love wasn't meant for you, then so be it. If it's what the universe had planned for you, then you weren't going to let someone break your heart again. It's why zero was the number of times you'd let yourself love again, heart locked away for good, walls up higher than anyone could ever climb.

[gardenofnoah]

turn me like a beast / hold you to the floor

tags: nanami kento x reader, princess!reader, violence, injuries (minor), non-graphic descriptions of hunting, medium burn, sort of enemies to lovers but mostly scared strangers to unfortunate lovers, the fall of a dynasty, character death (sorry), reincarnation, bittersweet ending. mdni.

wc: 6.5k ish

notes: for @medusashima’s collab—indulging myself (and y’all) in my take on one of my favorite stories. i hope you like it 💘 this is based on the tale of the two fossils found wrapped up in each other in an unlikely pairing (which is made even better by the fact that it is not fiction and it happened!! love is real nerd!!). there’s a really phenomenal webtoon called burrow (by saige9) that makes me cry and that y’all should read immediately. anyway, enjoy. love u

summary: the world is at its end, and an unlikely pair finds solace in each other. to love is an animal thing.

it shocks you, how gentle a tug it takes to unravel everything that you were. only a thing between two others—before: a princess on a hill, the unraveling, and who you’ll be after.

your feet stomp clumsily over dirt and jagged rock—softened soles split open easily with each stride. but, ever your grandmother's frightened little rabbit, not even that searing pain is enough to thwart you in your descent down the hill—away from what is surely certain death. nothing but the animal need to survive pushing you forward—to get to whatever comes next.

it happened too fast—the only way a dynasty can fall to those privileged enough not to notice the slow decline of the society around them until it's too late. your family spoke of pockets of uprisings as if they were fictitious and theoretical—some grandiose, far away prediction of the old crone that haunted the village below your compound, and certainly not the men concealed by shade of trees that had been pruned by your family for centuries, salivating but patient for the perfect moment to strike.

and then they were dead. all of them but you.

a childhood of exploring the grounds of your family home proves useful in knowing without much thought which paths lead farthest from the carnage at your back, but your fright makes you uncoordinated—mechanical in your stride. the price to stop for even a second is far too high, and the hounds that howl after you in the dark serve as a constant reminder of the consequence of hesitation. so, bruised and bleeding, you keep on.

you run until your lungs threaten to collapse and then on farther. your feet carry you through unfamiliar wood, but in your rush, your brain rationalizes that the repercussions of trespassing cannot be much worse than what's behind you. and that seems to be the truth—right up until the real consequence drops out of the tree above you and pins you to the earth below, a blade to your throat.

gritted teeth snap too close to your face. you hear a deep voice—maybe a deeper threat, something to raise the hair on the back of your neck if you could only focus on the words. the world spins and your mind struggles to make sense of the sudden stop in motion, but something far more animal inside you decides that it's had enough. against any remaining survival instinct, you feel all tension bleed from your body—the stranger's face comes into clearer view right as you go limp underneath him. resignation wins out—your limbs wouldn't move if you pleaded with them to.

blond eyebrows meet hairline as your attacker is caught off guard by your forfeiture. "what are you—"

once distant howls growing nearer cut him off. he looks over his shoulder, eyes narrowed at something he cannot yet see. you watch from outside yourself as he turns back toward you. dark eyes meet your own and you see the decision make itself—in one instant you are free of his bodyweight, and in the next you are weightless as he hauls you over his shoulder.

he makes it no more than 10 feet down the path before the last bit of adrenaline leaves you and is replaced by a sudden, blinding pain with no identifiable source. you feel it everywhere—all of the seemingly inconsequential injuries catching up with you now that you've stopped moving. the receding tree line is the last thing you see before the world goes dark.

.

..

the warmth that surrounds you is decadent. you curl into it, reluctant to break the spell of sleep. but then you remember.

you shoot upright, sending at least three layers of blankets rolling off of you. you pinch the fabric of the top one between your fingers—alpaca. not native, but farmed here over the last century or so. you know (and had been told) that it was unbecoming of a princess to hold so much commonplace knowledge. but then again, status matters little now, and this blanket is soft. you're grateful to know the beast it was made from.

it hurts, but you coax your head into swiveling around to survey your surroundings, surprised when you find that it's very clearly someone's home. it's old—some of the wooden boards that line the walls have started to bow against the nails that drove them into the framework of the house, and daylight peaks through the cracks. the bed you rest in can barely be called that—an old futon cushion atop bundles of straw. but it's warm, and you slept. someone has been taking care of you. the thought is sobering; the anxiety that comes with it is enough to hold you to the bed for the foreseeable future.

but your stomach growls, and the bodily betrayal forces you to move. you do it slowly, kicking both feet out from under the blankets. to see them bandaged is startlingly unexpected.

your memories until now are fuzzy at best, but the last thing you distinctly recall is the feeling of sharpened metal biting into your skin. there are few ways you can fathom connecting the dots from that moment to this—swaddled in blankets with your wounds tended to. it leaves you on edge.

on two feet, you sway a bit—the hunger feeds the vertigo that spins the surroundings in your peripheral. one hand braced on the bed now behind you, you blink until things settle. you take a step forward, and the pain is shocking—your feet are clearly more injured than they'd felt at the time, but there is only one way out of this room. you press on.

the heavy wooden door opens into a one room cottage. it's old, and not in the well-loved and well-lived way—the dilapidated structure and lack of any real homely qualities tells you immediately that it's current inhabitant is more of a recent opportunist than a longtime homemaker. that distinction mattered little now, though, and you suppose you should be grateful for your stranger's resourcefulness.

you creep further into the room without a sound until you find yourself in the middle of it. crouched and defensive, until the realization hits you—you see all four walls and are perplexed to find that you are completely alone.

the room is little more than a crooked wooden table and a futon pad on the floor. there are remnants of a fireplace in the center of the room—mortar and brick crumbling up wooden slats toward the roof, but still useful with still-burning embers inside. truly, it's more primitive than livable—there are weapons and tools strung up along the wooden panels of the walls, and animal hides hang in any space between metal and wood. but it's warm, and it's a reminder of what is at stake. what should spur anxiety brings only confusion—when cost of survival is so high, why add another body to the burden?

you forget yourself until the heavy fall of footsteps outside the door reignites your adrenaline. you watch, wide eyed and frozen, as the door picks a fight with whoever is on the other side of it. a weight smacks solidly into it once, twice, and a third time before it opens with a heavy groan. in the daylight, your captor is revealed to you.

hard eyes widen slightly at the sight of you, and then narrow in suspicion. you're still as he takes in all of you, and suddenly very aware of the nightgown you escaped your home in, still hanging off your body. you fight the urge to withdraw into yourself—you know it’s not the time to cower.

he eyes you for a moment more, and then drops a heavy pack on the floor next to him, and busies himself with unloading. you watch as he pulls out tools that look unfamiliar to you—though you suppose any tool would. it's not as if you or your family ever had a need for them.

you watch him work and are surprised to find that he's...handsome. jaw set at a hard angle with scars that wrap around the slope of one side, he's rugged in a way you'd never been taught to find appealing. he is unlike the men that sought after your hand with promises of riches and comfortable living. he is unlike anyone you've seen before, truthfully.

"um—"

"is there something you need?"

his coldness stuns you for a moment. you're not sure what you were expecting—you'd no real reason to anticipate any kindness from the man, but the care by which your feet were wrapped had led your mind in that foolish direction anyway.

you fight the urge to draw your limbs into yourself like a startled turtle. "oh—i just. wanted to thank you, i suppose. for helping me."

he looks up from his sorting to meet your eyes, and the disdain in them feels like a physical wound. he drops the tool in his hand with a sharp thud against the floor, and it makes you jump.

"once you've healed, you will leave."

you exhale sharply. it makes sense, of course—it is no small ask of him to allow you to stay even until you're healed. even so, the reality of the world that awaits you carries a weight to it—it lurks around the periphery of the tiny cabin, waiting for you to poke your head out.

then comes the loss—the blood that still stains your fingertips and the hem of your nightgown. you bow your head—out of shame or grief, you're not sure—and turn on your heel, right back into the room you came from. you shut the door behind you quietly, and you don't make it to the bed. you sink to your haunches and gravity pins you there, head in hands as your mind reintroduces you to each of the ghosts that now have a tight grip on both your ankles.

.

..

it's dark when you emerge, once again driven by hunger or thirst, or some other base need to stay alive despite every glaring sign not to.

you commit yourself to stealth—to staying out of your stranger's way, as much as you can before you take your leave. the dark of the cabin hides you in your trek out of your hiding place—unfortunately, it also hides the solid object on the floor, laid directly in front of your door. your foot catches it and it clangs, the metallic echo ringing in your ears.

you curse under your breath, bending down to feel around in the blackness for whatever you hit. you startle when your fingers hit something unexpectedly soft. you squint, and suck in a breath when you realize what you're holding—a piece of bread. rather, half of a loaf, with a cut of meat nearby, on the metal plate that you’d kicked. you blink, like if you do it enough, the mirage will dissipate and leave only dark wood behind. but it doesn't—the bread gives some as your fingers squeeze around it as if to test it's trustworthiness. you decide to stop looking the gift horse in its mouth, and recede back the dark of your room, food in hand.

.

..

oddly enough, it becomes a regular occurrence. you grow accustomed to expecting a plate of food by your door every night—a seemingly ironic luxury, given your reality now. you hardly see your stranger—you've no idea when he has the opportunity to leave food by your door unnoticed, give his penchant for absence. puzzling still is that the food you're given varies, as if he intends for you to have a fully balanced diet in the middle of a societal collapse.

he doesn’t stop at the food, either—after a few nights spent in your room, he makes his first real appearance in the daylight. a knock at your door rouses you from what’s become a habit of mid-afternoon naps, in lieu of staring at the splintered walls of what was quickly beginning to feel like a cage instead of a place of healing. you pull the door open to find your stranger towering over you—leering down at you with the same discontent he had before. only now, he holds something in his hands, and extends them to you.

“there’s a stream at the edge of the boundary.”

he thrusts what’s in his hands to yours, and you realize that it’s clothing—not in the best shape, but certainly better than the blood-crusted nightgown you still wear. he says no more, and for once you’re grateful for his curt demeanor. he turns on his heel and stalks out of the cabin, back to whatever the outside world has to offer him. after a moment, you follow his path, for the first time since you’d arrived.

it stuns you for a moment, how sinister the land looked in the dark, and how different it looks now. the sun shines hot down on the wheatgrass that sways gently in the breeze. it picks up a lock of your hair and you feel lighter with it.

you walk where you assume you should—down a thinly-worn path between the grass. you find it eventually: a small stream, just wide and deep enough for you to bathe in if you crouch. you turn your head to each side, squinting in your search for prying eyes—you find no one, but it’s still wholly uncomfortable to undress in the open like this.

your reservations leave you the minute you step into the water. warmed by the sun with a sweeping current, you let out a guttural moan that would’ve certainly earned you a chastising from your grandmother for its crudeness. you can’t help it—the caked on dirt and grime dissolves under your fingers and leaves you feeling better than you ever have. there is a slight sting in the soles of your feet—that it is slight is surprising to you, and a harrowing reminder of the clock that continues to tick out of your favor.

.

..

days bleed into weeks. your feet heal earlier than you expect them too, and the guilt you carry is worse than the wound. you know you’ve reached the end of your stay, but you can’t get yourself to leave. not when your stranger still insists on taking care of you. the anticipation is sickening—instead of sitting and waiting to be shooed away, you decide to earn your stay. hard work for someone who’d never worked a day, but the determination proves stronger than the fatigue.

you clean. it’s the only thing you can think to do, and truthfully, it’s necessary. you haul water in old containers on your shoulder from the stream, and you wash the dust away until the floors shine and the windows are clear again. you do this everyday—finding something to clean and fixating on it until the sun reaches the other side of the horizon. today is no different—you set your sights on the ash in the fireplace, using a metal pan to scoop it into a stray tarp to carry outside when you’re done.

you’re almost finished when you hear the now familiar sound of boots scraping the stone outside. you tense, but you don’t stop, pulling another pile of stale smelling soot onto the tarp as your stranger opens the door. you hear him stop behind you, but you don’t turn.

“what are you doing?” the tone is not as harsh as you’re used to—a little fatigued, mostly inquisitive.

“cleaning,” you say softly, pulling up at each corner of the canvas and watching the ash collide into neat little heaps in the center, “i’m almost done—i’ll be out of your way.”

you get to your feet, discard in hand, and turn to look at him. his strong brow furrows as he looks at you, like there’s something about what he sees that he can’t understand. against your best interest, your curiosity gets the better of you.

“i’m sorry, it’s just—i never learned your name.”

the look he levels you with makes you wish you’d never asked. his expression gives away nothing, but it tells you enough.

“how are your feet?”

your stomach drops—all of your attempts at earning your place for naught after all. but you stand in front of him now—to lie to him would be foolish at best.

you can barely raise your voice above a whisper. “healed.”

he studies you for a moment more, and it’s too much for you. your eyes fall to a crack in the floor, and distantly you wish you’d shrink down to slip inside of it, never to be seen again.

“tomorrow i will show you how to trap.” he gruffs, finality lacing his tone. your eyes snap to his but he’s already turning, half way out the door before he stops. he turns his head, eyeing you over his shoulder.

“kento,” he mutters, barely audible and strange meeting your ears, “my name is kento.”

and then he’s gone again—leaving you standing there with a hand full of dirt and no way to discern your left from right as your world tilts on its axis, if only slightly—but noticeable and disruptive all the same.

.

..

you don’t sleep well that night—startled out of a twilight sleep in what appears to be the dark hours of the morning by the rapping of knuckles on your door. kento nods to you in a greeting of his own, turning swiftly on his heel and heading toward the front door. you follow him dutifully, pulling over your shoulders the blanket you’d snagged before you left the warmth of your bed for the chill of the morning. the grass is cool and dewey under your bare feet, and it’s a quiet luxury you find yourself reveling in as you pad along behind him. you can hardly see him in the dark and yet you keep up, somehow—you know there’s too much at stake to lag behind.

true to his word, he teaches you how to trap. solely by doing—few words are exchanged between you as he trudges into the stream and hauls out a weaved basket attached to a rope, fastened to the shoreline by a stray branch. the light that creeps over the horizon begins to illuminate his work—silvery tails gleam as they flick back and forth from inside the cage. you know better than to be sad, but you feel it anyway. it’s silly to feel a kinship with the creatures, not even sentient enough to know that there is no escape for them—but you know, and the weight of that is a tangible thing.

he teaches you how to prepare the fish, then—and you get through it, if not only through sheer determination to not throw up in front of kento. the sun rises and illuminates other opportunities to learn—he teaches you about the native plants, only in simple directions of pointing to a patch of green with an accompanied “don’t touch”, or “fine to eat”. it’d feel patronizing if it wasn’t all so overwhelming—he had a knowledge of things you’d never dreamed of before. all you can feel is excitement that he’s willing to share it with you.

as the sun begins to set, he brings you to the garden—a small patch of land, seemingly unassuming until you step inside. there are fruiting plants everywhere you look—fat, red tomatoes and vining, prickly cucumbers, complete with rows of leafy greens and cabbages. you can’t begin to imagine how he’d managed to grow all of this by himself. his nightly food gifts start to make more sense.

you work side by side, pulling ripe crop from each plant and placing them into a metal canister—usually used for mechanical purposes, but at the end of the world, you find many uses for what you have. you feel emboldened somehow with your hands in the dirt next to his, and the words leave you before you have a moment to reconsider; you tell him of where you’d come from, and of your descent down the hill. you think of the kin you’d left behind, and you feel detached as you tell him of the loss—an observation if nothing else, as if you’d sat on a shoreline and watched the tide flood in.

he doesn’t react—not to your noble status, and not to the death—he’s quiet as he moves on to each plant, only the pattering sound of what he harvests hitting the tin bottom of his canister. you don’t mind—there’s no reaction you’d expect or find helpful, and for some reason, his presence is enough. you find it odd that weeks ago his footsteps incited real fear in your veins, and now he’d spent the day teaching you new ways to be useful. it was a strange and intimate gratitude, but one you felt nonetheless.

you find you see him more now, with your newfound ability to contribute and the determination to do just that. days are spent hauling fresh catches out of the stream, and hunting down small mammals to supplement your diet. you watch him closely—the flex and twist of his torso with the pull of the bow, the way he narrows his focus to the fluffy little thing that scurries among the leaves. with the twitch of a finger, the arrow flies toward its target—there is a screech, and then a sobering quiet. for the first time in your life, you pray—quietly, for the creature with the same instinct to survive that drives you to take its life.

“here,” kento says, handing the bow to you, “try it.”

you wrap your fingers around the wood and do as he asks. it’s deceptively heavy—the tension of the bow makes it nearly impossible to draw back with your own strength. focused and determined not to fail in front of him, you nearly jump out of your skin when his hands cover your own.

“there’s no trick to it,” his voice is gruff but gentle and far closer to you than he’s ever been, “just pull back, like this.”

he guides your hand backward with his own and the tail of the arrow follows—at your back, you feel the muscles in his chest ripple with the effort.

“focus,” he breathes, and you fight a shudder at his proximity, “listen.”

and it’s hard to hear anything over the roar of blood in your ears, but you try, blinking in an effort to snap out of whatever trance kento has put you in. it takes a moment, but then you hear it—the crinkle of leaves beneath tiny paws.

“take a deep breath.” kento allows you to move the bow where you want to, and you try to focus your aim. a bushy tail flicks up behind the underbrush—you train the point of the arrow right below it. your heart thuds wildly in your chest, and suddenly you’re worried that the bow might slide out of your sweating palms, impaling you instead.

“let it go.”

you do as he says, and the ringing in your ears drowns out the sounds of short-lived suffering. he lets go of you then—you don’t notice he’s come to stand in front of you until you feel the rough pad of his thumb swipe gently across your cheek. you blink, your own fingers reaching up to find tears you don’t recall ever shedding. your eyes meet his, and they burn with an intensity you’ve never seen in him before. but he’s not angry—you feel no compulsion to apologize for whatever is happening to you. he takes the bow from your hands, and slings it over his back.

“we’ll go back now,” he says quietly. you follow him up the path, and the tears don’t stop until you reach the cabin. you wonder who exactly it is that you’re crying for.

.

..

you don’t know what it is about the nights that follow that lead kento to decide to stick around, but there’s a part of you that’s glad he does. above all else, you knew better than to question it. he doesn’t say much—he never does—but you’re more than happy to fill the silence. you suppose you owe him the opportunity to know you, after all he’s done for you—you’ve no idea how to quantify the gratitude you’ve felt over the last few months. you do what you can.

“there’s a story my grandmother used to tell,” you murmur, eyes to the fire that crackles in front of you, “i used to sit at her feet while she brushed my hair. she only ever told it to me—it was like a secret between us.”

the wood pops and spits an ember at your feet. you watch it blaze bright, the tiny thing—one last attempt to catch before it snuffs itself out. “there was a princess that lived high in a tower built to protect her from the bandits of the neighboring empire. she was only ever allowed to walk the grounds of the palace under the safety of a full moon. one night, as she crept out of the tower under the cover of the dark, she’s lured into the dark forest by a witch. she promises to grant the princess any wish, for a price.”

your eyes catch kento’s, and for once, his expression is not indifferent. he is here with you in this moment, and it warms you more than the flame. “of course she wishes to be free,” you continue, waving a hand at its inevitability, “and the witch turns her into a hare. and in the original story, that’s the end of it. there’s a lesson there, right?”

“but in my grandmother’s story, it’s the best thing that could’ve happened to the princess. she’s free to hop around to her heart’s content. all she does is eat greenery and lay fat in her den until she dies a natural death after a long and happy life.”

you hear what you think is a scoff from the man next to you. your eyes roam kento’s face, and you think there might even be a hint of a smirk there. it thrills you.

“the tale of an optimist,” he offers quietly, and it’s not bitter.

“she was,” you murmur, “until the end, she was an optimist.”

it’s quiet between you for a moment, save for the crackle of the fire.

“i’m sorry you lost her.”

you smile, and it hurts. the tears well up before you can stop them.

“it’s unfair,” you croak, despite yourself. you’d done well to put up a good front in front of kento—humbling, to see how quickly it could be undone.

you startle when you feel a warm palm close around your clenched fist. “it is unfair,” he says, eyes meeting yours.

the warmth is profound, again despite the fire that heats your cheeks. you find yourself leaning into it until you’ve tucked yourself under his arm. he’s tense, but allows it.

“tell me something about you,” you whisper thickly, needing to think of anything else. he hums, tipping his head back. you sneak a glimpse of the curve of his jaw, glowing between shadows cast by a flickering flame. scar tissue curves and shimmers as it tenses.

“we were a group,” he murmurs, still looking up at the old, wooden boards, “myself and some of the neighbor children. there were no family units, there— we created our own.”

you’re so quiet you think you can nearly hear him piece together the memory in his mind. you know he’s gifting you something precious, so you don’t dare speak.

“we were too young to be running around alone, but there was nowhere to go. we knew enough to dodge the militias that would burn through each village. we thought we did, anyway.”

“the elders were kind. they brought in as many of us as they could on nights when the trucks would come down the road. but we didn’t have parents or homes, and they couldn’t take in all of us.” he pauses, sucking in a long breath. it shifts you when his chest expands. “i was small enough that i was able to fit through a hole in the crawl space under a home. Yu tried, but he wasn’t fast enough.”

“he was my best friend.” kento’s voice is quiet, and more fatigued than you’ve ever heard it. it’s unnerving, seeing his humanity laid out so plainly. “he tried to run, but they caught up just as quickly. they would’ve just taken him to a work camp, but he put up a fight.” he says it with a small smile, like he’s proud. “they shot him and left him there to die.”

if there was a way you could be closer to kento, you’d have found it by now, but you find yourself trying to sneak up under his ribs anyway. trying to find a way to siphon his pain into yourself, if only for a moment.

“you were brave,” you whisper, having nothing else to say except for that—for what feels obvious and true. he scoffs, but you can hear the grief behind it.

“maybe,” he says, arm tightening around your shoulders, “i don’t think i’ve ever felt that way.”

you hum, a low and sympathetic thing, fighting the urge to nuzzle into his chest. it’s strange, how easy it is to default to such animal inclinations when there’s no need to abide by arbitrary customs. there is only the two of you here, and the urge to comfort kento is strong.

“will you let me do something?”

he glances down at you out of the corner of his eyes—narrowed in distrust, despite baring his most tender bits to you only a moment ago. you push past it.

“here,” you say, sitting up and out from under his hold, “sit here.”

“on the ground?” he’s not so much incredulous as he is confused—and you’ll take what you can get. you nod, an appeasing sort of grin teasing the corners of your mouth.

his eyes are still narrowed when he goes—crouched in defense like you wait with bared teeth instead of open arms. still, he moves to sit before you—facing you. you laugh a little, endeared.

“i meant for you to turn—“

“no.”

you’re snapped back to reality then—to the present moment, with this man that kindly took you in but does not trust you. you take in a slow breath, careful not to flinch under the weight of his stare.

“okay,” you murmur, reaching up to pull free from your hair the comb that tethers it in its knot, “that’s okay.”

your hair slips down over your nape as you pull the teeth of it free—hard and familiar in your fingers, you offer it to him like one would a scrap of food to a feral dog. an heirloom made of deer bone—your family’s own commitment to using all that you were given, even if it was in excess. a reminder of a luxury that never felt like one until now.

“is it okay?” you ask, pulling up on your own bravery to keep his stare. after a long moment of careful deliberation, he nods tersely.

you lean forward slightly, careful of his space, and let him see the comb as you reach up. he jumps when the dulled prongs meet his scalp, but you stay the course. you pull it through the blond strands—longer than they were when you first met, the dulled ends slipping through with each pass.

you sit back to look at him after a moment. there’s no resistance, nor is there any enthusiasm—but you trust that he’d stop you if he was uncomfortable, so you keep going.

you lose yourself in the task, pulling (or pushing, from where you sit in front of him) the carved bone through his hair. you allow him the privacy of a reaction—eyes focused only on the strands that flit away from the teeth of the comb.

so focused, it seems, that you have to suppress the jerk of your leg when he leans up against it. the quick glimpse you allow yourself gores you—his eyes now closed, head cushioned by the soft of your thigh. looking more childlike than you’ve ever seen him in the months you’ve spent every minute with him. you see flashes of him as a boy—small and without scarring or a reason for haunches to raise in fear or rage. you think of him laughing—rolling in mud and being scolded by an otherwise kind woman instead of squeezing his way through jagged, wooden boards to save his life. never knowing the sound of a shot ringing out in the street.

you tuck your face into your shoulder—determined to hide the tears and your grief on his behalf. determined to let him feel this, whatever it is, and be a safe place for him to do it. to be the strong arm and the kind hand for him now—the one he can give his precious trust to.

the fire crackles and the mourning is heavy in the air—but kento is alive beneath your fingers, and your own heart beat is a heavy and reassuring thud inside your chest.

.

..

he is a rose in bloom, in the nights that follow. tightly coiled and still with all of his thorns, but in bloom nonetheless.

he becomes something of your shadow. where he lingered out of distrust he now hovers with intent—comically so, his large body folding itself in the small confines of the makeshift kitchen while you wring out linens in the sink. it’s clear that something has shifted between you—though what, you’re unsure. your mind tells you he is finally coming around to you. your heart yearns for something more than just his trust, though you are not unaffected by the weight of that trust alone.

he is never more than an arm’s length away. he leaves in the darkened hours of the morning to hunt, and is somehow back before the sun rises to wake you. that was another shift—he hadn’t asked you to join him on a hunt since that night. he hadn’t asked you for anything after that, really. he sleeps nearer, too—you’d been under the impression that he’d been sleeping outside until he wound up at the foot of your bed, sleeping still like a guard dog. you didn’t have the heart to ask him about it—you just left the candle burning and turned away from the door. he was owed privacy in his vulnerability, and you give him that.

and however hard to read the man may be, you feel some discontent at not pulling your weight, so you try your best to anyway. patching up holes in the wooden exterior of your home. sealing the windows with fur and fat to beat the chill of the creeping fall. you know that the garden tending is cyclical with the seasons—the cold calls for heartier vegetables. you pull and preen until your fingers swell, aching.

and there he would be—watching you, as always.

“hard work for a princess,” he mutters through something suspiciously similar to a smirk. you level him with a glare—the heat of which is immediately snuffed out in comparison to the heat of the cloth that he wraps around your wind-bitten hands. the heat of his body before yours is a close second to the warmest you've ever been despite all of the holes you'd still yet to patch.

“i hardly remember ever being one now,” you murmur, leaning into his side as his thumbs swipe over your palms—needle pinpricks left in their wake, even through the fabric.

he scoffs, his hands engulfing yours in his warmth. "are you not still?"

"i suppose, technically." you shrug, letting him crowd you over to the old, torn up futon that you'd been using as living room furniture. he'd been doing a lot of that lately—pushing you to relax. itching to take a weight from you. he arranges you to his liking, wrapping one of the woven blankets around your shoulders. "i was meant to be made into more than that, you know. before the uprising."

kento only raises an eyebrow at you. you shrug, past the point of shrinking from his silence. "my family had paid a sizeable dowry to have me married off. an heir in a neighboring village, supposedly. only my grandmother was against it, in her own, quiet way. she took to calling me her rabbit, after her story. she wanted differently for me."

there's no mistaking the way kento stiffens. there's no reason for it, nor is there a justification for the way you want to placate him. you do it anyway.

"maybe it's for the best," you say, waving your hand as if to dismiss the whole thing entirely, "i'm not exactly the noble type, now."

you watch him deflate. he nods sagely, the smirk pulling at his lips again. "surely you're the most frightening princess i've ever met."

you turn your head to watch him settle in next to you—another new behavior, seemingly unbothered by the proximity that he no doubt was unfamiliar with. "what's that supposed to mean?"

his teasing grin fades into something a little more forlorn. "when i found you, i expected you to be afraid. i wouldn't have harmed you—i only wanted to scare you off."

you huff. "that wasn't very nice."

"you weren't afraid though. it was unnerving."

"oh?" you grin, reaching to poke him in the ribs. "you were afraid of me?"

he reaches for your hand and pulls it to his lap. "i was sad for you. it wasn't a resilience—it felt as though you were broken."

it hurts, you decide, to be known like this. how simple things had been when he'd only left you provisions at your bedroom door and left you be. now you'd gone and allowed your heart to run freely ahead without a tether. you'd no way of preparing for the injury that freedom would cause.

"you pitied me," you mutter, unable to keep the bitterness from your tone. the mood shifts between you, and something inside you wants to resent him for it. how warm it had been inside the delusion—the world in which you both exist in this space as equals, brought together by fate and want and nothing else.

"no, not pity." you startle at the feeling of his fingertips as they brush a tendril of hair from your face. "you reminded me of myself. i didn't want you to be alone."

"why take on that burden?"

kento hums, pushing his fingers through the hair at your temple. despite yourself, you lean into the touch. "maybe i didn't want to be alone, either."

you blink, the sentiment working its way into your head. it lands significantly south—deep in your chest with an ache you can't describe. you reach for the wrist in your peripheral, stopping his movement and keeping him close. "is that all?"

"no." his admittance is a whispered, strained thing. you're close enough that to tilt your head back brings his jaw to your lips. the ghost of your breath along his skin makes him shudder, and you feel the fingers in your hair flex into a grip.

"what else, then?"

he ducks his chin to nose at your cheek. your eyes flutter closed, mind empty of all that swam around in it only a moment ago.

"my rabbit," his bottom lip brushes against your own, "what else is there but you?"

.

..

the weather changes and the gods grow restless.

you both feel it at the first chill of the year. there’s no graceful turn of the seasons—the air is bitter and cold, and you know something is coming. there’s little time for play, so on the last few warm evenings of fall, you take advantage of it. or you try to—you drag kento into the stream to soak in the dwindling rays of sun, but the knowledge of what is to come weighs heavily on you both. he holds you up in the current—body to body, only breathing. you can't get close enough—to reach inside him and carve out a space for yourself would still not sate the longing you feel.

that wretched something shows it’s face soon enough. the first snow is harsh, collecting in heavy banks against the roof of the house. the wood sags under the weight and the cold creeps in through the wood until the fire is no longer enough to warm the house in it's entirety—only the small space in front of the mantel that you crowd around. you and kento don’t talk much these days—to speak takes energy you don’t have to spare. he is doting as he always is—making sure you are covered in every layer of fabric and fur he can find, but something is wrong. you know the worst is yet to come. you feel it in the way kento holds you too close during the night; it’s never warm enough.

at first there is hope. kento has his food reserves and you'd preserved some of what you’d gathered. but a week of snow turns to two, and two weeks turn to two months. the rations get smaller and the two of you get hungrier. by the third month, you understand that you will not be spared the gods’ wrath. you see the punishment for what it is—a utilitarian consequence to all of the bloodshed by man. you do not have the energy to mull over the unfairness of that. even if you did, the gods do not concern themselves with what is fair—you know that now. the light inside you fades with every new inch of snowfall.

but kento is kind, despite your insistence that he be otherwise. he pulls from his own warmth to add to yours. your dinner portions are always bigger, even if it means he goes without eating entirely. it’s in vain, of course. neither of you will live through this. you scold him for pushing the last of his food on your plate and he doesn’t bother to respond. he only watches while you eat, like he can’t rest until he knows for sure that you have eaten all he has to offer you. you chew through tears and the only comfort is the hand that reaches to wipe them from your cheek. it’s a painful end, wasting away like this. watching kento fade away.

it's when you can smell death's approach that you know with certainty that your humanity has fled for a better place. the thing that remains in you—that keeps your heart beating, that coaxes your lungs to inflate—is purely animal. and it's out of that same primal need that you close the distance between kento's frail body and your own. in the silent chill of the night, the warmth between you may be merely a hallucination now, but you feel it all the same. there is no pain anymore. only a pull into a sleep you want so badly to slip into.

you don't cry—you use the last of the strength in your body to tuck yourself under kento's chin and curl around him in some intimate display of what exists between you. of what has existed this whole time.

"if this is the end," you murmur, knowing that it is, "i'm happy that i'll leave this world with you."

the knuckles that brush against your cheek are sharp and gnarled now. you've never known a touch so tender. it’s odd to speak—to shatter the intimacy of the silence that’s floated around the both of you for much of the last few weeks.

"do you know now?"

if you close your eyes, you can pretend that the man in your arms will live to see the morning. that this is merely pillow talk, and the sun will wake you with warmed skin in a few hours.

but you don't let yourself turn away. it's striking, how even with his last few breaths, kento manages to use them worrying about you. you wonder if he's done it the whole time. you do know; you realize with unmistakable clarity that you'd know his love anywhere, now. you nod, feeling his thready pulse against your forehead.

"i do. you'll have to forgive me for not seeing it sooner."

you feel him scoff—an inappropriate use of dwindling breath that makes you laugh, too. "there will be plenty of time to show you in the next life, my rabbit."

a brief bitterness curls up your spine—the unfairness of all of this creeping back up like a rising tide. how cruel it was to have settled on the loneliness of a life without love, just to be shown the magnitude of a life with it in the final months of your own.

but it recedes in the next moment, because there is no more time to grieve. you can only feel grateful, now—to leave this world saturated in all that kento has given you.

cracked lips brush the skin of your temple—he has no real energy for a proper kiss, but the desire to comfort is strong between you. you spend the next few, precious moments counting the breaths that rattle inside his chest, grateful for every one cycled through.

in the silent hours of a darker morning, there is a light only the two of you can see. shrouded in the glow, he is so beautiful.

with all of your strength, you call him by his name, one last time. "until next time, my love."

epilogue

if the notion of certainty is alive in anything, it is in the way that fable and folklore are sure to be born and born again out of gatherings of beings with mouths to speak it. one such example is the jagged, snow capped hills of Akaito—a new village comprised of all walks of life, the one commonality between them being their displacement during the fall of the Zaiaku dynasty almost one hundred years prior. built overtop the remnants of survivor settlements crushed under the Great Snow, all who inhabit the land know well of the blood that has stained the soil and pay mind to honor the loss of life in their own ways—namely in storytelling. this great coming together eventually gave way to a new mother tongue for the telling of a new bed time story to bleary eyed babes in the middle of the night: the tale of the Akaito lovers—the wolf and the hare.

as the story goes, villagers who have been bestowed some unearthly dose of luck by the gods may catch a glimpse of an unlikely pair—a formidable looking white wolf with scarring across its broad body, and its counterpart: a fluffy and downright regal grey hare. one might catch them romping around in the dusting after a fresh snow, or preening one another under a shaded tree in the heat of the summer. depending on who tells the tale, it might be the case that if a person is truly fortunate and determined to wait out the dark of night, they might even be gifted the sight of the duo curled around one another, sleeping peacefully in a protective and loving embrace under the light of a waning moon.

as with all fables, the story is altered with every new tongue that speaks it, and one day the tale will vanish from the minds of the younger generations completely. but for now, it is ripe in the minds of the young and old, the latter of which are very certain that it is no mere fable at all.

[captain-mj]

omg i thought of this while in the resturant! (We were ehatchign fail army and they were doing scare pranks)

and i thought like "what if soap tried to scare ghoast?"

this could go two ways

ghost isnt fazed at all

or

2. ghost reacts poorly and ends up hurting johnny or worse..

Apologies for being so absent! Here ya go!

Ghost disliked pranks. Ever since his little brother used to scare him with the mask, they just rubbed him the wrong ways. Even the innocent ones like putting salt in the sugar so it would ruin his tea were enough to spark up old anger issues.

Obviously, this went against what the 141 knew him as when it comes down to humor. While outsiders would think a prank on Ghost would end with their heads on pikes, they also didn't know he liked dad jokes and dumb one liners.

So when Gaz and Soap started their prank war, they automatically included Ghost. In retrospect, Ghost really should've sat them down and said no with a little more force, instead of brushing them off and assuming they'd get the picture. But he thought it was over by now and he doubted they'd actually do anything again after he told them he wasn't interested.

Ghost had no way of knowing the man that jumped out at him, a spur of the moment idea on Soap's part and not something planned, as he doubted he could really sneak up on Ghost on purpose, was not going to stab him immediately. Luckily, he had been unarmed, so Soap did not end up with a gaping wound in his throat. Instead, Ghost backhanded him hard enough for his teeth to rattle in his skull.

Soap hit the ground hard and Ghost felt the adrenaline rush through his veins like he got hit by a stim. Giant blue eyes, apologetic but also shocked, blinked up at him.

Ghost wanted to hurt him. Soap must've seen it, but he didn't run. What an idiot.

Ghost turned away and took a deep breath. Noticing just now a very, very startled Gaz and Price.

Price quickly helped Soap up, glancing at Ghost like he might fly off the handle.

Soap took a breath when he got up and slowly let it out. "Hurts like a bitch, but I'm alright, Captain. You okay Simon?"

"I just almost cost you some teeth and you're asking me if I'm alright?"

"Your hands are shaking. You're breathing heavy. Thought you were having a panic attack for a minute."

Ghost shook his head. "You two are like fucking little brother. Always getting yourselves into fucking trouble. Either of you pull that shit again, I'm not stopping at one fucking hit." He hissed it at them and stomped off.

His hands were shaking.

He couldn't tell if he felt more angry at Soap for startling him, himself for getting startled and hitting him or if it was just embarrassment at the whole situation.

Soap found him in his hiding spot. "Simon?"

Ghost sighed. "I'm not going to apologize."

"Neither am I. I'll say getting bitch slapped makes us even." He pulled himself up into the perch. It was hard to get to and overlooked everything.

"I didn't actually hurt you, did I?"

"Nae. Put some ice on it and I was good as rain. Glad you didn't have any rings on though." He smiled but Ghost could see the imprint of the back of his hand. "Did I get you that bad?"

Ghost sighed. "Reminded me of someone."

"Your little brother. So you said. I hope you don't actually think we're alike considering you've kissed me."

Ghost made a face and even through the mask, Soap could tell. "He used to do shit like that. Jump out at me. Fucking hated it. And you're not getting another fucking kiss from me until I know for a fact you're both leaving me out of your little prank thing."

"I can't control Gaz!"

"Learn to."

Soap sighed. "You're breaking my heart, Simon." He smiled at him though, knowing the kiss embargo wouldn't last. "Alright. Changed my mind. I am sorry for scaring you. I know you. While I don't think I could've predicted the backhand, I could've predicted your reaction wouldn't be pleasant."

Ghost sighed loudly and Soap tilted his head. "What's wrong?"

"I hate how weirdly emotionally mature you can get, Johnny." He grabbed him and forced him to turn his head. "I'm sorry too."

"Kiss it better?"

Ghost glared at him before giving him a small kiss through the mask. "There. Fucking bastard."

[minnielvrr]

Routines

Lee: Hyunjin Ler: Changbin Word Count: 865

A/N: Ahh I really hope this is okay😣Hope you guys enjoy this~🤗💖

“Ready?” Changbin inquired, his hands poised delicately over Hyunjin’s waist. The younger boy squirmed in place, little giggles of anticipation already bubbling up in his throat. “Y-yeah!”

Given the number of times they’d done this, Hyunjin thought he’d be immune by now—or at least have developed some degree of resistance.

But he remained just as ticklish as the day their little ‘pre-performance routine’ had begun. They hadn't missed a single day!

At his affirmation, Binnie’s fingers began wandering over his torso. Gentle strokes and light nips at familiar areas had Hyunjin falling back against Binnie's buff chest, arms pressed tightly to his sides.

His body shook with laughter, his hands grabbing feebly onto Changbin’s wrists—though only to hold them. “Tihihickles! It tihickles, Binniehehehe~” he whined through his giggles.

“Aww, does it? Poor baby~ Does it tickle a lot? Hm?” Binnie teased, playing along.

His fingers skittered over the crisp outfit Jinnie wore, digging into his lower ribs with just enough pressure to drive Hyunjin out of his mind, but still light enough not to ruffle his clothes.

“NohoHOho teahEHEHesing!! You proMIHIHIsed!” Hyunjin’s protests were met with an adoring, “We both know you love it this way~” Changbin made kissy noises, making the artist snort at his antics.

He squirmed, feet stomping on the ground as he tried to rein in his sounds so as not to draw too much attention to them. He was lucky they were on the couch, cause he was pretty sure his legs would’ve given out otherwise.

Today, the artist seemed a little ruffled, covering his face and holding back the happy noises that usually told Changbin just how much he was enjoying this too.

“Ahahahahaha ihihit’s sOHOHo bahAHAD theheHEHere!!” Hyunjin's body arched, his laughter growing bubblier the higher Binnie's fingers reached.

But Binnie wasn't satisfied with only hearing 70% of his Hyunjin's laughter. He wanted it all, he wanted to hear the artist’s loud cackles and deep laughs that only came out when Binnie got him bad.

“Feeling shy now, Jinnie? We’ve done this so many times and you’re still this flustered? So cute~,” He cooed, leaning forward to blow in Jinnie’s ear.

His fingers crawled higher, now alternating between scribbling and vibrating into the artist’s upper ribs.

Hyunjin went ballistic. It was way too close to one of his death spots and Binnie only rarely went that far during their routines.

“AHH NO! HYUHUNG NAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!” Hyunjin threw his head back, feet skidding on the floor as he struggled.

"You always try to squirm away when I go here... but it won’t help this time!" And just as he predicted, Hyunjin found himself twisting his torso away, flailing wildly, his head thrown back with the chaotic laughter that Binnie seemed intent on hearing.

"There’s that beautiful laugh! Did you know, Jinnie, that every time you laugh like this, it makes me want to tickle you even more?”

“HEHEHEHE nohoHOHo theyhehe’ll HEaher mE!! AHHahahHAHAahaha!” Binnie had unlocked his belly laughs. The dam had broken and now all Hyunjin could do was squeal and squirm.

Then Changbin was wrapping an arm around his middle and his free hand was stuffed up Hyunjin’s armpit with a mused, "remember last time when you couldn't handle it here? I wonder if it’s still just as bad...”

It was just as bad. In fact, Hyunjin was convinced it felt WORSE. But Binnie wasn’t in the mood for mercy or any form of leniency. “C’mon, arms up Jinnie! You know the drill~,” he teased.

With a practiced ease, Jinnie’s hands went up albeit shakily, and slid behind Binnie’s back. Changbin pressed his shoulders to the back of the couch, effectively trapping the artists arms in place.

And then all hell broke lose. They had about 15 minutes left before they were supposed to be on stage so Binnie decided to go in for the kill.

His hands were everywhere. Digging and raking and wiggling at every spot he could reach.

Poor Hyunjin was thrown into hysterics. He tugged desperately at his arms, flailing wildly, shrieks mixed in with his loud boisterous laughter. It was hilarious.

“ OHO MYhyHYHY GAHAHADS!! I CAHAHAN’T TAHAKE IT! IT’S SOHOHO BAHAD!! BINNIE PLEHEHEASE!!” Hyunjin begged through uncontrollable laughter.

Changbin cackled along, amused by his reactions. He loved hearing Hyunjin’s voice like this—he sounded so heartwarmingly adorable. This was the boost Binnie needed to perform the way he did on stage.

And (not so)secretly, a vital part of Jinnie’s routine as well. The laughter dispelled all worries plaguing his mind and allowed his to fly across their stages and give it his best.

“ENAHAHAOUGH!! CAHAHAHA— CAHAN’T TAHAKE ANYMOHOHORE AHAHAHAHA!!” Binnie stopped just before he knew the tears would come.

He let the artist slump against him as he gently massaged the spots he’d tickled. Hyunjin melted under his soft ministrations, letting out a hum of satisfaction.

And then the rest of the kids spilled into the waiting room. They knew all too well about the two lovebirds’ little ritual and always gave them some privacy.

And then they were striding to the stage. Everyone knew they were gonna eat this one up too. That was a Skz trademark after all~

my first scheduled fic hehehe~😋

[darknight3904]

The preview to the next part of my Gojo x reader fic.

"Stop thinking so hard, you'll hurt yourself," He says before grabbing your arm and hauling to your feet, "You promised me a sparring match."

The scene before you is oddly familiar. You've been dragged to the training grounds against your will and he's now preparing for a fight he expects to go his way. It's nostalgic and makes you feel like a child again.

"Before we start...I want to ask you something." You say

"I'm not pulling my punches. This is our first match since we were 14, I intend to go all out." He glares

"I know that. I wanted to ask why you bothered saving me from execution and from Jinichi. Letting me die would be easier and it would get you out of the contract easily." You say

"You're smart for a woman. I kept you alive because I wanted to be the one to kill you. I can't let you go to the grave without having won a fight against you, simple as that." He shrugs

You should've known it was something as petty as that. Of course, Naoya only cared about his ego.

"So is this my death sentence then?" You ask warily

"Sure. After you it'll be Megumi and then Maki and Mai. I can't have any competition for the clan head. I'm the sole heir." He says

"Yeah those 15-year-olds, they pose a big threat, huh?" You laugh and pick up the training staff that rests on the stand of weapons, "You know Satoru doesn't sit around worrying that a child is going to take over his spot."

"Shut up." He says

"So are we using techniques? Or just hand to hand like when we were kids?" You ask

"Both. I want to beat you at your best. Besides we already know I'm physically bigger than you. I don't want to cheat my way to victory."He says

"Right. You're a Special grade one right? Last time I checked that means I still rank higher than you." You smile

"Do you ever stop running your mouth?" Naoya groans

"No, I in fact quite enjoy hearing the sound of my own voice."

You're taunting him and he's falling for it like he always does. Naoya makes the first move, and like always he swings right for your head.

"So predictable." You huff and easily jump back.

The medicine that was clogging your brain has worn off and you feel better than ever. All the bed rest has payed off.

"Head of the Hei, and I can still read your every move." You say

"Shut up!" Naoya yells and stomps his foot like a small child

"I don't think I will." You say

A loud bell interrupts Naoya before he can speak again.

"The alarm?" You ask dropping the staff

"What the hell is going on?" Naoya asks looking at you for an answer

"You seriously think I'd use a cheap distraction to beat you?" You roll your eyes

"You've become quite the conniving bitch over the years, I wouldn't put it past you." He snaps "Come, let's see what's going on."

This is now out. Check it out here

ᴘʀᴇᴠɪᴏᴜꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ / ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

[bakugous-tits]

Special Delivery

Hello Hello! So if anyone has seen, I've been talking about working on a new Kirishima fic set in the Fractured Flame universe- This is not that. This is another repost of one of my old favourites, but I promise I AM WORKING ON KIRISHIMA! Anyway, I wrote this for a BNHarem discord collab ages ago, and love it too much to let it die <3

Pairing: Pro Hero!Bakugou x Reader

Word Count: 4,636

Warnings: Fluffy and Smutty, There is an explosion and a description of the aftermath, Office Sex, Squirting and, you know me, there's a Creampie <3

Enjoy!

Working at the Ground Zero hero agency had perks. There was a fantastic coffee shop across the road, with surprisingly reasonable prices, it’s near to the bus stop, and the wide and tall windows allowed you a beautiful view of the city. The number of ridiculously attractive heroes that worked there was also a very welcome perk. 

With the likes of Red Riot, Chargebolt, Pinky and Cellophane in their ranks, you had no shortage of eye candy every day. But somehow, they were consistently overshadowed by the most domineering presence in the office. The boss, Dynamight, always took over the room simply by being there. 

You were just a secretary, doing nothing more than assisting with filing of paperwork, fielding calls, and similar clerical duties. You were friendly enough with the heroes, but you always wondered why they ever even made time to come and say hi to such a lowly employee like yourself. Pinky would occasionally come over and chat about your plans for the weekend, giggling with you about going to this club or that, telling you wild stories about her own time in various parties. Red Riot would bring you coffee sometimes, claiming that you needed the help to keep you going in a busy office like theirs. Chargebolt and Cellophane, predictably, would come over and flirt with you at every opportunity they could, leaning against your desk with charming grins. But the boss… He would simply eye you from across the room, his calculating gaze following you as you went to the copy machine, or had to deliver papers to another secretary. It was a little unnerving, to have him watch you so closely, but a small part of you always felt a small thrill run through you at his attention. You never saw him do it to any other employee. Just you.

At first, you thought you’d upset him somehow, going over every action in your head to find what you’d done wrong, coming up empty. Sure, you’d made a few mistakes when you first started working for the agency, but that had been so long ago! And you’d been new, everyone makes mistakes at first! You made it a point to become an exemplary employee from then on, double and triple checking your work before handing it in, and making sure it got in early if possible. The other heroes had commented on your increase in ability, making you smile at your success. Dynamight simply huffed at you, his eyes scanning over you from head to toe, making your back straighten. He hadn’t said a word until his friends began to leave, walking past you and ducking down at the last minute to rumble out a quiet ‘good job.’ as he left, acting as if nothing had happened.

That was the first time you’d had the thought cross your mind.

Did he like you?

You’d dismissed the thought almost immediately. A secretary at his agency, with a weak quirk that was barely usable? No way he even saw you as more than a gnat buzzing around him on a daily basis, able to be ignored but always there. 

And yet, as time went on, you noticed more and more. His friends would be huddled around him, glancing in your direction with shit-eating grins and murmuring to him, and he would frown at their words, stomping off with pink dusting his high cheekbones. The eyes that watched you so closely as you walked past wouldn’t be trained on you in general, but your face directly. Sometimes you even caught him staring at your ass as you went past, going back to his conversation with a clearing of his throat. 

He never approached you, and you never brought it up.

How could you? Not only was he miles out of your league, but he was your boss. There was no way you could pursue him, and he obviously wasn’t into you enough to speak to you about it. You let it go, resigning yourself to pine over him in secret, never revealing to anyone about your secret.

“You like Bakugou, don’t you?” Pinky sure had a weird way of starting conversations, jolting you out of some document you’d been working on on your laptop. You looked up at her with wide eyes, your brows furrowing. “I mean, you look at him a lot. I know most people do, but- like- you really take the cake, sweetie.” She was leaning her hip against your desk, one hand placed on the surface as she gave you a wicked grin. The glint in her eyes was positively evil, flicking over to where Dynamight and Red Riot were talking in his office, the door open. Both of their brows were furrowed, their hushed conversation seeming a lot more serious than their usual banter. You looked through the door for a moment before shaking yourself out of your distracted state, looking up at Pinky with flushed cheeks.

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about. I only look at Dynamight as my boss, that’s all.” Her grin only widened, a giggle escaping her lips as she shakes her head. She threw a thumb over in the direction of the men, wiggling her eyebrows.

“Don’t panic, silly! He’s totally into you too. You should see the way his ears perk up whenever anyone mentions you.” She leans down further, seemingly about to whisper something to you, but she’s interrupted by a new voice.

“What are we talkin’ about?” Chargebolt sauntered over, holding a mug of coffee as he looked between the two of you. You go to open your mouth, but a further different voice cuts you off before you can speak.

“We talkin’ about Blasty and his crush? Oh, I am so here for that.” Cellophane joined up, leaning an elbow on Chargebolt’s shoulder, his wide grin focused down on you. With all 3 heroes focusing on you, your face flushed further, making you shuffle the papers on your desk and look for something, anything to change the conversation. You cleared your throat, wondering if bringing up the weather was too obvious a deflection, when a booming voice called out to the 3 heroes crowding you.

“Oi! Get the hell in here, we got plans to go over.” Dynamight addressed his colleagues, but his eyes were solely focused on you, flitting over you as if to check you were okay. As the three groaned and dragged themselves away, you couldn’t help but give him a small smile and a thankful nod.

He didn’t give you anything in return, but the way his shoulders seemed to relax made something in your chest flutter.

-------------------------------------------------

Their plans to infiltrate a villain hideout had been perfect, Dynamight’s tactical thinking making everything go off without a hitch. All 5 heroes had been celebrated for their bravery, quick thinking and overall skill, as this had been a big job catching a sought-after villain. You were happy for them, even if it meant a mountain of paperwork for you. It should have been boxed off, over and done with. So why was the office on fire, debris and smoke everywhere?

You coughed, dragging yourself out from under your desk where it had ended up overturned on top of you, raising a hand to your head to feel the sticky wetness of blood coating it. Squinting through the smoke, your hand flew to your mouth, seeing your desk neighbor lying on the floor, his neck twisted at an odd angle and his eyes wide open. You wanted to scream, to get help, but the rest of the office was in chaos. Ears ringing, you looked around once more, your eyes landing on one of your heroes carrying another worker away and toward the exit, calling out orders to other people. Red Riot seemed to have his hands full there, but you opened your mouth to try and shout for him anyway, desperate to get help for your coworker and friend. 

Nothing came out of your mouth, just a croak that was lost among the screams and sounds of the agency falling apart. Tears pooled in your eyes as panic welled within you, until you managed to make out a garbled and quiet version of your name in the ringing of your ears. You turned your head, seeing Dynamight running toward you, falling to his knees as his hands cupped your face gently, tilting it and frowning when he saw your head injury. He spoke to you, but the words didn't make sense, you couldn’t hear him properly. You shook your head at him, pointing to your coworker. “He- he needs help… You have to- to help him!” You grasped onto his gauntlets, your eyes pleading with his. Dynamight turned to look at your coworker, his expression tightening as he looked back at you and shook his head, reaching to hook his arm under your knees to pick you up. You fought his grasp, screaming that your friend needed help more than you. Didn’t they understand? His neck- surely his injury was worse, you could wait, he needed someone to help him! The further you got from the wreckage of the office, the less your ears rang, finally allowing you to hear Dynamight’s words. “He’s gone… It’s too late, we can’t help him, we gotta get you out of here…” Gone… too late…Your eyes fluttered shut as the world was enveloped in black, your mind too exhausted to keep up.

-------------------------------------------------

It smelled clean. Too clean, and there was an incessant beeping that wouldn’t shut the fuck up somewhere off to your left. You frowned, trying to open your eyes and immediately closing them in pain when the stark white ceiling and fluorescent lights blinded you. Trying again, slowly this time, you squinted your eyes open, moving to raise your arm to rub your eyes and stopping when you felt a tug at your elbow joint. Looking down, you saw an IV attached to you, and your frown deepened.

What the fuck happened? Finally registering a hushed but angry sounding voice in the room with you, you glanced around. Near the doorway, wearing casual clothes and holding his phone up to his ear, Dynamight was hissing at someone on the other end of the line. “... don’t care about the costs, I’ll help cover ‘em. We gotta get the office rebuilt… Listen, Shitty Hair, I won’t let some minor thugs think we can be taken down by something like this. We get rebuilt, and show ‘em they can come at us with whatever they got- we ain’t stoppin’.” He turned in place, his eyes roving over the floor, up the bed, and finally resting on your open eyes. His own eyes widen at the sight of you awake, his feet already bringing him closer. “...gotta go.”

Dynamight hung up the phone, pocketing it as he stopped by the side of your bed, leaning both hands on the covers. You eyed him for a moment, unsure what to say, before you tentatively reached out, covering his hand with yours as tears filled your eyes. “Thank you. For saving me.” His hand froze under yours, his eyes shooting to stare at the limbs with what looked like panic before he relaxed, flipping his hand over to grip yours. With a sigh, his free hand came up to scrub down his face, his eyes moving to yours and staying locked on the bandage you could feel above your eye. “Scared the shit outta me, princess. Thought- with how close you were to the door- didn’t think you’d made it.” His words are tight, almost choked, and you frown at him.

“What happened? I don’t really… remember…” “S’fine, doctors said it’d probably be blurry. We thought we got ‘em all. But we missed one, a guy who was pretendin’ to be quirkless. We didn’t think he was even really one of the villains, more like a civilian caught up in it… just a good actor, I guess. He- he built a bomb. Packaged it up like a delivery and dressed the part, got in and left it on my desk. He had the detonator and I got him before he was outta the building but he- turns out he had a quirk. Technopath, or some shit, let him detonate it even though we were downstairs… I’m- I’m so sorry, I thought I got ‘em all…” His free hand clenched into a fist, you’d never seen him look so distraught. You squeezed the hand still in your grip, giving him a small smile. “You had no way of knowing, Dynamight. You did everything you were supposed to.” “Bakugou. Don’t bother with my hero name here.” Your eyes widened, but you nodded. Without letting go of your hand, Bakugou pulled a chair up to the side of your bed, staring at your intertwined fingers. You’d never been this close to him, not like this, but right now you needed the comfort. Not questioning it, you let him play with your hand, enjoying the companionable silence until he opened his mouth again.

“I really thought… When I got up there, and saw everything all- destroyed… I really thought I’d lost you.” You frowned, about to speak, but he cut you off. “Don’t- Just lemme talk, okay? I’m a coward. I spent all this time tellin’ myself I didn’t have to tell you, because you were always right there for when I was ready. Let myself think nothin’ would ever happen, but- then it did. And when I got up there and couldn’t find you… I just thought- I thought ‘I should have told her.’ Because I didn’t think I had a chance. And then I saw you, and it was like I had a second chance. So here I am- takin’ that chance. You know what I’m talkin’ about, right?” Bakugou turned his head towards you, his eyes pleading, a nervous twitch to his brow. Your eyes had widened a long time ago, your heart pounding in your chest as you processed his words. 

Slowly, a smile crept across your lips, your head nodding. “Yeah, I know. I’d like that, a lot.”

-------------------------------------------------

It’s amazing the difference a few weeks can make.

A few weeks ago, you never would have dreamed that you could call Katsuki Bakugou yours, and yet here you were. Turns out that dating your boss is okay if your boss is literally at the top of the food chain at work, and no one is going to call him out on his shit. Mina, Sero, Kaminari and Kirishima were overjoyed at this development, teasing Bakugou at every opportunity they could, not having to hide it in front of you anymore. This in turn delighted you, loving the blush and harsh glare that would appear on his face, the soft pops  and crackles of his palms becoming one of your favourite sounds. He took you on modest, low key dates, to keep you away from the prying eyes of the public, and you loved how silently affectionate he became. A hand in yours as you walked home after a date, a gentle kiss at your doorstep, a lingering touch at your lower back as you turned away that had your thighs tingling. 

The little glint of hunger in his eyes as he watches you leave.

It was like you were back in high school, closing your front door and squealing into your hands after each date, wanting more than anything to drag him into your home and fuck him senseless right there in the entryway. The only thing stopping you was that every time you tried to, he stopped and said he had something special planned for your first time together. You trusted that he knew what he was doing.

As he walked you toward the office one evening, you thought he’d lost his mind.

You had been having nightmares about the building ever since the event, waking up gasping for air as if you were still stuck in the smoke filled room. Your heart was pounding just looking at the building, your steps slowing until you came to a complete stop, looking at him warily. He gave you a rare smile, tugging on your hand gently to bring you into his side. “Just trust me, yeah?”

And you did. Because he’d never done a single thing to make you lose faith in him, even before you were together, there was probably no one else on the planet that you trusted more. 

Bakugou walked you into the building, keeping you tucked into his side the whole time. It was odd being here after hours, the building looking so dark compared to the usual bright sunlight that filtered through the large glass walls. When you arrived at your floor, the lift gave a soft ding! to alert you, and you held your breath.

Suddenly, you understood. 

The whole floor had been refurbished, reinforced walls around those with cubicles, the offices with their large, see through windows being replaced with thicker, frosted glass and thicker doors, everything redesigned with a more durable design in mind. It looked entirely different, a clean slate.

Your desk was right outside of Bakugou’s door.

“I wanted to keep you close, in case anything happens again…” Bakugou’s free hand reached up to swipe at his nose, a bashful blush trickling across his cheeks. Your eyes watered slightly as you realised that he’d done this for you. The other staff would benefit too, of course, but he’d made some of the changes with you and your fears in mind, bringing you back here to show you that it wasn’t the same anymore, that you wouldn’t ever be back in that position again.

You threw your arms around him, burying your face in his chest as his arms wrapped around you, holding you close. A soft kiss to the top of your head had you pulling back, looking up at him for just a moment before you pushed up to press your lips to his. One of his hands came up to cradle your cheek, keeping you from moving away as he kissed the breath from your lungs, pushing you back against the lift doors, the cool metal biting at your back through your clothes. 

Bakugou reached down, grasping your thighs and lifting you, wrapping your legs around his waist as he carried you through the office space and into his office, kicking the thick door closed behind him and seating you on the edge of his desk. He finally pulled back, letting you breathe as he moved his lips to your neck, inching toward your collarbone. When he found that little spot on your collarbone that had you gasping, he smirked into your skin, biting down on the flesh softly before latching his lips there, leaving behind a deep mark. Finally leaning back, he reached up to grasp the back of your head, tugging it so he could straighten up and look down at your panting form.

“Gonna help me christen the office, princess?” The pet name had your core throbbing, your mouth parting around a soft moan as you nodded your head, his lips spreading into a dark grin. You’d been waiting weeks for this, for him, and now that he was between your thighs, his hard length pressed up against your pussy through your clothes, you couldn’t wait to get him inside you. Bakugou reached for the hem of your shirt, ripping it up and off you. Pulling one of the cups of your bra down, he moved to wrap his lips around your nipple, making you unwrap your hands from his neck, leaning back on the desk to give him better access. The office was so quiet, just the lewd noise of Bakugou sucking on your breast and your soft panting filled the air, one of your hands moving to unclip your bra behind your back. As the garment fell down your arms, one of his hands came up to tweak at your other nipple skillfully, a sharp pinch making you cry out for him. 

The way he handled you, harshly but as if you would break if he went too hard, was making your brain fog over with lust. You couldn’t focus on anything but him, his tongue flicking at your nipple, his fingers on your breast, his hips rolling into yours slowly. It was too much, it wasn’t enough, you just needed more. Bringing one hand up to his shirt, you tugged at it until he understood you wanted it off, leaning away and pulling it over his head to reveal what could only be described as an adonis-like body. Pale scars littered his skin, evidence of his past battles, and you reached out to trace a few of them softly, flicking your eyes up to his before leaning forward to kiss him once again. Bakugou placed his hands firmly on your hips, pulling them closer to grind into you more intently. Forgoing his scars, you let your hand trace down his abs, feeling them twitch under your fingers until you reached his waistband, undoing his jeans deftly and reaching into his pants to cup his erection through his boxers. He hissed into the kiss, his lips separating from you as he rested his forehead against yours, looking down at where your hand disappeared into his open jeans.

Smirking at his reaction, you pushed at his clothing until both his pants and boxers were around his thighs, freeing his cock for you to wrap your hand around. Your mouth filled with saliva just looking at his cock, long and thick and just asking for you to wrap your lips around it instead, but Bakugou wouldn’t let you move him away to get to your knees. “Sorry, babe, but if you put that pretty mouth on me I won’t last. Next time.” Pouting, you nodded your head at him, moving to get your own jeans off. Bakugou helped pull them off you, leaning back to get a good look at you when you were bare before him. He bit his lip, eyes tracing over every curve, every piece of skin hungrily, and your face heated at his attention. “So fuckin’ beautiful…” You didn’t have time to react to his uttered words, because in the next moment he had you on your back on his desk, his hands pushing at the backs of your thighs to push them against your chest. His mouth descended on your aching core, tongue pushing into you to taste the sweet wetness gathered there, before he moved it up to your clit, suckling harshly at your sensitive bud. You cried out sharply at his treatment, a hand shooting down to tangle in his hair, fingers tightening in his soft strands as your walls pulsed around nothing, begging for something to fill you. Bakugou stood, separating from your clit with a pop! as he grinned down at you. “Sorry, needed to have a taste of that sweet pussy, princess. Tastes just like I thought- perfect.” Eyes hooded, chest heaving, you were about to scream at him to just fuck you already, but he seemed to get the idea from your look. Bakugou pressed the blunt head of his cock to your entrance, one hand keeping one of your thighs pressed open for him while the other squeezed at the base of his length. He looked up to lock eyes with you once more, a brow raised in question, giving you one last chance to back out. You nodded as you braced yourself, knowing that this would hurt a little as he wasn’t exactly small. 

Bakugou pushed his hips forward, the head of his cock popping past your entrance, the both of you exhaling slowly as he pushed further and further into your core, parting your walls until his hips were flush with yours. You dragged in a ragged breath, the burning stretch edging on pain before melting into complete pleasure. Head falling back onto the table, your eyes rolled back as you squeezed around him experimentally, relishing in his groan at your actions. He swatted at your thigh as he began to pump his hips, moving both hands to your hips in order to pull you into his thrusts. Your mind was reeling with pleasure, unable to think of anything other than the drag of his thick cock against your walls. Moans tumbled freely from your lips, mostly incoherent versions of his name, interspersed with oh god’s and right there!’s. Bakugou himself wasn’t faring much better, groans leaving him on every other thrust, his brows furrowed in pleasure as he watched his cock disappear into your pliant body. 

Bakugou lifted your legs to rest both of your ankles on one broad shoulder, arms wrapping around your thighs as he pounded into you harder, yanking you into each pump of his hips, his eyes focused on your face. Watching you fall apart around him like this, was all he’d wanted for so long, now that he had it… he knew he wouldn’t ever be able to get enough. He was getting drunk off the feeling of your pussy pulling him deeper. Burying himself deeper until his tip was hitting against your cervix, the feeling causing your eyes to shoot wide open, a pressure building in your lower belly. Bakugou’s length hitting so deep and dragging against that special spot inside you, it was so much more than you’d ever felt before, that pressure building and building, a worried look appearing on your face that he catches immediately. He slows down a little, looking at you in confusion. “I- Something feels- weird- pressure…” Your words come out disjointed with his hips still slapping against you, and it takes him a second to process. Once he does, all he does is smirk and lean over you further, resuming his original pace and power, ignoring your worried words. You try to push against his abdomen, concerned at the pleasure building within you, but he’s so strong that he barely budges. Your walls start to flutter around him as you approach your climax, clamping down on him rhythmically, until-

“C’mon, princess. Make a mess on me, lemme have it.” 

It seems that his words are all you needed, flying over the edge of your orgasm as that pressure released, your cunt gushing around him as you came harder than you ever had before, your vision whiting out and your mouth caught wide open in a silent scream. Bakugou watched you come undone, your pussy clenching so hard and drawing him deeper, his own release taking over as he pumped into you, hard, and shot ropes of come deep into your body. He slowed gradually, panting hard over you as he let your legs fall to the side. The two of you caught your breath, Bakugou pressing soft kisses to your chest as he rested his forehead on your collarbone. You ran your fingers through his hair, basking in the glow of your orgasm, until he shattered the moment with a snort. With a raised brow, you looked down at him as he propped his chin on your chest.

“You fuckin’ squirted on me. So dirty, princess.” Huffing in indignation, you pushed on his forehead, ignoring his chuckles as he pulled out of you, both of you getting dressed slowly. He caught your elbow, pulling you close and pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “Hey- I didn’t say I didn’t like it. In fact…” He leaned down, pressing his lips to your ear as he murmurs;

“...I wanna find out how many times I can get you to squirt for me back home, baby.”

You shuddered, dressing quickly and practically dragging him back to your apartment.

[softspiderling]

we always find a way (to make it out alive) | m.s.s.

Summary: beacon hills holds a lot of bad memories for you. you're still not sure how you let yourself be persuaded to go back.

pairing: Stiles Stilinski x werewolf!reader

warning: reader's parents die, mention of guns

word count: 8,8k (don't even ask, I don't know how it happened)

author's note: hello. i don't want to talk about this, i somehow vomited 8k worth of words about stiles. leave a like/reblog bestie. also, don't forget to come into my inbox to yell at me. thank you to charlotte @stilinskiderek for witnessing my teen wolf obsession rebirth and for listening to my occasional rant.

“We’re going to need to leave in five minutes if you don’t want to be late.”

Theo was standing in the threshold of your room, leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed. You merely glanced over at him, not even moving an inch. Your feet were resting comfortably on top of your desk as the book you were reading was in your lap.

“I was waiting for you. Wasn’t me who was standing in front of the mirror fixing my hair for like the tenth time. I’ve never seen you this nervous,” you commented dryly, swinging your legs off the desk and standing up.

“I’m not nervous,” Theo said defensively, ducking his head when you reached out to mess up his hair. “I’m just… Tense. It’s weird to be back here.”

“Oh, please. Don’t lie to me. I know you’re nervous and I know why, even though I don’t understand it. It’s just Scott and Stiles.”

“Really.”

You ignored Theo’s pointed look in your direction and turned to put your book in your backpack instead. While Theo was ecstatic to be back in your old stomping grounds, it took him and your brother a while to persuade you to return with them. Your life in Salvador was exactly what you had been building up to, why would you leave it to go back to Beacon Hills? The only thing that you remembered from here was the death of your parents and getting your heart broken in fourth grade. It was safe to say that you weren’t eager to return.

“Aren’t you super nervous to finally see the love of your life again?” Theo teased in a high pitched voice, as predictable as he was, and you only shouldered past him roughly, walking out into the hallway with your backpack in hand. Theo was quick to follow, pestering you for an answer.

“I don’t know who you’re talking about,” you said lightly.

“Oh come on!”

Theo snickered and you knew this was far from being over. You contemplated shoving him down the stairs but it would only be a temporary fix, he’d barely feel it, so you didn’t want to waste your energy on that.

“Brunet guy, moles all over, kind of heavy on the ADHD…”

You only threw a look at Theo over your shoulder, narrowing your eyes at him, daring him to say another word. You had a crush on a guy one time and of course Theo would hold it over your head for the rest of the time. Theo kept nagging you until you reached the front door, where Justin was checking his bag.

“You guys ready? I could give you a lift to school on my way to work,” Justin said, fixing the collar of his jacket.

“When’s my car getting here?” You asked with pursed lips. “I feel like I’m 12 getting dropped off at school by you again.”

“I mean, you could’ve driven yourself if you hadn’t insisted on bringing your own car back to Beacon Hills.”

“Well, it’s called loyalty, Theodore, maybe you could learn a thing or two from me.”

Your voice was biting as you said it, Theo only raised his hands in defense, a knowing smirk on his face and a grin grew on Justin’s face. You sighed internally, cursing yourself for your short temper. Let the teasing begin.

“Oh no, you mentioned the Valentine’s Day of ‘07, didn’t you, T?”

It was the beginning of February when you had started to get the idea of getting Stiles a gift for Valentine’s. He had always been kind to you and always tried to include you when he hung out with Theo and Scott. It wasn’t hard to develop a crush on him, to be honest. He was cute and nice. You were ten, the bar wasn’t that high. You started with leaving Reese’s Pieces with small notes in the pockets of his coat or in his lunch box when he wasn’t looking. Your mother had helped you with most of the notes, since you wanted them to rhyme without sounding too cheesy. The last note, which you had placed on his desk before he arrived to first period, contained a small rhyme about how the color of his eyes reminded you of honey, and to meet you for a Valentine’s picknick at the park later that day. When Stiles stumbled up to his desk a couple of minutes later, he scanned his eyes over the note, unwrapping the honeycomb bar you had left along with the note, taking a huge bite out of it.

“Are you excited to finally meet your secret admirer?” Scott had asked and Stiles grinned toothily at him, almost losing the content of his mouth.

“Yeah! But I’m pretty sure I know who it is.”

Stiles glanced over to you with a huge grin, jerking his chin in your direction and you flushed slightly, waving timidly back at him. You ignored Theo when he slid into his chair next to you, though you could see out of the corner of your eyes that he was hiding a smirk.

“Shut up Theo,” you muttered under your breath, kicking him in the shins under the table. Theo only yelped, glaring at you.

“I didn’t even say anything!”

“You didn’t have to, I saw it on your face!”

Before Theo could retort, Ms. Davis came into the classroom, starting the first lesson of the day. You turned to the front, your eyes glancing over at Stiles multiple times, watching him as he semi-focused on the lesson, playing with your note in his hand. Around noon, you and Theo raced to the pick-up zone where your mother’s minivan was standing, tumbling into the backseats.

“Hey superstar, hey Theo,” your mother greeted you, leaning over to look back at you as you buckled up. “How was school?”

“Great! I gave Stiles the last note, he was so excited!”

“She blushed!”

“You did?” your mother laughed, winking at Theo. “Well, then I guess the plan’s in its end-phase.”

You discreetly elbowed Theo in the gut, then talking loudly to cover his grunt. “Yep, definitely is! Did you pick up the peanut butter cupcakes from the grocery store?”

“’course I did.”

After your mother dropped of Theo at home, the two of you went home to pack the basket for the picknick. During this time, your heart was almost hammering out of your ribcage and you felt so excited and at the same time you felt like you were about to throw up. When you had the basket all packed up, you made your way over the park with your mom. While you walked over the grass to spread the blanket on the ground, your mother sat down on a bench a couple of feet away. Close enough to be there in a second if something happened, but far enough for you to get the sense like you were there by yourself. It was only a couple of minutes past three pm when you had set everything up.

“Maybe Stiles is just a little late,” you mumbled to yourself, smoothing down your pants, looking around. The park was not as busy as it usually was, some couples walking around, a lone man with his dog, and a handful of kids on the playground. But no Stiles in sight.

After ten minutes, you were growing antsy, telling yourself that Stiles was on his way. After about forty-five minutes, your mother knelt down on the blanket next to you, placing a warm hand on your shoulder.

“You okay superstar?”

With a shrug, you plucked at the three-leaf clover you had picked up. “… He’s not coming, is he?”

“I don’t think so, honey. I’m sorry.”

You swallowed quickly, giving your mother a somewhat believable smile. “I’m fine. Let’s just go home.”

“Nah, come on, let’s grab some ice cream on the way home,” your mother said with an encouraging smile. “My treat.”

Together, you packed up all the things and made your way to the ice cream parlor that was just outside the park. Your mother was telling you a story about how her and your dad had spent their first Valentine’s Day, but she suddenly slowed down, glancing inside the parlor. You paused following her gaze, freezing when you looked through the window, your foot stuck mid-air.

Stiles was sitting inside with Lydia, talking animatedly, his ice cream almost falling out of its cone as Lydia only listened half-heartedly, drumming her nails on the table. Despite your assurance to your mum that you were fine, tears sprang into your eyes and you turned on your heel, running the sidewalk back home, your mother calling after you.

You rarely thought back to that day, if you were honest. Most people (read, Justin and Theo) thought it was because of Stiles, and in some ways, it was. You’ve never been humiliated like that before. But really, it was just too painful. That Valentine’s Days was one of the last times you had spent with your mother.

It was only a few days later when your whole world was turned upside down when you were brought out of class by your brother, who had bloodshot eyes, muttering about how your parents were gone. Merely in the wrong place at the wrong time, they were standing in the middle of the grocery store when a robber came in with a gun. Your mother caught a stray bullet to the chest and in a panic, the robber had shot your father as well when he had cried out in shock.

There was a high possibility that you associated Stiles with the death of your parents and in another universe, you might have gotten over that rejection and stayed friends with Stiles; you didn’t even know if he had seen you that day, but alas. You had isolated yourself from most kids in your class except for Theo, and only a few months later, Justin turned 21 and the two of you left Beacon Hills.

Only to return, 7 years later, for whatever reason.

With some disdain, you stared at Beacon Hills High when your brother stopped in front, with the engine still running. Theo was already getting out of the car in the backseat, but you remained frozen in your seat.

“You know you’re going to have to get out at some point, right?”

You puffed out a breath, glancing over at Justin, who looked at you with a mixture of amusement and worry.

“Do I have to?”

Justin paused. “You don’t have to, but you want to go to college, right? Your senior year of high school is kind of crucial for that.”

Right, that.

Pulling a face, you opened the door with a sigh, getting out of the car. Even after you closed the passenger door, Justin didn’t drive off, watching you.

“Don’t forget we have that meeting with the alpha later, don’t be late.”

“Yeah yeah, don’t worry about it,” you said off-handedly and Justin nodded slowly.

“Hey, you know you’re gonna rock it, right sup-”

“Don’t.”

You cut Justin off with a sharp snap and he leaned back in his seat, giving you a glum look.

“I’ll see you later.”

With that, Justin pulled away from the side-walk and you turned to walk inside the building, Theo was just waiting by the entrance. He was raising his eyebrows at you in question, but you only shook your head, walking to the principal’s office. After getting your transfer papers sorted and getting your class schedule, you and Theo walked to the lockers, stacks of books in hand.

“I have science now, but we’ll see each other in Calculus and for lunch,” Theo said as he looked at his class schedule. You on the other hand were trying to put your books into the locker somewhat organized.

“You know you can just throw them in, right?”

“I’m not a heathen, Theo.”

Theo only rolled his eyes good-naturedly, only wincing a bit when the bell rang.

“Alright, I gotta go. Try to make some friends, yeah?”

You only gave him a look, Theo saluted to you before he turned on his heels to walk to his classroom. With a sigh, you gave up on neatly stacking your books and tossed the rest of them in the locker, only grabbing the book for econ and headed to the second floor, where your first class was going to be. You weaved your way through the crowd, already being accustomed to block out loud, unnecessary noise to keep yourself sane. Overstimulation was no joke. Luckily, your classroom was the first to your right when you reached the second floor and you took the desk in the last row. As the rest of the class filed in, you flipped your book open, not paying any attention to the class until the teacher, Coach Finstock, apparently, took to the front. He was waiting for the class to settle down as the classroom door opened yet again. You turned back to your back, tuning out the conversation, the smell of peanut butter and honey suddenly filling your nostrils. Scrunching your nose, you leaned back in your seat when someone dropped in to the empty chair in front of you somewhat clumsily. He stretched his arms, rather obnoxiously, if you might add and it was obvious that the smell of peanut butter and honey that was wafting over to your nose came from him. Unable to sit still, he bounced his leg and you narrowed your eyes at his back, like his restlessness was contagious. He drummed his fingertips on the desk and he just kept fidgeting! Almost like-

“Stiles.”

“Huh?”

Stiles whirled around to look at you because apparently you had said his name out loud. He looked at you with furrowed eyes, before recognition dawned on his face. He opened his mouth, surely to say something along the lines of Oh my god, how long has it been? but Coach interrupted him, knocking on his desk.

“Stilinski, what’s the definition of supply and demand?”

With one last glance over his shoulder, Stiles turned back to the front to face Coach, who was uncomfortably close to his face. Have the teachers always been this weird?

“Supply and demand? Well…”

When the bell rang to signal the end of first period, you were one of the firsts out of the classroom, though you could hear Stiles grapple himself to his feet to follow you. Even through all the noise of a high school, you could hear Stiles’ voice clear as day, calling after you. You ignored, well, you tried to ignore him, but his voice was ringing in your ears like he was right next to you. This has never happened before. Wincing, you quickened your pace and turned the corner, hoping more distance between you would lessen the volume of his voice in your ears, when you ran straight into someone.

Fuck.

“Shit, sorry, I-” you looked up, trying to clear your head to form a fucking clear sentence when you looked into the concerned face of Scott McCall, because of course that was just your luck. Scott raised an eyebrow at you in question, his eyes flashing red for a split-second, making you flash your golden eyes back at him involuntarily.

“You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re the alpha?”

Scott uttered your name, his voice small, and you knew you were being unfair. He never did anything to you, but if he was the alpha, it meant Stiles was definitely involved in his pack somehow.

“You’re one of the betas Derek was talking about?”

You waved a hand at him, annoyed. “Cora was part of my pack when she was in Salvador, or well… Before she came to Beacon Hills and then came back with her brother in tow.” And then you left with your brother and Theo to come to Beacon Hills. It was like a fucking exchange program.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be rude," you said, feeling guilty for snapping at Scott. "It's just... complicated."

Scott gave you a sympathetic nod and you wondered if he knew about what had happened with Stiles, but before you could say something stupid like ask if he knew why Stiles had gone to grab ice cream with Lydia instead of meeting you on that Valentine’s Day, Stiles appeared at his side, looking slightly out of breath. You avoided his gaze, though you kept your chin high.

"Hey," Stiles said, a small smile on his face. The way he said your name made butterflies flutter in your stomach.

Really? Still?

“It’s been a while.”

You forced a smile back, trying to keep your voice even. "Yeah, it has."

Scott and Stiles exchanged a glance, sensing the tension between you. "Well, we should probably get to class," Scott said, breaking the awkward silence. "See you around.”

“Wha-- hey, I wanted to catch up with her-” Stiles protested as Scott grabbed him by the arm to drag him along. You could hear Scott whisper distinctly under his breath before Stiles exclaimed a loud: “What?!”

You could only imagine that Scott had told him what he had just found out and with a deep sigh, you straightened your shoulders. Onwards and upwards, right? Before you headed to your next class, you stopped by your locker on the way to grab the books you needed, trying to get your head straight with the class material. Surprisingly, it wasn’t even that hard to keep up. You were worried that transferring in the middle of the school year would set you back a couple of weeks if not months, but somehow you were ahead of the class material, as your school in Salvador kept a much tighter and quicker schedule. By the time lunch period rolled around, you were far more relaxed than at the beginning of the school day, considering you had overcome your biggest fears.

Following the rest of the class, you let them guide you to the cafeteria. After grabbing a sandwich and some water at the counter, you followed Theo’s scent through the cafeteria, but you stopped in your tracks when you saw Theo sitting with - you guessed it - Scott and Stiles. There were a handful of people sitting at their table, you weren’t familiar with most of them, though the head of strawberry-blonde hair stuck out to you. Theo leaned over the side, lifting his hand for a wave and you only gave him a look, before turning on your heel, away from them. You could hear Theo’s chair scraping against the linoleum floor as he pushed it back.

“Hey, what’s her problem?” Stiles asked and Theo only sighed in exasperation.

“Come on buddy, seriously? Keep up.”

By the time Theo caught up with you, you were sitting outside at an unoccupied table, picking at your sandwich.

“Seriously? Next time slam the cafeteria doors when you exit, it’ll be even more dramatic,” Theo huffed as he dropped on the bench across from you. You barely acknowledged him as you opened your water bottle.

“Just trying to have my lunch in peace.”

Theo pinched the bridge of his nose. “Hey, I know you hate Stiles-”

“I don’t hate Stiles,” you interjected, heated. “I just don’t really want to spend all of my free time around him and Scott. What’s wrong with that?”

Finally, you lifted your head to look at him but Theo only narrowed his eyes at you.

“… You know Scott is the alpha right?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, I found out this morning. I bet you’re fucking ecstatic.”

“I mean, it helps that the alpha is someone we know and used to be friends with. It’ll be much easier to fit into his pack. But you really need to work on your people skills.”

“Me?” you bristled, but when Theo raised an eyebrow, you puffed out a defeated breath. “Fine. I’ll play nice. But I am not going to be part of their clique.”

“… That’s kind of exactly what you’re going to have to do.”

“Jesus, Theo you’re so annoying,” you moaned, standing up to leave the table. You threw your sandwich wrapper and the empty water bottle in the trash, reluctantly waiting for Theo as your next class was with him anyway. He shouldered his backpack, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

“Cheer up. I think this is going to be great.”

You gave a grunt of dissent. Luckily, the rest of the school day went by mostly uneventful and by 4 pm, you were walking out of the school building towards Justin’s car that was standing by the curbside.

“Hey, how was your first day?” Justin asked as soon as you got in the car, Theo climbing in the back.

“Pretty sure she is contemplating whether she should become an omega,” Theo quipped, unhelpfully as usual and Justin only looked at you quizzically.

“Scott McCall is the alpha.”

“The floppy haired one? Who has asthma?”

“Had, I guess. And yeah, the very same.”

Justin nodded slowly and it was clear that he had more to say, but he chose not to. He gave you a side eye, knowing the implications but your glare shut him up.

“So, how was your first day at your new law firm?”

Thankful for the topic change, you settled back into your seat as Justin launched into the recap of his day as he drove the three of you home. When you finally got home, you didn’t waste a second to get out of the car.

“We’re gonna leave in an hour or so,” Justin called after you when you were already halfway into the house.

“Yeah yeah,” you said absentmindedly, not even raising your voice. You knew he could hear you. “Just get me when it’s time.” You shut your door behind, wanting some privacy before you had to go show your face again. With a deep sigh, you fell headfirst into your bed, hoping you’d smother yourself. However, you couldn’t even do that in peace, when your phone suddenly vibrated. Rolling on your back, you slipped your phone out of your pocket, to see a new text from an unknown number.

[unknown]: hey, scott decided to hold the meeting at his house, instead of the vet practice, since it’s you

You frowned at the screen when the phone vibrated again with the arrival of the another text.

[unknown]: its stiles btw :))

Irritated, you tossed the phone on the pillow. How did he even get your number? And why was he the one telling you about the change of location, instead of Scott? You really contemplated leaving Stiles on read, but you remembered what Theo had said to you earlier. So you picked up your phone and texted him back.

[me]: Okay, thanks for letting me know

Stiles’ answer was almost immediate.

[unknown]: no prob!!

Your finger was hovering in the air and the question as to how Stiles got your number in the first place grated you.

[me]: How did you get my number anyway?

The ellipsis showed up, meaning Stiles was typing, before they disappeared again. You frowned, staring at the text chain before Stiles finally replied.

[unknown]: got it from cora. hope thats okay.

You groaned bumping your fist against your forehead, because of course it was fucking Cora putting her nose in your business all the way from Salvador. You swiped out of the text chain, opening the one with Cora.

[me]: why tf did you just give stiles my number without warning me first??

[cora]: i thought it’d be funny and i was right

[cora]: give him a kiss from me

[me]: I hate you

[cora]: no u don’t

You glared at your phone and exited the text chain, your phone almost slipping out of your hand when it vibrated again.

[unknown]: i just asked her bc i thought it’d be the most convenient way of contacting you. i wasnt stalking, i promise

[me]: Sure you weren’t.

[unknown]: i couldve asked one of my dads deputies to find out your address and shown up on your door instead

[me]: That’s abuse of power and I’m pretty sure your dad wouldn’t approve.

[me]: But I guess this is better

[unknown]: seeeee

You couldn’t help yourself to smile at the almost easy conversation you had with Stiles, and suddenly you remembered why you had liked him so much. But this was not you liking him again, this was just you trying to brush up on your people skills, like Theo had suggested. You were brought back to reality when your phone vibrated again.

[unknown]: i dont wanna keep you any longer, ill see you later :))

Exhaling, you dropped your phone on your stomach, feeling like you didn’t really have to reply to him. If exchanging only a few messages would have you grinning like an idiot already, how would fare with being a fucking pack with Stiles? God this was going to be so much harder than you thought.

“-ery full moon, just to be together. You don’t have to join us, but I think it would be nice.”

You had tuned out most of the conversation ever since you walked into Scott’s house, figuring Justin and Theo would just tell you the most important information you had missed. Scott’s pack was…. Unconventional, to put it lightly. The first thing you noticed is that the whole pack seems to consist of teenagers. Justin would be the oldest one by almost pushing 30. The second thing is that, somehow, most of the pack weren’t even werewolves, actually, there were only really 2, Scott and Isaac. Kira was a Kitsune, Lydia a banshee and Malia, Derek and Cora’s cousin apparently, was a werecoyote. Allison and Stiles were plain humans, even though Allison labelled herself as a hunter, which really raised the hairs on the nape of your neck, though you deemed her alright. For now.

“Have you guys always been weres?” Isaac asked, his arms crossed as he sat on the arm chair, legs thrown over the arm rests. “I remember you from middle school.”

“No. We got the bite in Salvador. Mariana kind of took us under the wing when we first got there and somewhere along the way, she offered us the bite and we accepted,” Theo said, shrugging his shoulders a bit. Stiles narrowed his eyes at him.

“And your parents?”

Theo leaned back on the couch, his facial expression not moving a bit but you could tell that Stiles managed to get under his skin with basically the only thing Theo considered his weakness. You figured that the other weres might pick up on his comfort, but it was subtle. Theo was pretty good at masking his emotions.

“We’re not really in contact anymore. They took my sister’s death pretty hard.”

The fact that they barely acknowledged that they had another child went unsaid.

“Justin’s my legal guardian. From both of us, I guess,” Theo added, with a quick glance at you. That lead to the everyone else look at you too and you growled under your breath at the unwanted attention.

“I don’t really have anything to add.”

Theo kicked your foot making you growl, and you flashed your eyes at him, as he merely flashed his blue eyes back at you.

“O-kay!” Stiles suddenly yelped, jumping up with hand clap. “How about we get some food now? Time for food, we got a bunch of wolves here, I’m sure you’re starving. I could definitely eat. Scotty?”

“Uh sure, yeah. That’s a good idea actually. Do you guys want to stay for dinner?” Scott asked, an eyebrow raised.

Justin lifted his head, dropping them again. “Sure. It’d be nice to get to know the pack a little better, right?” He looked at you pointedly and you suppressed a grunt.

“Right.”

“We could order pizza, what about Gino’s?” Isaac suggested and Kira shook her head.

“They don’t deliver.”

“It’s fine, Lydia and I can go pick it up,” Allison said, standing up and pulling Lydia with her. She had been looking at you for a while and you gave her a somewhat tight smile. Scott gently touched Allison’s elbow, smiling at her.

“Thanks guys. I’ll go check for drinks and paper plates.”

“I’ll help!”

You coughed kiss-ass into your hand and Theo only glared at you over his shoulder as he followed Scott into the kitchen. Justin stood with a sigh, giving you a rather heavy look as he walked over to Kira, starting up a conversation with her. You suppressed the want to flee the house and seek comfort somewhere, when a scuffle between Malia and Stiles caught your attention. She was rather persistent, trying to push a hoodie into his hands which he vehemently tried to give back.

“-Iles, I don’t want it anymore.” Malia said, annoyed. “Just take it, your stench is taking over my room.”

“You guys are together?” It just slipped out, more than anything, and you fought the blush that was threatening to appear on your cheeks. Malia looked at you for a split second and you feared she’d call you out, before she merely shook her head.

“Not anymore,” Malia replied and you raised a surprised eyebrow at Stiles.

“So you got over your crush on Lydia, huh?”

“How long have you had a crush on Lydia?” Malia grunted and Stiles flushed, but before he could answer, you butted in.

“Pretty sure that’s like 7 years in the making, right?”

“It’s not ongoing,” Stiles insisted. “Lydia and I are friends.”

The embarrassment was rolling off of him in waves you could basically taste it so you figured you’d let him off the hook, even if you didn’t truly believed him. Turning away, you effectively clinked yourself out of the conversation ignoring how Malia was growling at Stiles before she disappeared. You were checking your phone, acting mostly disinterested but you could hear Stiles’ heart beating a mile a minute before he awkwardly sat down next to you.

“So, you know Cora and Derek, huh?”

Glancing up from your phone, Stiles was eyeing you, his face neutral but his eyes twinkling.

“Cora more than Derek. She’s pretty much my best friend apart from Theo that shithead.”

I heard that!

Ignoring Theo from somewhere in the house, you settled back against the couch, dropping your phone on the couch. Stiles perked up as you seemed you divert your whole attention to him.

“I miss Cora. I’m pretty sure she missed me too. Did she say anything about me?” Stiles asked and you gave him a look.

“She said you’re annoying.”

Stiles jutted his lower lip out, a frown creasing his forehead. Was he pouting?

“… She said it fondly,” you added slowly and Stiles brightened up again, straightening his shoulders. It was odd but even though you were the werewolf out of the two of you, he seemed to be acting more like a puppy.

“I knew it!” Stiles crowed. “The Hales seem to think they have an impenetrable wall of grumpiness but I’ve managed to worm my way into all of their heart nevertheless.”

Somehow, you couldn’t really imagine Stiles and Derek getting along.

“Even their psycho uncle Peter?”

Stiles winced at the question. “No, we don’t talk about Peter. I just ignore him most of the time and pretend he’s still dead.”

Right, that happened. You really hoped that the craziness around here has died down or else you’d have to seriously talk to Justin about staying in Beacon Hills.

Pleased, Stiles settled back against the corner of the couch.

An odd scent started wafting over to you from Stiles. It was something you weren’t quite familiar with. It wasn’t completely new but not exactly a common scent either, so it took you some thinking to recognize it, of course it didn’t help that Stiles was talking like his life depended on it.

“- and then he just left for London? I mean, how crazy is that? Werewolf in London, cuz that’s totally gonna work out.”

Stiles snorted and you blinked at him, having missed 90% of what he just talked about.

“I mean, don’t get me wrong, I kind of enjoy not having Jackson-” Jackson! “- around anymore, believe it or not but he’s gotten 200 times more insufferable ever since he got the bite. But what the hell is a werewolf doing in London without an alpha or a pack?”

You still had no freaking clue what the scent was and you were that close from breaking down. Luckily, you were interrupted before you could grab Stiles to shake him and ask him what he was feeling.

“Pizza is here!” Scott called and you heard tell tale sign of a car coming down the block as Scott opened the door to help Allison and Lydia carry the pizzas in. You moved to stand up but Stiles laid a hand on your shoulder, gently stopping you.

“I got it. Artichokes and extra cheese, right?”

Dumbly, you nodded, sitting back on the couch as Stiles got up, as everyone started swarming around the pizzas. As everyone started dispersing again, Stiles returned with two pizza boxes, handing one to you before he opened his own - classic pepperoni. When you opened your box, it was indeed a pizza topped with artichoke and extra cheese. You hadn’t even bothered to tell anyone what you wanted, you were fine with eating whatever pizza they brought back, but how did Stiles remember your pizza order? Theo could have ordered the pizza for you but Stiles never exchanged a word with Theo after Allison and Lydia left to get the pizzas, so he must have remembered it, back when you used to get pizza at his place. Even now, with you almost graduating from high school, you still had no idea what to make of Stiles.

“Thanks. I didn’t think you’d remember how I like my pizza,” you blurted out and Stiles paused, glancing at you with a mouthful of pizza. He swallowed, almost choking before he answered.

“Don’t worry about it, it’s my ADHD. I can remember a lot of unnecessary things.” His eyes widened. “Not that your pizza order is not important, but-”

“It’s fine,” you interrupted him with a small smile. “I remember small things, too. Reese’s and Honeycomb, right?”

Stiles’ lip parted and there was that scent again, so strong it nearly clouded over the rest of your senses. When you noticed Theo staring over at you with an curious look, you finally realized what the scent was.

Affection.

That was what you were smelling on Stiles.

But you knew that Stiles liked you, right? You were friends before your parents died, it was nothing new. This is like, your friendship blossoming again. You gave him a small, rather shy, smile, before taking a slice out of your pizza. Maybe this pack wasn’t so bad after all. You could do this, right? Being friends with Stiles? That was easy. As long as you didn’t slip up into the crush realm again, everything was going to be fine.

Over the next few weeks, your integration into the pack and their friend group at school was a slow but gradual process. Back in Salvador, you used to study for class with your packmates as it helped you focus on your work. Sometimes it ended up just being you and Stiles, since you were the only ones who took AP English Literature and AP Chemistry. Well, Lydia took them, too, but apparently she was too good for studying with Stiles and you, at least that was what he told you.

“I feel like my brain is leaking fluids,” you moaned, burying your face in your text book. It was nearly four pm and the sun was just blazing outside, while you and Stiles had been studying for the past couple of hours.

Stiles lifted his head off his desk, squinting at you. “Oh my god, same.”

“Do you have a hose in the backyard? I swear, if you’re going to make a dog joke, I’m going to kill you but spraying ourselves down could help with cooling down.”

“Or we could get ice cream,” Stiles suggested and you hummed. “It seems less waterboard-y and we haven’t eaten in like, five hours. I don’t know if you remember but there’s a pretty good ice cream place down by the park, Salt & Straw? And-”

“What did you just say?”

Your tone was sharp when you interrupted him, lifting the text book off of your face as Stiles paused at the hostility in your voice and he glanced over at you, salty nervosity wafting over to you.

“I just figured we’ve been studying for a while, and I could do ice cream. Salt & Straw is the best ice cream place around but if you want-”

“I gotta go,” you suddenly said, your shoulders tight. Stiles’ nervosity suddenly changed, turning sour and you could tell he was upset, but really what the hell did he expect? You avoided looking at him as you collected your things, stuffing them in your backpack, while he was only watching from where he was sitting at his desk.

“Right,” he said flatly and when you looked up at him, his eyes were sad. Turning away, you were glad that he wasn’t privy to all the whirlwind of emotions you were feeling: sad, angry and resentful. Resentful at Stiles because he brought up the very same ice cream place that he was meeting Lydia at while ditching you; angry at yourself for still letting this affect you the way it did and sad, mostly because all of this just took you right back to your parents’ death.

“I’ll see you at school then.”

“Sure.”

Even as you said it, you both knew it was a lie. You barely looked at Stiles when you bid your good bye, holding your emotions at bay until you reached the safe confines of your car. You could feel your claws coming in slowly, pricking the inside of your palm. You were usually really good with your control, the only time you could feel it slipping is when you felt like you lost control over your emotions. Starting the car quickly, you just wanted to get as far away from Stiles as possible, hoping that some distance would help. You were driving around aimlessly before you slowly rolled to a stop. You didn’t even know where you’d gone until you looked out of the window, freezing. This was really the last place you had wanted to go. Justin has been here a couple of times since you were back in Beacon Hills and he’d asked you to come with every single time but you refused. With a deep breath. you slowly opened your car door, shutting it behind you before you walked towards the two gravestones. They were shiny and clean, almost like not a single day as passed since the last time you were here.

“Hey mom. Hey dad.”

You stared at their gravestones for a while, shifting on your feet before letting out a deep sigh. “I’m sorry for not coming sooner… I guess I still haven’t really dealt with losing you…” Clearing your throat, you stared into the distance. “I guess it’s not fair of me to associate him to with your death. And maybe I shouldn’t be holding onto things for so long… But it’s so hard being back here without you guys.” Your sentence broke off when a sob escaped your mouth and when you covered your face with your hands, you finally allowed yourself to cry, really cry and mourn for your parents, your brother and yourself. When the sobs slowly turned into small sniffles, you wiped your wet cheeks with the sleeves of your shirt, exhaling deeply. Weirdly, you felt better now that you let it all out, but it was still a bit embarrassing.

“I’m really lost, mom. This thing with Stiles… It’s so complicated. I don’t understand why I got so upset when he mentioned that ice cream shop… I mean. It’s been such a long time. Why did I get so defensive?”

The silence was deafening and logically, you knew that you weren’t going to get an answer. But it felt good to say things out loud so you could process it.

“Do you think I’m so upset because I might have feelings for him?” you then added quietly, picking at a leaf that was laying on the pavement. “That’s stupid, right? I mean, isn’t this where we left off the last time? Ugh,” you groaned, palming your forehead. Why couldn’t life be simpler. If your mom was actually here, she’d know what to do. But she wasn’t, alas, you had to figure it out yourself. Crushing the leaf in your hand like it had personally offended you, you dropped the crushed bits to the floor.

“I guess it’s possible that I have feelings for Stiles…”

While you felt like a stone had lifted off of your chest ever since you’d gone to your parents’ grave, it seemed like you had resorted to your old ways of shutting everyone out. Especially Stiles. You knew you were being unreasonable, and it wasn’t really Stiles’ fault. Well, mostly not his fault. Valentine’s Day was definitely his fault. But you had to get over yourself, had to learn how to deal with your feelings first before you could find a way to be friends with Stiles. But avoiding Stiles was harder than you anticipated, considering you were in the same pack. And apparently, you and Stiles had been spending a lot of time with each other, the others have noticed.

“Did something happen between you and Stiles?”

You would’ve jumped if you hadn’t known that Scott had been standing behind your open locker door for the past five minutes, waiting patiently until you had closed it.

“Define “something”,” you said, shoving your history book into your backpack, while Scott frowned at you.

“You’re avoiding him.”

You sighed, giving Scott a look. “I’m not avoiding Stiles. I mean, we were just studying for the test. Test is over. No more studying. It’s not like something happened,” you said, a tad too defensively. Scott didn’t look convinced, but you really were in no mood to deal with this right now, pushing yourself off the locker when you were done, so you could walk to your next class. Scott apparently, had other plans, as he continued to follow you.

“You were hanging out all the time and now you’re barely around anymore. You missed our last pack meeting,” Scott pointed out. “You know Stiles is my best friend. I don’t want him to get hurt.”

With a scoff, you turned around, making Scott almost run into you with the way he was following you. “Have you ever thought about the fact that it’s not Stiles that is getting hurt in this situation?”

For the first time, you had stunned Scott speechless. Which of course didn’t last long.

“What do you mean?”

“Oh my god,” you muttered, rolling your eyes so hard you almost gave yourself whiplash. “For someone who prides himself on his detective skills, I can’t believe Stiles still hasn’t figured it out.” You only shook your head, continuing on your way, with Scott calling your name after you.

“What does that mean??”

You weren’t sure what exactly about your words had made Scott back off, but something must have worked, since no one in the pack has tried to bother you about the Stiles thing again. While you still kind of tried to hang out with them at school, you kept your distance from Stiles, who seemed weirdly okay with everything, which… Was fine. Kind of stung that he barely took a breather to check with you but it was fine. You were a big girl, you didn’t need him to take you by the hand.

“I’m going out for a run!” you said over your shoulder as you shut the door, plugging your headphones in. Muffled, you could hear some sort of answer but that was enough for you to start your run. You didn’t really have a set route as you liked to take different paths through Beacon Hills, re-acquainting yourself with the town. Today, you had decided to finally tackle the route through the park. It didn’t take you long until you block where the park was located, though you could feel yourself straining the moves to actually walk towards it, but you persisted, swallowing down the bile that seemed to be travelling up your throat.

The park was fairly busy by the time you reached the gates, too busy for you to walk through with a clear head. You contemplated whether you should jog through it or just cut your losses and turn back home, when you caught Stiles’ scent in the air. It was new, too. What was he doing at the park at nine in the morning? On a Saturday, on top of hat? You followed his scent through the park, trying to stay (mostly) on the path and keeping a low profile when you skidded to a stop. With furrowed brows, you tugged your headphones out of your ear, taking in the situation in front of you.

“What are you doing here?”

“Picnicking. I’m picnicking.”

Stiles spread out his arms and your eyes roamed over the picknick blanket where an assortment of snacks was laid out. It looked enough for a small army, and he was looking at you with a hopeful expression on his face, which… Really made it all worse, as angry tears started brimming in your eyes.

“What the fuck is this?” you snapped at him and his eyes widened, his smile dropping quickly “Is this some sick joke to you?”

“Wha-? No!” Stiles exclaimed, shaking his head. “I just thought-”

“No, Stiles, you weren’t thinking! This isn’t funny. At all. I can’t believe you’re doing this to me.”

You had tried to keep your voice even, but it cracked so obviously, your cheeks were burning in embarassment. Turning away, you blinked the tears away, but before you could make any move to leave, Stiles grabbed you by the shoulder.

“Wait! Please…”

You knew it wouldn’t take a lot to unwind yourself from Stiles’ grip, but he sounded desperate, his heart beating so loudly it sounded like it was right next to your ear.

“Whatever you think this is, that’s not what I’m doing. I promise,” he said quickly, dropping his hand from your shoulder as you glared at it. Stiles fumbled nervously with his hands. “Shit,” he cursed breathlessly, rubbing the back of his neck. “I thought this would be so much easier…” Stiles took a deep breath, looking at you. “I didn’t know. I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t know doing this is like slapping me across the face?” you asked, bewildered.

“No!” Stiles exclaimed. “I didn’t… I didn’t know it was you… My secret admirer. In middle school.”

What?

You only stared at him, too shellshocked to say anything else.

“I thought it was Lydia. That’s why I took her out for ice cream, I didn’t know that it was you.”

“You said you knew who it was and looked straight at me while you said it.”

Stiles winced. “Yeah… Clearly my detective skills weren’t as sharp as I’d like to believe back then… I think got a suspicion when you remembered that I liked honeycomb. No one knows I like honeycomb. And when you reacted so hurt when I brought up that ice cream parlor… I didn’t put it all together myself. I asked Theo and he confirmed my suspicion…” he trailed off, his head low. “I’m sorry I hurt you and I’m sorry I brought up bad memories with the ice cream place… I know your parents passed away shortly after, it must have been pretty shitty. I just wanted to get to know you again. Be close. I missed you. I always thought we kind of lost touch when you moved away, but now I remember that you pulled away even before that… I’m really sorry.”

You gaped at him, your eyes furrowed. He was…. Sorry? Your anger slowly melted away, leaving you mostly confused. “Oh… Um… It’s okay, I guess. It was so long ago. It’s not your fault my parents died and everything related to Beacon Hills just reminded me of them… I’m still working on that…” you gave him a small smile. “It’s really nice that you did this,” you started, wincing when Stiles’ face fell yet again. “But I think I need some more time till I figure out how to be friends with you without all these confusing feelings.”

“Wait, what feelings?” Stiles interjected, frowning.

You flushed. “Oh come on, you have to know.”

Stiles narrowed his eyes at you, watching your face for a minute before his face slackened, when he realized. His eyes widened a little and he stared at you, somehow, that made you flush even more.

“Oh.”

Yeah, oh.

Stiles beamed at you, for some reason, he looked absolutely fucking pleased. Figured he’d act like an idiot about it. You only rolled your eyes at him.

“Don’t let it get to your head. I’ll get over it eventually.”

“Why would you-” Stiles paused, eyeing you in disbelief. “You don’t know. How don’t you know? You’re a were, how do you not know?”

“Know what?” You asked, getting irritated. You didn’t appreciate how Stiles was questioning your abilities. Stiles didn’t reply, he only took a step towards you. Instinctively, you took a step back, making him roll his eyes at you.

“What are you doing?” you asked hotly and he only grinned at you, curling his hand around your waist, pulling you close. Your eyebrows rose a little when Stiles pressed his lips against yours, before you grabbed him by the nape of his neck, kissing him back.

Holy shit.

After a while, you pulled away, a little breathless.

“You all caught up now?” Stiles asked, like the little shit he was, and you frowned at him, poking his chest.

“You like me?”

“Oh great, you are all caught up now.”

“How was I supposed to know??”

Stiles gave you an incredulous look. “Hello? Werewolf? Heightened senses? There’s no way you didn’t smell my affection for you or how nervous I was when I was around you. I thought my heart was beating out of my chest half of the time!”

You were stumped. “I thought you just liked me as a friend.”

Stiles leaned his forehead against yours, muttering obscenities under his breath, but you weren’t listening to him, instead you were listening to his erratic heartbeat, which you had always interpreted normal for him, but apparently, it wasn’t. How did you read all of this so wrong?

“You are never going to let me live this down, are you?” you finally realized, exasperated and Stiles only shook his head, pursing his lips.

“Nope, never. I will forever remind you of this.”

As you looked at Stiles, his eyes twinkling with glee, you realized that maybe forever didn’t sound half as bad.

[fufuheheii]

Pre-SoTE! Messmer x KnightinTraining!F! Reader

Notice: This is just a (potential) snippet of my Messmer/Reader Fic! For now, please enjoy this lack-of-context short!

𓆙

The colosseum is crowded as usual, all anticipating the bloody fight that is to come. Gladiators prepare themselves, putting on their gloves and greaves. All fight to be seen, to be heard, to be championed.

For Messmer, it is one in which he can witness the ambitions and fighting prowess of all who dare to display it in front of the people of the Erdtree. There is no greater honor.

He sits above in the pulvinar, studying the gladiators who stand near the blocked entry into the fighting area. Some are familiar faces, others new and jittery. There will be much competition this time, and more blood will be spilled.

“I do not understand the meaning behind these fights,” Godwyn, who sits next to him, sighs as he rests his chin on his palm. “We live in peace, yet the people seem to favor bloodshed more than anything.”

“It is a battle of glory,” Messmer responds, tossing a look at his brother. “Thou should hold pride for these men.”

“I would rather focus on the noble ladies that wait outside the colosseum for their fathers and brothers,” the golden man only mutters, to which Messmer ignores. “Thou’rt not a man of brute violence either, lord brother. Participating in these spectacles will not curry favor with our mother.”

“I am not doing this to impre–”

“Oh, it’s starting.”

The gates are pulled open, and in stomps the first gladiator. He is a champion in the arena, his helmet still not washed from the blood of his victims. He pounds at his chest, roaring for the next opponent to enter the arena. The crowd cheers and chants for the next contender to come out. Messmer tilts his head forward, his red braid falling over his shoulder as the gates open again. When he sees who it is, he immediately leans forward with one wide eye. Godwyn raises an eyebrow before he laughs. “Is that who I think it is?”

“Jeffrey, you are to be brought to the name of justice!”

Your voice bounces off the walls of the arena, and the said gladiator only stares as you enter in, in your rusty apprentice armor and dull blade. The only thing standing out from your appearance is your shiny new helmet, which you must have bought recently as it lacks any scratches. The crowd boos at you, throwing food and shouting for you to get out.

“I am here–oof!” you get knocked to the ground when a whole cabbage smacks your helm. “What is this hostility,” you cry out in shock as you grip your helm. “I am here to arrest this man!”

“Get outta here!” the audience roars in anger. “This is no place for a knight!”

The gladiator roars, and before you can get back on your feet he runs towards you, smashing his whole body against yours with full force. The air escapes your lungs as you are sent flying off, meeting the wall with a loud crack. The audience cheers and the gladiator lifts his arms to bask it all in.

You groan and wheeze in pain with no doubt some of your ribs broken. You left your flask in the saddlebag with your horse, and now you will have to fight with your bones rattling inside you.

Godwyn stops laughing and starts to look concerned over your current situation. “Lord brother.”

Messmer knows what he is thinking and grabs his spear and gets up. He peers down at you, watching you get to your feet. The uneven steps and limping form tells him you won’t survive the next attack.

However, he waits.

The gladiator notices you, and cracks his neck as he waits for you to approach him. You don’t do as he predicts, choosing instead to just stand there. He growls, and starts jogging before he makes a full dash at you. Just as he puts forward his arm, ready to slam into you again, you disappear from his field of vision. You roll to the side just in time, making him fly past you and into the wall. The audience roars, half in glee, half in shock at the scene. You make a hurried run over to your sword, wincing at each step sending a stab at pain to your ribs. The gladiator removes himself from the broken wall, glaring at your limping figure before he cracks his knuckle and takes his axe out from behind. He starts rushing at you, and you look back before quickly getting to your knees and grabbing your sword. However, you won’t make it in time. You quickly turn, ready to strike your sword–!

Flames distort your vision as the gladiator is pushed back by it, and a red cape eases your eyes. You stare in surprise as Messmer stands before you, his spear in hand pointing at the frightened man. The arena instantly silences.

“Sir Messmer?” You call out, your lips curving into a grin of relief. “What are you–”

“The fight is over,” Messmer declares, his smooth voice as loud as the silence. “Guards, arrest this man.”

Instantly guards embroidered in silver and gold trudge into the arena and grab the gladiator.

Murmurs arise in the crowd, slowly forming into protests. However, with one glare from the demigod all shushes back into silence. He turns to you, his irritated gaze brushing over you. He starts to say something, but it is lost in the blurry reality that has set upon you. Darkness follows and you faint away.

𓆙

You awaken inside an empty infirmary, on a bed that is softer than any bed you have laid upon. A small stinging pain stabs at your ribs again and you hiss.

“Thou’rt awake.”

You blink and see Messmer standing next to the window, spear in his crossed arms. “Sir Messmer! What art thou doing here?”

He expels the heavy sigh at your energetic voice. At least you’re well enough to be shouting. He signals the perfumers to leave before approaching your bed. “I should be asking thee the same question. Thou shouldst have gone to the knights to have the man arrested.”

“I–how did you know I was here to arrest the man?”

“Thou spokest of it, didst thou not?”

“...oh! I did,” you laugh weakly and attempt to sit up. “Yes, that man was on a bounty list. I figured had I gone after him myself I would be a step closer to knighthood. Then, I can serve under you!”

Messmer furrows his eyebrows, the deep lines creasing between them as he attempts to make sense of your words. “Thou’rt not serving under me.”

Your smile instantly drops. “But–but you said I can if I prove myself!”

“I said I will teach thee, not take thee under mine commands.”

Your shoulders droop, but you cling onto his words. “So you will still teach me?”

“That is what I just said.”

You beam, instantly forgetting the disappointment. “I will take all of your lessons to heart, Sir Messmer.”

The demigod’s gaze softens and he places his spear against the wall before sitting down on the rather small chair. You listen to the roaring cries outside, and turn to the demigod who takes a rowa fruit from the table next to your bed. “Sir, are you not going to watch the game?”

“No,” Messmer pops it into his mouth. “I am not a man of brute violence.”

“Jokes are meant to be funny, sir.”

“...”

𓆙

That is all for the very short snippet for now. Still writing the main one, and hoping I don’t get any of the lore wrong. Messmer’s speculative timeline in the Lands Between is wonky, but it leaves a lot of creative options open. Hope you enjoyed the snippet, expect more to come soon!

[docochocart]

DOCORONPA R

CHAPTER THREE

[ victim ]

In the blink of an eye the evening had been flipped on its head.

As Social Star graciously accepted her award, an unknown object had dropped from the ceiling at breakneck speed.

Almost instantaneously, a splatter of blood smacked the spotlight lit curtain behind the now terrified girl. Just like that, Cowboy was dead.

THIRD VICTIM

ULTIMATE COWBOY

*ding dong*

"A body has been discovered!"

This chilling announcement was interrupted with the sound of metal crashing against the floor, followed by the tremendous thud of Cowboy's corpse.

A thick wave of red quickly washed across the stage as the room descended into complete chaos. As the insanity unfolded around her Drummer stood motionless, reflecting on what Rebel had warned of.

Social Star hurriedly escaped the stage turned crime scene, hopping into Personal Trainer's hysteric grasp. With the doors to escape till locked by MonoMaton, the cast was forced to stew in their hysteria.

Cowboy's absence was immediately evident in this scene. There was nobody to lead the room and stop this chaos. Well, almost nobody.

"Enough!"

Ice Skater had taken center stage, staring down at her horrified classmates as blood pooled under her boots. She parted her lips to speak, only to be interrupted by her usual protesters.

Bartender and Sailor took to the bottom of the stage, staring the power-hungry woman down from beneath with a fervor. The gruesome twosome weaponized their insane combined volume to make Ice Skater completely inaudible to the room.

"Well, Well, Well... Look what we have here."

The cast did a 180 to meet this sickeningly sweet voice, seeing a lone MonoMaton standing in front of the locked exit:

"What's to do now? We have two more students to award tonight."

The cast looked on in disbelief, not one of them uttering a word in response. MonoMaton, predictably, continued anyway:

"Okay fine... let's just get this over with."

MonoMaton playfully waddled through the crowd, making his way onto the stage with the final goodie bags tucked behind his back:

"Luckily, both of our winners are already with me on stage!"

Joyfully skipping toward the side of Cowboy's corpse, MonoMaton announced the winner of 'perfect victim' was the deceased. The crowd, including Ice Skater, stood in silence as the plushy made the short trek across the stage to deliver her the final award:

"And to the shock of nobody, our perfect killer award goes to... Ice Skater!"

Confetti shot into the air for a final time showering the eerily quiet room with a dreamlike glimmer.

As MonoMaton made a hasty exit and the last of the glitter rained down, Ice Skater took her opportunity to speak. She strongly suggested that the group split into pairs to cover as much ground as possible in the short time allotted.

To the shock of nobody Bartender and Sailor contested this idea, insinuating that Ice Skater, and by extension Marine Biologist, couldn't be trusted.

To the shock of everybody an unexpected camper stepped up to settle the matter.

Rebel stomped his way toward the front of the crowd, grumpily nominating himself to 'keep an eye' on Ice Skater while they investigate.

Seeing an opportunity she'd rarely get, Drummer spoke up for once:

"I could pair up with Marine Biologist."

Other than a strange look from PT, there wasn't any pushback on Drummer's offer. The same went for Rebel's as the group continued on claiming pairings.

Sailor and Bartender's pairing went without saying, while Streamer awkwardly assigned herself to an inconsolable Welder. Because of the group now being an odd number, PT and Social Star insisted they take Ghost Hunter with them.

With that settled, each pair was assigned a section of the farm to comb over. Drummer and Marine Biologist were given the hotel and animal pens to search.

Marine Biologist sheepishly approached Drummer to begin their search, quietly whispering "thank you" as the two left the Pageant Hall.

...

The two traveled back to the hotel in an unbearable silence.

Marine Biologist was clearly very distraught, leading the two by several paces and constantly checking her surroundings as they walked. Drummer followed closely behind, to paralyzed with anxiety to comfort her.

Once enough distance had been made between them and the pageant hall, Marine Biologist stopped in her tracks. She looked back at a now frozen Drummer with wide eyes. She spoke with a tremble:

"She snuck out again. Last night."

Drummer didn't know what to say for a moment, pausing before muttering:

"Then... Why keep covering for her?"

Marine Biologist seemed offended by the question, furrowing her brow as she turned away:

"Let's just focus on the investigation for now."

...

After an uneventful search of the Hotel, the pair awkwardly made their way to the pig pen. Words still failing both of them, Marine Biologist trailed several feet behind Drummer as they walked in silence.

Finally reaching the edge of the pen, an unbearable stench brought a wince to their faces. It seemed much worse than the typical petting zoo stench they'd grown accustomed to over the week. Neither of them questioned it as they circled the perimeter of the enclosure.

As they skimmed through the crowd of pigs, the deformities of each grew more and more prominent. Many had their facial features slightly askew, their shoulders and hips miss-aligned and a smattering of teeth like growths dotting their heads.

Drummer grew more and more disturbed as she took the time to inspect the pigs closer, only pausing to check for Marine Biologist's reaction. The poor girl stood frozen a few feet behind before finally breaking the silence:

"Why are they like this?"

Drummer turned back to the hoard of swine, desperately racking her brain for some sort of explanation for this. Fearing letting another conversation die, Drummer began to guess aloud:

"Maybe it could be-"

As Drummer began theorizing, a part in the crowd of pigs revealed a mangled pile of innards on the ground beneath their misshapen hooves. The carnage was just a few feet from the girls.

Marine Biologist was the first to react, letting out a terrified shriek as she clung helplessly to Drummers shoulder. Within a moment, Drummer joined her in screaming.

As the two clung to one another in terror, a dreaded noise rung all throughout the farm:

*ding dong*

"A body has been discovered!"

By the end of this announcement, the two had finished their panic. They remained transfixed on the small glimpses of deep red they got between the pig's bodies as the speakers petered out.

The screaming, however, continued.

With both of the girls now completely silent, they realized they hadn't been the ones to find a fellow camper's body.

The girls hurried down the trail to meet the far away call fearing the worst. Unfortunately for them, they'd be right.

...

Reaching the shanty town, Drummer and Marine Biologist were met with a sobbing Social Star sitting on the trail out front of the Saloon.

Personal Trainer and Ghost Hunter both were cautiously trying to soothe the distraught diva to no avail. All three of them were visibly shaken up by what they'd just witnessed:

"She's fucking-g... she's fucking dead!

Social Star continued her uncontrollable wailing, completely ignoring the arrival of Drummer and Marine Biologist. Personal Trainer silently pointed the girls into the saloon, they followed this order without question.

Once inside, they were met with a Welder, Bartender and Sailor sitting anxiously in the dining area.

Welder's sobbing rivaled Social Stars, with their head pressed firmly into the table as they wailed. While Sailor was clearly too drunk to be concerned with anything, Bartender turned to the girls with dread in her eyes:

"She's in the kitchen."

The girls slowly stepped through the kitchen door, peaking around the corner to see rebel guarding the large, metal of a walk-in freezer.

Without a word, the pouting lug rolled his eyes and opened the massive, steel door to reveal the gruesome scene hidden inside.

FOURTH VICTIM

ULTIMATE STREAMER

Streamer dangled in the center of the meat locker, suspended feet above the ground. She was nearly unrecognizable with the amount of blood that had been frozen to her corpse.

Ice Skater stood just behind the hanging corpse, silently inspecting the damages. She paid no mind to Drummer's and Marine Biologists screams as she combed over the body.

Rebel slammed the cellar door shut after a few moments, waiting for the girls to finish screaming before he spoke:

"Yeah, yeah, yeah... Back to the dining room. We got two bodies and a trial in less than an hour."

To be continued...

[countrymusiclover]

16 - The Loyalty of Dragons

Part 17

The Lion Knight and Dragon Princess

should I keep writing Jaime and Vaella at Casterly Rock or bring them back into the GOT storyline????

Tags- just send an ask to be added @cdragons @kmc1989 @starkleila @noirrose21-blog @lover-of-books-and-tea

Walking past the horse stables I entered the dragon pits to go see my dragon since she made me not feel so trapped while being the King's daughter. Amethyst made a noise lifting her head seeing me coming towards her. “Hey girl, how do you feel about flying today hmm?”

“I’m not sure she likes me very much, Princess Vaella.” I recognized Jaime’s voice behind me and his golden armor making noise until he stopped walking meaning he had reached me.

Looking over my left shoulder I slightly turned my body towards his. “It has been predicted that they can smell your nerves. Although always having your hand on that sword only tells her you don’t trust her.”

“It is my duty to protect you. I gave an oath to protect you and your family.” Jaime responded, still resting his right hand around the handle of his blade.

Fully turning around I stomped up to him. The thin fabric of my red gown flying around in the wisps of wind. “I can assure you, Ser Jaime. Amethyst would never lay a claw to me. You needn’t worry about my safety.”

“Princess Vaella, I must disagree with you on your opinion-“

“Come with me. I’ll show you.” I reached down, clasping his right hand in mine, ripping it off the sword handle, dragging him towards my loyal dragon.

He began to protest still. “Vaella, I’m not-“

“She won’t burn you unless I tell her to.”

He fought back. “In the tales of my childhood we were told that no one can truly control the dragons. So which am I to believe is the truth, you or the tales that have been written?”

“Do you trust me?”

Jaime slowly nodded his head yes. “Yes I do.”

“Then stop worrying and just focus on me and my eyes.” I snapped back at him finally reaching my dragon who flared her nostrils when I placed Jaime’s hand on the tip of her large nose. Jaime began to pull back till I moved my hand forward, placing it over his seeing she calmed down once that happened. “There’s my girl. He’s my friend.”

Jaime’s green eyes shifted onto mine and I watched him release a breath of relief. “I can’t believe she’s trusting me.”

“Her and I were born together, raised together. And for that we have no choice but to trust one another. If I trust you, so must she.” I reassured him, intertwining our hands before we lowered them from her nose just staring at the other in comfortable silence.

Strolling through the large Rock I was enjoying the familiar smell of sea water spreading throughout the castle every time the water crashed up against the large rock. “Lady Lannister, may I speak with you for a moment?”

“Of course. What is it you need to speak with me about?” I asked the builder who I knew to be named Martin who knew the build of this rock as best as Tywin had since he helped him build the house from the ground up as they say.

He bowed slightly before explaining. “With the reveal of your dragon I have been debating on what type of cage we would have built to combat her size.”

“A cage you say?”

The builder had heard his words. “I didn't mean to upset you. I am just not familiar with how to take care of a dragon.”

“Then why didn’t you ask me?”

He stumbled on his words. “I thought - in my experience Lord Tywin always prepared to keep the dragons out of here. He wished for them to caged like slaves or killed-“

I growled under my breath, offended by his words. “Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor.”

“My lady, I’m sorry but I am not familiar with the language-“

I huffed, bringing a hand to my forehead. “Ugh. Sometimes I wish we had made that a requirement when I first became the lady of the Rock.”

“So what did you say, my lady?”

Jaime’s voice came from behind me when I heard his footsteps stop right beside me. “A dragon is not a slave.”

“Lord Lannister.” The builder bowed a second time.

“Leave us now.” Jaime touched my shoulder with his real hand, changing his tone once we were alone, simply just the two of us. “What was he talking to you about? I could hear the annoyed tone in your tone?”

Rolling my shoulders I crossed my arms over my chest eyeing our boots. “Your father’s sculptors don’t have any understanding of creating an area to house a dragon. And they should know that-“

“Zaldrīzes buzdari iksos daor, believe me I know how much she means to you. I’ll talk with them and see to it that everything is up to par with your standards.” He responded by moving my hands away from my chest and held my right in his left.

Taking a breath I finally met his bright green eyes. “I know you will. You told me the first day we came here you’d give me everything you could think of to make me happy here.”

“That’s right. You’re the woman I love.” Jaime kissed my forehead gently. “Now I want to show you something.”

He led me outside the rock until we got to the edge of a lookout platform where he dropped my hand, removing his shirt, running forward and jumping off the cliff with no hesitation. “Seven hells, Jaime!” I screamed at the top of my lungs rushing to the very edge doing my best not to fall off myself not noticing him anywhere above the water for a good ten minutes.

Thankfully his familiar golden hair came out of the water eventually. "Come join me, my wife!" I shake my head thinking the fall must have given him a concussion or worse.

"Jaime, are you insane? I can't do that!" I called down to him.

Jaime just smirked even though I was too high up to see it, he hollered back at me. "I dare you, Princess!"

Getting to my feet without really thinking I jump off the rock, clutching my eyes closed right before I hit the water. Opening my eyes I swam up to the surface the best I could even though I didn’t know how to swim. Suddenly I see Jaime swimming to me pulling my head above water. I gasped sharply, kicking my legs trying to not go under again.

"I never thought you'd actually do it." He exclaimed and I threw water at his face, still trying to keep myself up.

"You dared me. How were you never afraid of jumping from up there?”

He sent me a smile shrugging his shoulders. “There was nothing to be afraid of until Cersei told our father. And we didn’t die. Now onto more entertaining matters - So if I dared you to tell me how handsome I am after we get back to the castle every hour. Would you do it?" He swims over smiling and I shiver feeling him wrap his arms around my waist.

I can't stop my eyes from staring at his bare chest then back to his eyes. "Are you suggesting something, Jaime?"

Jaime had to take the opportunity to stare at me this close to him. "Let's get back to the rock before they think we've run off." He leaned forward kissing me slowly and I grinned enjoying kissing him.

Every time I kissed him it felt like the very first time all over again.

He intertwined my hand with his left swimming towards the rock. He climbed up onto the edge intertwined my hands with his pulling me up. I slipped on a rock landing on top of his bare chest blushing immediately. “Ahh!”

“Calm down, I’ve got you.” Jaime's hand rested on my sides, lifting his right hand to my cheek softly. Parting my lips, his gaze doesn't leave mine. The wind blows some of my wet hair but all I can really focus on is him.

"Jaime." I mumbled when he lifted up pressing his lips to mine.

"Vaella."

I easily kissed back, bending my head down so he ended up laying on his back. His other hand traces my hip and my right hand thread's my fingers through his wet golden locks. Jaime tilts his head deepening the kiss, feeling me smile against his lips.

"If we keep this up, little wife. We might end up in bed together." He mumbled in between our kisses.

I break the kiss resting my forehead against his hot breath mixing together. "I might not object to that, husband." Jaime pursed his lips together about to respond when we heard footsteps running towards us.

“Daddy! Mommy!” Our twins voices echoed across the rocky area before we could see the pair standing in front of us.

Rhaegar stood near us while his sister yawned beside him. “Can you tell us a bedtime story?”

“Of course. Go get settled in your room and we’ll be along shortly.” I instructed them and they ran off allowing us time to get changed into dry clothes as the sun began setting over the large rock. Entering their room we both sat on the edge of the beds before I asked them. “What story shall it be tonight, little lions?”

“zaldrīzes azantys - zaldrīzes prince.” Rhaegar and Luciya answered my question doing their best to recite the old Valyria language we had began teaching them.

“Se zaldrīzes azantys se se zaldrīzes prince.” Jaime spoke softly, lifting up the blankets over each of them in their beds with them sharing a room until they become older.

“The Dragon Knight and the Dragon Princess. We’ll have to come up with some more stories before you two get bored of that one won’t we?” I chuckled, shaking my head at my two innocent babies.

Luciya giggled holding her stuffed animal lion closer to her. “It’s about you and daddy.”

“That’s why it’s our favorite.” Her brother agreed with her.

Jaime touched my hand with his real hand sending me a genuine smile and I laid my head on his shoulder. “Yes, sweet dragons. It’s our story.” I could stay in this moment and moments like it forever.