#trying to get information from this guy is like pulling teeth

[very-merry-birthday]

Gluttony

Lust Gluttony Envy Sloth Greed Pride Wrath

Summary: You help the brothers out of tricky situation, and Dean thanks you the best way he knows how.

Warnings: Smut (car sex, overstimulation, multiple orgasms)

A/N: Yes, this has been a seven deadly sins series all along!

You picked at your fries lazily as you relaxed against the grimy booth of the diner, watching the place carefully. You'd been following the same man for two days after a string of murders had landed you in a town not far from home. You saw as he began to stand up, making his way to leave.

Your phone began to buzz in your pocket, a number you didn't recognize. Normally you wouldn't answer calls like that, but you were waiting for some information, and wanted to end this hunt as quickly as possible.

"This is a prepaid call from "Hey Sweetheart", at the Washington County correctional facility, all phone calls are subject to recording and monitoring, to accept this call press one now."

You could instantly tell it was Dean, his voice just as deep over the phone as in person. You pressed #1 as you wedged your phone between your ear and your shoulder, standing to follow the man as you gathered up your belongings.

"Hey darlin', you picked up!" He seemed almost surprised on the other end, but kept his cool.

"What's going on, I'm in a rush." You pushed the door open, following him from a distance.

"Awe- I just thought a booty call might be fun right now?" His voice was laced in sarcasm.

"I'm being serious, Dean, what do you need?"

He sucked his breath in through his teeth, "Ya see sweetheart, we might have found ourselves in a bit of trouble over here and... well we need someone to come bail us out."

"I'm busy..." You sighed, finally grabbing the phone again in your hand.

"We'll see you soon!"

The line clicked, going dead as he hung up. You wanted to leave him there, teach him a lesson, but you knew you just had to see him. You looked over at the man walking away, letting out a deep sigh before turning on your heel, returning the way you came.

-

You pulled up around the corner from the tiny jail- more just a police station- checking your face again in the mirror before climbing out of the car, your heels clicking against the sidewalk. It wasn't often that you dressed professionally, the tight button up and skirt feeling claustrophobic against your body, but you knew it would work far better than your usual jeans and flannels.

You made your way in, the afternoon just starting to break into evening as a chill hit the air, and walked to the front desk, a young cop on the other side barely making note of you.

"I'm here for the brothers."

"You posting bail or you their lawyer?" He didn't look up from the screen in front of him.

"Their lawyer."

He nodded, "Take a seat, someone will come get you in a minute."

You did as he said, sitting down as you took in the room. You swallowed hard, you lied for a living, that bit was easy, but having to see Dean after three months without him- that would be slightly harder.

After what felt like too long you saw a cop approaching you, reaching out his hand to shake it, "You here for those boys?"

He was an older guy, barely any hair left on his head, a small coffee stain on his shirt that looked fresh. You weighed up your approach in your mind. Seductive felt odd, this guy was old enough to be your father, possibly even grandfather, and he wasn't trying to hide it. Relentless seemed wrong too, he clearly had a knowledge of the job and you knew clamping down on him would only cause him to fight back. So instead you stood, shaking his hand with a warm smile spread across your face. The friendly approach.

"I am indeed, sir."

"Names Officer Branning, I'm gonna get you to follow me."

He led you down a series of florescent flooded hallways until you were stood outside and interrogation room. You'd seen your fair few before, but normally you were in the same position as the boys. The officer pushed open the door and Dean looked up, his eyes widening in surprise as he saw you walk in.

"You should've told us you called your lawyer, son." The officer moved to sit opposite him, taking a sip of his coffee.

You saw Sam shift in his seat, looking between you and his brother, clearly confused.

"And can I ask what exactly my clients have been arrested for?" You took your own seat next to Dean, you could tell he was still gawking at you out of the corner of your eye.

"Well your boys here have been convicted of section A1 of the Burglary Statute. A house downtown, we get a phone call about suspicious activity and who do we find when we turn up, these two, both in possession of guns, which I don't have to tell you is of course a felony."

You turned to look at them properly for the first time, both of them shifting awkwardly in their seats. You knew that Sam would have already tried every trick in the lawyer book- and at least he had the Harvard experience compared to your Breaking Bad and Law and Order qualifications. He turned back towards the officer, not wanting to seem suspicious. Dean, however, couldn't care less, his eyes raking your body.

He'd never seen you dressed like this: all office siren, your hair pulled back, heels on. He had to admit he liked it, almost as much as he enjoyed you in your hunting gear, covered in grime and blood and sweat... Almost.

You turned back away, his gaze sending heat to the back of your neck. The officer looked behind the three of you, another sip of coffee, he was clearly already checked out for the day, his eyes on the clock above your heads. Sam might have the knowledge, the actual lawyer skills, but you were starting to think your pop culture education might be more likely to get you all out of here.

"Look I'm not gonna sit here and say these two men haven't been foolish, of course they have." You glanced over at them, Sam's eyes going wider, Dean clearly not listening as he watched the way your lips moved, "Entering a dwelling that doesn't belong to them, sure, that looks bad, I'm not denying that. But I do think it's important to note that they didn't use their guns, no one here got hurt, right? And is that not the most important thing?"

The officer nodded slowly. Sam looked between you and him, unable to understand how this actually seemed to be working.

"No one killed, no one injured, gosh not even a paper cut! Secondly, burglary, sir-" you chuckled lightly, "Do you have any proof of that? That they were actually intending to steal anything? Do we even have proof that they broke into the property? As far as I can tell these idiots most likely walked into a house that didn't belong to them, merely out of confusion!"

"I'm not sure-"

"Officer Branning, was it?" You smiled at him warmly, trying to put forth your least threatening expression, "You and I both know the perils of this system. A day in court, those uncomfortable seats they'll make you sit in as you wait to speak, only for what, all of five minutes!?"

He chuckled lightly at your apparent exasperation, "Less than that!"

"Less! A whole day wasted just because these two idjits don't know their own address! And I'm sure the jury will see that- just look at them they couldn't organize a back yard grill let alone a burglary!"

Sam put on his best puppy dog pout and Dean grinned from ear to ear as the officer looked at them both.

"I really don't want to waste your time, and I don't think you want to waste mine either. These are good boys, good god-fearing folk, they've just made a mistake. Surely a slap on the wrist and we can both go home happy?"

"These boys committed a crime-" he looked above your head again, eyeing the clock.

"Who've you got at home, Officer Branning?" You leant back in your seat, smiling at him.

"I'm not sure how that's important?" He questioned, his face flushing with confusion.

"You keep looking at the clock, sir, you got someone worth rushing off for?"

He smiled back, looking down at his coffee, "My wife. It's our anniversary, I was supposed to be home three hours ago but got stuck sat with these two-"

"How many years?" You leant forward. Dean eyed you carefully. He liked seeing you confident like this. He thought back to the last time he'd seen you, the church, your mouth pressed against his ear speaking sin. You'd finished that hunt only a few days later, Sam finally relenting in the knowledge there was no way he'd be able to keep you apart. But that was three months ago, and he hadn't expected to see you this soon. And yet, looking a you now, he realized just how much he'd missed you. He watched as your mouth curled into another warm smile. It made his stomach flip as he tried to suppress the thought.

"Forty-four." He sighed, taking another sip of coffee, "Feels like yesterday we got married, not that I'd ever tell her that."

You reached out to his hand, holding it gently, "Officer, I know it's been a real long day, and I'd hate for it to become an even longer night. I'm sure she deserves you home by now?"

He swallowed hard, looking between the three of you. "What the hell, fine!"

Sam almost fell out of his seat in shock. Dean had to hold himself back from kissing you there and then.

--

Dean's arm was wrapped around your waist before you'd even left the station. You knew he didn't care about who saw, but you also knew you had to get out of there before anyone stopped you.

You all skipped out, keeping your heads down, a smile plastered on all of your faces. Once you were far enough away Dean finally broke, loud laughter coming from his lips.

Sam shook his head with a smirk, "How the hell did you manage that?"

Dean pulled you in closer, lazily kissing your shoulder as you and Sam spoke.

"What, Harvard boy can't understand what an expert lawyer looks like?" You laughed. You knew ignoring Dean's advances was only riling him up more.

"Thought you were only coming to bail us out?" Sam shook his head again.

"If you think I'm spending a dime on you two you're more stupid than I thought." You started to walk back to your car, "Come on, both of you, let me give you a lift."

Dean broke away from you, looking over to his brother, "Go for a walk, Sam."

"Dean it's-"

"Go for a walk." His face turned stern.

Sam rolled his eyes, giving you another baffled smirk before walking away again, his hands sliding into his pockets. Dean pulled you into him again, his mouth attacking your neck. You dragged him towards your car, your hand combing through his hair.

You lifted his face up to look at you as you pouted, "That was mean..."

"He knew the deal the second you walked in wearing that get up." His hand reached down to your ass, inelegantly squeezing it.

"You still shouldn't leave him out in the cold like this."

"Be quiet sweetheart," he kissed you jaw heavily, "just let me show you how thankful I am."

He pushed you against the side of your car, his hands wandering over your body as you scrambled for your keys. You broke your face away from him for a moment as you put your key in the lock, your eyes looking into your own car through the window.

You hadn't really thought about the fact he'd be here, climbing into your car. Even if his mouth wasn't fixed to your neck, you'd still offered him a lift, he'd have seen it one way or another, but it still felt weirdly intimate. Car sex- that was normal. More normal for you two than sex in a bed. But it was always the Impala, a car you had to admit oozed seduction. It had space to move around, to stretch out on the plush vinyl seats. Your car was small, beaten up, only just big enough for you to sleep in on cold nights when all the motels were full. And yet here you were, welcoming him into a space normally reserved only for you.

He didn't seem to care, though, as he guided you into the back seat, pressing himself against your body as he moved to lay above you. You shifted awkwardly, trying to fit your bodies into the small space, a blanket stuffed under your back, old takeout containers on the floor next to you.

He kisses your neck, grazing it with his teeth as you softened into the shape of his body. He tugged at your clothes, his hand sliding up your thigh, pushing your skirt up to your hips. You were suddenly very thankful for the dark descending outside.

You pushed your body up slightly as he continued his movements down, his fingers finally pressing against the middle of your underwear, "Tsk- thought I'd get another pleasant surprise."

He gently circled your clit through the fabric, sending gentle warmth through you, "I got you out of there, didn't I?"

He smiled, "Oh yeah, I was showing my gratitude wasn't I?" He kissed the inside of your thigh, "What's our record, sweetheart?"

"Three..."

He shook his head with a smile.

This had long been a point of contention between you. He insisted that since he'd been able to make you come five times in one day, your record should be five. You contended that since you'd split between a session first thing in the morning and another one in the evening, where he'd made you come three times, your record should be three. Of course, he'd also promised you if he had a full day, and an actual bed, he'd make you come so many times you would pass out.

But he wasn't in the mood to argue.

He hooked his fingers around the sides of your underwear, dragging it down your legs as he sucked in a sharp breath, eyes fixed on you.

He pressed his tongue against your clit without any warning, your hand reaching out to grab hold of his hair as you steadied your breathing.

"Fuck darlin, you always taste incredible."

He spit hard, using his saliva as lube as he dove back in, his tongue lapping you up. You rolled your hips into him, needy for his friction. No one knew you quite like him, knew just where to touch you to bring you to the brink.

He pressed his mouth against you, alternating between pushing his tongue inside you and circling your clit in a steady rhythm. You could barely breath as you felt his tongue glide through your folds, savouring your wetness, his mouth curling into an amused smile as he listened to your gasps.

Right when he felt you tensing up he focused all his attention onto your clit, sending you over the edge as you gripped onto his hair, rolling your head back in a pornographic moan. He kept his movements quick as you came, your body shaking as he kept up the stimulation.

Your body sunk back against the seat, your head pressed against the inside of your cardoor as you tried to shed the pounding in your ears. He pulled away, kissing along your leg.

"You got a pen anywhere in here sweetheart?" He looked around, you were suddenly aware once again of the state of your car.

You leant down, rustling your hand on the floor without looking until you landed on the marker you knew you'd left there, handing it to him.

He held the lid between his teeth, popping it open and drawing a short line on your inner thigh, "That's one."

You bit your lip as you looked down at him marking your skin, taking you as his own.

He began to kiss up your leg again, making his way back towards your core.

You let your hand comb through his sweat ridden hair, breathing hard, "Just give me a minute, yeah?"

"What, and ruin this gorgeous high you've got going on? No chance, darlin'." He pressed his tongue against you again, slower this time, gently stroking it through your wetness.

You groaned, rolling your head back as he sucked lightly at your swollen clit. He knew how sensitive you got after you came, and he fully intended to use it to his advantage.

He teased the tip of his finger at your entrance, feeling as your pussy pulsed around him. He moaned against you, sending the vibrations through your body. Pushing his finger into you, you bit your bottom lip again, swallowing down any other noises.

He began thrusting into you slowly, even one finger filling you as his tongue sped up its movements. You arched your back into him, a second orgasm rising quickly. He pushed another finger into you, stretching you out, your breath shaking as you shut your eyes again.

He sucked on your clit again, pushing another desperate wave of pleasure through you. You reached out, seeking stability on the seats around you as you felt your body clench again. And then release. He slowed his movements, only just, as you came again on his tongue, your legs tightening up around him.

"Dean- fuck-" you couldn't stop your sounds, your body quaking.

You guided his face away from you as you let your body relax again into the seat, his movements almost to much to bare as he gently pulled his fingers out of you, sticking them in his mouth to continue savouring your taste.

Without a word, he reached down for the marker he'd thrown to one side, wetting his lips as he drew another line next to the first, "That's two."

He went to press his mouth against you again but you stopped him, cupping his cheek to get him to look at you, "Really, baby, can't take much more."

Baby wasn't a nickname you used. Not for him, not ever. But as your mind stayed fogged from your pleasure you didn't even realize you'd said it. And he didn't mind- his face tingling with secret enjoyment.

He lifted himself off of you, pushing the marker behind his ear as he moved quickly, his hands wrapping around your waist as he moved to sit, pulling you on top of him in a straddle. You slumped against him, your body exhausted, your forehead pressed against his.

"We'll never break our record with that attitude, sweetheart."

"It's just your tongue, Dean, i's'too much-" you kissed him lightly, his lips plump against yours.

"Well why don't we go at your pace then, darlin'?" He held your hips, lowering you down onto his leg. You bit your lip as you felt you pussy come into contact with the jeans on his thigh, rough against your sensitive bundle of nerves.

He pushed your hips gently, getting you to rut against him. You held his shoulders to keep yourself steady as you began moving, harsh pleasure hitting you instantly.

"Dean- fuck- it's too-"

He kissed you, his thumbs rubbing small circles into your hips, "That's it, nice and slow, keep yourself steady for me."

You focused on his voice as he guided you through it, grinding against his thigh with your breath held.

"Good girl, that's it." He moved one hand to your stomach, commanding your movements, "You're doing so well for me, darlin', that feel good?"

You collapsed your body into him, your head leaning against his shoulder, "Oomf- fuck- yes-"

"Good girl, good girl, keep moving, keep your pussy on me. Fuck- I can feel how wet you are even through my jeans-" he chuckled lightly, kissing the top of your head, "You look so good grinding on me- gonna get you to do this every time if you're not careful."

You gripped your hand around his bicep, your fingers pressed into him as you felt another orgasm rising inside you.

"Keep yourself steady, sweetheart- focus on your body. You feel that? Feel that sweet spot- you're screaming out for more, I can tell- let it fill you up, that excess, darlin', let it consume you. Keep moving, there's a good girl, you want to come again, don't y'? You wanna come on my thigh?"

You nodded into his shoulder, a small whimper falling out of your lips in desperation.

"Be a good girl for me, sweetheart, be good." He spoke softer as he pressed his lips against your skin, "Come for me."

You did as he commanded, your body quaking as you rutted against him, your fingers digging into him, letting out a loud cry, another orgasm taking control as your body quaked. Your movements began to slow but he kept his hands tight on you, keeping your grinding steady as you rode it out.

He pressed his mouth into your neck, soft kisses as you lifted yourself off his thigh, straddling him properly again, your body still shaking slightly as you tried to come back to reality, blinking hard. He leant back, carefully checking your face for confirmation you were okay, before kissing you again.

He pushed you backwards slightly to give himself better access as he took the pen from behind his ear, once again pulling off it's cap with his teeth and placing it between your legs, drawing another small line, "That's three, darlin'."

"Jesus, Dean, you'll be the death of me!" You sighed, coming to your senses.

You looked down, watching as he carefully palmed the bulge growing in his pants, "You think you can take one more?"

You nodded slowly, however spent you felt, you still wanted his cock buried inside you.

You watched as he quickly undid his belt with one hand, pulling at the top of his pants as his other hand gripped your hip tight again. His cock sprung free, solid and throbbing, watching you come so many times already pushing him to the edge. He guided you above him, lining himself up with you, before gently lowering you down, his cock sinking into your already sensitive opening.

He held your hips still as he began to thrust into you from below, watching you carefully. He pressed his mouth into your neck, small kisses across your skin as you moaned into him, your body shaking with pleasure.

Once his pace was steady he began moving his hands over you, ghosting your curves with the pads of his fingers, gentle movements, his digits hot against you, sending soft tingles all over your body. He let one hand slide under your shirt, brushing over your breast, his thumb grazing your nipple only slightly.

"You feel so good, sweetheart." He sped up his thrusting, his own heartbeat stuck in his throat as he felt your pussy tight around him.

You began to roll your own hips in time with him, pushing him deeper until he was completely filling you, your sensitive clit colliding with him on every pound. You moved your hands to his chest, steadying yourself as you both moved, the small car filled with hot breath.

He groaned, desperate, his fingers dancing over your nipples, sending shivers through you. He swallowed hard, his eyes locked on yours, "You close?"

You bit your lip, nodding in response as you felt another orgasm rise in you, his cock stretching you out.

"That's it, keep going, wanna feel you coming on my cock, darlin'."

His words send another spike of pleasure through you as you continued to roll your hip, his thrusting from below only becoming harder. You screwed up your hands in the fabric of his shirt, the tension filling you once again. You couldn't focus on anything but your dam about to burst.

"Dean, I'm gonna-"

He pressed his lips against yours as you came, a moan escaping your lips flowing into his mouth as he pushed into you, hard, your pussy contracting around his cock. Stars danced behind your eyes as you continued to move your body, your climax skewering the coil in your stomach.

The moment he felt your movements falter, Dean pulled out, his own orgasm spilling out of him without warning, his cum plastering your thigh. He let out a groan as your hand reached down instinctively, stroking him through his completion, your thumb pressed against his tip.

You both sat panting, your bodies covered in sweat and each other, as your movements slowed, both of you twitching in relief. After a moment you rolled off of him, taking your seat next to him as you pulled your blanket up to wipe his cum off of your leg. He watched you carefully before reaching back out to you, pen in hand, and drawing the final tally mark on your leg.

"That's four, new record." He smiled at you, hooking his finger under your chin for a kiss.

You shook your head, smiling as your bliss started to slump again, "You shouldn't have called, Dean, I was busy..."

"Oh yeah, hot date?" He pushed his cock back into his pants, beginning to buckle them back up as he chuckled.

"Yeah, smoking hot, tall dark and handsome." You watched as his expression faltered slightly, doubt creeping in. "A murderous demon with an appetite for murder, what's not to love!"

He relaxed again, lowering his shoulders and swallowing hard.

You waited a beat before opening up your door again, climbing out as you pulled your skirt back down. He followed your lead, stepping out into the cold night air, trying to pull himself together as he watched you do the same. Both of you were messy, clearly sexed out, the pen tally, although now hidden, still burning into your thigh, a small patch on his jeans from where you'd ridden him.

You slid back into the driver's seat, letting him clamber into the passenger side, a position neither of you were used to when around each other.

"Come on," you sighed, "let's go find your brother."

"He'll've reached the motel by now, sweetheart, we weren't exactly quick." He eyed you carefully, "You hungry?"

"I could eat."

"Let's get burgers."

"What, just us?"

"C'mon sweetheart, my treat, give you a proper thank-you."

[symbioteburnout]

Truck driver: we've come to pick up a skid.

Me: okay, which one?

Truck driver: it was delivered here by mistake.

Me: okay, but which skid?

Truck driver: the one that was delivered here by accident.

Me: yeah, I've got three, which one are you supposed to get???

Truck driver: the one that was delivered here by mistake.

Me:

[puckinghischier]

jack & luke loving quinn’s gf almost as much as he does bc suddenly they have an older sister they can call for advice on the most random things…

“so, hypothetically, if i wanted to get a pedicure, would they give it to me since i’m a guy?” jack asks you over the phone.

you stop in your tracks, right in front of your car, baffled at the question. “jack, is this seriously what you called me four times about?”

“i mean, yeah. you weren’t picking up. thought you and quinn might be screwing and wanted to break that up as soon as i thought about it,” he admits like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

“jack!” you scolded, scoffing at his crudeness. “i was picking up some snacks for the guys before their game today. i couldn’t even get to my phone if i wanted to,” you roll your eyes, even though he can’t see you.

“you make it sound like you were ignoring me on purpose,” he says, basically being able to hear the pout on his face.

“i wasn’t not ignoring you on purpose.”

he smacks his teeth at your answer, returning to his original question. “anyways, will they do a pedicure on my gnarly man feet or no?”

you don’t even try to hide the laugh that escapes you, opening your door and finally sitting down in your car. “yes jack, they’ll give you a pedicure. are you actually going to go get one?”

“yes! dude, have you seen my feet lately? they’re disgusting. plus, quinn was telling luke and i about that time you made him do one with you and how much better his feet felt in his skates afterwards.”

you think about the fact that quinn now has monthly pedicure appointments with you, not shocked at all that he shared the information with his younger brothers.

“jack! is that y/n? i need to talk to her!” you hear luke yell in the background of jack’s call, stopping whatever response you were about to give.

you hear shuffling, insinuating the exchange of the phone. “hey! y/n! so, i need your advice.”

“hi, luke, i’m good, thanks for asking! how are you?” your voice drips with sarcasm.

“yeah, hi and whatever,” he dismisses you. “so, if you were a girl, would you rather your date wear a pink shirt to show he’s not a toxic guy, or would you rather him wear blue or black to show he’s serious about the date?”

once again, you pause. you look over to the side, as if there’s an invisible camera there and mouth a ‘what?’

“okay, well first of all i am a girl-“

“well yeah, but like…a real girl. one that isn’t dating quinn and would be ready to hop on the luke train,” he interrupts you, earning his own roll of your eyes.

“as i was saying,” you ignore his interruption, “i am a girl, and i don’t think it’s that serious? wear whatever you wanna wear. if she likes you, she likes you. if she doesn’t, she doesn’t. i don’t think wearing pink is going to either hurt or help the date.”

the line is silent for a moment. “i think i’m going to wear pink anyways. you know, just to let her know i’m not a douche,” he finally speaks.

“okay, well, if that’s what you want to do, then do it-“

“thanks, y/n! bye!” you’re cut off yet again, hearing the line go dead. groaning, you call quinn, letting him know you’re on your way with the food.

“hey, baby! you get the catering order yet?” quinn’s excited voice fills your car as you turn it on and put it in drive.

“yeah, i got it. on my way now. just got off the phone with your idiot brothers,” you tell him, pulling out into traffic.

“oh god, what did they want this time?” he asks you, knowing how often you’re plagued with calls from his siblings.

“well, jack wanted to know if he could book a pedicure appointment even though he’s a man, and then luke wanted to know if he should wear pink on his date so he doesn’t look like a douche,” you give the short version of your conversations.

quinn lets out a laugh, not at all surprised at his brothers.

“quinn, we’ve gotta set some ground rules. i can’t keep doing this. i don’t know how you dealt with this by yourself for all these years. and god, your sweet mother. i feel for her,” you say not entirely seriously, knowing they call ellen more than they call you, if that’s even possible.

“baby, they love you. you’re the big sister they never had, they’re just excited to finally have someone to ask this stuff to other than mom. because mom usually tells them to figure it out on their own,” he chuckles, knowing how much both luke and jack have told him they loved having you around.

“well, i’m about to take the ellen approach because they make me want to pull my hair out sometimes, those disgustingly lovable heathens,” you tell your boyfriend, never really being able to say anything bad about the brothers. they’re like excited puppies anytime they get to see you in person, and it does melt your heart a little bit each time.

“i’ll talk to them about it,” quinn’s still laughing at how you can’t help but talk about how much you love his brothers, even when you’re aggravated at them. “just focus on getting here. i miss you, wanna see you before game time.”

“okay, be there in like-“ you stop talking when your ringtone blares through your car.

“god, its jack again. i gotta go, i’ll see you in a few minutes,” you groan, ending the call to answer the interruption.

“what is it this time, jack?”

(part 2ish)

[invincibledc]

ꫂৎ𝐘𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐄!𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐁𝐎𝐘𝐒/𝐁𝐀𝐓𝐅𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐋𝐘 𝐗 𝐖𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐑𝐑𝐈𝐅𝐈𝐂!𝐅𝐄𝐌!𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

Genre: headcannons

info!☆ Wynorrific, the word of being visually beautiful.. but being horrific at the same times. But reader is a monster in human form, trying to mimick humans for their/her own amusement. Reader goes by they/she & them/her. Sorry if it’s gets confusing.

☆warning: disturbing descriptions & headcannons, the family ignoring how reader is a red flag, a little of crack into this. You have been warned, viewer discretion.

having man eating fem monster into the family.. is crazy. But that’s just the bat-family who can’t help but obsess over this monster who loves to tear into the flesh of humans. The sweet relief of hearing screams gives her them pleasure. Them taking the pleasure of a beautiful woman, but being an abomination to man kind. But Bruce doesn’t care, as long as they make his sons happy.

reader could eating a person’s body, destroying any features that could make them recognizable, and they’ll be like. “Awww they’re hungry…”

don’t give them an axe, she will tear someone’s head open like a busted can.

Once a low level crook accidentally harmed Jason, and they went livid, immediately tackling the crook down and tearing their neck muscle out. Jason could only chuckle in his red hood outfit, “She’s so protective…” while he shoots a guy down without looking.

reader being the type of person to not care for anyone but themself but is literally loved for no reason. That’s the whole thing with the family.

Damian who’s such a little shit, he literally doesn’t know how to approach such a man eater like them… so he brought a dead body to them. What? Can’t a guy make friends with some random monster on earth?

Reader enjoyed the body anyways, he had gained her blessing to not be killed in his sleep.

tim having to get a improved child leash for her. It’s funny, I swear. But it’s so scary.

“Calm down!” He exclaimed trying to hold the monster from tearing into a minion of a villain. The minion sobbed in terror at this.. shadowed face woman that has rows of sharp teeth. Ready to bite into his head and chew his brain like gum.

“Sorry.. she usually isn’t like this.” Tim says with a chuckle as if this was very normal to him. He darkly look at the minion with a grin that doesn’t reach his face. “You must smell very good for her to want to eat you. Would be a shame if I let go of this leash if you don’t give me any information about your boss.

Chomping at the air with harsh gargling noises, it was a disgusting sound as tim just smiled still. “Better get to talking.” Tim loosens his grip a bit. “She’s hungry.”

reader doesn’t even speak, like they are nonverbal. Only making small clicking and crunching sounds from their body and their mouth. But if they were to mimic human language, then their traps to trap people will be lethal

I sometimes headcannon dick to be an officer/detective for a day job. Just imagine how it feels to have people rushing in about their loved ones that died being mauled by something.

oh no! Your husband’s been ripped apart, limb for limb and only his head was left? Well.. too bad. Wonder who could’ve been the culprit. And the culprit is certainly in their little cage, chewing on raw meat.

Damian can trust this abomination won’t eat his pets, because she has shown disinterest into even looking at them. Titus sniffs their feet before barking lightly at the monster. They could only tilt their head and pet the adorable dog.

reader who sticks by wolf in sheep’s clothing. Loving how her human face makes people forget the terrible things she’s done. The no killing rule? Bruce is minding his business, ignoring the crimes of her victims.

reader almost mauling Jason for pulling her back from chowing down on a carcass is something no one wants to see… or know. Cause Jason man handled the monster before their tendrils came out from their back and pinned him down. Thank god Bruce was there to sedate them.

this monster having the most disgusting true form, that even the most nonphased people may even gag and throw up. It’s unsettling….

reader had once used their high heels to stab a guy’s eye in when he tried to follow them. Only to end up missing.

she only uses her tendrils if she needs to apprehend her victims if they are being to hostile or annoying. But she uses them on Damian when he gets too clingy.

Jason mostly using reader for threatening tactics. And it works. WHO wouldn’t be scared of some crazy looking woman who actually shifts her whole body to look mangled and has insanely amount of teeth.

reader being the family’s secret, and if anyone found out and didn’t accept this. They’ll be your supper for later.

Jason who sees her likes for axes, so he bought her a nice pink axe with the sharpest blade of them all. Literally just gets her weapons for Christmas 24/7. Dick also gets her just white dresses, seeing how she likes them.

once showed up to a gala, dressed so nice and preppy, but so elegant at the same time. Sadly, eating someone’s fingers at the gala is not cute.. the monster was banned from galas and had to stay home in a cage til it was over.

Reader who is literally the queen of man eaters. Figuratively and literally. 

and before I go, reader hasn’t eaten the family due to loving the free human meat they get from them. They’re sick, sure. But they’re love sick to keep this monster with them.

[thesvnandthemooon]

𝐡𝐨𝐧𝐞𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐟𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐬

18+ MINORS DNI

or: how natasha proposed

part of the short n’ sweet universe

a/n: finally got this done! i’ve been working on this way too long lmao 😭 but here it is

also i hate writing/reading proposal speeches. can’t stand them because i never seem to get them right. tried my best anyway 🫡

summary: natasha wanting to propose + being an idiot about it

warnings: smut (brief, not too detailed)

word count: 11.8k

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Not too long ago, you used to study under the best conditions possible. You'd shut every window, every door. You'd light aroma candles and clean your desk to avoid distractions. Your phone? On silent and hidden. With earplugs in to block even the slightest noise, you'd sit down and get started. If possible, you'd go to the library. At night, even, when it's quiet and empty so nothing can disturb you.

That's changed. You'd love to laugh at your past self for ever thinking that those conditions were necessary to study, but you can't. Unfortunately, your past self was right.

Your apartment isn't small, but it's not big, either. It's the perfect size for a family of three — snug, comfy, but with enough space to store the baby bathtub and stroller. You love that you can see the entire living room and kitchen from your desk, but you don't love that you can hear every single noise.

Niko's crying. He's colicky and teething and cranky. Natasha's on a rubber ball, bouncing him, her voice slowly turning more and more panicked. You've tried everything; nursing, chilled teething rings, a warm bath. But the poor little guy's uncomfortable, and he's letting everyone know.

This has been going on for days now. To make matters worse, he doesn't even sleep through the night. Instead, he wakes up twice (if you're lucky) and screeches until you give him attention. You've been hanging on by a thread. All-nighters, coffee, trail mix. A baby clinging to you, drooling and unhappy, and a midterm exam in molecular biology.

You stare at the laptop in front of you. Way too many slides for a midterm, way too detailed and complicated as well. You pick up your pen to take another note, but a particularly loud wail from Niko startles you.

"Sorry", Natasha says when you turn around. She looks sheepish, even if this isn't her fault. You sigh. "Want me to leave the apartment?"

A sweet offer, but you're not sure you want your girlfriend and your infant son to go outside when it's dark. It's a somewhat safe area, but there's no need to take high risk, low reward chances.

"No", you mumble, turning towards your laptop again. Niko lets out another cry. "Is he alright?"

"He's fine", she says, rubbing his back. He squirms against her and starts gnawing on her shoulder. "Just dramatic."

Apparently, the usage of the word 'dramatic' offends Niko immensely. He pulls back, then launches himself at her shoulder and bites like a baby shark. The noise she makes is anything but dignified, and you snort into your coffee cup.

Natasha gets up, still holding Niko. He starts fussing and thrashing in her arms. She leaves the room, quietly, and you hear a door fall shut. The door to his nursery. She's attempting the impossible, which is to get him to calm down.

You try focusing on your studies again. Protein metabolism — ribozymes, membranes, amino acids. Part of you almost regrets letting Natasha leave with Niko. You'd rather comfort a whining baby than read another word that ends in -ases.

You don't want to fail, though, so you keep researching and reading and summarizing. Things seem to be going well, at that point. It's 9pm, the crying has quieted down, and your brain is soaking up knowledge like a sponge. Silence really does seem to work wonders for your ability to concentrate and retain information.

About an hour later, the door opens quietly. Natasha steps out of the nursery, baby monitor in hand, and rubs her face. She looks beat — she didn't even manage to change out of her jersey after coming home, as you immediately shoved a fussing Niko into her arms. Her hair is in a low bun, which is now clinging on for dear life, and her eyes are half-lidded.

Then, she spots you. You're sprawled out on the couch now, an open textbook next to you and some flashcards in your hands. The exhaustion is gone instantly.

You don't miss the way she perks up and silently, you groan. For some reason, she's able to be more distracting than the baby. Whether it's intentional or not is a question you haven't been able to answer yet, but there have been dozens of instances of her being anything but helpful.

It usually starts as something innocent. Sitting down next to you, touching your thigh. Pulling you into her lap after a moment. A mumbled 'missed you' against your neck. At some point, fingers begin to wander. They slip into waistbands and nudge bras aside.

You know why. Between basketball practice, exams, and the chaos that comes with being new parents, you rarely manage to find time for just the two of you. When it does happen, she tries to make the most of it. You do, too, but you're less keen on admitting that.

You end up naked each time. You're not sure if that's something to be proud of, but Natasha may as well be one of those birds that puff up with pride.

When she plops down next to you on the couch, you immediately know that she's about to try again. Biology exam be damned — the last time you had a few minutes without Niko was a week ago, back at Clint's place. Everyone else had been playing a video game. They were yelling, laughing, so they were distracted enough to not notice the little sighs coming from behind them.

Her arm wraps around your shoulders. Her lips press against your cheek, then your jaw. Her free hand moves under your shirt to cup your stomach. You shift, stubbornly staring at a flashcard.

"How's biology going?", she mumbles, rubbing your arm.

"Fine", you reply, still not looking at her. She leans in and starts kissing your neck. Soft lips move over delicate skin, her tongue pokes out to lick a hot stripe over your pulse point. "Natasha."

"Yes, baby?"

You exhale, the frustration evident. Your midterm exam is in two days. Fucking on the couch like dogs in heat certainly isn't a study method that'll help you pass.

"Unless you're about to quiz me on molecular biology, you better keep your hands to yourself."

Natasha isn't too impressed. She hums, pretending to be deep in thought about this, then cups your breast and brushes her thumb over your nipple. Drops of milk spill, but it doesn't faze her. It's been more than half a year, she's aware that you're breastfeeding.

"We haven't had a minute to ourselves in a week", she murmurs. She massages your boob, and a wet patch forms on your shirt. "The damn kid's always interrupting."

"He's a baby", you say, grabbing her arm. "And I'm about to fail my midterm."

Natasha frowns and looks at you. Head tilted, eyebrows messy, eyes clear and intense. Maybe studying really isn't worth the effort, or at least that's what your hormones are trying to convince you of. She's still in her jersey, too, and she has that post game-smell. Sweaty and full of pheromones.

"You think you'll fail?"

"I've barely studied", you say, deadpan. "This is molecular biology. Understanding it isn't enough, I need to know it by heart."

"Right", she mumbles. She presses a kiss to your shoulder. "So you'll fail. Big deal?"

You huff and almost shove her off you, but she just grins. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. You'll fail. So what?" She kisses your cheek, then pecks your lips. "You know what?"

You glare at her. She's treating this like a joke, and you're not having it. Natasha waits for you to say something, but you're getting more pissed off by the second, so she laughs quietly and tugs you into her lap.

"If you fail, I'm proposing. Who needs a degree? No wife of mine should have to work a single day in her life, anyway."

Your heart stutters in your chest, but it's hard to take her seriously. To you, it seems like this is one of her usual dumb jokes. But you never would've thought she'd joke about this. She may call you her wife in front of friends and teammates (despite you telling her to cut it out), but you didn't think marriage would be a laughing matter to her.

"Really romantic", you manage to say. "Truly outdoing yourself, Romanoff."

"Mark my words", she says. She tugs at the hem of your shirt, smirking. "If you fail, I'm proposing to you. Now go study unless you want to see me on one knee."

"I'd pay to see that", you mumble. You reach for your textbook and open it.

For exactly ten minutes, you're able to study. You recall information, quiz yourself, check your notes.

You're still in Natasha's lap, though. She still feels the rounded curve of your ass pressing against her, still feels your warmth and smells your scent. Perfume and something sweet and milky. She doesn't want to distract you — a lie — but she can't exactly control it.

You feel her get hard, pressing against you through the fabric of her shorts. You swore you'd study this time, that you'd keep your clothes on. But her hands grip your waist, her lips press against your nape, and you're actually alone for once. Before you know what you're doing, you're on your back and being pounded into the couch.

. . .

Monday morning, you make your way to campus looking like you're about to go to war.

Niko is strapped to Natasha's chest, feet kicking and smiles less gummy. His tooth came in exactly five hours before the exam, which Natasha deemed hilarious. He kept up the sobbing and crying and fevering long enough to keep you from studying, but managed to get the annoying little molar out as soon as it got too late for you to catch up.

He's the only one who's in a good mood, though. Teething aside, he's still suffering from being a little colicky, so he made sure you stay awake by screaming until his face turned red. It took a while, but he's better now.

"Lucky duck", Natasha mutters. She's surviving off energy drinks at this point. "You can nap all day long. I have a seminar later. Fucking Harrison Harris. I swear, whoever named that guy set him up for bullying."

You hum absently. You're staring at a flashcard, with dark circles under your eyes and a coffee cup in your hand. Your hair isn't even washed — you spent the few hours of silence Niko granted you trying to inhale every bit of knowledge you can. A bad idea, as you now feel like you're about to throw up biology facts.

Natasha glances at her phone. "Ten minutes", she informs you. "Want me to go with you? Help you find your seat?"

"I'm good", you mumble, still staring at a flashcard. Niko squeals, his chubby little hand suddenly grabbing and fisting it. "Oh, honey. I promise, that's less fun than it looks."

"He likes the drawing", Natasha says, leaning in. "Is that a peptide bond?"

"Yeah." You sigh and let go of the flashcard. Niko takes that as permission to put it in his mouth and chew on it. You get up and grab your tote bag. "Where are you two going?"

"Oh", she says, bouncing him and trying to seem casual, "we're meeting Wanda and Daisy for some coffee. They wanted to see Niko."

"Alright." You lean in and kiss the top of your son's head. "Bye, baby."

"I assume you're talking to me?", Natasha jokes.

"Both of you."

Smiling, she gets up to pull you closer. Her lips press against yours, her hands hold your waist. Unimpressed, Niko slaps the damp flashcard against your face, but Natasha quickly blocks him.

You pull away and cup her face. "He's rude."

"Got it from me", she agrees. She pecks your lips. "Go, go. Or you'll be late."

You peek into the study hall where the exam will take place. Sure enough, almost all seats are taken. The hallway has gotten empty has well. You nod and turn around, opting for a quick wave before stepping into the room.

Natasha watches for another second, then Niko tips his head back to look at her. He smiles, his single tooth making him look a little like baby Patrick Star, and she leans in to kiss his forehead.

"Come on, bud", she says, walking down the hallway. "Let's see what Wanda and Daisy know about proposals."

The four (three and a half?) of them end up in the little café right next to campus. Daisy secures a corner spot, Wanda grabs the highchair, and Natasha orders the drinks. Black coffee, iced latte, and a hot chocolate for the girl who claims caffeine makes her anxiety worse.

They're not aware of why they got invited here. Usually, they don't hang out with only Natasha; you're always there, as well. This time, she was the one to text them. She also asked them to not tell you, which — surprise — even Daisy succeeded at.

Niko spent the first five minutes in the highchair which Natasha cleaned with Lysol and baby wipes. It took one unhappy grunt for Wanda to coo and pick him up, though, so he's now in her lap and keeping her necklace in a firm grasp.

"So", Daisy says, stealing some of the whipped cream on Wanda's hot chocolate, "why are we here?"

Natasha side-eyes Wanda, who's offering Niko a cookie to suck on. "Oh, I...I'm sorry, can you take that away from him? Just 'cause he got his first tooth doesn't mean he needs a first cavity as well."

"He likes it", Wanda says, removing the cookie from his hand. He lets out a protesting screech, and she kisses his reddish baby curls.

"It's sugar", Daisy says. "Of course he likes it. Romanoff, answer my question. Did you screw up again?"

"What?" She frowns. "No. No, I didn't. What kind of question is that?"

Both of them give her a pointed look à la 'remember Spring Break?', and she shuts up. She's screwed up before. To be fair, it's been a while since Spring Break happened — almost three years, if she's not mistaken — but she really hurt you. She didn't mean to, but she did, anyway.

"Fine", she relents. "I'm an idiot. Not the point, though."

A waitress walks past them and smiles, straight at Natasha. She's pretty, with her blue eyes and honeyed hair, and both Daisy and Wanda realize what she's doing. Subtly flirting with Natasha. Testing the waters. The basketball team's captain is somewhat of a little celebrity around here, after all.

Everyone is aware that she's taken. You're basically famous around here, especially since you're always walking around with a baby in your arms. Some women don't care about that, apparently.

They have different strategies, but the same goal. Wanda clears her throat and Daisy kicks Natasha's shin. She immediately sits up straight.

"Are you fucking kidding-"

"Eyes on us, idiot", Daisy cuts her off. "Why are we here?"

"Right", she mumbles. "I'll just say it, so, uh...how do I propose?"

First, there's silence. Then, Daisy bursts out laughing, so much so that poor Niko actually flinches. Wanda cradles him to her chest, but she doesn't manage to tell Daisy to stop — she's hung up on the fact that Natasha Romanoff is talking about proposing.

She doesn't want to say it out loud. Even if it's the truth, it'd be rude. But everyone knows that Natasha once claimed she'd never commit. Not fully. Campus is filled with girls who got their hearts broken by her. She's blocked double the amount of numbers she has saved as contacts.

Natasha shoots Daisy an irritated look. "Alright", she mutters, sinking into her seat and picking at the cookie on her saucer, "no need to laugh."

"I'm sorry", she wheezes. "You. You? You want to propose?"

"You're not being nice", Wanda tells her. She gives Natasha an apologetic look. "But I get her point. You're proposing?"

"I told Y/N I would if she fails her midterm", she explains, still disgruntled. "I'm serious about this. I'll do it. No matter if she fails, really."

"That's sweet", Daisy mumbles. "Basing a lifelong commitment on an academic failure."

Niko babbles and reaches out to Natasha. She scoops him out of Wanda's lap and immediately rummages through her diaper bag to find the bottle of milk she packed. In the meantime, he manages to grab the cookie she didn't eat and starts gnawing on it like he's been starving for the past week.

"Please", Natasha says. She steals the cookie back and replaces it with the baby bottle. Having forgotten about the sweet treat, Niko latches on. "That's not what it is at all. Look, guys. I'm serious about this. And about her. So either help me or I'm leaving."

"You're not leaving", Wanda says. She's digging through her backpack already, laying out notebooks and pencils on the table. "What did you have in mind?"

Natasha shrugs. She's been thinking about this for days. Actually, she's been racking her brains. Every second of her days are spent trying to find a good way to go about this. Not once in her life did she consider downloading Pinterest, but now, the red circular icon stands out on her home screen.

"Not sure", she says vaguely. "Maybe go on a date, hide the ring in a-"

"No", both of them interject.

"But you didn't-"

"No."

"Trust us", Wanda adds. "What else?"

Natasha shrugs and glances at Niko. He's still suckling, his feet kicking happily under the table. "Maybe a onesie that says 'marry me'?"

"God", Daisy groans. "That's, like, a surefire way to get dumped."

"Oh come on!"

"It's true", Wanda says. She flinches when Daisy suddenly starts hitting her arm like there's a mosquito on it. "What??"

"Jumbotron, jumbotron!"

This time, it's Natasha's turn to intervene. If there's one thing you'd like less than the onesie-idea, it's to be proposed to at one of her basketball games. A proposal in a gym full of sweaty athletes, fellow students and professors sounds like a nightmare.

"Absolutely not", she says firmly. Niko hiccups and spits up, simultaneously unlatching from the bottle. She quickly wipes his mouth. "No jumbotron, no basketball games."

"Boring", Daisy mumbles.

"I have to agree with Natasha", Wanda says. She taps the table and nods. "Did you write anything down? Maybe locations?"

Natasha shakes her head and fishes her phone out of her shorts. She swipes past the lock screen, which is still a half-naked picture of you, and opens one of the apps. She taps on the board she created and hands the phone to Wanda and her finicky eyes.

Daisy leans over her shoulder to peek at it. They're both quiet for a while, scrolling and silently judging. By the time they look up, Natasha's attention has long wavered. She's focused on Niko, who's babbling and playing with her hand.

"You'll need help", Daisy says. Natasha looks up. "I mean, a picnic?"

She frowns. In her mind, it was cute. Private and quiet, no prying eyes. Maybe on a beach, or in some park. Though, there aren't many pretty beaches nearby. And traveling isn't in the cards for you, especially while you're in college and have a baby.

"What's wrong with a picnic?"

"Bugs", Daisy quickly says. "Sand. Birds. Where do you put the baby? I know you guys don't like to leave him with anybody else."

Natasha shrugs. Niko, still in her arms, is now dozing off. The milk managed to make him sleepy.

"I thought I propose with him there."

"No", Daisy says. She frowns and taps a pen against her lips. "Hey, where'd you guys have your first kiss?"

Natasha pauses, one hand gently holding Niko's pacifier. She remembers it, of course, but sometimes, she wishes she didn't. The circumstances weren't romantic. It wasn't like in the movies. It was in a sweaty basement, filled with the stench of alcohol and weed. Everyone was on the floor, spinning a bottle. You kissed her because it landed on her, not because the moment seemed right.

She'd go back and do it differently, if she could. But it's too late for that.

"How's a party at Pietro's sound?"

"My hopes were too high", Daisy says, subtly rolling her eyes. "Your first time, you know..."

Natasha shakes her head. "Nope. Also at the party."

"Saying 'I love you'?"

Her cheeks flush, and her face goes hot. Another moment she wishes she could change. The night of the stabbed basketball, and the rainy hoodie, and the desperate sex in your dorm room. The fighting, the crying. It was all the result of what happened in Miami.

"No", she just says. No need for details, as she feels like they still haven't forgiven her for what she did at Spring Break. "It was in her dorm. We moved out of there, so..."

"Right, right." Daisy sighs and sinks into the red pleather of the booth's seat. "God, you two are complicated."

"You try proposing", Natasha mutters. She gently shifts Niko until she's able to put him back into the carrier. He stirs, but somehow doesn't wake up. "It's harder than it seems."

"Speaking of proposing..."

"No", Daisy says, shooting a glare at Wanda. Natasha frowns at them, and Daisy flips her off. "Don't."

"Are you-"

"Proposal", Wanda quickly says. "Your proposal. What does Y/N like?"

She gives them another skeptical look. They've been acting odd around each other for months now, but neither of them has had the guts to address it yet. She's not sure what exactly is going on, but truthfully, she's too tired to care.

She doesn't press it. Instead, she tries remembering everything you ever expressed fondness for.

"She likes me", she then says, grinning and rubbing Niko's back. All she gets are blank stares, though. "And him, of course."

"You could try taking this seriously", Daisy says, raising her eyebrows. "Seriously, what does she like?"

Natasha sighs and leans back in her seat. Her eyes drift down to Niko, who's sleeping and drooling all over her hoodie. She brushes her fingers over his red curls and tries to think, which is proven difficult due to her running on two and a half hours of sleep.

"Okay", she says slowly. "She likes black coffee. She likes lipstick, I think she has over a dozen of them. Uhm, I have a playlist full of her favorite songs, maybe we can use that. She doesn't like the dark, but she loves it when there are tiny lights everywhere. You know, fairy lights."

Wanda nods and writes everything down. "Fairy lights, there we go. What else?"

"She likes to dance", Natasha admits.

She's been dragged into a slow dance multiple times by you, and she always grumbles and protests. Getting her to actually try is harder than getting Niko to sleep during his sleep regression phase, but she never says no. Even if she's being an idiot.

"Dancing?" Daisy shoots Wanda a doubtful look when she writes that down as well. "How? When?"

"I don't know, hush. Keep going."

"Food", Natasha adds. Niko grunts in his sleep, one foot twitching, and she takes it into her hand. "Like, chocolate-covered anything. And she likes when I dress up a little, so..."

"Suit", Daisy whispers. She earns a glare. "What? You said it first."

"Suit it is", Wanda hums.

"I don't want a suit", Natasha interjects. Shes worn a suit twice so far — to your cousin's wedding, and at your grandfather's 90th birthday. She felt like an idiot playing dress up both times. "It's better if I wear something that's...natural, you know."

Wanda gives her a deadpan look, then adds 'suit' to her list, anyway. If you'll appreciate it, then she's doing it. No doubt.

They spend a total of two hours in the café. By the time they're done, Niko is awake and screaming for another meal. The bottle of pumped milk Natasha brought is empty, so she gets up and silently calculates when your exam should be done.

"I'll send you a text", Wanda says, packing up her stuff. "With the list and everything. Thursday, at my place? We still need to go over the details."

"And the ring", Daisy adds. She touches Wanda's wrist before wrapping her fingers around it, then she leads her outside. Sunlight blinds both Natasha and Niko as she follows them out the door.

"Right", Natasha mumbles, stressing. Niko lets out an unhappy scream. "Okay, okay, I'm getting you food. By the way, can you guys keep your mouths shut around Y/N? I know I told her, but..."

"Yeah", Wanda says, stopping. She reaches into her backpack and fishes out some applesauce for Niko. "No worries."

Natasha hesitates, then grabs the applesauce pouch. You're not the biggest fan of giving Niko sugary food, even if it's just applesauce, but she'd rather he stops crying. She unscrews it and helps him eat some.

"Aunt Wanda to the rescue", she says, smiling kindly.

"Preach", Natasha mumbles. She wipes his chin with her thumb and looks up. "Anyways. Thursday, 10am. Y/N is at a lecture. She'll probably try to skip but I'll make her go."

"All you have to do now is not spoil the surprise", Daisy reminds her. "Don't be an idiot."

Not spoil the surprise — easy enough, Natasha thinks, absently trying to keep Niko from eating her thumb instead. He squeals and grasps at her hand like it's the most precious thing his seven month old little brain has seen.

Little does she know that a), she will be an idiot, and b), not spoiling a surprise is hard when you're this much of a goner for someone.

. . .

Despite your protests and complaints, Natasha manages to make you go to your lecture. It takes a lot of convincing, energy and sweat, but she succeeds. You're not happy about it — you'd rather stay home with Niko, who's somehow teething again (apparently, none of you are catching a break anytime soon), but she finds enough arguments to convince you to go.

You give her a glare. She's in the doorway, dressed in a hoodie and the baby perched on her hip, helping him chew on a frozen piece of cucumber. Unlike you, she doesn't have to get ready for anything. She's spending the day with Niko, at the park, while you have to sit through an entire lecture. That's what she told you, at least.

"What?", she asks, sheepish.

"It's not fair", you say, turning back around and grabbing your makeup bag with a little more force than necessary. "You get to stay here and I have to listen to Gibson talk about statistics for almost two hours."

"It's important", she says, shifting Niko a bit. He tends to suddenly throw himself backwards — an annoying little habit he's developed over the past couple weeks. "You know, it's the last one before the midterm."

"I don't care", you say. You open a lipstick and apply some. "He sends us a video of the lecture, anyway."

Natasha, being who she is, automatically steps closer. You grab her hand and blot your lips with the side of her thumb. It's a routine by now, one neither of you has to acknowledge anymore.

"It's better if you're there in person", she says. Niko tries grabbing your hair, but she stops him. "So you can ask questions."

You turn around and stare at her. "You know I never ask questions."

Of course, you're right. You don't ask questions, and she knows it. She's accompanied you to lectures a bunch of times, mostly when you were pregnant or right after you gave birth to Niko. But she forgot about that little detail.

"Oh", she says dumbly. "Well, I..."

"Told you", you say, turning around again. You adjust your necklace and get up. Natasha watches you leave the bathroom before quickly following you. "There's literally no point in going, but whatever."

"One lecture", she says. "Then you're done for the semester."

You give a dismissive wave of your hand and start looking through your shoe cabinet. High heels, which you started wearing almost immediately after giving birth. A pair of old sneakers Natasha stuffed into the back. Ballet flats and combat boots, and finally, your favorite pumps.

Natasha lingers by the door, Niko still in her arms. She's watching you, carefully, trying to find out what to say to make the look on your face go away. She's pretty sure you're being dramatic, but the dejected expression you're wearing stings.

"It's for your own good", she adds unhelpfully. Niko screeches and grabs her cheek. "You'll focus better."

"I don't need focus", you say. You slip on your pumps and straighten up, then scoop the baby out of her hands. "I don't want to abandon him again."

"You're not abandoning him, he's with his favorite mom."

What she said does make the look of dejection on your face go away — but it's replaced with one of offense and, for some reason, deep disappointment. You glance at Niko, who's perfectly content in your arms, and it's enough to make your bottom lip stick out in a little pout.

Natasha panics. Instead of reassuring you, she only made the guilt worse.

"No, hey, you know what I-"

You glance at her and grin. She lets out a huff when she realizes you were messing with her.

"Calm down, love", you say, putting Niko on your hip. "We both know he prefers me. Walking milk bar and whatever. Don't forget his bottle if you go out, yes?"

On any other day, she'd act offended by this. But there's a smile on your face, on that says 'gotcha', and she's too relieved that her plan will work out to say anything. Instead, she rolls her eyes and reaches for her diaper bag.

Ten minutes after you leave for your lecture, she sneaks out of the apartment as well. You see her car round the corner right after you step out of a café.

It's enough to make you pause for a moment. You shouldn't be worried. Niko's with her, so she's got her hands full. They're probably going out for groceries or something. But all you can think about is her insisting you leave, which resulted in her being alone.

And now, she's leaving without telling you. She didn't even mention it before you left, which makes it feel like a secret. Your stomach twists at the thought, and you feel the guilt hit almost immediately after.

Natasha's not that person anymore. She hasn't been in a long time. These are your insecurities speaking, possibly even stemming from the dozens of marks pregnancy left all over your body.

Confused and still not fully calm, you stand in front of the café for another long moment. Iced latte in hand, sunglasses perched on top of your head. Lipstick, blotted with her pinky. Someone nearly bumps into you, which finally lets you snap out.

"Hey", the guy starts, a studied little smirk on his face. But you direct a glare at him. You're not in the mood to be hit on. "Hey, no worries. I'll just-"

"I'm not interested", you say, voice biting and about to incinerate him with a single look. "Fuck off."

He raises his eyebrows and steps aside, hands lifted. "Yeah, I got that. Jesus Christ."

"Shave that mustache", you add. At this point, you're just being petty. "You look ridiculous."

No reply. He scoffs, hands in his pockets, and hurries down the street. You stand there for another second, shifting in your pumps, then turn around and walk toward campus. Your thoughts, however, remain occupied by Natasha.

. . .

Before she manages to go through with the proposal, she nearly screws up three times. The first time it happens, she's in a jewelry store.

Rings in endless variations, shimmering in polished glass displays. Necklaces, gracing the pulse-less necks of jewelry mannequin stands. A stroller with a drooling baby, and a woman who has no clue what she's looking for. The ring has to be perfect.

Natasha nearly drops her phone when it starts ringing. For a second, she fumbles with it like it's a hot potato — much to Niko's amusement, who starts giggling like this is the most entertaining thing he's ever seen —, then she manages to swipe her thumb across the screen and answer the call.

Her voice, when she speaks, is hurried. "Hello?"

"Hey", you immediately say. You're in your lecture hall, leaning back in your seat. "Prof is giving us a five minute break, thought I'd check in with you."

It's obvious that she didn't expect you to call, at least not yet. She hums noncommittally, silently racking her brain for something to say. Niko kicks his legs in his stroller and screeches, and next to her, a young woman talks.

You freeze at the sound. A woman's voice, close to Natasha, sounding young and soft. Something crawls up your spine, and you're not even sure why.

You can trust her, after all. She's loving and committed. Hell, she doesn't even breathe wrong near other women. However, she did tell you she'd spend the day at home with the baby. Part of you would've expected her to tell you about any possible change of plans.

The saleswoman steps closer to Natasha and hands her another box. There's a ring inside it. One you obviously can't see. If you could, it'd maybe help you tone down your anxiety.

All you see, though, is the narrow table your laptop is on. The pen next to it, the baby sock you carry like a lucky charm. And all you hear is the female voice, mumbling something again. If she's this loud even while speaking softly, she must be standing close to Natasha.

"Who was that?", you ask warily. You hear stuttering, and then that same voice again, and you swallow. "Natasha."

"Just helping me with something", she says after floundering. You nearly let go of your phone. "I'll pick you up later, right? After your lecture. I'll bring you some takeout too, just tell me what you want."

Around you, people start returning to their seats. A guy jumps over the rows to get to his chair, a girl gingerly follows him and giggles. Someone edges past you, apologizing when they almost spill your drink. You, however, barely notice. Not even the professor is importantly, even though he's switching to a new slide already.

All you can focus on is Natasha. Natasha, who said she didn't have any plans. Natasha, who's now definitely losing her shit on the phone while pretending not to. Worst of all? — Wherever she may be, she brought Niko with her.

"I don't want takeout", you snap, absently starting to pack up your stuff. You slam your laptop shut with a little more force than necessary. "When will you be home?"

"Uh..." Natasha gives the saleswoman, who's still holding two new rings, a quick glance. "Half an hour?"

'Romanoff, I'm killing you' — those are the first words that pop into your head. But even with your hand balling into a fist on the table, you manage to exhale and calm down enough not to threaten her over the phone.

"I'll be at Wanda's", you say slowly. You're pushing through the overcrowded rows to get to the exit. "Half an hour, right? Pick me up."

"Sure", she says, nodding dumbly. "No takeout?"

"No. Just be on time, alright? I have to nurse."

Natasha gives the saleswoman a slightly more irritated look when she shows her another ring. But this time, instead of shaking her head no, she pauses. You're still panicking silently, still trying to get the thought of her with another woman out of your head. Natasha, however, has found the piece of jewelry she'll be proposing with.

After this, you get a week long break. Natasha makes plans whenever she gets the chance to — she opens her notes the second you're asleep (which she can usually notice happen as your voice will drift off mid sentence); she calls Wanda to ask about flowers and fairy lights and all kinds of stuff you may like (it was a firm no on the condoms, though); she secretly glances at your own Pinterest boards to see what you have in mind.

She's getting somewhere, slowly but surely. She's got the ring, which she hid in the very corner of her locker. She's got an outfit picked out, stored at Wanda's place. She's rehearsed her speech dozens of times. There aren't many things left to do.

The day you get your exam results is inching closer like a dark cloud in the sky. You can feel the weight on your shoulders, so much so that you've almost forgotten about Natasha's promise — if you fail, I'm proposing. A joke, surely. Nothing to be taken seriously.

Still, the hope lingers. She manages to shatter it anyway, and the second time that happens, you think you're about to lose her for good.

It was supposed to be a long day. Your professor had made you get into groups for a project, so you met up at one of the girls' apartment to get started on it. It was tiring, and your head is still hurting from the unnecessary amount of candles and potpourri she has everywhere, but you finished early. The only logical thing to do is go home.

Standing in front of your apartment, you rummage through your purse. Your nails are red and chipped, a bandaid around your thumb — Niko's favorite chewing toy. You open the door, step in, and freeze.

Nothing. Silence. All the lights are turned off, the stroller is missing, the apartment feels empty. Natasha and Niko usually nap on the couch in the afternoon, but it's empty now.

You smell perfume, though. It's not yours, and it definitely isn't hers, either. You see the hoodie slung over the back of a chair, and you feel your skin start to crawl. It's pink and definitely not her size, and it doesn't belong to you, either.

Miami pops into your head, unbidden and intrusive. Stepping through that door and catching her with a stranger left its marks. You like to pretend it didn't, but you know it's true. Right now, you know it more than ever.

You turn around a few times, like you're expecting her to magically step out from behind a corner. But you're alone, and the apartment is empty, and Natasha is standing in the middle of a lecture hall.

She has no idea how they managed to sneak in here. It's noon on a Saturday, and it was locked — but she shouldn't underestimate Wanda with a hairpin, apparently. It took some wiggling and huffing, but eventually, the lock had clicked.

"You're sure about this?", Daisy asks, dragging her finger over one of the windowsills. A thick layer of dust is left on her finger. "This place is gross."

"It makes sense", Natasha defends herself. She's standing on the stairs that lead all the way down to where the professor stands. Niko's in his stroller, asleep and quiet for once. "I mean, I told you. She's not going to expect this, that's for sure."

"She is", Wanda mumbles under her breath. She's all the way in the back, trying to figure out of to make this happen. She doesn't understand Natasha's plan, either. But she seems intent on doing this her way, and they have no choice but to trust her. She's the one who's proposing, after all. She hopefully knows you better than they do.

Daisy nods at the ceiling. "Think we could hang up fairy lights?"

"Scatter the tables with roses", Wanda adds.

"Nothing too obvious", Natasha insists, her hands tucked into the pockets of her basketball shorts. "It's a surprise."

"I still can't believe you convinced her", Daisy says. She walks to the blackboard and nudges it a little further up. "Maybe draw something on this. Or write. I don't know."

Natasha has never been the most creative person. Her skills lie in the physical fields — in basketball and cardio, not poetry and art. Staring at the blackboard, which is still full of little specks of chalk, she can't come up with anything. The best she can offer would be a game strategy.

Daisy, on the other hand, is approaching this with a little more confidence. A few practiced hand movements later, Natasha and Wanda are staring at something that looks a lot like a certain genital.

"Can you take this seriously?", Natasha eventually snaps.

"It is serious."

"What's coming out of-...oh."

Behind her, Niko grunts in his sleep. He's still dozing, but she knows she's approaching the end of his nap. If she wants to get this done, she needs to be quick. But she's still clueless, and the baby makes another noise, and her phone buzzing is the final straw.

She fishes her phone out of her pocket and curses when she sees your name on the screen. Apparently, you're done early with whatever project you're working on. She'd know what it's about, but she's been a little preoccupied. Not even you could blame her for that.

"Who's that?", Wanda pipes up.

"Wifey", Daisy grins. She adds a condom wrapper and puts the chalk aside. "Look, no more accidental babies."

"Shut up", Natasha hisses. She picks up the call, hands sweating and mouth suddenly dry. Just weeks ago, she was joking about this. Joking about a proposal and marriage, joking about things that are now almost giving her more anxiety than the pregnancy did.

She clears her throat before speaking. You, on the other end of the line, frown.

"Yes?", Natasha says. She clears her throat again, and Niko finally wakes up enough to yawn and stretch. He blinks slowly, arms stretched above his head.

"Where are you? And where's my baby?"

Natasha tugs at the neckline of her shirt, silently trying not to panic. You sound pissed. If there's one thing she's learned, it's that you sounding angry when the apartment is empty is a bad sign. On any other occasion, you'd try and rest a bit. Instead, you're about to chew the hell out of her.

"Uhm", she says dumbly, but you're already on a rant.

"You can't keep doing this, you know! The apartment is empty, you idiot. You're both gone. It smells like perfume. Where the fuck are you? Do you know how worried I am?"

"No, I-"

"Who are you with?", you suddenly demand to know. Her cheeks are red and not by now, her eyes meeting Wanda's. All she gets from your best friend is a shrug.

"Listen", Natasha says. She's trying to explain without giving anything away, which seems impossible in that moment. A few years ago, she would've lied her way out of this without struggling at all. Unfortunately, she's somewhat honest now. "We're just, uh..."

"Okay, 'we'?"

"Wanda and Daisy!", she blurts.

There it is. You go silent on the other end of the line, and all she hears is a slow breath. Relief, probably. Or another wave of anger that's about to drown her.

You huff softly, but it doesn't sound angry anymore. Just tired. "Oh. Right."

"They wanted to see Niko", she continues, glancing at the baby. He's half-awake now, rubbing his eyes and his pacifier close to falling out of his mouth. "I thought, you know...we have the day off anyway."

"Got it", you say, nodding. You're feeling dumb now. Guilty, too. You should know better than to believe she'd do something like that. She's not a cheater. "Just come home soon."

"We're leaving in ten", she promises. You hang up again, and she slips her phone back into her pocket.

It does take them ten more minutes. Wanda gets a list of things to do, Daisy gets a list of things not to do. Natasha doesn't know what she's doing, but she's following her instincts. Hopefully, that'll be enough.

When she gets home, you can't even bring yourself to be mad at her. Red hair, in a low bun. A baby on her hip. A bouquet of roses in her hand, red and fresh. Her green eyes give you a look that's filled with half a dozen different apologies.

You want to cry. You're standing in the doorway, dressed in an oversized shirt and a pair of her boxers, all ready to fight. But she's sweaty and flushed, so all you manage to do is cup her face and kiss her stupid mouth. She doesn't taste different, thank god. Like plain chapstick and toothpaste, nothing else.

Not a hint of perfume on her clothes either, you silently register. Niko squeals and grabs your ear, and that's enough to make you pull away.

"You were worried?", she mumbles, snaking one arm around your waist. The roses press against your lower back. You reach up to brush strands of hair, curling slightly in the heat, from her face.

"Losing my mind, actually." You peck her lips again, your nose brushing against hers. "You brought flowers."

"You deserve them", she says, revealing the bouquet again. You accept it and try to breathe in the scent, but Niko is quicker. His chubby little hand darts forward and grasps one of the flowers. Red petals are squished between his fingers.

You raise your eyebrows at him and take his hand. A ticklish spot on his wrist makes his fingers loosen. Instead of trying to whine and complain, he stretches out his arms so you can pick him up. Natasha, his favorite mom — yeah right.

"He missed you", she adds, following you into the apartment. "I missed you. How was it?"

"The project? Not bad."

Natasha nods and leans against the wall. Her hands are back in the pockets of her shorts, and she's watching you as you change Niko on the couch. It's becoming more and more of a struggle every day. The more he wants to move, the closer he is to rolling off the couch.

"The exam results", she suddenly says. You glance at her, one hand resting on Niko's belly so he doesn't flop over. "Next week. You nervous?"

You grimace slightly. Exam results — two words you don't want to hear right now. You've been pushing those worries aside, as you can't do anything about it anymore either. Part of you is fairly certain you failed, though.

"Don't remind me", you say and reach for the wicker basket on the coffee table. You keep some of Niko's essentials, like diapers and wet wipes, there. "Do you know how much I'll have to work to make up for that? I'll have a nervous breakdown before summer starts, I'm telling you."

Natasha shifts and shrugs, a single red lock coming loose and blocking her left eye. "Not looking forward to it? Can't think of anything good that might happen?"

"Hold still", you mumble. Niko squeals and kicks at your hand, getting some diaper cream on his foot. You give her a quick, doubting look. "Are you on something? What's there to look forward to?"

Asking you this question was her way of gauging your mood. She's been worried about this for a while, because getting proposed to right after receiving a bad grade doesn't sound like the ideal way to get engaged. You might be too disappointed, after all. Or you might end up strangling her.

You're oblivious, though. You're too busy trying to keep your baby from somersaulting off the couch, so you close his diaper and use the heel of your hand to wipe the cream off his toes.

"I mean", Natasha begins. She falters. "I don't know. Like, maybe something nice happens. Come on, you can't be that negative."

The look you shoot at her makes her recoil a little. Eyebrows raised, you turn around to button Niko's onesie back up and scoop him into your arms.

"You're mocking me at this point", you say, irritated, and carry the baby into the bedroom. Natasha follows — she hesitates, but she follows. "You know I've been nervous for weeks, Nat."

"Yes, but-"

You stop in your tracks and whip around, jamming your finger into her chest. Her eyes widen and she comes to a sudden halt. You're in a shirt that's swallowing you whole, diaper cream on your knee and a sleepy baby on your hip. Yet, she's never been more terrified.

Except for once. She's not forgetting about the night in the dorm anytime soon.

"I don't need you to go on and on about this", you say firmly. Niko nuzzles your shoulder with his face and yawns. "I don't keep reminding you of basketball games either when you haven't been practicing enough. So quit it."

She lifts her hands. She's powerless here, and arguing would only make matters worse. If she wants you to say yes, she should probably make sure you don't leave her before she has the chance to ask.

"Alright", she says, furrowing her eyebrows. You sigh and put your hand on Niko's back again. "I'll let it go, babe."

"Good."

Natasha stays in the doorway, watching you sit down and lift your shirt. Six days — that's when you're getting your results back. Six days, and she has to make sure she doesn't screw up. The ring is in her locker already, waiting patiently behind old clothes and a stack of books.

There's not much time to make another mistake. But Natasha's a woman of many talents, and she manages to do it anyway.

. . .

Friday morning. Natasha's been up since 4am, and this time, it isn't Niko's fault. It's her anxiety, the tingling feeling in her stomach, the ring that's now hidden in the back of the closet.

You haven't noticed yet, somehow. You're at the kitchen table, attached to the breastmilk pump and yawning, one hand rocking Niko's bassinet. He's asleep with his hand resting on his tummy. You've been oblivious all morning, but that's about to change.

You watch Natasha as she darts around the kitchen like a restless bird. Pots clatter, the coffee machine grinds, and she curses when she drops a slice of whole grain bread. She bends over to pick it up, then goes back to opening one drawer after the other.

"Nat?", you ask, still rocking the bassinet. She doesn't even look at you. "Hey, babe. How many energy drinks did you have?"

"Huh?" She turns around, eyes sleep-deprived and hair disheveled. "None. Why?"

"You're running around like a headless chicken", you say. "It's making me nervous."

"That's not exactly my issue", she mutters, turning back around. She closes the drawer, but instead of doing it gently, she accidentally slams it back into place. Silverware rattles loudly, and Niko fusses in his bassinet. "Shit, fuck- sorry."

You frown, one hand rubbing the baby's belly. He goes right back to sleep. But what really worries you is Natasha, and her behavior these past couple weeks. She's somewhere else all the time. She's texting people at night, when she thinks you're asleep. You heard her take a call in the bathroom once, her voice a hushed whisper.

Something's going on, and she won't tell you what it is. Not knowing makes it all the more scary.

"Do you want to talk?", you ask and get up. You remove the breast pumps and carry them to the baby bottles by the sink. Natasha immediately leans in, pressing an apologetic kiss to your temple. "You're acting weird."

"Weird?", she mumbles, still nuzzling your temple. Her arms wrap around your shoulders. "Not weird. Hm, you smell nice."

You pull away to give her a confused look, but she doesn't budge. One hand sneaks to the waistband of your sweatpants, but you lightly slap it aside.

"I'm the one who's postpartum", you remind her. "Mood swings are my thing. What's wrong with you?"

Natasha frowns, clearly offended. Still, you see the anxious little flicker in her eyes. The one that hasn't disappeared in weeks. Not fully.

"Wrong?", she asks, putting her hand on your side once more. She hooks her thumb into the waistband. "Nothing's wrong with me. I'm just appreciating my beautiful girlfriend. You're so hot, you know."

"And you're acting off", you retort. You slip out of her embrace and grab the baby bottles. "We're leaving soon. Are you going to keep staring at my ass or make yourself useful?"

Your question doesn't even register. She's been thinking about the engagement ring in the closet all day, but now that she's able to ogle you, it's not the only thing on her mind. Unfortunately, you have different plans.

Before you leave the house, she manages to sneak into the bedroom one more time. The red velvet feels soft beneath her fingertips, and she slides it into her backpack.

You both have class, so you part for the first two hours of the morning. Much to Natasha's relief — she still needs to meet up with Wanda to make sure everything's ready.

Phone in her hand and hair in a low bun, she stands in front of her open locker. She's typing on her phone, her head almost fully inside the dark space. It smells like deodorant and something old, but at least she's not being bothered by anyone. It's quiet, it's allowing her to be deep in thought. All she can see is the lit up screen in her hands.

Then, someone taps her shoulder. Slamming her phone into the locker screen-down, she whips around. The eyes she meets are way too familiar. She sees them every day, every night. She's seen them in every situation imaginable.

There it is. The third time she almost screws it up.

"Y/N", she stutters, blindly reaching for the door of the locker. Her hand slips from it once before she finally shuts it. "What are you- I thought we're meeting in the library."

"We were", you say, a frown on your face. You didn't miss the way she tossed her phone into the locker. "Were you trying to climb in there?"

"No, just..." She shakes her head, sweating already. She thought she'd have at least another half an hour before she'd soak through her shirt, but maybe she was wrong. "Just looking for my hoodie."

You glance at the locker again, think about her phone that's buried somewhere in the mess inside it. Natasha tries to distract you by scooping Niko from your arms, but it doesn't work. She was texting someone. She was hiding inside her locker, and she panicked when you showed up.

You shift your weight from one leg to the other. Your fingers are twisting your earring nervously, but your voice is quiet and sharp.

"If you have something to tell me", you say, "you better tell me now. Seriously. I'm sick of your lies."

Natasha's eyes flicker up from Niko's face. She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out. She was nervous before already — she barely slept, battled nausea and jitters all morning, tried to keep herself from bolting. After all this time, she isn't perfect. Proposing has turned out to be a bigger challenge than she thought it'd be, no matter how committed she might be.

"No lies", she promises. Niko squawks and slaps her chest. "Promise. You just startled me."

"Natasha", you hiss, stepping closer. "Stop lying. What are you hiding?"

She looks at you, heart beating wildly and face dumbfounded. You're not backing down from this. You're inches away from her face, smelling like perfume and looking like you're about to murder her on the spot.

She's trapped. There's no way out. Either she explains, or you're storming out and causing the plans she has to go up in flames. Neither choice is good, but she knows which one sounds less painful. She has to ruin the surprise, even if it stings.

But then, she looks over your shoulder just in time. Daisy is hurrying down the hallway, waving the phone in her hand. The midterm results are in, which means you'll get distracted. Natasha perks up.

"Hey!", she says. You frown and turn around. "Midterms! Came in five minutes ago!"

You blink, then reach into your pocket and pull out your phone. Natasha was right: you are distracted. You're still not happy with her, but you're too focused on logging into the course portal. The grade pops up on your screen, but you don't really have to check it. There's a word next to it, all capital letters and red, which tells you what you need to know.

FAILED.

Natasha peeks at the screen right as you turn off your phone. You're not too surprised, but the result is disappointing anyway. Catching up will be hard.

"Oh", she mumbles. She glances at your face. "Sorry, babe."

"No, I..." You exhale and shake your head. "It's fine. It sucks, but it's fine. I'll catch up, right?"

She hums, eyebrows furrowed slightly. "You're sad. I can think of something to change that."

You give her an irritated look. No way is she trying to use this to initiate sex. You're on campus, in the middle of a hallway, and she's trying to take your clothes off again. But she doesn't flinch, doesn't back down.

"You think that's funny?"

"It's not", she says, her voice sincere. She grabs your hand to lift it to her lips and press a kiss against your knuckles. "I know what'll cheer you up. Don't trust me?"

"No", you quickly reply. Natasha huffs. "You're acting weird. Again."

She tugs at your hand, as insistent as ever. She's always been like this. Even back then when you rejected her time after time, she kept trying. She knew it'd be worth it, and she still does. The only difference is that, now, it isn't about sex.

"Please", she says. Her hand squeezes yours, her feet start to move. The soles of her shoes squeak on vinyl flooring, and you're following her without really realizing. Niko's still in her arms, now dozing off. "Just this once."

"You've said that before", you remind her and narrow your eyes.

Natasha cracks a smile and shrugs. You've rounded the corner and are now approaching one of the lecture halls. Not having expected this, you blink a few times when she leads you towards it. She lets go of your hand to open the door.

Inside, it's different than usual. Not all of it is — the tiered seating, the fold-down chairs, are all the same. The smell of old paper and chalk, too, as well as the empty podium and the large blackboard.

But fairy lights hang from the ceiling. There's a thin stack of papers on one of the tables, as well as a pen next to it. Her cologne is woven through the other, less comforting smells.

You look at her, still wary. "What the fuck."

She rolls her eyes and nudges you toward the seats. You sigh and step closer, glancing at the stack of papers. All that's written on the front is your name in big letters. Natasha's handwriting.

"Sit down", she says. Niko lets out a sleepy yawn, but his green eyes are glued to the lights stretching across the ceiling. "Come find me after."

You shake your head, still staring at the papers. By the time her words have registered, she's left. The door has fallen shut and you're alone in the lecture hall.

The epiphany is sudden and unbearable. This is what she's been so secretive about. You've been distrustful and snippy about it, but she spent weeks working on whatever this is anyway. She kept going until the very last second.

Your footsteps are loud in the empty space. You slowly sit down, eyes on the papers, and reach for the pen. You flip the first page over and skim it — multiple choice questions —, then actually read the first question.

1. Where did we meet?

Ⓡ Library

Ⓓ University's main entrance

Ⓨ Parking lot

Ⓛ Behind a bar

It makes you pause. Every muscle in your body seems to go rigid for a moment. It's a pop quiz, a custom one Natasha made. And you're supposed to sit here, and answer questions, and hopefully find out what the hell she's planned.

You have an idea, but you don't dare hold onto that hope. Maybe this is a setup.

You hesitate for a second, then pull the cap off the pen and put a cross over the Ⓓ. If there's one thing you're not forgetting, it's where you met. How you met, really. You could swear you still feel a slight dent in the back of your head.

You look at the second question and purse your lips.

2. Great choice! What did I throw at you? (Sorry about that)

Ⓩ Water bottle

Ⓖ Eraser

Ⓒ Myself lol

Ⓞ Basketball

It's answer Ⓞ, of course. Your hand instinctively feels for the dent at the back of your head, but you can't find it. You probably imagined having one in the first place.

The next questions continue in a similar manner. From the color of her jersey to your favorite lipstick, your first kiss and your anniversary. You hold your breath when you reach the last one.

8. Who should not have to work a day in their life?

Ⓦ Me

Ⓐ Niko

Ⓤ Random guy from the gym

Ⓜ︎ My wife (you?)

You stare at it for a long while. Another thing you remember. The night you tried and miserably failed to study for your midterm. Endless slides of molecular biology knowledge, a colicky baby, a less than helpful but well meaning Natasha. Suddenly, her intentions are clear.

Your hand shakes as you put a cross over the Ⓜ︎. You skim the answers, the letters of the answers to be exact, and write them down one by one.

D - O - R - M R - O - O - M

You shove the pen aside with so much force that it rolls off the table, but you ignore it. Instead, you get up and leave the fairy lights-adorned space that Natasha may have changed forever. If you ever have another lecture here, you won't be able to think about anything else.

You know what she's talking about. Your old dorm — it's where you spent a majority of your relationship. Before Niko, before you even thought about calling this love. Back then, getting to the point you're at now seemed impossible. But things are different.

Your heart is pounding in your ears. Whatever she's about to do — she means it. That alone makes the weeks of fear and uncertainty worth it. Suddenly, the way to the dormitory seems unnecessarily long.

The door creaks when you push it open. Inside the hallway of the dorm, it still smells the exact same as it did about a year ago. Mildew, citrus, beer. There's a cigarette butt and some shards on the floor, but you ignore those. You reach the elevator and repeatedly push the button to make the old device react.

The doors seem to be stuck for a moment, then they finally slide open. You press the button to the desired floor without having to think about it. They slide open again, revealing a hallway that's dark and familiar. You step out and stare at the door across from you.

There were stickers on it once. Tons of them, covering it and giving it a little life. Whoever moved into the dorm room now peeled them off. They're all gone, except for a little part of Strawberry Shortcake's hat.

You hesitate when you see the flicker of light coming from the narrow gap underneath the door. But then you step closer, and the doorknob still feels round and cold in your hand, and a single twist of it reveals your old dorm room. Your heart stumbles when you see it.

A twin bed and a desk. An old closet. More fairy lights, a bunch of candles, and Natasha going down on her knee so fast she almost topples over. For once, she's in a suit. It's even ironed. You didn't think that detail would be the one to make you tear up, but somehow, it is.

The best part is her face, though. You've never seen her this nervous, and the tears in your eyes only worsen the anxiety. Her hands shake when she pulls out a little velvet box and opens it, and the ring inside shimmers.

"Y/N-", she begins, voice just as unsteady. You don't really need to hear the rest, though. You're seeing enough, and you've known your answer to this for a while.

"Yes."

She looks up and blinks. Her eyebrows furrow a little and she tries to shift her weight. "Dude, I have a speech prepared."

You shake your head and rub your eyes. "Sorry, I..." You let out a choked little laugh and gesture at her. "You look ridiculous. Keep going."

Natasha stares for another moment, her heart thrumming. She clears her throat and tries to remember what she wrote down — a full page, which is impressive considering she doesn't like to write much. But the words fail her, and so she needs to improvise.

"I practiced this in front of the mirror", she explains, absently toying with the ring box. "I tried. I got interrupted. This will probably suck, you know, but I make up for it in other ways. Promise."

"Yeah", you mumble, nodding. "You do."

"I try", she adds. "Every day. For you and Niko. I don't want him to remember a day where there wasn't a ring on your finger. He should know how amazing his mom is. Because you are, and I want you to know that. I want to be the one telling you that forever. Every game I win is for you."

At this point, you're barely keeping yourself from dragging her off the floor and into a kiss. Your eyes are burning, your jaw is set stubbornly. But Natasha is still reciting quotes from the poetry book that her mind has turned into, and truthfully, it's too sweet to interrupt.

"I'm sweating through my shirt", she says, shifting again. You've seen her restless before, usually at important events. If she could, she'd wear sweatpants and a hoodie everywhere. "I ironed it myself. I think you can tell."

"I can't", you say. You opt for a faint smile, but your eyes are burning. "I don't know how to iron, either. Sorry about that."

Natasha smiles back, her grip on the ring box getting tighter. The fairy lights around her flicker softly and she looks down at the floor. She swore to herself she wouldn't cry, but she doesn't think she'll be able not to.

"That's fine", she says. "We'll survive wrinkly clothes. We survived everything else, too."

"Dramatic", you whisper. But she's right, anyway. You survived months of living off ramen, you survived the fights and the days where you didn't think it'd get better. Months of pining, which was worse because it was mutual.

There was no communication. All you knew was to get loud.

"No", Natasha says. "Not dramatic. I was the worst version of myself and you still wanted me. That's really fucking impressive, by the way. And...I had a quote prepared, but I think I forgot."

You shake your head. It feels like the room is spinning. "Don't worry about it."

"I'm sweating through my suit", she adds, tugging at one lapel. "This was supposed to be longer, but I kinda feel faint. And I can't really ask you if I pass out, so...”

Natasha holds the box a little higher. She tilts her head to the side and smiles, but her voice cracks. "Marry me?"

You've said yes already. A bunch of times, actually — when you walked into the lecture hall and took the fake pop quiz. When you walked to your old dorm. When you saw her on one knee, hair just slightly messy and cheeks as pink as if she'd been practicing basketball for hours. She never needed to finish the speech.

You say it again, anyway.

"Yes."

Natasha stares, heart pounding faster than when they won the championship game last March. She almost drops her ring on her way to you, but remembers its purpose in the last second.

Her hand grips yours, and the piece of jewelry is slid onto your ring finger. Before she can do much else, you've grabbed the front of her suit and pulled her into a kiss that makes her stumble.

She catches herself quickly, though, and her hands land on your waist. She doesn't resist when you walk her backwards. In fact, a very obvious part of her seems to approve of being pushed onto the twin bed.

Natasha paid the girl who lives here now $200 to move her stuff out for the day and let her use the room. She never said anything about using the bed, but that's a problem for later. You're straddling her already, which makes it hard to think anyway.

Your hands fumble with the buttons of her shirt. Your mouth presses against hers again and again, lips slick and noses bumping.

"Where's...the baby?...", you ask in between kisses. You finally slip off her shirt.

"Daisy", she mumbles. She pulls away to start peppering kisses along your neck, down to your collarbone. In the middle of sucking a hickey into your skin, she pauses. "Hey, I remember the quote."

"Not the time", you say, pushing her down. Your hands reach for her zipper, opening it and pulling at her slacks. She lifts her hips to help you. "No condom?"

She shakes her head and watches you undress. Her chest is heaving with each breath, and she's fighting hard for every single one. "We risked it once. Turned out fine."

You hum and sink down. You both moan at the same time, and you bury your hands in her hair once you've undone her braid. She leans in to bury her face in your chest.

"Love you", she mumbles. Hands on your hips, she guides every movement. "Thank you for saying yes."

You scoff, but it melts into a moan when she thrusts up into you. "Don't- don't thank me. Ruins it."

"You're right."

Natasha's fingers curl into your skin, her thumbs rubbing circles into it. Little stretch marks look like a map, and she's memorized them a while ago. Her lips press kisses to your chest, her face nuzzling it. You come with her body under yours and her ring on your finger.

Moments later, you're curled up on the bed together. You're playing with strands of her hair. The room smells like candles and the chocolate covered strawberries she forgot on the dresser.

Her hand runs up and down your back, tracing your spine. A kiss is placed on your forehead. You look up, immediately seeing her eyes, and tilt your head at the look in them. She smiles lazily.

"Want to hear the quote?"

[artstennisracket]

Gamer!Patrick

who… you started dating in college. you guys met in your second year finance class after working on a project together. you thought he was cute but a little egotistical, always answering teacher questions without raising his hand. always contributing to class discussions aka saying his opinion louder than everyone else

who… always wears sweatpants or board shorts to class. no in between. always paired with his nike killshot’s, a watch his father bought him, and soft sprays of his expensive tom ford cologne. he clearly doesn’t care what people think of him. he’s also stupidly charismatic. all the business professors love him.

who… always insists on hanging out at your dorm instead of his off campus apartment. you never knew why until one day he finally gave in. his place was nice. expensive. he said his parents paid for the rent. it was a two bedroom apartment that he shared with his best friend Art but he was rarely home. but Patrick’s room was a disaster. dirty clothes everywhere, half eaten cups of ramen, half drunk water bottles, and suspicious socks strewn all over that made your stomach turn at the thought of what they were probably used for.

who… essentially ignores you everytime he’s on the game. his pc would be the only source of light in his room most nights. even if you spent the night, hoping he’d join you to sleep, most times he wouldn’t until an ungodly hour. staying up until 4/5am screaming at his teammates through his headphones, you’re surprised you can even sleep.

who… jerks off to porn videos of his favorite video game characters. he would never tell you, but one day when you’re over at his place, making cereal in the kitchen (because there’s no real food there), Art outs him. he busts out laughing saying “oh you didn’t know? yeah you should ask him about that.” you’re not even sure how Art knows this information.

who… denies the accusation stating that “why the fuck would I do that? that’s fucking gross.” only for you to catch him jerking off at 4am to overwatch porn. t-shirt pulled up, hand shoved down his boxers, abs flexing, eyes locked onto his phone screen. he doesn’t even notice that you woke up until you inch closer to him and spot the visuals on his phone. he drops his t-shirt from where it was between his teeth, “it’s not��whatever. fuck you,” he groans, hand picking up its pace. so you pull his hair (for being a brat), kiss his neck, and whisper dirty things into his ear while keeps watching his phone, making him finish in record time.

who… loves when you sit under his desk to blow him while he’s playing. trying really hard to concentrate and play well but it’s hard. the obscene squelching noises everytime he hits the back of your throat, the drool falling from the sides of your mouth, your other hand toying with his balls at the same time. he has to mute his mic when his friends keep asking him why he’s breathing so hard. he calls you a slut for trying to get his attention this way, “such a fucking slut. only way you know how to get my attention huh? want all my friends to hear me? so they know how much of a whore you are for my cock?”

who… hates loves playing video games with you. he has to teach you a lot, and you keep forgetting which buttons do what. it’s cute at first when you guys are playing co-op games like It Takes Two, but eventually after you try to make an ‘easy’ jump 5 times (dying everytime) he grabs the controller from you and does it for you, “Jesus fuck, it’s not that hard.” playing fortnite is a hit or miss because sometimes it’s fun but eventually it becomes stressful since Patrick is carrying you, making all the kills but also trying to watch your back while you’re doing the Taste dance emote in your Sabrina Carpenter skin.

who… can’t function when he sees your halloween costume. you dressed up as Kitana from mortal kombat (with the help of Art since you wanted to surprise Patrick). back to back frat parties on frat row. you keep getting wolf whistled at as you guys walk from house to house. Patrick keeps at least one point of contact the entire night, he can’t keep his hands to himself. a hand on your waist, around your shoulder, on your thigh, on your ass. and his favorite obviously being when you dance on him. he makes sure neither of you drink too much that night so he can fuck you stupid when you guys get back to his apartment. he already texted Art earlier to fuck off unless he wanted to hear you getting wrecked. it’s sloppy and rough and of course you keep your costume on. he pulls out his phone to record while you guys are in doggy.

who… actually is really sweet. he builds you guys a house in minecraft (with cherry blossom wood as you requested). will always put himself in harm’s way when you guys go mining. so he takes the lead and if there’s a creeper or a zombie he takes care of it. goes on crazy stupid long adventures with you just so you can find an ocelot, “this is fucking stupid, jungles are rare biomes it’s gonna take us forever to find one.”

who… thinks you may actually be the first girl he’s ever fallen in love with. the first girl to see all of him and still accept him for who he is. the first girl who never tried to change him. the first girl to enjoy just sitting in his presence, even if he’s on the game. but he’d never tell you any of that. not unless you said it first anyway.

taglist: @tacobacoyeet @newrochellechallenger2019 @antxnxlla @hanneh69 @urmomsucksfrogs @ctrl-mari @cha11engers @jesuistrestriste

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[spadecentral]

🤛 Hit & Kiss | Deuce Spade x Reader

>> requested: no >> a/n: i was thinking abt delinquent deuce guys. ALSO TYSM FOR 1700 FOLLOWERS THATS INSANE BRO

>> masterlist: twst >> summary: deuce shows up on your doorstep a little bloodier than usual >> reader prns: they/them >> warning(s): none

Deuce Spade showing up at the door to Ramshackle is not uncommon. On a normal day, he’ll show up with his backpack slung across his shoulder and a smile spread across his face. But today was anything but a regular day.

His head is turned away from you as you open the door, the wood creaking being the only sound between the two of you. His hair—that’s usually combed—is spiked up in odd ways, and his tie is pulled loose. Looking down, you can see how his hands are turned palms-forward, as if he doesn’t want you to see the backs of them.

“Deuce?” you say as you scan over him. He doesn’t tilt his head up as you say his name like he usually does, and you know something’s off.

“Could I, uh, come inside?” he asks, his voice more awkward than usual. And softer, too.

“Yeah,” you say, leaving space in the doorway for him to come inside.

“Thanks,” he says, and you can see just a small flash of teeth from a smile he gives you as he walks by. You lock the door haphazardly as he walks over to your living room and sinks into a couch, its old memory foam cushion not supporting him at all.

Standing in the doorway, you stare at him as he fidgets with his fingers and stares in front of him. As you watch him, you notice just how red his knuckles are. And that paired with the way he’s tilting his face away from you gives you all the information you need to know. It’s not like you weren’t expecting something like this, especially after connecting the dots that the legendary Cold One Duke from the visit to his hometown is actually “Cauldron Deuce”, which is a less terrifying—but all the more endearing—nickname. Turning on your heel, you head up the stairs and into the only usable bathroom, before opening up the medicine cabinet to grab your medicine kit.

“Myahh, human, what’s all the ruckus about?” Grim asks you as you leave the bathroom, his voice carrying out of your bedroom and through the hall.

Poking your head into your room, you spot Grim curled up on your bed, one eye open as he sunbathes. “Nothing, just grabbing something from the bathroom.”

He purrs in response, drifting back off to sleep like he didn’t hear you at all.

Laughing silently to yourself, you open up your phone to snap a photo of the cat monster. You notice there’s no notification from Ace, which usually always happens when something—anything—goes on. Frowning, you shoot him a quick text to try and maybe get a gauge of the situation before you go ask Deuce about it. 

you (4:14 pm): hey what happened to deuce? hes over here beat up bro

When there’s no immediate response you sigh, turning your phone off and making your way back downstairs to the couch where Deuce is still seated. Walking into the room, you take a seat across from him on the dusty coffee table, setting the first aid kit down next to you and opening it up.

“C’mon,” you say as you hold out a palm.

Deuce looks at you skeptically before complying, placing his beat up hand on your clean one.

“Sorry,” he mumbles, almost like he didn’t know how to say it.

You respond by pressing a little harder on his hand with an alcohol swab, making a wince appear across his face. “For what?”

“...Showing up,” he responds hesitantly, shrugging. “Here.”

“Mm,” you hum, thinking about what to say in response. There’s a beat of silence, and you can tell that Deuce is getting more uncomfortable by the second. “What even caused this in the first place?”

“Someone… said something,” he pauses, trying to figure out what words he wants to say.

“About you, or…?”

There’s a soft groan that escapes Deuce, one that he usually makes when he’s frustrated with classwork. “No. It was about, uh, you.”

Your hands stall for a minute as you take in that sentence, before starting back up again, now on his other hand. “You didn’t have to, y’know.”

Deuce finally looks up at you when you say that, and through the bruise that’s forming on his eyelid, you can see him reeling and trying to form a sentence that’s not abrasive. “What do you mean?”

“I mean like, you didn’t have to get in a fight because someone said something mean,” you tell him, now focusing on his face. Pushing his hair away from his face and pinning it back with a random hair clip you had laying around on the table from one of your previous sleepovers with the rest of the first-year group. As you poke around, you can feel his face start to heat up under your touch. “Are you getting a cold?”

“What?!” he splutters, pushing your hands away from his pink-tinted face. “No! No, I’m not. And of course I had to do something, I li—”

He cuts himself off, which is truly a sight to behold. You almost giggle as his face contorts into a look that seems painful. But you let the silence settle as you wait for him to say something.

“Sorry,” he says, a hand coming up to rub the nape of his neck. “I shouldn’t have—”

You don’t know what else to do but to cut him off by pressing your lips to his. He makes a noise of surprise, and not being experienced in the subject of kissing, he doesn’t know exactly what to do. As you lean away, he follows you for just a second before reeling back, a look of shock evident on both your faces. 

“Uh— sorry,” now it’s your turn to flush red.

“No! No it was…” he trails off, unsure of how to finish his sentence without sounding totally stupid. “I– I liked it.”

He sounded stupid anyway, but you didn’t care.

“I like you, Deuce,” you tell him. “It’s probably pretty obvious now, haha.”

“I, uh, I like you too,” he responds, lifting one of his bruised hands to caress your cheek. “Can we uh… do that again?”

This time you laugh at him, but not in a mean way; never in a mean way. “Of course.”

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table next to you, but you’re too caught up to notice as you lean in for the second time that afternoon, and leave all your worries for another moment.

idiot central (4:23 pm): no

idiot central (4:23 pm): also can u 2 pls like kiss b4 i kms so i dont third wheel forever

!!!please reblog!!!

>> twst taglist: @tulipluvlettr | @strawberry-hyacinth | @oseathepebble | @wisteriainslumber | @villaim

@pastelmages | @xphantasmagoriax | @atlasnessie | @divinesapph | @ze-maki-nin

@ezr4n | @l1vyatan | @savanaclaw1996 | @enigmatic-pers | @queerlordsimon

@kyraxiyn | @rayisalive | @monochromepalette

[lefteagleblizzard]

𝔄 𝔱𝔬𝔲𝔠𝔥 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔢𝔯 𝔱𝔥𝔞𝔫 𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢

Mike munroe x male reader

Summary: Trapped in the freezing sanatorium, Mike notices your body trembling from the cold and takes matters into his own hands-literally. His touch starts out innocent, a way to warm you up, but soon it turns into something far more heated.

Tags: Male reader. He/him pronouns are used towards the reader. Wolfie being a good boy. Mike and Jess are not together in this. Friends to lovers. Smut. Gay smut. Top Mike munroe. Bottom male reader. Anal sex.

Note: I played the original game years ago, and now that I'm playing the remake, my crush on Mike has come back. He's such a good character with amazing development. I never expected to like him this much. I'm near chapter 7 of the remake, and I'm honestly loving it.

Can also be found on wattpad and ao3

ℳ𝒶𝓈𝓉ℯ𝓇𝓁𝒾𝓈𝓉

Words counts: 3000

The cold of the sanatorium was oppressive. It seemed to leech the warmth from the very walls, seeping into your skin and bones, making every breath feel like you were inhaling shards of ice. As you and Mike rummaged through the mess of papers and debris in the dim, decaying room, the chill became impossible to ignore.

You had been at this for what felt like hours. Searching for anything, any clue, any scrap of information that could help you make sense of the nightmare you and your friends had stumbled into.

You wanted to focus. You needed to. But the cold was starting to weaken you. Your muscles ached from the effort of trying to stay warm, and despite your best attempts to keep it together, your hands were trembling as you shuffled through the scattered papers. The torn, thin jacket you'd found earlier did little to protect you, barely covering your torso, let alone insulating you from the freezing air.

Snowflakes continued to drift in from the broken windows, scattering across the dusty floor.

The place felt like a tomb. The smell of decay hung in the air, making every breath feel heavy, cold, and full of death.

Mike tried to stay focused, but even as his eyes scanned the scattered papers on the floor, his attention was pulled to you. You were over by the corner of the room, crouched low beside an old table, sifting through stacks of yellowed documents, your movements deliberate but slow. The jacket clung to you awkwardly, barely covering your arms and torso.

Even from across the room, he could hear your teeth chattering slightly, despite how hard you were trying to suppress it.

You always did that, pushing yourself even when it was clear you were struggling. Mike admired that about you, but it was also something that worried him. He knew you were trying to stay strong for him and the rest of the group, but the last thing Mike wanted was for you to get hurt or worse.

His thoughts raced, that protective instinct flaring up again. You didn't deserve this. You deserved to be somewhere warm, safe... with him.

He had been feeling that way for months now, ever since that night after he broke up with Emily. That night had changed everything for him. You were the one who stayed with him, sitting by his side, listening to him vent as he struggled to process the end of his long-term relationship.

You didn't just offer hollow platitudes; you gave him the kind of comfort and understanding he never knew he needed. He realized then, somewhere between the midnight conversation and the quiet moments of silence, that you were different. You weren't just his friend; you were the one person who made him feel like himself again.

After that night, he found himself constantly thinking about you. How easy it was to talk to you, how you made him laugh even when he felt like shit.

He'd find excuses to see you, call you up for help with college work, or invite you out for something casual. He always assumed you'd catch on quickly to his flirting, but you never did. Either he was terrible at flirting with a guy like you, or you were just completely oblivious.

Without a word, he began to unbutton his own jacket, which was far thicker and more insulated than the pathetic excuse you were wearing.

He held it out toward you.

"Here," he said simply. "Take it"

You shook your head immediately. "No. I'll be fine. You need it more than I do."

Mike narrowed his eyes, clearly not buying it. "You're freezing, man. You look like you're about to turn into an ice cube."

You tried to laugh it off, though it came out weak and unconvincing. "It's really not that bad. I can handle the cold. And it'd be selfish of me to take your jacket. There’s no way you're any warmer than I am."

With the simple tank top he was wearing underneath, now all dirty with mud and snow, it became even harder for you to stop staring at him. His muscular and strong arms drew your attention.

Mike sighed, holding the jacket out stubbornly towards you. "You're not fine. You're shaking like a leaf." He reached out, gently brushing his fingers over your arm, feeling the coldness of your skin even through the thin fabric of your jacket. "Just take it."

But you shook your head again, more firmly this time. "It wouldn't be fair," you murmured, looking down at the papers you were holding. "You need it just as much as I do. I can handle the cold. We've been through worse than this, right?"

Why couldn't you just let him take care of you for once?

"Come on," he tried again, his voice soft but insistent. "After everything we've been through tonight, hypothermia is the least of my worries. I'm not letting you freeze out here, not when I can do something about it."

You glanced up at him, your eyes softening for a moment, and for a second, Mike thought you might actually take the jacket. But then you shook your head again.

"I'll be fine, Mike."

Mike sighed heavily, his breath visible in the cold air as he ran a hand through his hair. "Damn it, you're stubborn.”

You gave him a small smile, trying to divert the conversation as you continued sorting through the papers. "I've been called worse."

Finally, with a deep sigh, Mike relented, shoving his jacket back on with a grumble.

Minutes passed in silence, the only sounds being the creak of old floorboards beneath your feet and the occasional rustle of paper. Wolfie, the wolf Mike had somehow managed to befriend, lay beside you, his fur brushing against your leg as he occasionally shifted.

Every so often, you'd reach down to scratch behind Wolfie's ears. His fur was soft under your fingertips.

You gripped the edges of the papers in your hand, hoping that somehow, just focusing on the task in front of you would make it better.

It didn't.

It was then that you noticed Mike shifting beside you and before you could react, his body was pressing up against your back, his arms wrapping around your waist in a firm but gentle hold. His warmth hit you immediately, and you couldn't stop the small gasp that escaped your lips at the sudden contrast.

"Mike?" you muttered, your voice barely above a whisper as you stiffened in surprise at the closeness.

"Relax," he murmured, his breath warm against the side of your neck. "If you won't take my jacket, I'll just have to warm you up myself." he whispered, his voice rough and low.

Your heart started to race, not just from the unexpected contact, but from the undeniable heat that surged through your body as Mike's lips brushed against the side of your neck. The sensation was electrifying, sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold this time.

His lips moved slowly, deliberately, trailing soft kisses down the length of your neck, each one sending a wave of heat through your body. Your body was leaning into his touch, craving more of the warmth and comfort he was offering.

This wasn't the Mike you were used to. This was something far more intimate, more personal.

"Mike... I don't..." you began, but your words trailed off as his lips found a particularly sensitive spot just below your ear, making your breath hitch in your throat.

"You don't what?" he asked softly, his hand sliding up from your waist to rest on your chest, pulling you even closer against him. "You don't want this?"

Of course you wanted it. More than anything, really. You'd been harboring feelings for Mike for so long, feelings you'd kept hidden, thinking there was no way he'd ever see you as anything more than a friend, a study partner, a background presence in his life.

But now, with his body pressed against yours and his lips trailing fire down your neck, it was clear that Mike had been seeing you in a very different light for a while.

"I didn't think..." you started, your voice barely above a whisper. "I didn't think you felt like this about me."

He hadn't planned on this happening, not exactly. But as he held you in his arms, feeling the heat of your body against his, he couldn't deny how good it felt, how right it felt to be this close to you. For years, he had pushed his feelings for you to the back of his mind, thinking it wasn't something you'd ever want. You were smart, focused, always so kind.

He pressed closer, his lips trailing lower along your collarbone, his fingers gently digging into your waist. The torn jacket you were wearing slid down slightly, giving him better access to your skin, and he took full advantage of it, kissing his way down your neck with slow, deliberate movements.

Mike's lips paused against your skin, and he pulled back, his expression soft but intense. "You really didn't notice, did you?" He chuckled softly, shaking his head. "I've been trying to get you to see it for months. I thought you'd pick up on it, but... guess I'm not as smooth as I thought."

You blinked at him, your mind reeling. "You've... been trying to tell me?"

"Yeah," he admitted, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. "I've been dropping hints since we stayed up all night after Emily and I broke up. You were there for me, man. And ever since then I just... I couldn't stop thinking about you."

"I didn't think you'd ever feel like that about me," you confessed, your voice shaky with disbelief.

Mike smiled softly, his thumb brushing over your cheek as he pulled you a little closer. "I noticed the way you looked at me," he said quietly, his breath warm against your skin. "All those times you'd stare at me, thinking I didn't see. You were so fucking adorable, but it drove me crazy."

You blinked up at him, clearly shocked by the confession. Mike chuckled softly, his lips brushing over your jawline, his fingers tracing lazy circles on your waist. "You're not that good at hiding it, you know."

Before you could respond, Mike kissed you. His lips hungry, filled with all the emotions he hadn't been able to express before. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you closer.

You responded almost immediately, your lips parting under his, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as you pulled him closer.

Mike deepened the kiss, his hands slipping beneath your jacket, his fingers tracing the outline of your hips, your waist, your chest. His tongue dipped past your lips.

After a long moment, Mike pulled back just enough to whisper, his voice low and rough, "You're okay with this, right?"

You didn't even hesitate this time. You nodded, breathless.

Mike's grin widened, and without another word, he kissed you again, even more deeply this time. His hands moved up your sides, tugging at the edges of your jacket as he pressed you against the wall.

You pulled him closer, your hands tangling in his hair as the heat between you both grew.

Mike's lips left yours, trailing down your jaw and back to your neck, his hands roaming your body as if he couldn't get enough of you. Your breath coming in shallow gasps as he kissed his way down to your collarbone, his grip on your waist tightening.

You wanted more, needed more, and judging by the way Mike was holding you with his erection pressing insistently against you, he felt the same.

He pulled back slightly, a grin tugging at the corners of his lips as he glanced over at Wolfie, who had been lying quietly in the corner of the room.

He bent down, ruffling the fur of the wolf who had been sitting quietly in the corner of the room. "Go on, buddy," Mike whispered. "Follow me for a second."

The wolf trotted after Mike as he stepped out of the room, leaving you alone for a few moments, heart still racing. You could hear him talking softly to Wolfie just outside the door, something about how you were "the guy" he'd told the wolf about before.

When Mike came back into the room, locking the door behind him, the intensity in his eyes made your pulse quicken even more.

Without wasting another second, Mike crossed the room in a few quick strides and grabbed you by the waist, pulling you into a deep, hungry kiss. His lips were insistent, full of desire, and you couldn't help but melt into him, wrapping your arms around his neck as you kissed him back with just as much need.

Mike's hands roamed over your body, gripping your hips, pulling you closer. His tongue teased at your lips before slipping into your mouth, deepening the kiss.

He broke the kiss just long enough to mutter, "God, I've wanted you for so long."

Then, his lips were on yours again. His hands gripping you even tighter, pressing you against the nearest wall as his mouth trailed down your neck, nipping and biting at the sensitive skin there.

His hands were on you, pulling at your clothes, lowering them to expose just what was needed with an almost frantic urgency, before he gripped your ass, his fingers digging into the soft skin with a possessive intensity as he lifted you slightly, pressing his body against your.

"Relax," Mike whispered, his voice low and commanding as his fingers trailed down, teasingly brushing against your entrance. "Let me take care of you."

He teased you for a moment, his fingers gently exploring before he slowly pushed one inside, his eyes never leaving yours.

"You're so fucking tight," he groaned, his voice low and gravelly.

He moved his finger slowly at first, watching your face for every reaction, but as you relaxed into his touch, he added another finger, stretching you carefully.

Mike's other hand reached up to cup your face, his thumb brushing gently over your cheek as he leaned in to kiss you again, this time slower, more tender.

By the time Mike pulled his fingers out of you, you were trembling with anticipation, your body aching for him.

You heard the rustle of fabric as he undid his pants, and then you felt the tip of his hard cock rubbing against your thigh.

"Ready for me?" he asked, his voice low and rough.

You could barely nod, your entire body trembling with need. Mike lined himself up, his hands gripping your hips firmly, and then, with one slow, steady thrust, he pushed inside.

The sensation was overwhelming, a mix of pleasure and pain as he stretched you, filled you completely. He moved slowly at first, watching your face for any sign of discomfort, but all you could do was moan softly, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

"You're perfect," Mike groaned as he began to move, his hips moving with slow, deliberate motions. "You feel so fucking good."

Mike's hands were everywhere, gripping your hips, sliding up your chest, cupping your face as he kissed you hungrily. His cock filled you completely, each slow thrust sending waves of pleasure through your body.

His hands moved lower, his fingers finding their way between your legs as he stroked you in time with his thrusts.

The more his pace picked up, the more his movements became rougher, more desperate. He kissed you again, biting at your lips, your neck, his hands gripping your ass tightly as he pulled you closer with each thrust.

"Fuck," Mike groaned, his voice low and husky. His soft grunts filling the cold room as he moved inside you.

The pleasure built to an unbearable peak as his thrusts became faster, harder. You could feel the heat spreading through your body, your muscles tensing as you teetered on the edge.

And then, with one final, deep thrust, Mike groaned loudly, his hands gripping you tightly as he came, his cock pulsing inside you. The sensation sent you over the edge as well, and you cried out as your own orgasm ripped through you, your voice muffled against his neck.

After a few moments of catching your breath and letting the weight of everything settle in, Mike pressed another soft kiss to your forehead before pulling away slightly, his hands lingering on your hips. You could see the satisfied smile tugging at his lips, that playful, cocky expression you had grown so used to over the years. He gave you a wink before straightening up, pulling his pants back up and adjusting himself as if nothing had happened.

You followed suit, your body still buzzing with the aftermath. There was something so surreal about it all. Being here, with Mike Munroe, of all people. You had known him for years, but you had never imagined things would end up like this.

Once you were both dressed and more or less presentable, Mike walked over to the door, unlocking it with a soft click.

"Ready to face Wolfie again? He might be a little upset that we kicked him out." He glanced back at you, a mischievous smile playing on his lips, before swinging the door open.

Outside, Wolfie was sprawled out across the floor, his furry body taking up most of the tight hallway. The wolf's ears twitched at the sound of the door opening, and he turned his head to glance at the two of you. His golden eyes scanned you two and then, with what could only be described as a huff, he plopped his head back down onto the floor, letting out a long sigh as if he had been deeply offended by the delay.

"Is he pouting?" you asked, incredulous.

Mike smirked, clearly amused by the wolf's behavior. "What? You jealous, buddy?" he teased as he crouched down beside Wolfie. The wolf, still looking somewhat begrudging, turned his head away, as if refusing to acknowledge Mike.

Mike reached out, scratching Wolfie behind the ears, his voice dropping into a low, playful tone. "Come on, don't be mad. I was just doing my part to keep him warm. You know how cold it is here."

You watched as Wolfie's resolve began to crumble under Mike's touch, his tail thumping softly against the floor as Mike scratched behind his ears. Mike chuckled, his cocky grin growing wider. "See? I warmed him up real good. All thanks to me."

Wolfie responded with a soft growl. He finally turned his head back toward Mike and he ruffled his fur, looking pleased with himself.

"Yeah, yeah," you said, rolling your eyes but unable to stop the smile from spreading across your face.

Mike stood up, shooting you a wink as he slung his arm around your shoulder. "Damn right, I did." He leaned in to press a soft, quick kiss to your lips.

Together, you and Mike walked down the hallway, Wolfie trotting along beside you. And as Mike gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, you couldn't help but feel grateful that, through all the chaos and terror of the night, you had found someone worth fighting for.

If you liked this story please leave a comment, I love reading them <3.

[cheralith]

Hear me out

More on the Blk×hp crossover because it has taken over my life

Okay, Kaiser hears a rumour that you and isagi are dating.

This infuriates kaiser to no end. He doesn't know why it pisses him off. He's being extra mean to you, and you can't seem to figure out why. Don't even get me started on Quidditch. He's got it out for Isagi, he's more aggressive towards poor isagi. What if Isagi gets hurt? You're tending to him and omgg it gets him . Bro is loosing his shit atp.

If he sees you guys together at Hogsmeade on Valentine's day...

I just want to see his ass suffer and when he realizes that it's false information lmfao 🤣 and bro was torturing himself (and poor Ness #nessdeservesbetter😔 #justiceforness) over nothing

Yeahh that's it. Please forgive me if there're any grammatical errors

Take care.

Happy Valentines 💝

characters ; michael kaiser

contains ; hogwarts au, slytherin!kaiser, ravenclaw!reader, gryffindor!isagi, mild violence

happy (late) valentine's day, angel! you've put me in a ditzy because of this ask, so i thank you kindly for feeding into my daydreams i quite like this stupid little white boy <3 (also i said in a previous post that yoichi would be a ravenclaw, but i think he suits gryffindor a lil more ngl esp after ch293 :P)

kaiser would most DEFINITELY be the type of person to let out his anger through his playing, so expect there to be a ton of fouls from him during the gryffindor vs. slytherin match because he just "accidentally" keeps running into isagi, nearly knocking him off his broom more than ounce. it doesn't help that there's been whispers circulating that there's been confirmation of you and isagi officially being a couple after the many speculations from stray eyes that keep a rather close eye on you and him. the golden boy of gryffindor and the ace of ravenclaw... many would agree that you and him would be power couple in the halls of hogwarts, completely disregarding kaiser. it didn't help that evidently, you and isagi got along much better than you and kaiser did, sharing soft smiles and joyous laughter amongst each other rather than hardened glares and quick-witted insults. you were best friends after all, not sworn rivals like you and he were.

slytherin ends up winning the match, kaiser rising victorious by scoring the winning goal to break the tie, but he can't really celebrate his win in full because he sees you later tidying up some wounds and scratches isagi had gotten from the match in the preparation tent. his jaw grits, watching the intimate scene unfurl before him.

isagi hisses through his teeth when you gently place the cotton bud on an open wound on his elbow.

you wince, pulling your hand back. "i'm sorry..."

"no," isagi shakes his head, encouraging you to keep going. "i'm fine, it just stings a bit, 's all..."

you look at him with a doubtful countenance, but dab the alcohol-soaked cotton bud anyway, trying not to notice the way isagi's eyes close in pain. tenderly, you place a band-aid on the skin before you soak another cotton bud and move to the scratch on his cheek, your fingers brushing his reddened cheek (the hue unnoticed by you) when you repeat the process to help disinfect and clean up the small gash.

"he's such a bastard," you mutter softly, "he should've gotten a foul when he nearly knocked you into the hufflepuff stands."

isagi shrugs, "it is what it is."

"is it me or did he seem more pissed than usual?" you inquire, your fingers smoothing over the bandage you've placed over the cut. "like he was taking his anger on you specifically. did you do something to him?"

"hell if i know," isagi sighs, rolling his eyes. "it's hard to read kaiser."

kaiser's eyes narrow as you hold isagi's face in your palm, his nails digging into his palms as he watches you examine him for any spare injuries you didn't tend to. not wanting to infuriate himself with this meddling nonsense, he decides to replace the feeling with pride and glory, stomping out of the tent and replacing the loud throbbing in his ears with the cheers of his fellow slytherins that shout his name in a steady beat as he appears before him.

he bathes in the glory for a bit, letting his ego fill with the approvals of his audience, though from the corner of his eye, he catches a blur of blue and red walk side by side together out of the arena, arm in arm.

on valentine's day, kaiser receives bucketloads of chocolates from his admirers, both known and unknown. he waves them off when ness presents them, going downstairs to fetch some breakfast, only for him to see you hand isagi a medium-sized golden box of chocolates shaped in a diamond that he accepts gratefully, a large smile on his face before he gives you a bag of candies. you go and give your other friends the same chocolates, a small personalized envelope with a card glued onto the front of it, their names all written in a pretty cursive.

he ditches breakfast, deciding he'll eat later and runs up back to his dorm. for some reason this year, unlike the prior ones, he actually shuffles through all the boxes trying to look for a peculiar, diamond shaped one, and he does find it to his satisfaction. he pulls it out so fast from the pile and rips open the card, anticipating a specific someone's name to be signed at the bottom.

... but his face contorts into irritation when an unknown girl's name is read. who the hell is "imogen?"

he tosses the letter over his shoulder, thinking this was stupid. no way did he just spend fifteen minutes attempting to find a box of chocolates from you, knowing the tense relationship between you and him. of course you wouldn't give him any—you weren't even friends! so why the sudden spark of hope...?

kaiser's valentine's day turns even more sour when he tries to distract himself and goes to hogsmeade to fix himself up some firewhiskey, only to see you and isagi in the window of honeydukes, examining candy together. this didn't seem to be a group trip either, considering he didn't recognize anyone else that you were friends with in the store, so you and him must've went together.

right—he nearly forgot. you were a couple now. of course you'd be spending the holiday of love together. that's just common sense.

"you think she'll like this?" isagi asks you, holding up a basket assortment of many candies. "i don't know what she really likes, so i was thinking i'd play it safe and just get her everything."

you grin and throw him a thumbs up. "good move, i think she'd quite like that. maybe throw in that teddy bear we saw earlier."

he nods with a blush on his face that you can only giggle at. you've never seen your best friend so giddy before, especially since he'll be having his first date with the hufflepuff girl in his astronomy class he's been admiring, a pride within you blooming when he told you excitedly this morning that he'd be going to madame puddifoot's soon with her.

"i'm gonna go pay and then go get ready back at my dorm," says isagi as he nudges his head towards the cash register, the gifts he holds in his hands starting to tumble out of his grasp a little. "i'll see you later at dinner to tell you how everything went!"

"good luck! don't be nervous!" you call out to him when he shuffles through the crowd before returning your attention to examine the luxury chocolates they had just imported from belgium.

a shadow looms over you suddenly, and you feel the temperature drop a bit from the air around you. there's an impending sense of doom that pits itself in your stomach, so it doesn't take you too long to discover the identity of the tattooed hand that snatches the box of chocolates you were examining away.

your jaw ticks.

"i was looking at that," you mutter with irritation, slowly turning back around to face a familiar blonde. "... kaiser."

"hm," kaiser merely hums back nonchalantly, eyes flickering over the assortment of flavors indicated on the back. "never thought you'd have such a sophisticated sweet tooth," he mutters as he reads over the unique flavor profiles of each chocolate.

"god forbid someone wants to go out of their comfort zone," you roll your eyes obnoxiously before picking up another box to assess, not wanting to bother to get back the previous one you were holding. of course somehow kaiser makes your life ten times more difficult whenever he was around, even off campus grounds.

the assortments look so tasty, you think, reading over the details of the feuilletine truffle. maybe you should treat yourself this valentine's day, relishing in fancy chocolates and curling up with a good book sounds like your ideal day of rest. you think you deserve an upgrade from the casual chocolates you were used to purchasing for a quick fix...

... until you look at the price of the box of chocolates.

your eyes nearly bulge out of their head when you read the price.

"forty five galleons?!" you whisper-shout under your breath, only loud enough for the man behind you to hear. kaiser's eyes flicker towards your astonished visage. "merlin, was this made out of unicorn hair or something?!"

you sigh and place the box down on the shelf again, choosing to return back to the safety of the generic honeydukes chocolate bar instead of wasting your money on something that'd disappear all too quickly.

"you're not gonna get it?" kaiser inquires as you begin to look for a way out of the chocolates area.

"as if i have that kind of money," you snort haughtily.

"then ask your boyfriend to buy it. it's valentine's day after all," kaiser snarks back, the words coming out of his lips faster than he's able to fully process them. he curses himself in his mind when he realizes what he's said, revealing the fact that your status as a couple wasn't as hidden as some may say.

"huh?" you turn back with a confused look. "boyfriend? what?"

it's kaiser's turn to look perplexed. "your boyfriend?" he repeats and pokes a stray strand of hair from the top of his head to mimic an ahoge. "yoichi isagi? golden boy of gryffindor? sound familiar?"

your brows furrow and you wonder if he's making fun of you.

"yoichi and i aren't dating," you counter back. "who told you that?"

the way kaiser feels relieved feels unnatural, like a giant weight had just been unburdened from his shoulders. he shouldn't even be feeling this heaviness in the first place, but he did and now it's gone just from the mere words that counter his initial belief.

... he still feels relieved, oddly enough.

"i—" kaiser starts, but draws blanks when he attempts to cover up his nasty acceptance of a mere rumor, feeling idiotic he had believed such a thing so fast and so intently. "it's just floating about. since y'know, you guys are so close... and stuff," he mutters hotly.

your lip curls in annoyance. "never thought you'd be one to accept rumors so loosely," you mimic his tone from earlier, crossing your arms. a vein pops in kaiser's forehead at your arrogance, and he opens his mouth to give you a snide response back, but you begin to turn on your heel.

"don't believe such stupid shit so fast," you say, waving a hand to indicate your leave. "it won't do you good in the long-run."

kaiser is eventually left alone in the chocolate aisle, a little flabbergasted at what just happened. he watches you as you exit the store by yourself, choosing not to buy anything while he's in the vicinity. a warmth blooms within kaiser's chest however, when he repeats your denial of a relationship in his head.

"yoichi and i aren't dating."

"they're not dating," kaiser mumbles to himself as he grips the box of expensive chocolates in his hands with a small smile. "yeah... they're not dating."

that evening, you later find a delicately wrapped box placed on your desk with your name on it. you take off the green ribbon and rip open the white wrapping paper and widen your eyes to what's revealed from inside.

it was the box of expensive belgian chocolates you were looking at just hours beforehand. you're astonished, thinking who on earth had spend this much money on you when you try and find the sender of the package, only to be met with a short, mysterious inscription on the back of the box's lid.

"happy valentine's day. eat well and enjoy." —🌹

[yvesssssssss]

Hello! Can I request a reader x nagumo where they both were assigned a mission and nagumo ended up getting jealous when the guy they were targeting was making a move on reader. It can be as spicy as you want it to be :D

—Professional jealousy

mdni!

The mission was simple.

Infiltrate. Extract information. Eliminate if necessary.

You and Nagumo had done this dance a hundred times. Disguises, sweet smiles, and small talk woven with lies—it was what you both excelled at. But something about this mission was different. Maybe it was the way the target kept leaning closer to you, his hand barely brushing your thigh under the bar table. Or maybe it was the dagger-sharp smile Nagumo gave from across the room, eyes narrowed beneath dyed brown hair and glasses, watching everything.

You’d been instructed to play the part of arm candy tonight, and unfortunately for you both, the target—Renji Sakamoto, a black-market arms dealer—was way too into it.

"So, sweetheart," Renji purred, sipping his bourbon while his hand crept over yours, "what brings a pretty thing like you to a place like this?"

You leaned forward just enough to show a hint of cleavage beneath your low-cut dress. "You did, apparently."

Nagumo, disguised as a bartender, wiped down a perfectly clean glass for the fifth time. His smile didn't reach his eyes as he watched Renji lean even closer.

You knew that look.

He was jealous.

And trying very hard to pretend he wasn’t.

Renji reached up, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. You stiffened slightly. That was enough.

A sudden crash came from behind the bar. Glass shattered.

"Oops," Nagumo said too cheerfully. "Clumsy me."

Renji didn’t even turn. "Your bartender friend’s a bit jumpy."

You smiled through clenched teeth. "Don’t mind him. He’s... passionate about his work."

Nagumo reappeared by your table a moment later, uninvited, balancing a drink. “For the lady,” he said with a wink, setting it down. “House special.”

“Wow, personal delivery?” Renji raised an eyebrow. “Is that normal around here?”

"Only when the lady in question deserves better company," Nagumo replied smoothly.

Your heart skipped. Renji scoffed, but you could see it—he was getting annoyed.

You leaned closer to the dealer again, slipping a wire into your hand beneath the table, ready to plant it. “So... tell me more about this shipment coming in from—”

Renji's hand was suddenly on your thigh.

And Nagumo had had enough.

In a blink, Nagumo leaned down, grabbing your jaw with surprising gentleness. His voice was low, possessive, too calm.

"Sorry, sweetheart. Change of plans."

You barely had time to react before his mouth was on yours, fierce and claiming, right in front of Renji.

You gasped, clutching his shirt instinctively. He deepened the kiss, hand sliding around your waist, yanking you flush to him, almost as if to say mine.

When he finally pulled back, your lipstick was smudged, and your head was spinning.

Nagumo turned to Renji, eyes glinting with something dark. “You touch her again, I break your fingers.”

Renji’s face twisted. “You’re her boyfriend?”

Nagumo chuckled. “Let’s just say I’ve got personal investment in her survival.”

You were still trying to catch your breath when Nagumo yanked you to your feet and whispered in your ear, “Wire’s planted, right?”

You nodded, dazed.

“Perfect. Mission’s almost over.” His tone dropped. “Now let's get out of here before I do something very unprofessional.”

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

Back at the safehouse, the air was heavy.

You didn’t even make it past the entryway. Nagumo had you pressed up against the wall, mouth hot on your throat, hands exploring with reckless urgency. All the tension from the mission—every smirk you gave that damn arms dealer, every inch Renji dared to touch—boiled over now.

“You have any idea,” he murmured, lips trailing fire along your jaw, “what it did to me watching him put his hands on you?”

You gasped as his teeth grazed your pulse. “It was just a cover—”

“Doesn’t matter,” he growled. “You’re mine.”

He yanked your dress up, impatient, fingers curling under your thighs as he hoisted you up. You wrapped your legs around him instinctively, gasping when your back hit the door.

“Yoichi—”

“Say it again.”

“Yoichi.”

He kissed you then—hungry, possessive, all tongue and teeth—while grinding his hips into yours. You could already feel how hard he was through his slacks, and the heat pooling in your core made you whimper.

“I should make you beg,” he muttered, voice rough in your ear. “For making me watch that shit.”

You tilted your head, breathless. “Then do it.”

He smirked like the devil himself. “Oh, sweetheart. You asked for it.”

Nagumo carried you to the bedroom like you weighed nothing. He threw you on the bed and peeled off your dress in one smooth motion, leaving you in just your underwear. He stood back for a second, eyes raking over you.

“Look at you,” he muttered. “He didn’t deserve to see a damn inch.”

You watched as he undid his shirt, slow and deliberate, revealing the toned, scar-kissed body underneath. You bit your lip, squirming under his gaze.

He noticed. “Need something?”

“Need you.”

“Good,” he said, crawling over you. “Because you’re not getting sleep until I’ve made up for every second he laid hands on you.”

His hands were everywhere—teasing over your thighs, your waist, your chest—until you were arching beneath him, grinding up for friction.

Then he dipped down, mouth latching onto your breast while his fingers slipped into your panties. You gasped as he found your sweet spot immediately, curling his fingers just right while his tongue played with your nipple.

“So wet already,” he murmured. “You like it when I get jealous, don’t you?”

You moaned. “Maybe.”

He grinned, wicked. “Brat.”

You were already close when he pulled back. “Wait—”

But he was undoing his belt now, pants dropping to reveal how painfully hard he was. He leaned over you again, voice low and dark.

“Gonna remind you who you belong to.”

And then he thrust into you, deep and slow at first, stretching you perfectly. You cried out, clutching at his back, nails digging in as he started moving faster, harder. His lips were everywhere—your neck, your collarbone, your mouth—all while he drove into you like he meant it.

“Mine,” he growled into your ear.

“Yours,” you gasped, head spinning from pleasure.

He fucked you like he wanted to brand it into your soul—leaving marks on your skin, his name on your tongue, and no doubt in your mind who you belonged to.

When you came, it was intense, overwhelming, your body trembling under his as you cried out his name. He followed moments later, groaning low in your ear as he spilled inside you, his thrusts slowing but never stopping, like he couldn’t get enough.

He stayed buried in you, panting against your neck.

“You’re never doing solo missions again,” he muttered.

You laughed breathlessly. “What, worried someone else’ll try to steal me?”

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, smiling softly now—still smug, but with that flicker of real emotion behind it.

“No,” he said. “I just don’t trust myself not to kill the next guy who tries.”

[thatrandomidiot182]

Blood Ties and Past Lives

Chapter Warnings. mentions of death/murder, vulgar language, childhood trauma, mild paranoia. dialogue heavy!!

As strong as you like to pride yourself on being, you end up breaking down before you can even open your front door.

The day's events, and the emotional turmoil that you've pushed down throughout have finally caught up to you in the dim hallway of your apartment complex, just feet away from the privacy of your living room.

You struggle to jam your key into the lock. Shaking hands and teary eyes make it hard to find the precision you normally have, and eventually you give up. Frustrated, defeated and tired, you release a loud sob as you fall to the floor.

Collapsing on the worn down welcome mat that your landlord gifted you when you first moved in, you slump against the apartment door, trembling hands losing their grip on your keys as you sob.

Your forehead knocks against the cool wood as you do your best to stay quiet, alternating between pursing your lips and holding your breath to muffle your whimpers and heaves. Your hands clutch your shoulders as they shudder, grip tightening the longer you sit there. Your face feels uncomfortably warm and sticky and you eventually get sent into a coughing fit as you choke on your spit, beginning to hyperventilate as you can't seem to catch your breath and the tears just don't stop–

Someone's behind you.

You swing around at the sudden weight on your shoulder, scrambling back into the wall as you all but bear your teeth at the stranger in front of you.

The stranger is quick to raise his hands in a display of innocence, "Easy there tiger, just trying to be a good samaritan..." his voice is soft, pretty brown eyes wide as he takes in your defensive stance.

You're too caught up in the wave of emotions that have overwhelmed you to bother being ashamed at the way you only cried harder at his concern.

The man begins to panic, voice wavering as his hands flail around hesitantly. He slowly crouches next to you, reaching out to place a hand on your knee, "Hey, heyyyy, it's okay– It-It's okay."

You can't even muster a laugh at his stuttering.

"Can you tell me your name? I-Uh, I'm Marcus– Marcus Watts, but everyone calls me MJ so... Just– Call me MJ." He cringes as he stumbles over his words and his awkwardness has your tears gradually slowing as you become distracted by his clamoring.

"I'm your uh... I'm your new neighbor!" He smiles, crooked and wobbly as he sneaks a peak at the number above your head.

You let out a strangled whine at the information, burying your head in your knees in shame.

What a great first impression.

MJ grows frantic at the sound, clumsily moving to sit more comfortably next to you as he gently lays a hand across your shoulders, pulling you to his side as he rubs his fingers soothingly across your muscle.

"I-I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I'm so-I'm sorry–" He gently hushes your panicked apologies, tucking your head under his chin. "Don't apologize... Don't apologize, you have nothing to be sorry for. We all have those days." His voice is smooth, not too high or low, but with a comforting roughness that has your heart thrumming in your chest.

"No! No, I sh- I can't be– you don't have to–" he's quick to shut down your sentence, hand curling around your bicep reassuredly as he leans his head back into the wall, throat bobbing against your cheek as he speaks, "I know. But what kind of guy would I be if I let my pretty neighbor sit outside crying."

You laugh at the sentiment, a wet, sad little chuckle that has you cringing afterwards.

MJ's chest rumbles and your cheeks flush as you realize that he's laughing, "Ahhh there you are! I was wondering if I was ever going to hear anything other than sad puppy noises from you."

You let out an embarrassed scoff against his neck, "Sad puppy noises? What??" Your voice is scratchy and almost unintelligible but he somehow understands.

MJ laughs again, much to your offense, and the sound has you unintentionally relaxing further into his hold, "Yeah, you sound like a sad puppy when you cry. It's kinda cute." You pull away from his neck with a frown, squinting at him suspiciously.

"Cute? You're not a weird, creepy sadist are you?"

"Wha-No! NO!" You purse your lips to hide the smile that encases your face at his flustered shout, watching in amusement as his face becomes a similar shade as his hair.

MJ huffs dramatically, "Is this what I get for being a good person? Get called a creep?"

You snort, leaning your head back against the wall as he pulls his hand back to his side, "This is Gotham, you're lucky that I'm a good person, who's thankful..." You smile bashfully, "Really, thank you. For... all of this. I-I promise I'm not always this... uh– dramatic." You wince, thumbing your palm nervously.

MJ offers a small smile, "No problem! Like I said, we all have those days..." He pauses, and you watch anxiously as his face scrunches hesitantly, "Do you... Do you want to talk about it?"

You ponder his offer for a good minute, letting the ambiance of the apartments wash over you.

The sirens in the distance.

The muffled shouts of the single mom at the end of the hallway.

The faint accented voice in your ear encouraging you to open up–

"My tata– My grandfather died... today was his funeral." Your voice is weak and squeaky, but somehow, you don't feel embarrassed by it.

"Oh." It's obvious that your revelation caught him off guard, "I'm sorry."

His empathy is foreign to you, and the entire experience has you thinking that you're dreaming.

After all, he has no reason to be here. Sitting on the grimy floor of your apartment building with his mess of a neighbor who he's never met before. Consoling and empathizing with them as if it was a moment between friends and not someone he just stumbled across.

Yet he is.

And it simultaneously has your heart fluttering with warmth and stomach twisting with paranoia.

Because, why?

Why is he here?

What does he want?

Is this all a ploy? A plot against you?

What if he's with them?

The concept of a stranger being so kind, is just inconceivable. Not just because it's Gotham, and not even because everyone knows the rule of 'stranger danger,' but more so because of the fact that his kindness is aimed towards you.

You haven't done anything to deserve it, so why?

Why is the compassion and concern this complete stranger has offered you in the ten minutes you've known him more than you've gotten from Bruce and his kids in three years?

The realization has your brain stumped between laughing and crying again.

Yet, despite your inner anxieties, your body is completely at ease in his presence.

Instead of being tense and guarded like you should have been, you were completely lax in his embrace.

Oddly enough, despite never having met before, you feel a comfortability around him that you've never felt before. Almost as if you've known him your entire life.

Every molecule of your being is screaming at you to get closer and bury yourself in his warmth once again, as if he himself could singlehandedly free you of your burdens. Your nerves are soothed to a point you haven't felt in years and the voices in your head are finally quiet.

MJ's appearance in your life is as sudden and perplexing as it is welcome.

And once your tears have finally stopped and the single mom down the hall begins yelling at her kids, you realize it's all too good to be true.

You don't deserve such luxuries, not anymore.

So, with a newfound resolve, you offer him one last smile as you rise to finally head into your apartment.

"Thank you, and again, I'm sorry."

It seems like that's the only thing you're able to say anymore.

Your body instantly alerts you to the sound of your living room window being opened.

It's half past midnight, two days after your mortifying first encounter with MJ and you're curled up in bed with a novel and a glass of wine your boss gifted you after you asked for a week off to mourn.

Having been so engrossed in the novel you were reading, you had failed to notice the creaking of your fire escape until your sixth sense suddenly spiked at the clamoring of the rusty latch being opened in the next room.

"What the fuck?" Your concerned whisper breaks the silent ambiance of your room as you hesitantly rise from your bed, tossing your book aside gently. You quickly grab your phone off the nightstand before quietly swinging your bedroom door open, pausing to make sure the intruder stayed unaware of your movements.

Clutching the device to your side, you slowly begin to make your way out into the hall. Years of practice making your steps undetectable as your socked feet lightly ghost along the wooden flooring, carefully avoiding the spots you know would creak and groan.

You focus your hearing on the living room just in time to hear as a body makes its way onto the same floor with a faint thud. A sound so quiet, it immediately had you on guard, with the lack of stomping and clattering alerting you to the fact that this wasn't an ordinary burglar in your apartment.

No, whoever this person is, is light on their feet, meticulously careful in their actions as the window creaking is kept muffled as it's closed and... locked?

The click of the lock has you tense as you peek around the corner of the hallway, your mind runs through a million different possibilities...

A ghost?

An assassin?

Did they finally find you?

Maybe it's one of the capes?

Did Felix somehow manage to track you down?

You raise your hand defensively, fully prepared to web anything that poses a threat as you finally lay eyes on the person–

"Damian?" Your shock is inherently obvious as you murmur the boy's name in confusion, dropping your hand down to your side at the familiar face that greets you.

His head whips towards you, eyes narrowing in his typical glare as his body straightens to his usual posture. "So, you are awake."

You gawk at his confidence, expecting anything but the comfortable ease he exudes as he stalks closer. As if he hadn't just broken into your apartment in the middle of the night. "What the hell are you–"

He's quick to cut you off, whether it's because he knew you were gonna lose your shit or because whatever he needed to say was that important was up for debate.

"You're wrong."

Your brow furrows as you still find yourself reeling in confusion at his sudden appearance, "Wha–I–"

"It was my fault." His voice is hard, eyes trained on the wood beneath your feet as he stands across from you, an arms width away yet closer than he'd ever willingly been before...

"What are you talking about?" You scoff, arms crossing defensively as you eye him suspiciously.

"I disobeyed father." He clenches his fists, "I was stupid and reckless and I got caught and now he's dead." His breath stutters for just a moment, "Alfred's dead because I failed." His face falls, previous bravado of arrogant nonchalance gone as his words settle in your chest.

You purse your lips thoughtfully, face falling as you realize the intent behind his visit. "Damian it's not–"

"I'm Robin."

He meets your eyes heavily as you pause in shock at his sudden revelation. The haunting green hue encapsulates your vision as you stare at him in wide-eyed disbelief.

Of course, you've already known that he was Robin for a while now. In fact, it had only taken you a few weeks of living in the manor to put the pieces together and figure out about all of your family's little nighttime personas. You weren't top of your class for nothing after all, but to hear him admit it so openly– to you of all people– has taken you completely off guard.

You allow yourself a moment of confusion before letting out a sigh, offering a small, awkward smile as your gaze softens, "I know."

He's visibly taken aback by your answer, eyes narrowing as he scoffs, "What do you mean you know?"

You smirk, rolling your eyes lightheartedly as you walk past him to sit on your couch, "Please, I'm not an idiot. I know about all of you."

He crosses his arms, glaring down at you after following to stand before you, "How?"

"Its simple pattern recognition, really." You shrug, counting off your reasoning with your fingers, "You guys were never home at night, always had suspicious bruises and cuts... You never seemed shocked about the stories in the news, never hesitated to suddenly become 'busy' when they'd broadcast an Arkham breakout... Always had somewhere to be or something to do besides lounge around like normal rich people..." You trail off, eyeing him warily as he becomes visibly agitated as you continue.

"You think you're clever because you figured it out? Drake found out fathers identity when he was thirteen, and a stranger. You're not special for catching on after two years in close proximity." His words are venomous and it grants you a sick sense of relief to finally see him behaving the way you'd expected. "Besides, you've never had definitive proof. If I hadn't wanted you to know, you would have lived with baseless assumptions and a foolish, inflated ego." His face resets to that haughty smugness he's known for as he scrunches his nose down at you.

You bristle defensively at his words, glaring back as you scoff, officially done with his sudden hot and cold attitude, "Why are you even here, Damian?" You toss your hands up frustratedly, "Why bother telling me all of this, if you're gonna be mad about me knowing? Seriously, did you come here just to mock me? Why are–"

"Because you don't understand!" He snaps. "Because you need to understand!" His lips curve into a vicious scowl, voice rising in anger as he stalks closer to your seated figure, "It doesn't make sense!"

His voice cracks, "Why!? Why are you the only one who doesn't blame me?!" Your face falls as you watch his eyes well with tears, "Why are you– the one person I've hurt more than anyone else– the only person who understands... Why aren't you angry at me?" His bottom lip quivers and it takes everything in you to stop yourself from pulling him into your arms.

You opt to offer a half-hearted shrug, awkwardly snorting out a small laugh, as you rise from the couch, "Oh, trust me, I am." You pause, placing a hesitant hand on his shoulder, watching as he shrinks under your touch, "Just not for this." You huff, "I'm angry at you because you stabbed me, sure." You shrug, releasing a tense sigh as you avert your gaze to the wall behind him, "But it'd be wrong of me to blame you when I was the one who had the chance to stop Bane and didn't."

Damian's face snaps towards yours, eyes widening as he chokes out a confused, "What?"

You take a breath, squeezing your eyes closed as you speak resolutely, "I was The Spider– The uh– hero, from New York..." You trail off awkwardly, avoiding his befuddled stare with a sigh, "Long story short, shit happened, and I'm done playing hero so..."

"You–" You don't give him the chance to question your sudden confession, gently guiding him to sit next to you on the sofa as you quickly continue.

"The night Alfred died–" You hesitate, swallowing the lump in your throat nervously, "I saw Bane downtown." You let the information settle in the air, watching Damian's reaction carefully as he does the same.

"He... He was monologuing to the rogues, going on and on about something stupid, I can't remember, but he was completely off-guard. Like, totally relaxed. As if he was in his own bed and not in the middle of a crowd of psycho serial killers." Your eyes glaze over as you recall the scene.

"I was walking through an alley, one of the usual shortcuts I take on my way home from work, near the Batburger on tenth... I reach the end and he's just... there, I mean, h–he was right there. Right there!" Your fists shake from their clenched position on your lap, "and I had a chance– I had the chance, the opportunity to end it all." You scowl, "All the torment... All the chaos... All the pain..." You bring your fists up to your face, hiding your frustrated tears behind your palms as you berate yourself, "All I had to do was swing a web and pull and it'd be over..." You laugh humorlessly, "But I didn't. I didn't and Bane went on to kill Alfred that same damn night..."

You grit your teeth, fighting back the tears that threatened to spill as you continue, "I was selfish." Your voice cracks, "I was stupid. Instead of doing the world a favor and putting that piece of shit down, I walked away. Told myself it wasn't my problem– That it wasn't my job to fight the bad guys, to be the hero. Not anymore– I–" You stop yourself, weary of where you were steering the conversation as Damian looms silently beside you.

It's quiet for a second, the only sound being the movement of your hands wiping your tears away from your face as the two of you sit with the weight of your words.

"He wouldn't have wanted that." Damian's voice is softer, but still carries an edge to it that has you wilting at the implications.

"Yeah, why's that?" You barely manage to whisper the words as your throat closes in on itself.

"He always spoke so highly of you." Damian smiles ruefully, "Anytime he mentioned your name it would be followed by praise..." He rolls his eyes with a scowl, "He always said you'd be the one to make something of yourself. To be great..." He sighs, closing his eyes as his face scrunches, almost as if the act of trying to console you pained him.

"He wouldn't want you going down the path of a killer."

The sentence sparks a sharp bark of laughter out of you.

...Little did he know, you already have.

"Trust me–" He pauses, and you watch patiently as he tenses, eyes darting to your face nervously before gluing themselves to your ratty carpet. "–Killing someone, even a murderer, even someone like Bane... It doesn't give you the relief you'd expect." His voice is low, solemn and honest as he speaks and it has you huffing in exasperation.

"You sound experienced..."

He doesn't respond as quickly as you expect, and you can't help but eye him curiously as he moves to sit beside you.

"I am." He inhales deeply, hands folding together on his lap and you can hear his heart thrumming nervously.

"My name is Damian Thomas Al Ghul–Wayne." Your brow furrows in confusion, "I'm the son of Bruce Wayne and Talia Al Gul..." The name is unfamiliar, and it has a pit forming in your gut as he continues, "Grandson of R'as Al Ghul and the Demon Heir of the League of Assassins." His eyes are empty, voice carefully steady and flat as he recites the information as if reading off of a script.

"Since the day of my birth, I was raised to be a weapon. I was–I was handed a sword before I could even walk, taught to eliminate threats before I was able to eat solid foods..." Your heart sinks, "I was made to be the perfect assassin. The perfect heir... and I was." He sighs, "The first time I killed a man, I was eight. My grandfather ordered the execution of a traitor among the league, and saw it as the perfect opportunity to test me." The image sends a wave of nausea rolling through your stomach. Picturing an eight-year old Damian standing before a corpse, bloodied hands and trembling lip as he withheld tears– "I didn't think anything of it. I simply completed the duty I was given... It's how I viewed every mission that came after. A duty. An honor entrusted to me by my grandfather... I wanted to make him proud, for him and Mother to see that I was worthy of my title, of my blood..."

He smiles ruefully, "Then I met father. He brought me to Gotham... to the Manor, and... to Alfred." You offer a reassuring smile, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I was forced to... acclimate to everything so quickly. One minute I was an assassin, and the next, I was being told to never kill anyone again! I was only ten years old, and everyone expected me to just... ignore everything I was previously taught. To abandon my upbringing– abandon my mother– and become a hero... so I did. I-I turned my back on the league, I've forsaken my blood and reshaped myself into a Robin deserving of fighting beside Batman... but it doesn't matter what I do, they all still think of me as a murderer." He hangs his head in shame, and you find yourself sharing the sentiment as you reflect on how you treated him while you lived in the manor.

If you had known any of this then, maybe you guys would have been friends...

He laughs, a cold and humorless sound that has you cringing in remorse, "Ever since I left the league, it feels like I've been under constant surveillance. Like father and Grayson are just waiting for me to screw up. Like at any little inconvenience I'll just turn and kill someone..." his bottom lip trembles, and you rub his shoulder comfortingly as he proceeds to let out a shaky sigh,

"What I'm saying is that the mark of a killer is something that will never leave you, no matter how hard you try... so... don't ever regret walking away... no matter the consequences."

It's quiet once he finishes his speech, the two of you sitting side by side as you wallow in the somber atmosphere.

Your fingers twitch nervously, canines digging into your bottom lip as you breathe through the wave of emotions that crashed over you after Damian's confession.

Confusion, empathy, grief, anger, sorrow...

It all forces you to come to a whole new understanding of the boy sitting next you.

You're honestly just completely taken off guard by everything. This was by far the longest conversation you'd ever had, and it has you reeling. The fact that Damian even appeared before you– willingly– was already jarring, and the way he spoke– open, honest... vulnerable, is so uncharacteristic that it's unnerving.... It all has you contemplating, why?

What changed?

Did Alfred's death really cause such a reaction?

Perhaps Alfred's words of praise were enough to convince Damian that you weren't the villain he had assumed?

Maybe Alfred asked him to reconcile with you while he was alive and now that he's gone Damian feels an obligation to fulfill the elders wish?

You don't know, and you don't think you'll ever know the true reason why Damian decided to approach you tonight, but you'll be damned if you let the opportunity slip through your fingers...

As much as you like to pretend that you're fine on your own... you're lonely.

You miss your family.

You miss the comfort and the love, the loyalty and acceptance. The warmth of your mother's embrace– of your tias singing and grandparents cooking. You miss your cousins and their inside jokes and stupid nicknames that always picked at your worst insecurities. The birthdays and weddings that went on till sunrise, where you'd be lulled to sleep on a plastic white chair by drunken chattering and laughter. The peace that came with waking up in the arms of your step-dad as he spoke his goodbyes. You miss the joy of having someone love you unconditionally, of someone always being there for you, without expecting anything in return...

and Damian may be your last chance at having even a fraction of that again, which is why you're meeting him in the middle.

You close your eyes resolutely, tilting your head back against the couch as you come out of your thoughts, releasing a deep sigh as you begin to speak, "I was twelve when I was bitten by a radioactive spider that escaped containment from my step-dad's lab." Damian's head snaps towards you at the sudden breach of silence, eying you curiously as you adjust your posture to slump back into the cushions more comfortably.

"It was two years after he and my mom were murdered, and we were finally allowed access to clear out his personal items after the lawsuit cleared... That stupid little bug slipped out of the plastic tube, crawled into my sock and bit me right on my achilles!" You scowl, "The pain was excruciating. It felt like fire was flooding through my veins, burning me from the inside out…” You grimace, “I'll never forget the fear on my Tias face when she came into the room and found me on the floor. She thought I was having a seizure... The pain had me convulsing so bad that she had to pin me down to stop me from ripping chunks out of myself.” You smile weakly, “I've never screamed like that in my entire life, I couldn't speak for two weeks afterwards..." You shiver at the memory, beginning to pick idly at a loose thread in the couch cushion.

"I remember waking up in my bed, confused as hell... I honestly thought it was a dream– Well, at least until I accidentally webbed my blanket to myself." You snort, lips quirking into a cringe as you recall the meltdown you had after being unable to disentangle yourself from your nanas rose cobija.

"I was so confused and scared when my powers began to develop. I was terrified the first time I managed to walk on my ceiling!” You grin, “but, I was also an impressionable kid with a sense of justice too big for their tiny body who just got superpowers, so, it's safe to say that it didn't take me very long to put on the suit.” You laugh, "I say suit, but that's just me being generous. It was really just a ski mask with lab goggles and my step-dads old varsity hoodie." You scoff, "I looked so bad, I'm glad the media didn't get any pictures of me until I had a legit suit… Who knows what kind of memes would exist if they had!” Your smile dwindles at the lack of response from Damian, turning to meet his unimpressed gaze with a sad smile, “I also had absolutely no training. No martial arts classes, no self-defense knowledge whatsoever– and I didn't even know how to properly control my powers…” You sigh, “You can imagine how that went.”

 Damian winces and you shake your head remorsefully, “Sure, I had a rough start, but when it came down to it, I was a stubborn kid with a bleeding heart who wanted to keep others from the same fate as my mom.” Damian shifts next to you, gaze glued to your face as you continue, “So, every night when my Tia went off to work, I'd sneak out and… do my thing.” Your nose scrunches at your wording, a small laugh slipping out at the awkward phrasing, “I got my ass kicked more times that I can count, almost died on multiple occasions… but I always got back up because there was always someone else to save. Always a bad guy to stop.” You frown.

“It was easy, for the first couple of weeks. Small things, like rescuing cats from trees, stopping pickpockets, webbing some car thieves and roughing up perverts who bothered women on the sidewalks... but then it got real. The threats got bigger, and it got harder to hide what I was doing from those who knew me best.” Your eyes flutter as you blink back tears, “Gwen figured me out within my first couple of weeks as Spider.” A wet laugh sneaks past your lips as you recall her pout, “She was so mad that I didn't tell her. She insisted on designing my suit! She– She even took a fashion class just to make it for me…” You smile, “It didn't come out great, obviously, but… I-It meant so much to me to have her support. I was so scared that she’d be afraid of me, that-that If I told anyone they’d think I was a freak-or-or sell me to the government or something…” You laugh, “But she didn’t, she-she didn’t do any of that she just… she supported me, and she loved me… despite everything that came with being a hero. Throughout all the broken bones and split lips, after all the breakdowns and close-calls. She was there, she was always there… and it got her killed.” Your gaze drifts down to your fingers, nailbeds now swollen and raw from your unintentional picking.

You choke on a whimper, composure slowly slipping as your mind flashes back to the night of her death, “She-She wasn't supposed to be there that night, but she was worried about me… She always worried.” You roll your jaw as you grit out the details, blurry images of rain and smoke flood your brain as you relive it all, “The Green Goblin bombed Oscorp during one of our fights. He was trying to kill me and she got caught in the crossfire…” Damian's gaze was pitying and it sparks a burning wave of nausea to churn in your stomach as your jaw clenches, “The worst part is that it wasn't even the bomb that killed her, it was the shrapnel.” He winces as you laugh angrily, “Her death wasn't quick, and it sure as hell wasn't painless.” You scowl, “She was alive for ten minutes after the explosion. Ten minutes that she spent in agonizing pain, with a piece of metal impaled in her spine! Ten minutes that I spent trying to keep her alive as she bled out in my arms!” Your chest heaves, breath stuttering as your heart thrums in your veins.

Damian's quiet as he watches you overcome your frustration. Soft green eyes never leaving your face as you whimper, “She was only fourteen… She hadn't even started high school.”

You swallow as you gather yourself, wiping away the tears as you rush to continue, “He’s the same man who killed my Tia…” Damian’s eyes widen, “He rigged the bridge to explode, right at the time she was on her way home from work” You eye your peeling wallpaper disinterestedly as you speak, “I tried to save her, but coincidentally there was also a school bus that was falling…” Your jaw clenches as you grip your biceps, desperate for a sense of comfort as you remember her defeated eyes, “I couldn't choose. I tried to stall for as long as possible to figure something out…” You force out a shuddering breath, ”I felt my shoulders dislocate. I felt as all the muscles in my arms were slowly ripped apart over and over as my healing factor struggled to keep up and I panicked… Eventually, I ran out of time, and she chose for me.” You feel the warmth of Damian's arm against your own as your body trembles, “I never even got the chance to tell her, but the look in her eyes as she cut the web told me that she already knew. She had always known, which is why she did what she did.”

You groan, “I was so angry. So blinded by rage, I couldn't even think, I didn't want to think... so I didn't. I just did what I do best... I fought.” You swallow thickly, “I went after the goblin, with no care for myself, no regard for what was gonna happen, I just wanted revenge. Justice.” You can’t help but laugh at the irony, “We fought for two hours before we eventually nosedived into the river. His hovercraft self-destructed on impact, and as far as the rest of the world's concerned, Spider died on that bridge, saving the people of New York like they always had.” You smirk condescendingly, “Good old Spidey got a hero's farewell, and I was finally free to be a normal kid…”

“A normal kid, who lost everyone because they wanted to play hero.” You scowl, “Even going back to a normal life was impossible, because as you said, the mark of a killer can't be erased, and my recklessness and selfish desire for vengeance came back to haunt me.”

Your teeth bear a sharp grin, lacking any humor or comfort as you choke out, “When the man under the mask turned out to be my best friend's father.”

"Let's watch a movie!" was your desperate attempt to lighten the atmosphere after spending close to four hours trading childhood stories of valor and trauma with your younger brother.

It took you another half hour to convince him of the idea and yet another hour to settle on a movie you both found interesting enough.

Halfway through Revenge of the Sith, Damian turns to you, "I... apologize for stabbing you."

You laugh, "It's okay, you're not the first person to try and murder me, and given the circumstances, you don't have the worst reason either."

His confused stare goes ignored as you turn back to the screen of your laptop, tapping his arm excitedly as the orange and red light draws your attention, "Shh! Here comes the best part!"

I HATE YOU!!

You were my brother Anakin! I loved you...

You find yourself quietly mouthing along with Obi-Wan as you drape your throw blanket over Damian's sleeping form.

Taking a step back, your lips quirk in a small smile at the sight of the lanky teenager squished onto your couch, covered by a faded orange blanket with white bunnies sprawled along the fabric like polka dots.

After all the confessions and revelations the night held, it was comforting to see him look like a kid for once.

"Damian! Where have you been, we've been worried sick–" You roll your eyes, cutting Dick off with an overexaggerated sigh, "Not Damian, but he is fine!"

It silent for a moment before he responds, voice clipped and gruff as he questions, "Wha– Who is this!? Why do you have Damian's phone?!"

"Why, it's only your favorite sibling, of course!" You chirp, teeth bared in a sickly sweet smile that matches the over heightened pitch in your voice that has Damian glaring at you from across the room.

Dick stutters out your name nervously and you nod, "Yes, it's me. So, Damian broke into my apartment last night–"

"He what!?" You nearly throw your phone halfway across the room in your haste to draw it away from your ear at his screeching.

"–aaaand we managed not to kill each other! He's fine, just needs a ride home."

The line is silent, and you smirk at the thought of Dick’s terrified face.

"I-I'll be right there."

You and Damian exchange matching grins at the panic in Dicks voice after he hangs up.

"He really has no faith in us, does he?"

Damian scoffs, "Absolutely none, I'm almost offended."

You smirk, "Says the one who pulled a whole ass katana on me the last time we were alone together!"

Damian simply averts his gaze, hiding his shit-eating grin with his mug.

You shake your head with a small laugh.

In the span of one night, you've managed to reconcile and bond with Damian at an astonishing rate.

It's shocking, but as you watch his nose scrunch at the taste of your cheap instant coffee, you find yourself discarding any ill will. After all, he's starting to grow on you.

Taglist <3: @onceinamillionposter @jscrawls @bat1212 , @1abi , @cosmosluckycharms , @homeless-clown , @awawage , @holylonelyponyeatingmacaroni, @zomqiez , @wishesofficial , @itsberrydreemurstuff

If you saw me accidentally post this before it was finished... no you didn't.

THANK YOU ALL FOR THE SUPPORT!! I'M SO HYPED FOR THE FUTURE OF THIS SERIES OMFG...

I know this is tagged as a Venom! Reader, and this is now three chapters with no Venom, so I wanted to quickly address that! Basically, he's not really going to make an appearance until the second arc, about two or three chapters from now. That's because this first arc is mainly world building and setting up the relationships and plot for the second arc which will have more action and spidey shenanigans. Sorry if that's not what you wanted to hear, but it's just the way the story is going rn.

N E WAYZZZ THANK YOU FOR READING HOPE YOU ENJOYEDD <3

[godmadeaterribleerror]

Chapter 10 - Look And See

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Author's Note: Going back to my roots (forced proximity)

Chapter title from Thank You by Led Zeppelin

Word Count: 17k

Chapter Summary/Warnings: You, Sam, and Dean finish a case from Ruby, and it has consequences. Usual warnings.

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

Chapter 9 - Chapter 11

Read on A03!

“Can you drive any fucking slower?”

Dean shot Her a glare in the rearview mirror, trying not to get lost in how Her eyes were shining in the low light of dusk, or how all Her features seemed to be washed in the cool, pastel colors of sunset. “No, Princess, because I’m trying not to give the cops an excuse to pull us over after you blew our fucking cover-“

“I did not blow our cover,” She hissed. “I said we needed to leave now, and you decided to stick around and try to find more caviar-“

“We weren’t done, and I was hungry-“

“You’re always hungry! And we were done, you just don’t listen to me-“

“Maybe I don’t listen to you because you don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Her eyes narrowed, and Dean could almost feel Her gaze burning and twisting on his skin. “We both know that I’m the only one who knows exactly what I'm talking about-“ She paused, and Dean could see Her giving Sam an apologetic grimace in the mirror. “Sorry, Sam-“

“It’s fine.” Sam shrugs, his attention forcefully fixed on the book in his lap. Dean had a feeling Sam had entirely been tuning them out. “I mean, you’re not really wrong.”

“Don’t tell her that, Sammy, she’ll explode from her ego-“

“My ego? That’s fucking rich from you, Winchester-“

His grip began to strangle Baby’s wheel. “At least my head is in the game, sweetheart-“

“My head is in the game-“

“Didn’t look like it was,” Dean hissed. “It looked like you were more worried about flirting with that old son of a bitch rather than getting the knife-“

“It’s not a knife,” She snapped. “And I wasn’t flirting, I was looking for information, dumbass-“

“Yeah, that seemed to really pay off for you-“

“It did-“

“Dean.” Sam cut in with a sigh, running a hand through his hair. “You guys can keep fighting, I just want to make sure you remember-“

Dean rolled his eyes. “I’m going to Norfolk, Virginia, and the black-eyed bitch will meet us there.”

“Ruby’s trying to help-“

“Well, shit load of good it’s doing, we didn’t even get the damn knife-“

“It’s not a knife.” She leaned forward, resting Her forearms on the bench, and Dean could feel the heat from Her body. It was a little dizzying, and She smelled like sugar and fruit, there was that damn fruit again-

Sammy was frowning, shaking his head. “Ruby said it was a blade-“

“And She was wrong. And I’m-“

“Right?” Dean muttered under his breath, glowering at the road. “You’re always right, aren’t you-“

“Yeah, I am.” Her words were clipped, and Dean hated how that made his heart split and howl in his chest. “And you better say thank you, because I didn’t break my nail just for-“

Dean snorted, and he hated the sound. It was louder than it should be, and toxic in his ears. He hated all of this. He didn’t know how to stop it. “How fucking tragic, her majesty broke a nail-“

“It hurt, dickwad. And,” She leaned back, only for a second, and Dean had to bite the inside of his mouth to stop himself from reaching over the bench and pulling Her back to where he could still feel her warmth. “You’re welcome.”

Sam was frowning, twisting in his seat to look at Her, and Dean wished he could do the same. Especially as Sammy gasped, and he felt as if his jaw was going to snap and his teeth were going to grind to ash. What was She doing that made Sam gasp, why did She always have to be so awesome and insufferable and annoying and brilliant, why couldn’t Dean just know when to quit, why wouldn’t she just leave him alone to die in goddamn peace-

“When did you-“

“While Dean was drinking half the bar,” She cut Sam off with almost a sneer, and it was burning over Dean’s head. “I got the museum curator to show me the collection.”

“And that’s-“

“Yep.”

Sam swallowed, and when Dean glanced over, the kid’s eyes were nearly bulging out of his head. “And you’re sure-“

“I’m always sure, Samuel.” Her tone was smug, and Dean could picture the proud, pretty smirk on Her face. “And it’s not a knife. It’s an arrowhead.”

Sam reached back, Dean heard a slapping sound, and when he glanced in the mirror She was clutching something to Her chest, glaring at the front seat.

“Don’t touch it.” She snapped, and Sam blinked at Her.

“It’s just a rock,” Sam said Her name carefully, shooting Dean a what the hell is happening look. 

Dean didn’t know. With Her, Dean never fucking knew.

“It’s not- You-“ She took a deep breath, Her voice suddenly far too soft and measured. “Just, I’m going to hold onto it, okay?”

“But-“

“Sam. Please.”

Sam frowned at Her, but nodded, and Dean scowled.

He had to bite down vile, spitting words about Her thinking she was better, about not even trusting them to hold the weapon. There was a line, and Dean refused to cross it. He couldn’t stop toeing right up to it—driven by the bitter, furious part of him that still hated how She’d lied about being sick, how She’d left him fucking dying in the hospital, how She was better and Dean couldn’t be allowed to have her—but he wouldn’t cross it. He couldn’t leave a real mark on Her. It would fully drive Her away, make her finally snap and leave him in the mud for good.

And She’d been working with them for several weeks, and Dean was still being a selfish piece of shit. 

He couldn’t fall out of Her orbit. He couldn’t bring himself to save Her from himself, from all the horror that came with being in his life, but he couldn’t hate Her enough to lie that he didn’t want Her here and mean it. He couldn’t just mean it.

Dean couldn’t sneer that She knew everything and believe it to be the truth in his bones. He couldn’t snap that She’d been flirting with that old asshole—and he knew it was the museum curator, and he knew it was for the case, and he didn’t care—and not put extra venom in his voice because She wasn’t smiling at Dean like that. She was barely smiling at Dean at all.

He didn’t blame Her. He was being a dick, but it was for Her own good. He was lying, but it was for Her.

He repeated, over and over in the dead of night, that it was for Her. For the best. And, it was but he still couldn’t quite convince himself. 

He had five months left. If he was smart, Dean would stop swallowing his crueler words and just vomit up every false reason he hated Her—She was too pretty, She did strange things to his heart and body he didn’t like not being able to control, he’d follow Her anywhere but knew she wouldn’t do the same for him—until She left, and he’d rescued Her from caring about him.

Because Dean was damned. 

But he never wanted to be damned for hurting Her. 

So he was being a fucking asshole and not crossing the line, because he wanted Her. He couldn’t stop wanting Her, he didn’t know how, it had become such a critical part of him now—to always crash down, down, down into Her and that soft, sliver light that She always cast over the pit inside of him, even when She hated him and he was supposed to hate Her—that Dean was pretty sure he’d only ever stop wanting Her when his soul was carved up and split into pieces.

Yet he still wouldn’t tell Her. He still couldn’t allow himself to look Her in her bright eyes and tell her I’m dying, Princess. I’m pretty much already dead.

Dean didn’t have a good enough memory to keep track of all the lies he was telling Her. And Sammy was barely creative enough to come up with a proper story that explained the Devil’s Gate and Azazel and Lilith while completely omitting the whole demon deal thing.

But they managed.

And She had no idea.

She believed they were hunting Lilith because that was their job. That they were researching crossroads demon because Lilith was known to work with them. That they were working with Ruby, getting this arrowhead for Her, because they needed anything at all to try and kill Lilith. 

Dean had called Bobby, and told him that, under no circumstances, could he tell Her about the deal. About Dean’s timer, and how it was slowly creeping closer and closer to zero. That they were hunting together again, and Dean wouldn’t ask Bobby why the hell he’d lied about Her being sick, as long as Bobby didn’t rat them out. 

“I won’t say anythin’ unprompted,” Bobby had grunted through the phone. “But if she asks, I ain’t gonna lie to her.”

Dean had scowled into the air, keeping a careful eye on the sidewalk through the window. She and Sammy had gone to get coffee. Dean had needed to wrap this up before they got back. “Bobby-“

“No. You know you’re my family, boy, but she’s always gonna be first.” Bobby had sighed. “Listen, I won’t tell her ‘less she catches it herself. But you know she’s far from dumb, Dean. She’ll pick up that something’s off, and there ain’t nothin’ that’s gonna save you from how pissed she’ll be that you kept it from her. At least try and give her the dignity of learnin’ it from you.”

Bobby had hung up, and Dean hadn’t told Her. He couldn’t. Bobby and Sam didn’t understand that he just fucking couldn’t. 

Couldn’t tell Her.

Couldn’t fully push Her away.

“How are you sure?” Sam was watching Her carefully, and Dean kept his eyes on the road. She was there. Right now, Her being there was all the relief he could allow himself. “I mean, I trust you, but we just need to be positive before we show this to Ruby-“

“It’s jade, and that’s what Ruby told you it would be, right?”

Sammy nodded. “Yeah, but-“

“And if you trust her-“

“I do.”

Dean frowned. Sam, for some reason, did seem to trust Ruby. Dean didn’t, because She was a demon. Being trustworthy was against her freakin’ nature.

“Well, she said it would have writing on it, right-“

“Yeah, but-“

“Look.” Dean saw Her shift in the rearview mirror, and felt Her brush his arm as she leaned back forward. 

Little sparks flew through his body, and he sat a little taller, and he could see Her side-profile in his periphery and She was glowing, and there was the fruit again-

She was trying to make him crash the car.

“That’s Hebrew.” She tapped the arrowhead she spoke. “That’s Arabic, and that’s-“

“Latin.” Sam finished, and Dean rolled his eyes. Fucking nerds. “What about that one-“

She jerked Her hand back as Sam went to touch the arrowhead, and elbowed Dean in the shoulder.

He grunted, gritting his teeth as the dull pain. “Son of a bitch-“

“Shit, sorry, De-“

“Whatever.” He muttered, refusing to look Her in the eyes. She’d almost called him De. And maybe She’d been about to say Dean, but that wasn’t any better. His whole body felt like it was buzzing and heavy, and took a tight grip on the wheel to stop himself from leaning closer to Her. “Answer Sammy’s question.”

“Yeah, it’s, um-“ She swallowed. Dean could goddamn feel Her gaze. “Sorry, it’s just like, witch symbols. Probably.”

Sam’s face twisted slightly, and Dean didn’t understand that look. It was more tense than Sam’s usual, doubtful bitch-face. It was almost pained. Weary.

“Probably?” He asked, and She shrugged.

“Yeah. You’re the one who said it’s a witch artifact-“

“Ruby said it’s a witch artifact, I just passed it on. And, I dunno, can you not tell-“

“Tell what?” Her voice became clipped again, and something in the air shifted. Became heavier, more taut. 

“That it’s a witch artifact-“

“I know all the same things you do. If Ruby says it’s a witch, it’s a witch.”

Sam frowned, Her arm brushed against Dean’s again, and the taut thing was now frayed. 

Dean didn’t know what was happening. 

“Okay.” Sam broke their odd stand-off first, letting out a slow exhale. “I just wanted to-“

“Be sure.” She muttered. “Yeah, I know.”

There was a long pause—Dean forcing himself to focus on the low sound of the radio rather than how close She was, how her breathing was heavy and measured, how he wanted to follow the pattern with his heartbeat until he was moving with Her all the time—and when She leaned back, Dean couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Her small frown in the rearview mirror. 

“What did Ruby say this was for?” 

Sam shrugged, turning in his seat as he spoke. “She told me it could help kill anything inhuman or unholy. Stuff that even her knife and the Colt can’t gank.”

“The nasty sons of bitches,” Dean muttered. “Worst of the worst.”

There was another pause, and when She spoke again her voice was small. “I- anything?”

“Powerful things,” Sam explained. “Ruby said it was designed for things outside of nature. Like Lilith.”

“Like Lilith.” She repeated, and She sounded strange. Nervous.

Dean glanced back in the mirror to see Her curled into the backseat, turning the arrowhead between Her fingers with a tight frown, Her body braced in the way it always was when She started to freak out, her free hand gripping slightly at Her throat, that little wrinkle in Her brow obvious and prominent-

He couldn’t reach back and run his thumb over, no matter how much he itched to. She probably wouldn’t even let him. 

But God, the sight of Her like this made him feel sick. He hadn’t seen any real, full episodes since Her return, but he’d seen the bags under Her eyes, the raised marks on Her skin, the dried blood around Her nails.

It wasn’t his place to say anything anymore.

But it still torn him to pieces. Still made him feel like he was doing something wrong, still made Dean feel wrong. If he was good, he’d never allow something as amazing as She was to be in pain. He’d stop being selfish and set Her free of his burden, because even his proximity stole and hoarded Her light. 

But he needed Her here. Even if She couldn’t be his.

And he needed Her to stop clawing at Her throat. 

So he did the only thing he could think of, and coughed for Her attention.

Her eyes flicked to his in the rearview mirror, and they set off fireworks over his ribs. Colorful and hot and bright and Her-

“Nice work.” He muttered. “With the case. You were-“ Dean choked on the word right. Of course She was right. She was the only right thing in the universe. “You did good.”

He wouldn’t apologize. Dad said to never apologize for making the smart, right call, even if it was the tough one. Especially if it was the tough one, because that meant he was being strong, and it wasn’t his responsibility to make sure people understood that.

And what he’d said seemed to be enough. She sat a little taller, Her chin tilting a little higher, and when She spoke again Her voice was back to its usual tone. Smooth and clear and designed to haunt Dean in his sleep.

“Of course I did good.” She snapped. “I know what I’m doing, Winchester. I always do.”

Something in Her suddenly seemed to be glowing, leaking out through Her eyes on Dean’s in the mirror. 

It made Dean glow. Like he was being called further down into Her. He didn’t know how the hell She always did that to him. He’d likely never get a chance to find out. 

So all Dean did was roll his eyes and look back to road, because now he had a new lie to drill into his brain.

The lie that—if that hadn’t succeeded in returning Her to the proud, sharp, blinding woman She usually was—Dean would’ve said sorry.

That if She ever did lash at him with words that left bigger and more purposeful scars than the ones he already carried—the ones that seemed to line his every thought and breath, where he was haunted by Her when she was gone and consumed by her when she was there, and he was almost certain She didn’t even know how deep she was branding him—Dean would fall to his knees and fucking grovel for Her to heal him. For that shifting, easy light to cast over him and Her warmth to fuse him back together, better than he’d been before. For Her.

Dean would do most anything for Her.

And that meant—even if Bobby and Sam disagreed—lying to Her about the deal. 

“Dean,” Sam was shifting through his backpack as they pulled into a gas station, his attention mostly focused on trying to find a credit card that hadn’t gotten frozen. “If they don’t have pie-“

“We’re in Carolina, they’re gonna have freakin’ pie-“

Sam sighed. “Yeah, but if they don’t-“

“They will.” Dean snapped. The world was already fucking tormenting him. They didn’t need to take away his pie as well. “Pie, Sammy. Nothing else.”

“Dean-“

“Pie-“

“We’ll find you pie, you giant baby.” She rolled Her eyes from the backseat, stretching as she scooted to the door. Dean could see a little bit of bare skin from the movement.

His pants got a little tight.

He was fucking pathetic.

Sam said Her name carefully, shooting Dean a weary look from the corner of his eyes. “We can’t control what the gas station has-“

“We’ll figure it out.” She shrugged. “C’mon, buddy. Let Deano brood in peace.”

Dean scowled, half because of Her drawling, bored use of Deano that still made him bend a little much for her, and half because he wasn’t brooding. And if he was, he should be allowed to. He was dying-

She didn’t know that. She was going to find him pie anyway. 

And he hated this.

It was the good moments that were the worst. Moments when they glanced at each other when Sam said something dramatic, and he wanted to whisper a joke, but he wasn’t allowed to anymore. Moments where they brushed past each other and didn’t flinch, where Dean would see Her early in the morning and She’d look downright adorable with that small, pouting frown. 

Moments like this one. Where She got back before Sam, passed Dean his pie without a word, and sprawled out in the backseat. And Dean could glance at Her as he filled up Baby’s tank, and She fit so naturally that he wasn’t sure how his very foundation hadn’t crumbled to nothing while She was gone.

She looked beautiful. She was wearing the jacket he’d left Her, and Dean could see the poke of the blade he’d given Her, and she was frowning at the broken nail she’d mentioned earlier, and it would be so easy to reach out and run his thumb down Her nose until she let out a soft, easy breath and everything was okay again.

“Have you met Ruby?”

Dean blinked at Her. “Yeah.”

She hummed, not looking away from Her nails. “What’s she like?”

“She’s a demonic bitch.” Dean muttered, glaring at the gas pump, and She snorted. 

“Eloquent, De.”

He felt like he was falling from a million feet. She’d really called him De again. Out of fucking nowhere, like nothing had happened, She was smiling at him and calling him De and there was something in Her that was guarded and Dean wanted to shred it down and crash right into Her-

“Why are you working with her?” She asked, tilting Her head at him. “Is it because of Sam?”

“He trusts Ruby.” Dean’s words were pushed through his teeth. “And I trust him.”

“Should I trust her?”

Dean let out a dry chuckle. “Gonna matter what my answer is?”

“Yeah.” She said the word like it was nothing, and Dean’s lungs stuttered and caved for a brief second, as if he’d just been shot. “I didn’t ask for shits and giggles, Winchester-“

“Then don’t.” He grunted. “Don’t trust Ruby.”

“Alright.” She shrugged. “I won’t.”

There was a pause, and Dean didn’t know why She wasn’t trying to fight with him. He didn’t understand Her, how she could be acting like nothing was wrong when it so clearly freakin’ was, when they hadn’t even dared to speak about how She’d left him and lied and obviously didn’t want anything real to do with Dean-

“Did you see Sam trying to flirt with that waitress-“

“I have to shit.” Dean blurted, refusing to meet Her eyes as he returned the gas pump to its station, because She might look sad or surprised or hurt, and he wouldn’t know how to deal with that in a way he could permit. “Watch the car.”

He walked away before She could say anything, and Jesus, he was an asshole.

She’s been trying to be nice to him. Dean didn’t know why, but She seemed to be determined to try and patch at least something between them, and it made everything so much goddamn worse. She’d sneer at him one second—when the air around them was heated and weighted in Dean’s lungs, when Dean was biting at Her and she didn’t resist his silent plea for Her to bite back—and then do something like that the next, and Dean couldn’t live with it.

He couldn’t live with himself. It might be a good thing he was damned, because otherwise he’d have no justification for how he’d just walked away, how Her trying to reach out to him just made him recoil, because nothing had ever been as good as Her, and no one had ever been less deserving of Her than Dean.

And that was why he hated the good moments the most. They reminded him that She really was better, and Dean wasn’t worthy of Her infinite… everything. They forced him to build his walls higher, to line them with further barbed wire, because if he didn’t, She’d slip through a crack without effort.

Dean couldn’t afford to let Her back in. She needed to hate him. This whole thing would be so much easier if She would just hate him. 

Maybe one day he’d walk away like that again and not glance over to check that She was still there. He had to drive Her away, but he still made sure She was still there.

And She was. She always was. Every day for the past few weeks, Dean had looked for Her and she’d been there. Legs folded in a chair as She chewed on a pencil, lying flat on Her back and humming to herself in a way that made Dean’s head a little fuzzy, standing tall as She scanned over a room and rubbed Her thumb over that scar on Her palm.

She was doing that now. Leaning over the front seats and rubbing Her palm, head slightly bowed so Her hair blocked a full view of Her face, occasionally reaching down to touch something that was on the bench. Probably Sammy’s book.

She was so pretty.

She could never be Dean’s.

Sam didn’t say anything when Dean shuffled to his side in the station, just raising his brows, glancing out the window, and letting out an unnecessarily long breath with a shake of his head.

“Wanted some coffee.” Dean muttered, grabbing a paper cup and ignoring Sam’s flat expression of disbelief. “Long drive ahead.”

“Sure, dude.” Sam was still looking out the window, an odd expression on his face. “Huh.”

“What-“

“See the Cadillac? The silver one?”

Dean followed Sam’s gaze to the parking lot. “Yeah, what about it-“

“It was behind us, on the highway. For a while.” Sam ran a hand through his hair, shooting Dean a tight look. “Did you seriously not notice?”

“Course I noticed.” Dean muttered, and he very much had not fucking noticed. He’d been distracted. She’d been right there whenever he used the mirror, and there had still been a little bit of lipstick stained on her mouth from the case, and he’d wanted to wipe the smudge on Her cheek off with his thumb, just to test if She’d gape at him or look at him like he mattered. Like he could matter to Her, if that was allowed. “Lotta cars in the world, Sammy, some of them are bound to be going from Carolina to Virginia-“

Dean cut himself off as the Cadillac stopped in the middle of the lot, its door opened, three large men climbed out.

They were walking towards the Impala.

He could see the sun catch light off of something in the largest one’s hand, and it was glinting and long and-

Dean was roaring Her name before he could think better of it. There was red lining his vision and a blaring, alarm-like sound in his ear, and She was in danger-

Sam was right on his tail as he burst out of the lot, sprinting back to the car—back to Her—as the men started crowding the windows, but She was faster. Right before Fuckhead Number One could bash Baby’s windows in, She pushed the door open into his gut, vaulting forward with Her knife in hand as the man let out a guttural noise of pain.

Dean slammed his body right into Fuckhead Number Two—the big, ugly one who’s knife he’d seen—right as Sam caught up to him, grabbing Fuckhead Number Three and pushing him down onto the concrete with a grunt.

They all had the same knives. Somewhere in the whirlwind of the fight—fists flying, Dean trying to reach for his gun but always fumbling as he had to dodge another punch, Sammy scrambling with Fuckhead Three on the ground as She danced around Fuckhead One—Dean realized that it wasn’t just the asshole he was fighting who had a that knife. 

It was the same one that had stabbed Her in Colorado. Same curved, sharp blade he’d seen a few times on Bobby’s desk, that had damn near killed Her-

They’d gotten separated. Somehow Sam had ended up wresting with Fuckhead Three in the grass, She and Fuckhead One were the middle of the lot with Her knife in hand, and Fuckhead Two had backed Dean up to the stations walls.

“If it ain’t the Winchesters.” Fuckhead sneered, and Dean barely managed to duck the blow aimed at his jaw. “Didn’t expect to see you here-“

“Shut up.” Dean snapped. “Unless you’re gonna say why you’re trailing us, I don’t wanna here a word out of your ugly mouth-“

Dean side-stepped another punch, and Fuckhead gave him a crude smile.

“Not trailing you.” He sneered. “Trailing what you’ve got.”

“If it’s Sammy, you can have him,” Dean slammed his knee into Fuckhead Two’s side, sending him stumbling back with a grunt. “But I’ll warn you, he snores like a bitch-“

“We have no interest in Azazel’s little experiment.” Fuckhead let out a dry chuckle, not balking as Dean finally grabbed his gun, aiming the barrel at his temple. “Our kind deal in far… bigger, older affairs.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “This the part where I’m supposed to ask you what your kind are instead of just shooting you-“

Fuckhead smirked. “I’d imagine you’d like to know, Dean. Not like you can kill me anyway.”

“You wanna bet on that-“

“I’m not the betting type. To risky. And we- Well, we aren’t the kind to take risks.”

Dean was about to scoff and pull the trigger, but Fuckhead held his gaze, and his eyes shifted.

Eclipsed with a venomous, neon green for a long second, the grin on his face widening until he was laughing.

“You have no idea what you’ve begun to meddle with, Mr. Winchester-“

Dean shot Fuckhead’s foot. He didn’t need a villain rant right now, worst that would result in was a limp for the vessel, and goddamnit why couldn’t anything ever be easy-

“Sammy!” He roared across the lot. “Demons!”

Sam nodded, locking his arms around Fuckhead Three’s neck and started to chant the exorcism, and Dean sprinted forward to where She was still fighting Fuckhead One with a shout of Her name-

She was faster. She was always faster. 

Dean watched as She brought Her knife right up to Fuckhead One’s throat, hissed something in his ear, and seconds later bright green smoke erupted out of his mouth.

The same happened with Fuckhead Two and Three, and Dean frowned. He’d never seen Sam do the exorcism that fast.

He muttered Her name, fisting his hands at his side to stop himself reaching for Her. “Are you-“

“I’m fine.” She snapped. “Let’s go before someone calls the cops.”

She didn’t look okay. Sam rejoined them at the car—dusting the grass and dirt off his pants and looking between them with a frown—and Dean had to restrain himself with brutal reminders that She didn’t need him, because She looked the furthest thing from okay and it was eating at his gut.

She wasn’t speaking. For the rest of the drive She was lying on her back, eyes squeezed shut, body half curled into itself and arms wrapped around Her stomach. For the first time since She’d returned, she really did look sick. Colorless and pallid, lips drawn in a thin line as if she was in pain, breathing loud enough for Dean to hear over the music. Sammy kept asking damn questions about the demons, about what Fuckhead Two had said to Dean and what green eyes could possibly mean, but Dean couldn’t really hear him. 

His tongue was caught in his throat to stop him from spitting out that they needed to stop, because he was worried about Her. His chest felt like it was contracting and aching and ripping, and his heart was loud in his ears, and why was this so goddamn horrible, why couldn’t he just not care that She was in pain-

“Dean.” Sam muttered, long after the sun had set, a little while after She’d fallen asleep. “We need to tell her. About the deal.”

Dean scowled, his gaze flicking back to Her in the mirror. She seemed to be really, truly asleep. 

Dean wouldn’t bet on it.

“Not now, Sam-“

“Bobby was right, she’d going to work it out eventually-“

“No, she won’t. She’ll leave first.”

Sam gave him an odd look, glancing back to Her with a shake of his head. “Why are you so fucking convinced she’s going to leave-“

“She always leaves.“ Dean snapped. “She left at the hospital-“

“Because she was sick-“

“Does she look sick to you-“

“Yeah, she does.” Sam seemed to suddenly, somehow, be taller. “And I know she does to you too, Dean. I mean, just look at her-“

“I did.” Dean muttered, glowering at the passing white lines on the highway. “And it’s not my business. I’m not talking about this, Sammy. So fucking drop it.”

Sam sighed. “You know can convince her you don’t care about her, shit, you can even convince yourself, but you can’t convince me. If it were anyone else, you’d have shot them in Utah, and we both know it.”

“Shut up-“

“I am. Just-“ Sam said Her name, and Dean felt like he was going to vomit. “You’re not good at being right about her. You get blinded, Dean, and I think she needs us just as much as-“

“She doesn’t need us.” Dean couldn’t stop himself from glancing at Her in the backseat. 

Hauntingly beautiful in the night, the shadows and moving lights of the road making Her look even more like something that had fallen from the sky, like a piece of a star or comet that had started to breathe and walk the earth. The breeze breaking through the cracked windows blowing through Her hair and giving her cheeks a slightly flush.

Her knife was gripped tight in Her hands, and she was folded around it like it was gravity.

Dean wanted Her to fold around him like that. He wanted to be the thing that grounded Her.

But he wasn’t.

“She doesn’t need anyone, Sam.” He muttered, ripping his gaze back onto the road. “We’ll be there in an hour.”

And when Sam dropped it with a sigh, Dean made himself focus on the music. Normally, he’d turn it up to drown out his own thoughts, louder than even Sam’s chastising voice.

Tonight he kept it low, because louder meant there would be a possibility of disturbing Her. And Dean was already pretty sure She didn’t get as much sleep as she needed. 

So he’d give Her this last hour of the drive—going a little slower to extended the time—and he’d let himself look at Her a little more when she couldn’t see.

Then he’d park the car in the motel lot, mutter to Sam that he needed to work out how to get Her up without getting himself stabbed, and steel himself as he exited the car.

He couldn’t care. It would be unfair to Her for Dean to care, when he’d be gone in five months. 

Maybe, if he repeated it enough in his head, it would feel true.

Dean stopped in front of the room from Ruby’s message to Sam, and he’d barely had a chance to raise his fist to knock before the door swung open, and Ruby was glaring at him from the other side.

“Where’s Sam.”

“Hi, Dean.” He muttered, shoving past Ruby with an eye roll. “Thanks for taking time to get the thing for me, I’m going to try and not be a fucking bitch for five seconds to show my gratitude-“

“I’m not going to be grateful when you probably didn’t to shit.” Ruby crossed her arms, turning to him with narrowed eyes. “Where’s Sam.”

“I’m here,” Sam’s head poked around the door frame, a tense frown on his face. “Dean, she’s not moving-“

Dean froze at the foot of the bed. “What do you mean, she’s not moving-“

“She woke up, but she said she just wants to stay in the car-“

“She can’t stay in the car, Sammy, she has the arrowhead and we- shit, we just got jumped by demons-“

Ruby stared between them, her eyes wide. “You just got- who the hell are you talking about-“

“Oh, yeah, you guys haven’t met yet.” Sam swallowed, running a hand through his hair. “I- uh- You remember how I mentioned that girl Dean used to hunt with-“

“You told Ruby about her?!” Dean hissed, and Sam shot him an apologetic look.

“Just like, once-“

“Wait,” Ruby looked between them, said Her name, and Dean was going to rip out Her tongue. The bitch shouldn’t be allowed to say Her name. Nothing evil should even be allowed to know about Her. “She’s here?”

“Yeah,” Dean narrowed his eyes. “You got a problem with that?”

“Of course I do, you two idiots weren’t supposed to tell anyone what you were doing-“

“You don’t get to tell us what we do and don’t do,” Dean hissed, his glare turning to a very worried looking Sam. “She’s not coming out of the car?”

Sam shook his head. “No, uh-“

“I’ll take care of it.” He grunted, not looking at Ruby as he moved back to the door, clapping Sam on the shoulder with short words. “You kids keep it in your pants while I get her majesty inside.”

Dean didn’t bother to wait for Ruby to make a snide remark, just marching to the Impala and opening the back door, glaring down and where She still lay.

“C’mon, Princess, we’ve landed-“

“Don’t care.” She mumbled, twisting onto Her side and burying Her face in the seat. “I’m fine here, Dean.”

Dean jaw clenched. “Fine, just- give me the arrowhead thingy-“

“No.”

Dean grunted Her name. “You can wallow in the car all you freakin’ want, but we need that arrowhead-“

“Why.”

“The hell do you mean why, the whole point of that whole damn thing-“

“Why was it the point?” She rolled onto Her back, meeting Dean’s eyes with raised brows. “Who would want this thing?”

“Ruby wants it, and she’s going to be a real bitch if we don’t give it to her-“

“Should I give it to Her?”

Dean stared at Her, saying her name slowly. “What the hell are you talking about.”

“You told me not to trust her, Dean.” She held his gaze, and Dean felt like She looking right down into the pit. Daring him to admit something he didn’t understand. “Why should I give her the arrowhead if I shouldn’t trust her.”

It took a second for Her words to sink in. She was just watching him, a challenging expression on Her pretty face, and when it clicked, Dean had to go rigid and still to stop himself from crashing down into Her pouting, drawn lips.

She was taking him seriously. She was taking Dean—Dean, of all damn people—and his opinion and trust of Ruby, seriously. She wasn’t trusting Ruby because he told Her not to, and there wasn’t an ounce of doubt in Her voice. It had been flat, pointed, filled with that same dry tone She’d used when she’d asked Dean a rhetorical question about a hunt or a monster She’d already known everything about. The voice She used when she was half quizzing him, but She’d also been in charge of designing all the answers.

He couldn’t think about that. Couldn’t sit in how it made him stand a little taller, how Her gaze on his was almost certainly looking all the way into him, how She was seeing into every piece and sunken hollow in Dean’s body and not moving away.

Why the hell couldn’t She just move away.

He couldn’t have this. He couldn’t have Her. Dean needed to keep moving, and Her looking at him like that—like She could see him, like he was real, like She wanted to fall up into him just as bad as he wanted to tumble down to Her—made him want to stay in this parking lot for the entirety of his remaining months. 

“We still gotta work with the bitch,” Dean said Her name, forcing his gaze to remain on Her’s, all while trying to remember how he’d ever managed to convince Her to do anything. “She’s our best line to Lilith-“

“That can’t be true.” 

Dean blinked at Her. “You got a better idea?”

“No. But I could find one.”

“You planning to find it in the car?”

She scowled. “Shut up-“

“Look, you-“ Dean sighed, running a hand over his face. “You don’t need to give it to Ruby. But you need to come inside.”

Her eyes narrowed, Her mouth opening to probably say something harsh and firm along the lines of shove it up your ass, Winchester, you don’t tell me what to do, but Dean pushed on before She could. 

“Please?” He watched Her carefully, trying not to get lost in how She was blinking at him, how he could move just a few inches and brush the hair off Her face, trace his fingers over her parted lips. “Can’t just leave you alone in the car at 3am. You never know when more demons might jump out of the bushes, sweetheart.”

“It’s three in the-“ She cut Herself off with a yawn, and God, she could be real damn cute when She wasn’t glaring at him. 

“C’mon, Princess.” Dean nodded to the motel room, hoping She was too tired to hear the affection in his voice. “Let’s go.”

When She pushed herself to her feet, Dean’s hand almost shot out to rest on Her lower back and guide her inside.

He regained control of his body at the last second, and flinched back. He was falling again. Further and further every time, because he always thought he’d reached the deepest part of this strange pull to Her, and he was always wrong. 

She didn’t see it. Didn’t see how he recoiled from Her body. Shit, Dean hoped She hadn’t seen it. That might be the line crossed—might be something She took as Dean hating her, when he couldn’t, he didn’t know how—and Dean didn’t want to lose Her. He would. He’d have to.

But not now.

Not when She was listening to him. Not when he could feel something start to bloom to the right of his heart, because She was trusting him. Against all odds and logic and reason, She was trusting Dean. He didn’t understand it. He never did. But this was good, and it would all be gone soon regardless, and Dean can’t be allowed to have something so good just to break it, but he also couldn’t live with himself if he shattered Her without having her at all.

His head was spinning around that idea. How could She still trust Dean, he was Dean, he was damned and selfish and mean to Her, but she still trusted him-

He almost missed the chorus of shouts that broke through the motel room. 

She flying at Ruby, knife in hand and eyes slightly crazed, blocked only by Sam jumping in Her path and holding Her back as Ruby scrambled away.

“What the fuck-“

“Let go of me!” She was screaming, thrashing in Sam’s hold and watching Ruby with a slightly crazed expression. “Sam- Fucking let go- I- I can’t-“

Sam said Her name, his voice in the calming tone he used on the vics. “That’s just Ruby, she’s an ally-“

“Just an ally?” Ruby shot him a glare. “Ouch, Sammy, I thought we were friends-“

“I- Maybe wait until after I calm her down to start yelling at me-“ Sam cut himself off with a groan as She elbowed him in the gut, but didn’t waver his hold. “Fuck-“

“Let- Sam, let me go- I need to- fuck- Dean!” She screamed for him, and whatever daze Dean had been shocked into was destroyed by the sound of it. “Dean, it’s a- Dean-“

“Fucking hell,” Ruby shook her head slightly, her back still pressed to the wall, her body a little more rigid than Dean had seen it before. “She’s a dramatic one, isn’t she-“

“Don’t talk about her like that.” Dean snapped, giving Ruby a firm, harsh, don’t fucking test me, bitch, glower before taking Her face between his hands, lowering his voice until only She could really hear it. “You need to calm down, Princess-“

She shook Her head, hair sliding over Her brow, and Dean had a striking realization that this was the closest he’d been to Her in over two years. 

“Dean, she’s- If- It’s wrong- Something’s wrong-“

“Ruby’s a demon,” he said Her name carefully, scanning over Her open features. “You knew that-“

“I- I’m not-“ She shook Her head, Her voice more panicked by the second. “It’s wrong, Dean, something’s wrong-“

“I know. Just, son of a bitch-“

He gave in. Dean let his control slip just a little, gave into his every deeply rooted and natural instinct, and ran his thumb down Her nose.

The effect was almost immediate. Her eyes closed slowly, the tension leaving Her expression and body as she half-slumped into him, and this was everything Dean had been trying to avoid, but he also couldn’t ignore how his own bones felt lighter in his body, how the world felt bigger—in a relieving, colorful and bright way that made Dean’s head not feel like a weight on his neck—because She wasn’t freaking out.

He moved Her to the bed without a word, letting Her lie flat on her back and curling his fingers to stop himself from falling further—from tracing Her cheekbones and tucking Her hair behind her ears—and only managed to remember they weren’t alone in the whole universe because Ruby coughed behind him.

“What the hell was that-“

“She must have, uh-“ Sam swallowed, glancing to Her on the bed as he said Her name. “Are you-“

“I’m fine.” She muttered, eyes still closed as She twisted a ring on her finger. “Forgot she was a demon. Sorry.”

Lie.

That was a lie.

Dean frowned at Her, keeping his voice level and casual. “How’d you manage to remember-“

“I must have flashed my eyes.” Ruby jumped in, and she hadn’t moved from her spot on the wall. “Happens sometimes.”

Sam shot Dean a confused, slightly questions look, and Dean gave a small shake of his head. 

“I’ve never seen you do that shit by accident, Ruby-“

“Well you don’t look at me, Dean, so kindly stop being an ass and have your girlfriend hand over the arrowhead.”

Dean scowled, but couldn’t bring himself to properly protest the girlfriend thing. Not when his brain was still in a scratching loop of Her face so close, Her warm cheeks under his hands, the intoxicating smell of that goddamn fruit dragging him higher and higher-

“No.” She muttered from the bed, and when Her eyes opened they found Dean’s so fast he’d have thought he was a magnet. “It’s staying with me.”

Ruby’s eyes narrowed as she pushed off the wall, Dean body moved a slight inch to the side—just enough to stop Ruby if she tried something on his- his whatever She was—and Sam sighed.

“Oh, shit.”

“What do you mean, no?” Ruby sneered, taking a slow step forward. “I sent you to get it for me, you can’t just keep it-“

“You ever heard of finders keepers?” Her voice was bored, and whatever panic Ruby’s black eyes had sparked in Her seemed to have vanished entirely. “This is that.”

Ruby scoffed. “That doesn’t work here, you spoiled brat-“

Something hot filled Her eyes, and Dean felt like something was rotting in his chest. 

“That’s rude.” She cut Ruby off with a shrug, nothing in Her tone shifting, but Her eyes remained different. Dean wasn’t sure anyone else had noticed. “And I’m sorry, but I’ve never been good at being peer pressured. Try again later.”

“Later? Are you-“ Ruby whipped around to snap at Sammy. “Make her give me my arrowhead.”

“I- uh-“ Sam glanced to Dean, his face filled with worry. “I’m not-“

“Shut it, Ruby.” Dean grunted, and Sam’s whole body seemed to slump with relief. “If her majesty says no arrowhead, you don’t get an arrowhead.”

Ruby glared at him. “Are you fucking kidding me-“

“I dunno,” Dean looked to Her with raised brows, and he could’ve sworn he saw Her mouth tug slightly upwards. “You kidding, sweetheart?”

“Not really, no.”

“Alright.” He shrugged, turning back to Ruby with a shrug. “You heard the lady. No arrowhead.”

Ruby’s jaw twitched. “This is stupid, I mean, even for you, Dean-“

“It’s not stupid.” She snapped from the bed, and Dean glanced over to find Ruby on the end of one of Her coldest, most threatening glares. “I’m holding onto it. No one else.”

“You could try and take it from her,” Dean suggested, crossing his arms over his chest. “But I’ll warn you, she plays it real fast and loose with that knife.”

There was a long, silent stand-off—Sammy shifting on his feet in the background, looking around the group like he was trying to work out which bomb in a pile would go off first—and Ruby caved first.

“Fine.” Ruby sighed, shooting Her a glare. “Be a fucking child. In the meantime, we need to go back to how Sam said you three got jumped by demons.”

“Jumped is a strong word,” She muttered, arms wrapping around Her stomach. “More like snuck up on-“

“This isn’t a joke.” Ruby snapped. “If demons are following you, it’s because of the arrowhead, which means more will be coming if we don’t do something about it.”

She sat up on the bed, an odd and unreadable expression on Her face, but before Dean could ask what the hell it was for, Sam was talking.

“They were- uh-“ He looked to Dean and Her, his voice filled with slight nerves. “They were green? The demons-“

“Green?” Ruby stared at Sam, the almost frightened look returning to her face. “Sam, what the hell do you mean they were green-“

“He means they were green, genius.” Dean muttered, rolling his eyes. “Green smoke, green eyes. Green-“

“Demons.” Ruby was shaking her head, the movement almost frantic. “For- God, for fuck’s sake, can you two not making anything easy-“

“Do you know what they are?” She was fully sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing Her palm with a thumb as Her attention fixed on Ruby. “The green demons, have you heard of them-“

Ruby let out a dry laugh. “Of course I’ve heard of them. They, shit, they’re like nightmares. In hell we use them to scare little baby demons into brushing their fucking teeth-“

Dean frowned. “Hold up, you’ve got baby demons-“

“Obviously not, dumbass, I’m just trying to drive home how fucked we are-“

She took a long breath, pushed off the bed, and Dean was worried he was going insane. He thought he saw Ruby fucking flinch at Her movement.

“Ruby.” She said, and that was the tone She used on a hunt. When She wasn’t looking for anyone to argue with Her, and wasn’t going to give way for the opportunity. “What are the green demons.”

“Hell’s Assassins.” Ruby said, her words pushed through teeth. “They do things that are above every other demon’s pay grade, usually staying in the shadows and only showing themselves when there’s no other option. If they’re out now, that means, shit-“

“We’re screwed.” Sammy muttered, and Ruby nodded.

“Royally fucked. Our best bet is throwing them off the trail.” Ruby sighed, started to ramble about how if they could convince the green-eyed douchebags that they’d taken the arrowhead somewhere else and dropped it, maybe they could buy enough time to figure out how to avoid them once they worked out it had been a trick, but Dean wasn’t listening.

He was looking at Her. 

And She looked horrible.

Drop dead gorgeous—just as She always was—but horrible. Sick. She looked truly, awfully, deeply sick again. Sunken and afraid and small, curled into Herself and eye screwed tight, and this was worse than any of the fear because Dean felt like he needed to do something, but he wasn’t a healer, he’d break Her further and She’d leave for good once more, and it would kill him. He was an asshole, and if She walked away now—right as he was starting to see parts of him that had been hollow and cracked fuse back together, brighter and stronger than before—it would kill Dean before the contract even got the chance to catch up with him.

But Her obvious pain was clawing at Dean’s throat and burning over his skin, he needed to fix it, needed to make things better for Her, everything had to be better for Her-

“I’ll take Sam, then.” Ruby’s words cut through his thoughts, and Dean turned with a scowl.

“Take Sam where-“

“To drive off the demons, you meat-headed idiot-“

“Shut up.” She snapped from the bed, and Dean wasn’t imagining it. Ruby flinched. The bitch was actually fucking afraid of Her.

Which was understandable. 

She could be scary. 

And right now, with Her furiously beautiful features and firm glare, She was downright terrifying.

“Don’t talk to him like that,” She muttered. “And you’re not just taking Sam-“

“I’m- I think it’s a good plan.” Sam scratched his neck, shooting Her an apologetic look. “I mean, she’s right, Ruby. Talk to Dean like that again and I won’t hold her back when she tries to carve your eyes out, but I’ll go with you. For the team.”

The team. They were a team. And She and Sam were standing up for him, and cared about him enough to maul Ruby or put up with her for an extended amount of time, and this exactly what Dean was afraid of-

“You two will have to go on lockdown,” Ruby snapped, and Dean didn’t miss how she was standing a little too tall. Too guarded. “Buddy system to get food, doors shut day and night, no one in or out that’s not me or Sammy-“

Sam frowned. “Don’t call me that. Or I’m not driving these demons off with you.”

“Well, Sammy, you don’t really have a choice. Just like Elizabeth and Darcy,” Ruby turned her smirk of Her and Dean. “Are going to have to hole up here. Together. Just them, all week.”

“All-“ She swallowed, and something stung at Dean’s heart at the expression on Her face. “Can’t we just go to Bobby’s-“

“In Dakota?” Ruby laughed. “We don’t have time for that. Besides, we’re taking the car-“

Dean’s eyes narrowed. “Like hell you’re taking my car-““Don’t worry, Sammy will drive. Ready?” 

Sam blinked. “I- are we leaving now-“

“Like I said, we don’t have time. Those things- They’re a bigger threat than Lilith. So unless you’re going to hand over the arrowhead-“

“Not a chance.” Her chin raised slightly, and Dean couldn’t stop a smirk at the sour expression on Ruby’s face.

“Fine. Have fun on lockdown.”

Everything moved in a flash. Ruby and Sam got stopped at the door as She moved in front of it—Dean didn’t know how She was suddenly back to her usual, sharp and quick self, but he did know that Ruby froze at the sight of Her in their path—and She demanded the full, detailed plan. Ruby and Sam were going to draw the green-eyed demons away by fucking off to Oklahoma, She and Dean were going to stay here and keep the arrowhead safe, and once they were in the clear Sam and Ruby would come back. 

And before Dean could find the proper words to express how he was so fatally close to completely giving back into Her, to moving fully back into Her orbit and doing everything he’d sworn he wouldn’t—forgiving Her again, being whatever She needed him to be, trying to hold Her when he’d really be nothing more than literal dirt and blood by the end of the year—Sam and Ruby were gone.

Dean was alone again.

But this was worse.

Because he was alone with Her.

And it didn’t matter what Ruby claimed. 

That was a bigger threat than Lilith.

————

This is going to kill you. 

You should’ve protested more. Insisted that you and Dean didn’t need to go on lockdown together, that there had to be other options.

You couldn’t think of other options, but there had to be some. 

Dean wouldn’t have let you stay alone. You had to stay with the arrowhead. There was no world where you’d let Dean go off with Ruby. You didn’t even love Sam going off with Ruby, and she’d only been insulting him while casting a broader net for Dean. 

Nobody should go with Ruby. But you had a feeling she wouldn’t have allowed that, just as you wouldn’t have allowed her to take Dean. 

And you’re certain she’s not your biggest fan either, given how she flinched at the sight of you, even before you tried to kill her.

You’d almost let the Darkness slip there. If Sam hadn’t held you back, you would’ve let it rush out and stomp Ruby down to nothing, because you’d never seen a demon that hideous. They all had horrid, twisted and marred faces, shifting and moving in the smoke, but Ruby had been awful. Glinting and rolling and stained along her vessel like a disease.

And maybe she was just an ugly bitch.

But maybe you’d have to keep an eye on her. She’d wormed her way into Sam and Dean’s life like a parasite, and you now had to ensure they came out the other side with all their organs intact.

And that’s not your job. Not your place.

But you’re going to do it anyway. 

You have to repay them somehow. For putting up with this. For putting up with you, and the danger you brought just by daring to try and breathe in their proximity. 

In Dean’s proximity.

You can’t stop drawing closer and closer to Dean.

And you know he hates you. He has every right to, even if you don’t know why. You have a theory it starts and ends with John, and how you never said goodbye, but it doesn’t matter.

You’ll spend your time with him trying to keep yourself on a leash, and pretending you’re not already addicted to his voice and smell and face once more. 

You’d never truly been clean of him. You’d never stopped dreaming of him, never stopped wanting him, and the White had never hesitated to whine and buck and scream for you to turn around and return to where you should be. 

Wherever Dean was.

But one month back, he hates you, and you’ve never needed him more. Because he makes it easier. The pain is harsher and sharper when it comes—on worse cases and when you don’t sleep for long nights that never seem to end, until color breaks the horizon and Dean is at your side once more—but every waking moment doesn’t feel vile. Sometimes you breathe and it’s not poison in your lungs. Your heart beats and it’s a steady time that isn’t shredding itself apart. Dean brushes past you in the hall, or meets your eyes in the Impala’s mirror, and snaps your name like he cares about, and everything turns silver.

So you can’t stop trying to fix it. Dean so plainly loathes you, but then he’ll smirk at you, or laugh at a joke, or pull you away from danger, and you’ll fall further into himo. It fuels you. To patch this vast crack between you with whatever you can find, scavenging for thread that isn’t frayed in heated moments—when he cares, or when he’s furious—that fuse this back together a little more.

And God, it’s so unhealthy. How you’re scrambling to fix something you’d never had a right to break in the first place, especially when Dean doesn’t even care to see it fixed himself. When, even if you manage to salvage this, it will crumble once more when the Darkness gets a full hold of you, and everything crashes down. 

But knowing that had never stopped you.

And it’s Dean. And he’s magnetic and strong and still somehow the only certain thing in the universe. You’re drowning in him every second, and the whole world has become sharp and stained in gold because he’s right there and you could touch him if you tried, so you can’t just give up. He’ll snap and you’ll snap back, but you won’t leave. 

You can’t leave.

When Dean’s finally here, you don’t think you could pull fully away if you tried.

Now would be the time to learn. When you know that the demons hunting you are Hell’s fucking assassins, and they’re here for you. You’ll let Sam and Dean believe it’s the arrowhead—and you have a sense that Ruby is already aware it’s not—but it’s you. They’d been there for you, and the Darkness had started to seep out no matter how you chewed your tongue red or dug your nails to your skin, and nobody was safe with you but you still couldn’t leave.

Not when you’re locked down.

With Dean.

You won’t let him touch the arrowhead. You’d caught him, the first day, trying to shift through your jacket and pull it out while you’d been taking a shower. You’d cleared your throat, your arms crossed over your chest, and he’d turned with a wide-eyed, guilty expression. 

“I- uh-“

“It’s not nice to snoop, Winchester.” You’d said, giving him a pointed look. “And it’s not there anyway.”

He’d blinked at you, but recovered quickly. Charming, boy-ish grin returning, expression a picture of mock innocence, so painfully unaware of how the White in your chest was begging you to close the space and just hold him-

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, sweetheart, I was just looking for something. Is a guy not allowed to look for things anymore?”

You’d raised your brows at him. “What were you looking for?”

“Gun.”

“In my jacket?”

He’d paused at that. “Thought it was my jacket.”

“I didn’t know you wore women’s jackets, Deano.” You’d taken at step back into the bathroom, reaching for your spare towel as you continued. “You are not a good liar.”

He’d scowled. “I’m a freakin’ fantastic liar-“

You’d hummed, shooting him a look of amusement. “Sure.”

“I’m better than you are.” He’d snapped. “I always have you figured out, Princess. And I’m lying right fucking now.”

It had been hard not to wince at that one. Dean was better than you were. Everyone was.

And he could be lying, and you don’t even know about what, but he could be. And you’d deserve it. Whether it’s a punishment or just another way for Dean to hate you, you’d deserve it for making everything so much worse.

So you’d sighed, grabbed the arrowhead from folded towel, and held it up for him to see.

“Just- don’t try and take this. Don’t touch it.” You held Dean’s gaze, and there had been something hot inside of it. Something that seemed more turned on him than aimed at you.

It still hurt.

“Please.” You’d added, just because he really couldn’t touch it. “Dean, I need you to say-“

“I won’t touch it,” he’d grunted. “Bossy.”

And the White had relaxed. A little less danger for Dean to be in. 

Another thing to take and let ignite you from within. To grab onto and cast around your body, until those fractured pieces could grow a little further back together, and the world could be a little more colorful.

Days later, you’re still keeping the arrowhead under your pillow. Dean hasn’t tried to take it, but there’s no other place for it to be.

It has to stay with you.

Because whatever Ruby thinks it is, she’s wrong.

There had been a brief moment of terror, when Sam had said made to kill powerful things, but then you’d looked at it and you’d known that wasn’t the truth. The weight over your chest and pressing on your lungs had been relieved, but only for a second. 

Then you’d looked closer, and it was something far worse.

There were four languages carved into the jade, and one of them was shifting and strange the same way your thoughts always did when you created a ritual, the same way the words women of the high always moved on the paper. You’d told Sam it was simply witch symbols, and it hadn’t been a full lie. They were symbols, just as all letters were. And they were likely carved by a witch.

But they were likely more. 

Because this thing was powerful. 

And it fed the Darkness more than anything you’d seen before.

Everything was louder and bigger and sharper when you held it in your hands. Even Dean’s presences didn’t fully soften the sheer vastness of everything when the arrowhead was in your hands. The world was still silver, but it wasn’t blurred. It was harsh and bright and violent inside of you, barely contained and pressing up under your skin to be freed.

And then there was Dean. How when you hold the arrowhead, he’s not just leaving stains. 

He’s branded into you. 

It’s visible. You can feel it. You can fucking taste him, lingering in the back of your throat despite never having been that close to him before. He’s embedded in your chest and marked all over you in places that he hasn’t touched in years. There’s something faint golden painted all over your body—tangled in your hair and glowing in your guts—and it spurs all those fractured pieces into an overwhelming frenzy. They grasp onto every bit of light the gold provides and toss it all over your body until even the Darkness feels like it’s blended into the White and everything is all just silver.

But then you drop the arrowhead, your hand growing weak from just how fucking much everything is, and it all becomes numbed pain and shifting gold on the couch and Dean’s bed.

So whatever the arrowhead is, Ruby can’t have it. And Dean can’t know what it is, or why you keep staring at him with a tight frown when you hold it, watching his… everything. How he’s like a walking, breathing pillar of gold.

“Take a picture, Princess.” He mutters from the table, his attention on the laptop Sam had left you. “It’ll last longer.”

You scowl, shoving the arrowhead back under your pillow. “Shut up.”

He does.

You don’t think it’s because you told him to.

About three days of your lockdown have passed. Dean’s barely speaking to you.

It’s eating you alive.

Every day has been the same. You exist in Dean’s gravity, and he doesn’t even know you can’t pull away, and time passes in barely a crawl. You watch the tiny box TV and flip through the motel’s provided magazines and your own books, while Dean drinks and hunches over Sam’s laptop.

Half your trash is beer bottles, and you haven’t even had one. You still don’t drink—now doesn’t really feel like the time to start—and Dean probably remembers that, but it still worries you. You know he’s had a rough two years, that he had to watch John die, and Sam almost die, and fight Azazel, and deal with the Devil’s Gate, but this seems worse. Dean drank before.

He didn’t quite drink like this. 

And he still won’t really look at you. 

The most you get from him is grunts about food, strange looks that end the moment you catch his eyes on yours, and muttered words about how Sam sent a message, and he and Ruby are still alive.

It’s moves the Darkness to an edge. Everything is still silver, but the Darkness is still a part of that, and it’s volatile. Hateful and wrathful. Cracking over your ribs and rotten on your tongue, and at night—when Dean snores in his bed and you stare at the ceiling with your knife in hand—you feel so fucking sick once more.

And this is another one of those nights. The day had been the same as all the others, and Dean’s fast asleep across the room, and you allow yourself to look at him.

He’s still so pretty. There are a few more lines on his face and a slightly heavier expression on his face, but he’s still Dean. Still the best thing you’ve ever seen, and the only one that had ever managed to make you falter. To sit down and want to stay there, to have that strong, unexplainable pull that makes you watch him in the dark like a creep, that drags you down, down, down when he’s only existing near you.

It’s just as terrifying as it’s always been. How Dean is just more. How he was like a phantom behind you in the years apart, and how he’s all the world in front of you. How there had been moments—while you’d been apart with no belief you’d ever fall back into him again, when you’d skipped every town you set foot in and never allowed yourself to stop moving—where someone at a bar had smirked at you and asked for your name, and you’d given it, and when they’d repeated it with a drawl and heated promise in their eyes, all you’d been able to think was not Dean.

And he’s right there. In the dark.

And you’re not running.

But you are growing sicker. Watching him makes the White rear its head, and that sparks the Darkness, and Dean has always been able to set you off more than anyone else, and he’s just lying there and looking like everything you could ever need, and you’re losing control.

You push out of your bed—holding your breath and taking light steps on the creaking floor—and move to the bathroom. 

You can’t use your usual methods. Dean would wake from the sound or notice the blood in the morning, and you don’t need that right now. So you take the second-best choice and turn the sink on, letting the hot water flow until steam is rising from it, and run your hands under it.

Your skin feels like it’s raw and peeling. It fucking hurts, and you might not be able to really turn a page in the morning without wincing. 

But the Darkness sinks back down.

So it works.

You bow your head, eyes squeezed shut, and push on. You need the Darkness to go be tamed, to go so deep into your body that you’ll be able to go at least the whole day with no fear of losing it, with no fear of hurting-

“You shouldn’t do that.”

When your eyes shoot open, he’s right there. Dean’s frowning at you from the door, supporting himself with one hand on the frame and rubbing his eyes as he speaks.

“’S not good for you.”

“Yeah, well,” you narrow your eyes at him, furious at yourself for not locking the door, furious at him for thinking he has any right to tell you what to do. He doesn’t know you’d follow him anywhere, and trust him with your soul in his hands. As far as Dean’s concerned, you’re nothing, so he doesn’t get to tell you what to do. “You shouldn’t drink.”

He blinks at you. “What.”

“Half the motel room is beer bottles.” You snap. “And if you’re allowed to do that, I’m allowed to do this.”

“You-“ Dean jaw twitches, his eyes darting to your hands, still pressed until the steaming water. “There’s no fucking reason for you to be doing that shit-“

“Is there a reason for you to drink?”

He scowls. “That’s different, Princess-“

“Is it?” You hum, looking back to your hands. They hurt. You won’t pull them away. “How?”

“That’s not your business- It just fuckin’ is-“

“So this isn’t yours.” You shrug, letting out a long, slow breath. “Go back to bed, Dean.”

There’s a long moment where you can still see him in the doorway. You think he’s going to argue, or push you, or keep trying to convince you to step back from the sink. 

But the floorboards creak, and he’s gone. You follow him, a handful of minutes later.

Neither of you mention it in the morning. 

“We need to get more food,” Dean mutters that afternoon. “But Sammy took my fucking car-“

“There’s the shop down the street we used last time.” You don’t look up from your book, because if you do, you’ll meet Dean’s eyes and fall a little further. “It’s like, a five-minute walk.”

“I don’t wanna use that place, they didn’t have bacon-“

“They were out of bacon. Three days ago.” You sigh, glaring at the words on your page. You’ve read them ten times before, and you’re getting bored, but Dean will only talk to you about necessity so repetition is your only option. “I’m sure they’ve restocked.”

Dean mutters something under his breath you can’t hear, and don’t really want to. 

But you’re right. When you’ve dressed and walked down to the tiny, acceptably useful grocery store—Dean one pace behind you, your body leaning slightly back as if it can’t help but try to be a little closer to him where it’s allowed—they’ve restocked on bacon.

“I’ve got a list of what we need,” you’re trying to ignore how he’s shifting at your side, like he can’t wait to move away. You wish you could blame him. “Find whatever else you want, and try not to go overboard.”

“You can’t go overboard on food, Princess.” Dean’s words are casual. Easy. Your heart skips and beat then freezes in your chest. “You try not to get lost.”

You glare up at him. “I am not going to get lost, asshole-“

He’s already walking away.

It takes all your willpower not to chase after him. 

The grocery store really is small, and you don’t need much. One of the—countless—amazing things about Dean is how he’s a man of habit. Even after two years apart, you can still predict him like he’s the moon in the sky. Beer, jerky, the bacon he was so whiny about, a few pre-made pies. A lot of butter and meatballs because you refuse to not take advantage of having a real, small kitchen for the first time in years, and Dean will be eating with you whether the asshole likes it or not.

And you don’t know where he’s wandered off to at first, but you realize quickly it’s not as far as you thought. 

Because you glance over your shoulder at the exact right time, and Dean’s there. Half hidden behind a shelf, glaring at a bag of vegetable broth that is so obviously a cover, you almost laugh.

You don’t know what the fuck he’s doing.

You’re too starved and desperate for his proximity—how easily everything is bright and silver in your body—to confront him. 

So the rest of the grocery trip passes exactly like that.

You wander the isles to cross every item off your list. Dean stays several, poorly hidden paces behind you like some kind of oddly trained guard dog. You indulge him and pretend he’s being stealthy, when in reality he’s just a massive man very obviously following you around in a grocery store. 

At one point you catch his eye and raise your brows—because you just can’t fucking help it—and you could swear he blushes before he looks away.

This is so strange. He’s barely looked at you all week, and suddenly he’s doing this.

You wish you could bring yourself to care about that a little more.

Around the canned goods isle—chicken soup because it’s easy—a woman approaches Dean. She’s not a demon, just a pretty human with soft eyes that are fixed on your—not your—Dean, but you still feel something stabbing and biting in your gut when he even looks at her.

It’s pathetic. You have no claim there, no valid reason to want to march over and link your arm through Dean’s like you used to, to suddenly wish he’d just fucking stop the whole act and come stand at your side, but that doesn’t stop the feeling

Or the way the whole world—in and out of your body—sings when Dean dismissed the woman barely a chance. When he glances at her, shrugs off her overly sweet words, and doesn’t shift at her fluttering lashes. When she shuffles off with slumped shoulders, and Dean keeps up his stupid little charade of trailing you through the store.

He probably was just being cautious. You’re both a little wired and vigilant given the whole situation. 

But those featured pieces still bloom and grow along your body. And you can’t bring yourself to be bitter about it.

Neither of you mention anything when you meet back at the checkout isle. Dean shoves his hands in his pockets with a short nod and grunt of done, stays his usual one step behind you, and pretends nothing odd happened at all.

“I got you one case of beer,” you say as you approach the front of the line. “If you want more, I’d go get it now-“

“One is fine.” He leans slightly forward, and you can feel the heat from his body, and he smells like grass and spice- “Where the hell is my bacon.”

You turn to glare at him, and fuck, that’s a mistake. He’s very close, and you can see the slight crook of his nose and how full his lips are, and if you moved your hand up a little you could trace along his jaw-

“Did you forget my fucking bacon-“

You pull yourself together, and give him a flat look. “Such little faith, Deano-“

“I’m not seein’ it-“

You shift around the basket, pushing items aside as you take a step forward, revealing the three packs of bacon and placing them on the checkout belt. 

“It was the first thing I got,” you shrug, moving the rest of the food out of the basket. “Add whatever you grabbed to the belt.”

He hadn’t grabbed anything. You were pretty fucking certain Dean hadn’t actually gotten anything, because he’d spent the whole time following you. The only reason he missed the bacon was because you’d gotten it first, and he’d been-

Getting something. Dean reaches into his jacket and pulls out a few candy bars and fruits, dropping them onto the belt without a glance in your direction.

“What-“

“They’re for you.” He mutters. He’s still not looking at you. “You never freakin’ remember to get yourself something.”

You blink at him, and nod slowly. 

He got you things. He’d followed you through the grocery store and got you things, but he still won’t look at you. He’ll barely speak to you.

Another day passes, and Dean won’t just look at you.

You’re not sleeping. And that’s no different than normal, but this feels worse. When it had been you and Jo—before your party got crashed—Jo had agreed to do shifts. She’d known what was happening, known that there was no world where you’d sleep easy, especially not with another person in the room, and she’d talked you into rotating schedules. 

It had worked.

And in the past month with Sam and Dean, you’d had your own room. If demons burst through the door, you’d be the only target. 

But now you’re putting Dean in danger. 

So you don’t sleep. You keep yourself functional with quick naps in the middle of the day—when Dean’s awake and not looking at you—but you can feel cracks starting to form over your head. Somethings set to snap. 

You’re going to break. 

You can feel it coming, like a storm moving in and pressure shifting in the air. 

Your only hope is to hold it down. You try to hold it down. The hot water is running out faster, and the skin around your nail is raw and bloody, and Dean still won’t look at you-

And your guard slips.

When they arrive, you’re not ready. 

Your head is a little fogged. You’d left your knife on your bed, in your jacket from when you’d gone to the motel lobby for more toilet paper. Your back is to the door because the sun is too bright, and it’s giving you a headache. You’re curled on the couch because everything hurts, and Dean’s still in the lobby grabbing ice and you wish he’d just finish the fuck up, because you need him close but you’re never allow to say that- 

You’re too tired to think anything of the first bang on the door. It’s likely just housekeeping, even though you’d put the do not disturb sign up, and carried the toilet paper back yourself.

The second bang makes you frown, and you can’t see anyone outside.

Third bang. Your voice is dripping with exhaustion when you raise it, trying not to flinch at the fourth bang. 

“Sorry, we have do not disturb-“

“Don’t be sorry, darlin’.” A drawling, almost honeyed voice drawls from the other side of the door, and your blood runs cold. “And I can promise this ain’t gonna be disturbin’ if you make it easy.”

You try to launch to the bed, to grab your knife, but the door crashes open before your jelly-like body can even get off the bed.

You manage to scramble to the edge of the mattress, grabbing the arrowhead and shoving it into your jeans, but you’re barely turning before the violent, rioting and furious green grabs you by the throat and yanks you up-

Instinct kicks in, and you ram your knee into the vessels gut. It’s enough for the grip to falter, enough for you to pry his grip off your neck with shaking finger and scramble back, but there are three more and one grabbing your arms and the second has it’s knife aimed right into your chest-

“Dean!” It’s the only thing you can think to say. Scream. Pray. “Dean, I- Dean!”

You hear a gunshot go off, and a choked sound leaves your throat, but no abnormal pain comes.

The demon behind you slumps, you got right down with its weight, and the one with the knife stumbles right over your head.

You’re still too tired to fight properly. But you’re not useless. You slam your body into the knifed demon’s legs, and roll away as he topples down. 

Then you look up, see Dean’s jaw clenched as he wrestles with the fourth demon, and demon you’d kneed earlier is coming up right behind him with the knife-

It wouldn’t have killed you. If the demon on the floor had gotten you, you’d have screamed and shattered but lived. 

You don’t think Dean will live.

And the rush kicks in.

You launch yourself at the demon that’s behind Dean, wrapping your arms around it’s neck and squeezing with all the strength in your body.

Dean turns with wide eyes and a roar of your name, and you rear all your body weight forward. Slamming your demon into the one that Dean’s had been fighting, because the dumbass hadn’t knocked him down and he’d been barreling at Dean like a tank. 

You jump off right in time, and Dean catches you. Steadying you on your feet and scanning over your face like he’s looking for something, opening his mouth to say something but shutting it closed when the still conscious demon on the floor start to stumble upwards.

Dean shoves you behind him and draws his gun once more, the shot echoing around the motel room as you dunk under his arm and run to the bed-

Dean shouts your name, and you can feel his gaze searing into your skull. “What the fuck are you-“

You grab your knife—jumping up on the bed and spinning it in your hand—and launch forward, grabbing Dean’s head and shoving it down as you land on the first demon’s shoulder’s driving your knife right into its chest. 

These vessels weren’t going to live. You hadn’t bothered to tell Sam and Dean at the gas station—it was already a shit day, and you didn’t want to be fucking bummer—but you’d learned the hard way that the moment a green demon possessed a human, they were done. That ripping and tearing violence inside of them killed them the same as any bullet or blade. 

So you don’t pull punches.

And you tear your knife right down the demon’s skin.

Dean catches you again, when the demon under you collapses. Holds you right to his side as he shoots the last demon—crawling up behind you with a blade angled at your calf—and keeping you there in the long moments after.

He looks like an avenging angel or something else stupidly beautiful. The arrowhead is still a weight in your pocket, and Dean’s muttering words you can barely hear over the ringing in your ears, and he’s glowing and golden and powerful—rioting in an almost righteous way, in stark contrast to the vicious fury of the green demons, rocketing out of their vessels and screeching out the windows—and you put him in danger.

Dean could’ve died. You could’ve gotten him killed.

You could’ve killed him.

And suddenly you’re not your own anymore. The rush fades and it’s all too real and Dean’s right here, but you could’ve lost him and had no one to blame but yourself because you’re cancerous and evil and wrong and can’t just save him—save something so permanent and beautiful that you have no right to be protected or served by in any way—because you’re the bad thing, you’re the sickness, you’re worse than the demons. And you’re everywhere. You’re the jagged pain of the shattered windows and the ache of the cracked walls and the shredded fever of the torn blankets and ruined couch-

“Hey,” Dean’s muttering your name, his voice low and firm, and it’s the only thing in the world that isn’t painful. “You’re good. We’re both alive, Princess, don’t- Shit, don’t cry-“

Something warm but not burning is cupping your face, and tracing your cheeks, brushing away a white-hot stain that had begun to wash out of your stinging eyes-

You are crying. And Dean—those were his hands, touching you carefully, like he was afraid you’d shatter in his hold when you’ve never felt more whole—is wiping away your tears.

You’re fucking pathetic.

And you can’t stop yourself leaning into his touch, falling into his focused certainty, and letting out a shaky breath when he starts to pet down your nose and the world sinks right back into your body.

You’re only you again.

But you’re still Dean a little, too. He’s so golden and you’re molten silver a little to the right of your heart, and those fractured pieces are surging up and around you, blooming and furious and bright, so fucking bright-

It’s good Dean pulls away right then. You’d been seconds from fusing fully back together, from something not snapping apart, but into place.

You already too far gone.

You still need to be able to pretend you’re not completely, irreversibly his. 

Neither of you speak. You don’t really see a reason to. Dean just watches you, and you watch him, and then you’re both moving.

The motel is trashed. Cracks mark up the wall, the bed and couch have been flipped, the door was fully crashed through, and there’s really no universe where anyone who sees this doesn’t call the cops. Ruby checked in, and the room was under her fake name and credit card, so all you and Dean need to do is leave. 

Dean starts to gather everything together—including your blood-stained jacket, the arrowhead stuffed safely in the jacket—as he calls Sam, telling him what happened, and that you’re skipping town. You head outside while that fun conversation happens, surveying the cars and picking the fanciest, fastest one you can find. 

“No.” Dean snaps, glowering down at you in the driver’s seat. “You’re fucking begging for attention in that this thing, sweetheart, cops will catch us in an hour-“

“So we’ll drop this at 59 minutes.” You say, holding his gaze. “And take the train from there. This car only needs to get us the furthest away, not fully out.”

Dean scowls. “I am not taking the train-“

“Yeah, you are.” You nod your head to the trunk. “Pack up and haul ass, car boy. Now.”

You get a mutter of fucking trains, but Dean does what you’re telling him and soon you’re bound for Chicago, staring at Dean from across the train compartment.

You’d gotten a compartment. And a bed.

One bed.

You’re going to stab someone. You did not pay almost two thousand dollars on a fake credit card for a double private room, only to be stuck in your most beautiful, terrifying nightmare.

Sleeping next to Dean.

You’d been careful. You’d been so fucking careful, for so many years, to not give in to being that more for Dean. Because it would never be enough. Dean could’ve flirt and tease all he wanted, he never wouldn’t convinced you to share his bed because you’d never just share his bed. It would’ve been a catalyst. Something would’ve shifted in you, and there would never be any coming back from Dean. There was the whole, vast, amazing and horrible world, and then there was Dean, and he could maybe be yours.

He’d never be yours. You weren’t something someone wanted to have. 

But that being the truth didn’t stop the longing or craving or need. It never had. So you’d made it clear that you barely slept in the same room, and you never shared a bed.

And almost six years of effort—four if you didn’t count those two years apart, which was still far too many years—were crumbled because you said room for two people, the ticket lady added who are sharing a bed in her head, and you’d only caught it when it was too late.

It could be fine. You feel like you’re about to pass out but you’re also far too paranoid to sleep, Dean had been up at the crack of dawn to steal all the hot water and it’s almost midnight, and this is a twenty-one hour ride so eventually you’ll both need to sleep. 

You could stagger it. Dean could sleep, then you could sleep. 

But then he’d realizes you don’t actually sleep, and that would be a whole thing that you didn’t need. You know you need rest. You are perfectly aware sleep is good for you.

Every single nerve is alight in your body with fear that a demon will crash through that door as well, the Darkness is one wrong nightmare or sound from bursting out of your body, and guilt is swollen in your stomach and sticking in your throat as one single thought loops in your head.

You could’ve gotten Dean killed. 

He could’ve died. He’s fine—his arms crossed as the glares at the room around you, splayed out over the compartment’s chairs—but Dean could’ve died. Because of you. Because you’d dragged the green demons there, and you’d put him in danger, and you’d been useless, you’d barely held it together, you hadn’t held it together, and Dean had been there to pull you back up but what if he wasn’t-

“Stop doing that.” 

You blink at him, he jerks his head to your hands, and you realize that blood is running down your fingers. 

You hadn’t even felt it. 

And you make a choice. He needs to know. He needs to understand that you don’t mean to, you never mean to, and he’s in danger as long as he’s with you so he should run, he should kill you or put you down and then run-

“Dean.” You whisper, bracing yourself for the fallout. Telling Jo went alright, and she’d only just met you.

Dean isn’t Jo. 

He’s so much more. And even just him running might break something fundamental in your body, that lives just to the right of your heart.

He grunts. “What.”

“I- the demons-“ You stare at his hands, because you can’t stand to look at his face. Maybe those same hands will be strangling you in only seconds. You’ll find out. “I- We need to talk.”

“We’re talking right freakin’ now, Princess.”

“I know, but I-“ Deep breath. Nails in your skin. Keep it together. “They were at the motel for me. The demons, they were there for me-“

“I got that, Princess.” He grunts, and your gaze shoots up find him glowering at you, his words low and his jaw clenched. 

He knows. He’s known, or he figured it out, and it’s over but why didn’t he say anything and why aren’t you dead but why does he look like he wants to throttle you or pin you against something-

“You still have that freakin’ arrowhead.”

“I-“ You swallow, your brow furrowing as you stare at him.“What?”

“The damn arrow thing, that you wouldn’t give to Ruby-“

You shake your head, your voice growing a little stronger. “That’s not- I couldn’t give it her-“

”I’m not complaining about that, the bitch is a demon. You’d be better off trusting a damn witch or vamp.”

It’s hard not to flinch at that. You manage. “Then what are you-“

“You’re just-“ He scowls. “You can never fucking listen.”

You stare at him. “What?”

“I told you to fucking wait for me,” Dean snaps, sitting a little taller. “Those sons of bitches never would’ve even gotten to you if you’d just stayed with me.”

You don’t remember that. Your brain had been the same, blurred haze it is now, deprived of sleep and aching for Dean while only knowing that it can’t have him. 

It pokes through the fog. Dean grunting wait for me, we gotta stick together as he hunched over the ice machine, and he’d smelled so good, and you’d almost collapsed over him. 

You’d barely heard him. You’d just known you couldn’t be there, or you would’ve destroyed something that already barely held together. 

But Dean can’t know that. It will lead to more questions you’re not ready to answer, because he’d just said witch like it was barely better than demon, and just as bad as vampire.

You’re bending. You can’t.

So you raise your chin, and hold his gaze. “I didn’t hear you. And I’m fine-“

He scoffs. “You were fucking sobbing-“

“Because I just got attacked by demons-“

“Which happened,” he leans forward, his voice a hiss. “Because you didn’t listen to me. You never just fucking listen-“

You roll your eyes. “Fuck off, Winchester, you’re not my dad-“

“No. And that doesn’t matter. You don’t listen to anyone. You-“ He shakes his head, and you think he’s seeing right into you. Finally, really seeing just how wrong you are, and getting ready to deliver the killing blow with only his words. “You’re so goddamn stubborn, and you’re going to get yourself fucking killed and I won’t be there to save your ass-“

“I don’t need to save my ass.” You snap. “I’m fine, Dean. I can handle myself, and I’m stubborn because I know what the hell I’m doing-“

“You’re stubborn,” he sneers. “Because you can’t stand that sometimes, sweetheart, you’re fucking wrong. You don’t listen because you hate not being in control-“

It cuts deep. You can cut deeper. “At least people listen to me, Dean. At least I can tell people what to do, instead of following someone around like a fucking dog-“

“Well at least I never fucking run! At least I don’t leave people whenever things get hard, when they-“ His shout is pushed through his teeth, and it’s almost venomous. “You fucking run. You just goddamn vanish, and act sick, when you’re fine, just can’t fucking stomach having to deal with something instead of fucking running.”

“Are you talking about the-“ You gape at him, shaking your head. “I had to leave, asshole! I fucking had to-“

He rolls his eyes. “You never have to, you just didn’t want to deal with all of our shit, but you never- You just-“

“Azazel threatened me.” You hiss, the words falling out like vomit, before you can stop them. “He told me he’d kill Bobby if I didn’t vanish.”

Dean stares at you, and you hadn’t meant to tell him that. You’d meant, earlier, to explain what was wrong with you and leave John and Azazel fully out of it. Dean had loved his dad. You’d known that, and you’d known better than to make him face the horrid truth that John was a fucking asshole, shit-headed cunt-face of a father.

Maybe that’s why you still hadn’t mentioned that John had been a part of it. Dean already looks like he’s tearing his head apart trying to figure out if he should believe you for what you did say.

You don’t need to make this worse than you already have. For either of you.

“Azazel…” Dean trials off, shaking his head like he’s trying to physically remove something from his skin. “He fucking- what-“

“He said if I didn’t leave, he’d- He’d kill Bobby.” You let out a slow breath, scanning over Dean’s shocked expression. You’re a little worried he’s going to hurt himself, with how you can see his brain whirling behind his eyes.

There’s not a lot of color on his face.

“And you- You just-“ Dean’s throat bobs, and something flashes in his eyes. “You should’ve fucking told me, I would’ve protect you-“

You shake your head, and whatever burning anger in your body had been there moments before was gone. 

You’re really just so fucking tired.

“You have enough people to protect, Dean.” You’re looking at his hands again. Curled back into fists. You want to touch his knuckles, a little bruised and swollen from the fight. At least press ice to them, keep them from getting worse. Keep Dean from being in pain. “And I was okay. Bobby’s okay. Nothing- I didn’t want to.” You swallow, choking on a lump in your throat. “I never wanted to.”

“Bobby- He said you were sick-“

“I am.” You mutter. “Two things can be true.”

“How?”

You frown at him. “How-“

“What’s wrong with you.”

You can’t tell him. Not now. You will, when you have more courage than a martyr and you’re feeling a little less intelligent, but not now. 

Now you just give him a sad, soft smile. “My- I don’t know. I’ve never been able to figure it out.”

He nods slowly, and suddenly he won’t meet your eyes. “Sammy could look at you. He’s smart.”

“I’m smart-“

“Yeah,” he offers you his own little half-smile, and his teeth flash white in the low light of the compartment. “But you can be real dumb, Princess.”

He hasn’t said Princess like that since you returned. In a way that feels like a name, in a way that’s almost more than affectionate. Filled with an odd honor you can’t place, and tugging your own smile a little wider.

And everything blends, so easily, back to silver.

You pull out a book. Dean locks the door and starts to clean his gun, humming low music until you chuck your iPod at his face. 

He grumbles, but put his earbuds in, and starts to stretch out on the seats. 

It’s a silent decision he’s making himself. Dean will sleep on the seats, you’ll sleep on the bed.

You won’t sleep on the bed. You’ll pretend to, ignoring how he’s right there. You’ll stare at the ceiling and count the little dot on it to pass the time, and everything will be better in the morning, when Dean is—maybe, just maybe—your friend again, and he’s safe, and you’re in pain and exhausted, but that’s okay-

“Go to sleep,” Dean mutters your name, and you frown.

“I am asleep.”

You think you hear him chuckle. “Sleep more, than.”

“Okay.”

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are, De. You always are.”

You can hear his frown through the dark. “I don’t love the third degree, sweetheart-“

“You’re being dramatic.”

“Maybe. You need fuckin’ sleep.” He pauses, his voice getting slightly softer. “I’ve- You don’t sleep. You gotta sleep.”

You let out a long breath, frowning at the ceiling. “I can’t.”

“Because you’re sick?”

“Yeah.” You swallow. “It’s- Yeah.”

There’s a beat of silence, then- “What does Bobby do.”

“He-“ You swallow. “When I was younger he’d do a sweep of my room. Like a real hunt.”

“And now-“

“Nothing.”

“Oh.”

You think you can hear Dean’s brain moving, and you don’t know why this matters to him so much. It’s just sleep. You’ve lived like this forever, worse and worse over time, and eventually you’ll just pass out and everything will be fine-

“Would it help if I was there? With- uh- with my gun?”

His voice isn’t as firm as usual, and it’s almost nervous. Like he’s afraid of the answer.

And you should say no. A gun wouldn’t even do anything, not with these demons.

But you’re tired, and that always makes you weaker. And Dean’s here, and that always makes you dumber.

“Yes.” You whisper. “Please.”

You hear him moving from the seats without any further conversation, and when his weight settles beside you, his thigh presses to yours. 

It would be too much if it was Dean. If his warmth wasn’t something you’d always chased after, even when you’d both be sweating in Georgia or Texas, even when your blood had been running high and the sun had been beating down on your skin.

Up close, it’s so easy to fold into. It’s soothing, and he smells like grass and spice all around you, and when your eyes flutter open for even a second the whole world is softly glowing with gold.

It’s imprinting deeper on your body, just from how close he is. Not everywhere, but close. And the gold is sinking so far down you’ll never be able to pull it back out. Those fractured pieces are so terrifyingly close to growing fully back together, and you don’t know what you’ll become when they do.

You can’t really find it in you to care.

The sound of Dean’s snoring is like a lullaby, and the smell of his is like an anesthetic and just his presence is making the world something peaceful. 

For the first time in years, sleep comes fast, and you go down without a fight. 

And for the first time in your life, you feel truly rested when you wake up. 

End Note: Sam Winchester you are once again God’s strongest solider for not grabbing them and mashing them together like they’re barbie and ken dolls. I just know he spent his whole trip with Ruby bitching about how impossible they are. Thank you for your service my king.

Thank you so so so much for reading!! If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

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@jofinka @allthetroubleiveseen @krabog @emiliesspace

[sturniololuvz]

Can you PRETTY PLEASE make a fic where y/n is like 19 and she gets her wisdom teeth out and like the triplets have to take care of her and record her the whole time and like she says something like crazy funny?

Btw i love you and your sis series SO FUCKING MUCH

THANK YOUUU I LOVE YOU TOo

“Wisdom Teeth Woes”

Y/N had just had her wisdom teeth removed, and although she was still groggy from the anesthesia, the triplets knew they were in for a wild ride. It wasn’t the first time they had dealt with one of them coming out of a procedure, but it was definitely going to be one of the most entertaining. They had the camera rolling the moment they pulled into the driveway, ready to document every hilarious moment of her post-surgery state.

Matt parked the car, looking over at Y/N in the backseat, who was wearing an oversized hoodie and clutching an ice pack to her face. She looked like a tiny, puffy version of herself, eyes half-closed and lips a little too swollen.

“Y/N, you good?” Chris asked, turning to face her. His voice was light, almost teasing.

Y/N blinked slowly, looking at him with a mix of confusion and calmness that only someone who had just been put under anesthesia could have. “I’m… fine. Everything’s fine,” she said, nodding like she had it all figured out.

Nick leaned over, holding up the camera. “We need to get this on record, Y/N. This is gonna be good.”

Y/N’s gaze flicked over to Nick, her face scrunching up in sudden seriousness. “Nick, do you know what the worst part about wisdom teeth surgery is?”

“Uhhh, the pain?” Matt offered, pulling the keys out of the ignition.

“No,” Y/N said, shaking her head dramatically. “The worst part is the truth. The truth that I now know everything about you guys.”

The three of them exchanged confused looks. “What do you mean?” Chris asked, his brows furrowing.

Y/N’s eyes went wide with a sense of mystery as she leaned in, clearly prepared to spill something huge. “I know all your secrets,” she said slowly, like she was revealing the most shocking piece of information in the world. “Like, everything. And now… I’m going to tell the world.”

Matt laughed, but it was clear he was nervous. “Y/N, you’re not even making sense right now.”

Y/N’s face suddenly lit up. “I know what Chris eats at 2 AM,” she said, raising her finger as if she was about to drop the biggest bomb ever. “You don’t just eat cereal, you eat leftover spaghetti. And you warm it up in the microwave like a monster.”

Chris’s jaw dropped. “What?!”

Y/N nodded sagely, as if she had just uncovered a deep, dark secret. “And I know what Nick does on his phone when no one’s around.” She paused for dramatic effect, waiting for them to lean in closer. “You watch… ASMR videos. I’m talking, like, weird stuff. People eating and crinkling paper and whispering. It’s so weird.”

Nick’s face went beet red. “I—What?!”

“I’m just saying,” Y/N said with a casual shrug, her words a little slurred. “You can’t hide from me, Nick. I know all your secrets. And I will never let you forget them.”

Chris shook his head, laughing nervously. “You’re insane, Y/N. Are you sure you’re not still a little high?”

Y/N smirked, suddenly getting serious again. “I’m not high. I’m enlightened.” She paused for a moment, then her eyes locked onto Matt. “Oh, and Matt? You sleep with socks on.”

Matt immediately turned to face her, his eyes wide with shock. “What?!”

“Yeah,” she said, “and I don’t just mean when it’s cold. You sleep with socks on, even when it’s warm. It’s honestly disturbing, but I’ll let it slide. Just… don’t ever do it again.”

The boys were cracking up, unable to contain themselves. Matt, trying to regain his composure, turned to Y/N with a teasing smile. “And what about you, huh? Got any deep, dark secrets you want to share?”

Y/N blinked a couple of times, as if contemplating this for a moment. “Oh, I’ve got a ton,” she said, her voice going slightly more serious. “But you wouldn’t be ready for them. They’re like, next-level stuff. You guys are just gonna have to wait and see.”

Nick leaned in closer with the camera. “Okay, Y/N, what’s the worst thing you’ve ever done? Give us the scoop.”

Y/N didn’t hesitate. “I… I borrowed your hoodie, Nick. The one with the little tear on the sleeve? I never gave it back. It’s in my closet, and it’s never coming out.”

Nick was almost in shock, mouth hanging open. “You took my hoodie? You’ve had it all this time?!”

Y/N simply nodded, completely unbothered. “Yep. And I wear it every night. It’s mine now.”

Chris, who had been silently watching the whole thing unfold, let out a laugh. “I honestly have no words for you right now, Y/N.”

Y/N’s face scrunched up in deep thought, and then she said, “You know what, though? I think the real secret is that you guys are secretly obsessed with me.” She gave them an exaggerated look, like she had cracked the code to their whole existence.

Nick snorted, still holding the camera. “Oh, totally. We’ve been pretending for years, but really, we just can’t get enough of you.”

Y/N nodded gravely, her voice serious, even though her eyes were half-lidded. “I knew it. That’s why you guys follow me around everywhere, huh?”

They all burst into laughter, with Matt shaking his head, clearly entertained. “You’re ridiculous, Y/N. Absolutely ridiculous.”

The triplets helped Y/N inside, still laughing at the absurdity of her rambling, half-delirious confessions. Even though her post-surgery behavior was a little out of it, there was one thing they knew for sure: she’d probably never live this down, and neither would they.

But it was, without a doubt, the most entertaining few hours they’d spent with their little sister in a long time.

[jamminvroomvroom]

helping hand.

ln x fem!reader

in which you’re getting ready for a date and lando knows it’s a waste of time

back with more lando brainrot :D obsessed with best friend!lando atm, on a bit of a roll with the writing so send me your ideas! lemme know what you think! 🫶

songs to set the mood: kiss me more by doja cat, moth to a flame by the weeknd, i think by tyler, the creator, all of the girls you loved before by taylor swift

warnings: 18+!! minors dni!! porn with plot, smut, fluff, angst if you squint? choking, biting like once, best friend!lando

2.9k words

a key turning in the lock made you jump, groaning when you realised who it was. lando had been home for a few days now, it was about time he showed up. he’d had a key since you moved in.

you know, for emergencies.

he’d already called you a few times that day, and you’d let it ring out each time. talking to lando while you were supposed to be getting ready for a date was never a good idea. it would be end up being his face you’d imagine sipping wine on the other side of the table, his face you’d picture when you fell messily into bed while someone else’s hands roamed your body, his face you would hope to see when your eyes fluttered open the next morning.

so, yeah. answering the phone was a recipe for disaster.

you scurried across the floor in the heels you were trying to break in, scavenging for your robe to cover your bare skin. by the time the door swung open, you’d managed to disappear into your bedroom, bare skin somewhat covered.

“why don’t you answer your phone?” you heard lando whinging down the hallway.

“i’m getting ready to go out, didn’t see your call.” you called back. it was a blatant lie but he didn’t need to know that.

“oooh, girls night out?” you could hear his footsteps getting closer and then he appeared in the doorway.

he looked cosy, bundled up in a thick jacket layered over a hoodie. a beanie covered most of his curls, a few hanging loose over his eyes. the cold weather had left him flushed, rubbing his hands together for warmth. you, on the other hand, were wearing much less, a silky robe covering soft pink lingerie. your makeup was half done, an outfit strewn together on your bed.

“nope. got a date.” you replied, grabbing your eyeshadow brush. you tried not to look at him too much, otherwise you’d never get out the door.

you couldn’t see the way he was looking at you, eyes half bulging out of his head. this was too much skin, too much much everything, the lingerie that was covering not a lot telling him information that made his stomach twist. he pulled it together, clearing his throat.

“not that finance guy again, surely.” lando teased, shedding his coat and hat at the end of your bed. your sigh confirmed that, yes, it was that finance guy again.

“i’m just trying to see where it goes. he’s not that bad.” you reasoned, dropping the brush back onto your vanity. your eyelids were shimmering under the light, but all you could focus on was the image of your best friend sprawled out on your bed, watching you watch him.

“trust me, sweetie, he seems it.” lando quipped, sarcastic sympathy spilling from his quirked up lips. “so are you going out like that?” he laughed, eyeing your half dressed body. in all your years of friendship, he’d seen a lot more of you, and that’s why you hadn’t kicked him out screaming, or shied away. you ignored the sick and twisted feeling that you wanted* him to see you like this

“no,” you drew the word out, slow, as if you were making fun of him. “actually, you’re laying all over my outfit.” you raised an eyebrow, still holding eye contact with him through the mirror.

“damn,” he breathed through his teeth. “someones tryna get laid.” lando picked up the sheer top in one hand, the mini skirt in the other, a knowing look on his smug, beautiful, evil face.

“shut up!” you threw an eye pencil at him, but he ducked successfully. “listen, some of us have needs, okay? we can’t all be super famous formula 1 drivers.”

“well, i’m just saying. you don’t need to waste your time on stock bro steve if all you need is a shag.” lando was smirking now, and you were blushing redder than a ferrari.

“be quiet, you.” you scoffed.

you tried to shake off his words, but you couldn’t quite help the way your thighs clenched at what he was implying.

“i mean it. you have other options.” lando was sat up now, resting against your headboard, intently watching the way you were fumbling through your makeup bag.

“if i had other options, lando, i would have explored them by now. trust me.” you sounded frustrated, and lando was beyond intrigued.

“that bad, huh? how longs it been?” he was looking at you intently, craving an answer. the dim lighting couldn’t disguise the blush on your face and he was loving it.

“piss off.” you mumbled.

“you can tell me, sweetie. i don’t bite. unless you’re into that.”

another eyebrow pencil went flying in his direction.

“fuck you.”

“is that what you wanna do? i don’t have anywhere to be.” he was killing himself laughing at you, watching you squirm.

“a couple months.” you muttered.

“oh, honey.” lando cooed.

“why do you even care about this?” you whined, shaky hands fighting to unscrew your mascara.

“because i don’t like the idea of that dickhead touching you.” he said it so nonchalantly, as if it was the most casual thing in the world.

“lando-“

“am i reading this wrong? because something tells me that he’s not the one you want touching you.”

you watched, bewildered, as he pushed himself off your mattress, stalking towards you. he shrugged his hoodie off, adding it to his pile of garments at the end of the bed.

“what are you doing?” you questioned, dropping the mascara onto the table, sitting up straighter in anticipation.

“tell me now that it’s him you want.” he was getting closer and closer.

“i- i dont-“

“c’mon, sweetheart, tell me, and i’ll let you get ready in peace.”

he was right behind you now, body heat radiating against your back, goose bumps littering your bare shoulder where your robe had slipped.

“i don’t want him.” you whispered.

“who do you want? did you miss me as much as i missed you?”

“i always miss you.” you whispered.

“and yet, you’re getting ready for another man to fuck you, honey, when i’m right here.”

“what do you- lando, what are you doing?” you rambled, hands flat on your vanity, as if you were trying to ground yourself. you were shaking.

“helping you. is that okay, honey? do you want me to help you?” he spoke so softly, you could feel your legs quivering.

“yes.” you breathed and the way his eyes darkened made your thighs clench even harder.

lando leaned over you, until his head rested in the crook of your neck, hands finding your waist. he pulled you up from your stool, kicking it along the floor so that nothing separated you. you were flush against him, his nose nuzzling against your cheek. and then he was kissing your skin, your neck exposed to his assault. he trailed his lips over the taut flesh, teeth scraping that spot just below your ear.

all you could do was stare, disbelief in your eyes as you watched him touch you, hands pulling your hips into his. you’d wondered, now and then, if this would ever happen, and now here you were, falling into his touch like it was made to be all over your body.

lando turned you around, dropping you on the vanity. he crouched down in front you, pulling your ankle into his hands. nimble fingers worked over the clasp, fiddling with the buckle while he kissed over the sensitive skin of your thighs. one shoe dropped to the floor, and he made quick work of the other, lips trailing further and further up your legs. the bastard had the nerve to keep eye contact the entire time, and you keened at his touch, jolting when he moved under the hem of your robe.

lando pulled away, despite your groan of protest. he tugged you off the dresser, spinning you back to face the mirror, one of his hands slipping down your legs and finding your knee, picking you up and planting it on the dresser. you were spread out for him, now, sprawled out in front of the mirror.

“let’s get this off, yeah?” he whispered, hands smoothing over the silky material of your robe. it slipped off easily, one tug at the tie and it was on the floor, leaving you clad in your set. “all for me, right?”

“do something.” you gasped out, one of your hands thrown back to thread through his curls.

“all for me, right?” he repeated, biting down on your neck.

“yes, god, please.” you whimpered, needier for him than the guy you’d spent all afternoon getting ready for, yet you couldn’t spare him a thought when lando was toying with you like this.

“‘m gonna fuck you like this, make you watch so that you learn your lesson.”

“what lesson?” you choked out.

“that i’m the only one that can satisfy you like this.” he mumbled, so matter of fact.

“prove it.”

he liked the challenge, it seemed, because his hand was inside your panties before you could breathe. you could see his fingers working over you, the skimpy lace doing nothing to hide his movements. you arched into him the second he found your clit, your fingers tightening in his hair. your eyes fluttered shut, the pleasure eating away at you and your ability to control yourself.

“eyes open.”

you tried your hardest, but it was near impossible when he was working over your pussy like he’d done it a million times, like he already knew the ins and outs of your body, what made you tick. you cried out when he slipped a finger in you, the action simultaneous with his free hand finding a home at the base of your throat.

“no wonder you can’t find someone to get you off, no one’s ever fucked some manners into you.” he growled into your ear, and your eyes shot open. his grip tightened, a second finger sliding through your wetness. “you’re gonna listen to me from now on, baby, or you get nothing.”

“‘m trying.” you breathed, slurring your words already. if only you’d done this sooner.

“not hard enough, clearly.” he was grinding his fingers in harder, deeper, palm flat against your clit. you were panting out moans, heart beating so hard you could hear it in your ears, and now that you’d obeyed, eyes as wide as they could be, you couldn’t take them off his. he looked so smug, so pretty as he had his way with you, and you loved it, the way he was watching you sending an extra shot of heat to the pleasure pooling in your belly.

“is this what you needed, honey? do you think he could have done better? bet he couldn’t even make you come.” lando spat, fucking you even faster somehow. you felt drunk.

“no, lando. you’re so good.” you whined, pushing your ass back into him again.

you could feel how hard he was, taken aback at how filthy he was being, how dominant he was. you never could have imagined this, and honestly, you’d tried.

“you gonna come for me, sweetie? i can feel how bad you want it.” lando coaxed your orgasm out of you, your soft tummy tightening as you clamped down on his fingers. his thumb found your clit, circles left on the glistening flesh and all you could do was pray the hand wrapped around your neck would keep you upright.

one last flick of the wrist had you screaming, gushing all over his fingers. you could feel yourself dripping, your slick painting your inner thighs as you came, and he helped your through it. slow strokes brought you down from your high, and you slumped backwards into his arms.

“i’m not done yet.” he groaned, fingers dragged out of your panties and into his mouth. you watched the way his tongue licked over the digits, stomach fluttering at the sinful sight.

“good.” you replied, reaching behind you to search for the button of his jeans. he laughed lowly, batting your hands away.

“i’ll do the work, you deserve it.” his hand cupped your cheek, turning your head so that you were facing him, your body still facing the mirror.

you looked between his eyes and his lips, and he did the same, taking in your tired features, the lazy smile on your lips. you wanted him to kiss you, wanted to see if that drove you as crazy as everything else he’d done. you were quickly proved right. he slotted his lips over yours, your nose bumping his. a quiet moan sounded from the back of his throat and you shivered, deepening the kiss. his tongue moved with yours deliciously, sweet mint lingering in his mouth.

“need you.” you muttered against his lips, your words swallowed by the lingering kiss. he hummed in agreement, prying himself away from your swollen lips, his lack of self control making it harder than necessary. the faint trace of his lips made you delirious, and you feared you’d always crave more now that you’d had a taste.

“i’ve got you, honey. hands flat for me.”

you positioned yourself how he wanted, your palms flat against the vanity. he pushed your knee across the surface, makeup that you couldn’t care less about clattering to the ground. one of his hands snaked around your body, toying with the lace of your bra as he grabbed a handful of your breast. you watched the way his strong grip held you in place, breathing shakily when his free hand dipped between your thighs. you could see how wet you were when he tugged the flimsy lace aside, cupping your cunt one last time to spread your wetness around.

you heard the zip of his jeans, the rustle of clothing, your eyes rolling back as he kissed behind your ear. he slid into your slowly, feeling every part of him as he went deeper and deeper. the stretch made your tear up, the way he was filling you up scratching a itch that you hadn’t been able to satisfy in far too long.

“oh.” you gasped, clenching around him. he hissed at the sensation, grip tightening on your chest.

“that is the tightest fucking thing.” he moaned, thick neck on display as he bottomed out. “no one’s fucked you properly, have they, baby?”

“need it, lando.” you tried to push your hips back, tried to feel him even deeper somehow, but he held you down.

he moved slow, feeling you out, looking for a rhythm. you couldn’t breathe, watching the way he could barely keep his eyes open. you were obsessed, never so thankful for him barging into your apartment uninvited.

as fucking good as it felt, you needed more, just a bit more, desperate to not be able to walk after. you grabbed his hand, guiding it up your body, meeting his eyes in the mirror as you placed it at the base of your throat. a look was exchanged, one of pleading, and trust, and maybe even a little bit of something else, and everything in him changed.

your back collided with his front, the pressure on your neck and the power of his thrust making you dizzy. the pace was rapid, hips hitting yours with a point to prove. you mouth hung open, unable to take your eyes off the way his body rolled against yours. this was addictive, so far clear of any sex you’d ever had, maybe even of any you’d have again.

“so good for me. not gonna be able to forget those pretty eyes watching me.” he slurred, breathing heavily into your ear.

you nodded frantically, begs for more, please, more tumbling from your lips.

“no more dates. no more of these little boys trying to get you off. it’s gonna be me from now on.”

“better be.” you choked out, your head falling into the crook of his neck.

“that’s right, baby. gonna watch me make you come?” he crooned into your ear.

and you did, eyes locked with his once again as he finished you off. you were slick with sweat, trying to catch your breath.

“good?” he pressed a kiss to your hairline, slowly untangling himself from you.

“very.”

“let’s get you cleaned up, honey.”

lando helped you off the vanity, carrying you back over to your bed and placing you on the end. you watched him look around for some clothes, but you stole his hoodie, the one he’d left on the end of the bed. his scent surrounded you as you slipped it over your head, spicy and sweet.

you heard your phone buzzing, reaching around for it blindly but lando got to it first. the shit eating grin he wore made you sweat, eyes widening in horror when it dawned on you.

“stock market steve’s wondering where you are. think i should set him straight.” he teased.

“lando, don’t-“ you couldn’t even stop him, your body aching too much.

“hello?” lando sing songed down the line and you hid your face in your hands. “as much as i just know she’d love to hear you talk about how many watches you have and then finish in six seconds, she’s occupied.” and with that, he put the phone down.

“you are so lucky i can’t walk right now.” you threatened, flopping back onto your bed. he was quickly hovering over you, resting above you on his forearms.

“care to make it worse?” he grinned mischievously, and you knew that you were well and truly done for, ruined for anybody else.

“do your best.”

lord knows, he did.

-

hehe

-

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removed any tags that weren’t working! lemme know if you wanna be added or removed 🫶

[contamination-zone]

nother fic yayyy

contains: platonic fresh and nightmare. Cuddling. Joint pain [for fresh :<] ~1,000 words

He was back, smarmy grin on his face and eyewateringly bright outfit everywhere else. It contrasted heavily with the deep well of suffering emanating from “his” SOUL.

An oxymoron; the only way Nightmare could describe it. 

Still, negativity was negativity, no matter how… colorful the package was. 

“Exited to see lil old me bro?”

“Hardly.”

It laughed, the noises all bright neons in the air. Enthusiasm mixing with cruelty. It wasn’t as cheery as usual.

“Lierrrr!” 

Within barely a second it was closer than he’d usually let anyone, crowding into his space and almost looming. Terribly reminded of a  cat greeting its owner, Nightmare didn’t think to refute  it.

It seemed one of them was thinking of his answer though, Fresh letting out a victorious crow when he didn’t immediately snarl an insult.

“You did, didn’t ya? We love ta’ see bonds between bros, bro!” 

As if it wasn’t close enough, it pressed against his side. He let it, the negativity pouring out more than worth it. 

“I would hesitate to call what we have a ‘bond.’” He finally answered it, disinterest weaved carefully through his voice. 

“Whatever you say,” Fresh snickered, face leaning down to rest on his shoulder. It seemed in a particularly clingy mood today, though that seemed like everyday, lately.

Hyper aware of its movements, Nightmare couldn’t help but notice something was a bit off. A certain stiffness the parasite didn’t normally have, teeth a hint too straight and claws blunt.

It pressed further into him, barley not sinking into his negativity, almost nervous… 

“Bad day?”

It startled, clearly displeased, and ignored his question entirely. Expected, exposing weakness to Nightmare wasn’t usually in anybody’s best interest. “Nah, my day’s been totes tubular. We don’t needa talk about me anyway. You got any cool plans, bro?”

“Work. In fact, I’d prefer to be alone for it.” He wasn’t going to let it play hard to get.

“…”

“If you require my presence,” he hummed in a way he knew made him sound like an asshole, “you can always inform me.”

He started walking, pace leisurely as he made his way to his office. It fell instep right behind him, silent, considering.

“C’mon, you always like a bro to help ya’ think things through, don’cba boss?”

“I’m not so incompetent as to require that.”

It huffed, clearly displeased.

He made it to his office with the parasite on his heels, and made quick work of gathering some of the most pressing paperwork. It continued prattling off behind him.

“Don’t harsh the paperwork vibe by kicking me out, octo-bro. Sure hanging out would help with that pro-duct-tality”

It grumbled and huffed, trying to annoy a reaction out of him. Cute.

“If it’s only entertainment you want, you can always bother other inhabitants of this castle, parasite.”

That actually got a growl out of it.

With a quick motion he also grabbed few pens and a stamp before he turned on his heel and walked right back out of his office.

Fresh didn’t seem to notice how far off his normal schedule he was acting, pressing close once more. It was so tempting to push it off.

“Are you saying you can’t, broski? The top dog of negativity, unable to amuse a simple lil’ dude?”

“You’re nearly 7 feet tall.”

“Yeah man! Just a little guy!” It grinned.

He let out an amused huff despite himself, finally arriving at their destination.

He fished the key to his room out of his pocket and made quick work of making his way in, one of his tentacles aground Fresh’s wrist pulling it after him.

The fact that this was when it finally noticed he wasn’t doing his normal paperwork routine was a testament to how out of it it must have been. It let out a little click at the back of its throat, confused.

“What’s with this?” A moment later.

Nightmare pulled it further into his room, “didn’t you say you’d prefer to ‘hang out’?”

A slight tug, more a test to see if he’d let go than an earnest attempt to shake his grip. He didn’t let go.

“Preev hang-outs weren’t like this, bro-tato.”

He ignored its words. Sticking out a tentacle easily tripped it, making it land on his plush bed with a thump.

He followed at his own pace, getting all his equipment set up  on his nightstand as Fresh rolled into its side to look at him. It’s voice was squeaky, “Again! What is the deal bro?! I am not the type of guy you bring to your crib. I don’t even do this typa’ thing!”

He rolled his eyes as he made himself comfortable. “You misunderstand me if you think  I’m trying to bed you. You merely seem under the weather.”

It grumbled, its brows furrowing and teeth baring. Before it could start spouting some bullshit about being in ‘tip-top shape,’ he reached over and settled its head on his lap, hands moving to massage at its neck vertebrae. 

It’s mouth let out a squeaky breath of air instead of a retort, and he chuckled. His tentacles reached down to wrap around its joints, and the way it went limp at his cold ministrations let him know he’d been right: joint pain.

It whines, “This is so un-radical bro…”

“Is it?” He grabbed his clipboard and started doing paperwork, letting his tentacles slowly wrap further around the other skeleton. The little shudders it let out only made him tighten his grip.

A little rumbly purr started up, and which seemed to disquiet Fresh even further. 

“Un-radical…” it repeated.

“Of course,” he looked down at it, face a bit flushed and purring like a motor, “‘Un-radical.”

“It was just a bad switch, it’ll pass.” It grumbled, “You really don’t need to do all… this stuff for it.” 

Information; he tried not to look like he was paying more attention. He let out an acknowledging noise.

“You listening? Just said you didn’t need to do this.”

“And if I want to?” Was out before he could think.

It stiffened the same time as him. This wasn’t what their relationship was supposed to be like.

They were both using the other: Fresh for protection and Nightmare for a free meal. It was comforting, expected. I they could always count on the other acting in their own self interest.

“Because… more contact more negativity, yeah?”

“Yes.” No.

It relaxed, taking that instead of the possibility of him caring, “whatever. I guess I’ll stay for your sa-“

He retracted most of his tentacles, making it whine. 

“Fine fine! I’ll stay for my sake.”

“Good boy.” He continued his ministrations, feeling it relax back into him a moment later. Pretenses dropped, it didn’t hesitate to push as far into his space as it could get. A bit too close for him to do his paper-work with maximum productivity but he couldn’t say he minded too much.

[youaresimplylovely]

Kisses.

Pairings: Carlos Sainz x Wife!Reader

Summary: In which Carlos loves kissing his wife ꒰⁠⑅⁠ᵕ⁠༚⁠ᵕ⁠꒱⁠˖⁠♡

Words: 716

Proofread!!

A/N: another one shot for my lovelies, will make a post about my list of one shots (⁠づ⁠｡⁠◕⁠‿⁠‿⁠◕⁠｡⁠)⁠づ

To say that Carlos loves kissing his wife, you, was a complete understatement. It was more than "love" it was an addiction, maybe obsession too. You can't really blame the guy and he says that himself. Who is he to blame? When his wife is such a goddess and is so beautiful, he can't help but kiss her all the time.

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Snoring softly, your breathing going up and down as you peacefully hurdle in your sleep. You smile through your sleep, it was so relaxing and comfortable. Suddenly, a soft touch of someone's lips touched your face. Groggily waking up, eyes fluttering open to see your husband and his lips peppering kisses all over you. From your face and down to your neck.

A soft chuckles comes out of your mouth, hands wrapping around the back of your husband's neck as he hovered on top of you. Carlos smiles softly with sleepy eyes, planting a soft kiss on your lips.

"Ay you're still sleepy" Laughing softly as you caress his hair while he plants more kisses on your neck.

"Yeah but I wanted to kiss my wife" He mumbles, his lips shifting from your neck to your face causing you to giggle.

"it's 7AM in the morning baby" You whine playfully, you didn't have the fact that he was kissing you. You were just teasing him.

"morning kisses" he flashes a charming smiles, flipping over to lay back down next to you eventually flipping you over too so you're on top of him as he continues kissing his beautiful wife.

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Carlos and Charles had a photoshoot for a brand, despite you telling your husband that you didn't need to accompany him since it was just nearby but he practically begged you to come. You had no choice but to come, you knew he wanted you to come just for the kisses.

You sat on the couch of the dressing room Carlos was assigned. While Carlos was sat in the seat of the vanity as the makeup artist puts on light makeup on him.

"babyy" Carlos whines, frantically tapping his fingers on the vanity table.

"I need a kiss, I need you" He turns to his side to look at you with a pout as the makeup artist continues to powder his face with a little struggle.

"After your touch up baby, I promise after the makeup artist finished putting makeup on you" You smile at him softly, chuckling at his cute behaviour.

"But baby, I want a kiss" He whines even more, crossing his arms still pouting.

"I'll be right back, I'll just get some hair product." The makeup artist informs you and Carlos as she leaves the dressing room.

You could see the happiness in Carlos' eyes as the makeup artist left. He was smiling like a little kid, almost squealing as he looks at you. "Kiss baby kiss"

A laugh comes out of your face, you approach him. Standing in front of him with a smile on your face, cupping his cheeks as you kiss his lips.

You let out a yelp, feeling Carlos' hand on your waist sitting you on his lap. You guys were practically making out, hands wrapping around on his neck while his hands tightly held on your waist.

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Kisses were everywhere, every minute, every second, every hour.

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You brush your teeth in the bathroom, slightly flinching as the bathroom door opened to see Carlos smiling at you.

"you scared me" you mumble, chuckling as you continue brushing your teeth.

"kiss" he flutters his eyelashes while smiling at you cutely.

You couldn't even say something till he kissed you. Eyes widened, trying to keep the toothpaste and the saliva in your mouth since you were brushing your teeth. Moments later, Carlos pulled away with a bright smile eventually chuckling as he watches your reaction.

You give him a playfully disgusted look, spitting the toothpaste out as you wash your mouth. Wiping your mouth with a towel, your eyes shifted to Carlos. You laugh softly, giving a kiss on the cheek.

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You really love your husband and his kisses, even if sometimes it's in weird situations. The feeling that someone wants to be that close and loving with you is so sweet. You'd gladly kiss him everyday and every moment he'd like.