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thebiggerbear · 4 months

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Dean Winchester x Reader - Prompt Response - "Sleep. I'll keep you safe."

Summary: When Sam calls to tell you that Dean is gone, you can't accept it. Not until you visit the offline Bunker and see for yourself. ...But is he really gone?

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Female!Reader; Dean Winchester x Huntress!Female!Reader

A/N: Prompt from @thelonelyempath. I had this idea for a scene in my head that took place during 15x20 with the reader and Sam & then from there it just kind of wrote itself, including the semi-twist. Hope it's okay.

There is a song mentioned in here ("Is This Love" by Whitesnake) which is a sort of homage/dedication/thank you. I read this Dean x Reader fic a long time ago (I can't remember the name of the fic or the author right now, I'm sorry!) but they used the song for some Dean/Reader time in the Impala and I had never heard the song before so I checked it out. I have become obsessed with it. It's so perfect, not only for Dean but in general as an 80s love rock ballad. So thank you to that author whoever you are!

This is meant to take place between mid-15x20 and Dean's foray in The Winchesters (pre-series).

Unbeta'd so all mistakes are mine.

Dividers by @firefly-graphics

Warnings: angst; mentions of character death; mentions of implied sex

Word Count: 12k+

Dean Taglist: @heartlessdelusions; @nancymcl; @brightlilith

"Sleep. I'll keep you safe."

You sat on the corner of the bed in your motel room, numb, your phone next to you, having been forgotten long ago.

It couldn’t be true. It wasn’t. You refused to believe it. How was Dean just gone? On a simple hunt? How?

Sam had called you to give you the news. You could hear the breaks in his voice as he relayed what happened, sounding as if he had been crying just a few minutes before. Vampires. Who were mute. A gang of them run by a vampire named Jenny they had faced off with years ago. On a hunt with John. She had gotten away and they thought she was gone for good. Apparently not.

You were frozen, in shock, unable to process what he was telling you.

“Y/N?”

“I… I need to see him,” you whispered.

Sam was quiet for a moment before he forced out, “I gave him a hunter’s funeral.”

You shut your eyes in pain. “What?” You could feel your throat tightening as well as your chest.

“I’m sorry, Y/N, but I had to. I couldn’t…” You heard him take a breath. “I couldn’t make the long drive with… I just couldn’t.” You could hear those breaks again and you should have been hurting for him, that not only did he have to watch his brother die but he’d had to burn him alone. But right then you got angry and you couldn’t help snapping at him.

“Why would you burn his body, Sam? You know we need his body to bring him back!”

“Y/N, he didn’t want to be brought back.”

“You don’t know that!”

“Yeah, I do. He told me right before he died. As long as I was going to be okay,” Another break. “He was done.”

A tear rolled down your cheek and regret immediately consumed you. You knew Sam was telling you the truth. Dean making sure Sam would be okay as he was dying clinched it for you. Sam had always been his main concern. You started mentally berating yourself then. If only you hadn’t let fear stop you, you could have given him something to live for, to fight for. He would have let Sam call for help, call Jack, something. He would have made sure he somehow made it home, just like he always did. But you didn’t and now, he was gone. Truly and irrevocably gone.

Another tear slipped down your cheek and you quickly wiped it away. “I have to go, Sam.”

“Y/N, I—”

You ended the call and tossed the phone onto the bed. You weren’t trying to be heartless. Sam was obviously struggling and you should be there for him. That’s what Dean would want, you knew that. The two of you being there for each other, helping one another, you looking after his little brother while he looked out for you. But you just…couldn’t.

Why hadn’t you called Dean? After everything that went down with Chuck and Jack? Why hadn’t you reached out? You owed him that at the very least. So why hadn’t you?

You knew the answer to that. You were scared and like a coward, you’d told yourself it wouldn’t have made a difference. It wouldn’t have changed anything. But a part of you knew it would and that scared you just as much.

You thought back to the last time you’d seen him, right after he and Sam went to try to get Amara on board against Chuck. He was still reeling with the news that Cas had told him before he’d left, that Jack was going to sacrifice himself to kill Chuck. He cared about Jack, more than he let on, even though the kid had accidentally killed Mary. Jack was family to him and he was having a serious moment of doubt. If Jack’s plan would work; if he should let it happen; if he should tell Sam; if Chuck hadn’t been right, he would win in the end. He was so beyond tired of that: Chuck winning. He didn’t want to sacrifice Jack but if they could be free of Chuck and have a chance…

He was torn up about it and he’d called you, asked you where you were, then begged you to come to the Bunker when he found out you were only an hour or so away. You hadn’t wanted to, you could hear the desperation in his voice and you knew all too well what would happen if you went. You were still hurting and you didn’t know if you could survive that.

You didn’t bother telling him that the reason you were an hour outside of town was because you’d temporarily settled there, not sure where to go or what to do. Sure, you took on hunts here and there, but ultimately you were lost. Ever since Dean broke things off with you because he couldn’t tell what was real anymore versus what had been Chuck all along. The breakup had hurt, of course, but that caused pain in you that you weren’t really sure you would ever come back from. Him thinking everything between you might not be real? After you’d given him everything you could because you deeply loved him? In your heart, you knew it was real, but when you had said this to him, he’d simply responded with “I don’t” in his typical detached way he adopted whenever he had made up his mind that he had to do something for the greater good, no matter how hard it might be. You thought he had already broken your heart, but it shattered right then in your chest.

Since it was Dean, though, and he never begged, you went. And sure enough, what you worried would happen, happened. One minute, you’d been wiping the rare tears he let fall around you, and the next minute, he was kissing you and gently pushing you back onto his bed. You could feel the desperation in his movements, his touches, the way his lips trailed over your skin. Shockingly, he took his time with you, and it only hit you halfway through that this was his real goodbye. It wasn’t guaranteed that Billie’s plan would work but he hoped it would. And if it did, then that meant he and Sam would finally be free and they could hang it up if they wanted to, do something else with their lives and move on. And that possible future didn’t include you.

You’d silently cried then, holding onto Dean as he moved and moaned into your ear. When he pulled back to kiss you, your cheeks were free of any tear tracks and you kissed him back. You wondered how on earth he couldn’t feel that this was very real between you as you moved your hips to meet his in a tender rhythm as he held you in his lap, his green eyes staring into yours as he held you close. Sex was sex but this right here, this right in between you right then that he refused to put a name to, it was beyond real. You knew he could feel it just as much as you could…so why was he still hellbent on throwing it (and you) away?

A little while later, you had laid there, with his head on your chest, running your fingers through his hair in soothing strokes, his body still entangled with yours, staring up at the ceiling as you both were still trying to catch your breath. Your heart spoke for you before you could stop it. “I love you,” you whispered, meaning it with every fiber of your being.

It shocked the hell out of you and made something warm and fluttery happen inside your chest when he sleepily murmured to your skin, “Love y’too. Don’go.” You ended up chalking it up to him being in a post-sex sleep daze though, not knowing what he was really saying or even really having heard you correctly. That or he only meant for the night because the very next morning, things went back to how they were.

Dean seemed surprised when he woke up to find you next to him, scrolling through the news feed on your phone for any new cases. You’d given him a warm smile. “Hey, sleepyhead,” you teased.

Instead of smiling back, though, he cleared his throat and ran a hand through his hair. “Hey.” You could see that familiar detached expression settle on his features and you knew he was regretting the night before. He had been drinking by the time you got there, sure, but he hadn’t been inebriated. He was incredibly lucid by the time he made a move on you so try as he might, this couldn’t be chalked up to a drunken mistake.

You could literally feel that wall going back up and you gave one last ditch effort to keep him from shutting you back out, even laying a hand over his. “Dean, don’t—”

He pulled away from you and got out of bed, quickly slipping on his Scooby Doo boxers and jeans that he grabbed from the floor. You might have smiled seeing the familiar underwear that you hated but secretly loved if you weren’t hurting so much. “I’m hungry. You hungry?” He asked, slipping a black t-shirt over his head. “I’ll go see if Sam’s cooking anything up. I need a serious cup of coffee. You just…” He glanced back at you, seeing you holding the sheet tightly to your chest as you watched him, compulsively swallowing when he saw your eyes glistening. “You, uh, just come out when you’re ready.” He then made his way out of the room, closing the door behind him and never looking back.

You sat back against the headboard, dissolving into a fit of tears and quiet sobs. You knew you should have never come. Once you were able to breathe without fresh tears welling up, you got yourself cleaned up and redressed. You splashed some water on your face and you took a deep breath before leaving the room. You were near the bunker stairs when Sam called out to you.

“Hey! Y/N!”

He was coming over to you, a big smile on his face. He was pleased to see you.

“Hey,” you greeted back just as warmly, forcing a smile.

He gave you a quick hug and you could see Jack a little ways behind him, giving you a smile and wave. “I didn’t know you were here. We were just about to have breakfast. Why don’t you join us?”

“Oh, I…”

You were saved from having to make an excuse when Dean appeared next to Jack, his expression severe and cold all at the same time. “She’s got a hunt she’s heading out for. Possible vamp nest in Duluth. Right, Y/N?”

Just when you thought he couldn’t hurt you even more, there he went proving you wrong. “Right,” you agreed quietly. You turned a wan smile onto Sam. “I’ll take a raincheck.”

“Duluth?” Sam glanced from his brother to you. “Maybe we can give you a hand on this one.”

“We can’t,” Dean stated firmly. He gave his brother a look and Sam’s brows furrowed before realization played upon his features and his jaw tightened. He turned apologetic hazel eyes onto you. “Donna’s up that way. If she needs a hand, she can call her,” Dean added.

You felt sick to your stomach. Obviously, you weren’t heading to Duluth or anywhere near Minnesota but the way he dismissed you so casually…the pain was overwhelming. The smile you kept on Sam turned into more of a grimace. “I appreciate the offer, Sam, but I’m good. Like your brother said, I can call Donna if I need anything. Don’t worry. Thanks, though.” You squeezed his arm and then turned to make your way up the stairs.

“Best of luck,” Dean gruffed out. You turned to see pure ice staring back at you.

You pressed your lips together to keep from falling apart right there, from demanding why Dean had obviously only called you for sex and a pick-me-up when there plenty of women in Lebanon that could do that for him, from begging him to wake up and see you were right in front of him and that what you had was very much real before it was too late. Instead, you continued climbing the stairs.

“Keep us updated and give us a call if you need anything,” Sam called after you.

“Will do,” you forced out.

“Good luck,” Jack offered.

When you reached the top, you glanced once more at Dean. His expression hadn’t changed one bit. The green gaze staring back at you was cold, hard. You let out a huff and shook your head, turning to open the door and close it behind you. That had been the very last time you saw him.

After that, you went back to the motel you had been renting a room in, packed up, and headed across state lines. You ignored Dean’s calls but took Sam’s.

Apparently, at some point, you had vanished when Chuck disappeared everyone. You had no idea until Donna filled you in. That explained the several missed calls from both Sam and Dean and the voicemails they left. Both had sounded desperate, especially Dean.

“Please, Y/N. I know you’re pissed at me and I get it but please call me back. Or call Sam. I don’t care. Just as long as we know you’re still with us and that you’re okay.” His tone sounded rough around the edges but considering the context Sam gave you when you did call him (there was no way you were calling Dean, especially not now), you realized they were just desperate to get in touch with anyone, having lost Cas and being the only three forms of life left on the planet.

Dean was right, you were angry. Angry that he’d used you that night, angry that he’d broken your heart in the first place. He had pursued you before you got together, not the other way around. By the time you let your guard down enough to let him in and things kicked off between you, he was deep in. Or so he’d said. By the time he ended things, you were deep in yourself. Now…now you were in even deeper thanks to him, so deep you were pretty sure Dean would haunt you the rest of your life no matter how you tried to shut him out of your heart.

Another tear rolled down your cheek. Though, you’d never meant the word haunt literally.

You wiped your face with your sleeve and let out an aggravated breath before getting to your feet. You grabbed your coat, your emergency bag, your hunting bag, and the car keys from the table near the door. You locked up and got into the car you only used for hunts and grocery trips now, starting it and backing out of the driveway.

It’s not that you doubted what Sam had told you or Sam himself, but you needed to see things for yourself. You turned the car in the direction that would lead you to Kansas.

You opened the door to the Bunker, seeing nothing but darkness greeting you, the clanking of the door being the only sound to echo in the large chamber. That was strange. They never shut it down when they left for hunts. You hit the lights and hearing a loud thrumming sound, you watched as they came back on, one by one. You had your own key since you were also a Legacy. You’d never been more thankful for that fact when you arrived to find the Bunker locked down, no Sam in sight.

You shut the door behind you and dropped your bags near the table. You bit your lip to keep your eyes from welling up when you noticed an unfinished chess game on the table, most likely one that Dean and Cas had been engaged in, but now neither of them would be back to complete it. Instead, you focused on the matter at hand. You pulled your gun out and an angel blade, slipping the latter into your coat pocket in case you needed it. In the other pocket, you slipped a flask of holy water and a small piece of iron bar you could wield if need be. In your gun sat silver bullets; you couldn’t be too careful nowadays. Especially if the word was out to the world of the supernatural that Dean Winchester was gone and only Sam was left now, alone.

You slowly made your way down the stairs, listening intently for any other noises you might hear. All that you could make out besides your footsteps was the low hum of electricity that was commonplace for the old bunker. You cleared the library, the hallways, the kitchen, the shower room, the infirmary, the Dean Cave where you’d been forced to watch The Lost Boys and slasher films more times than you cared to count (you had dug your teeth into your bottom lip to keep from crying when you saw the DVD cover of Tombstone left near the TV), every single room in the place until you came to the one that made a lump form in your throat. You swallowed it back down and forced yourself to focus, raising your gun that much higher. You opened the door and hit the lights, scanning every which way. The room was clear.

You lowered your gun and made your way inside, the lump in your throat back again. Your eyes roamed over the hastily made bed; the empty dog bowls on the floor (which made your brows furrow in confusion slightly); the messy desk; the empty beer bottles on the table; the headphones on the nightstand; the shotguns on the wall; the books scattered about; the load of laundry sitting off to the right in a corner. Memories washed over you and your eyes began to sting as tears welled up.

You’d walked into the room to find Dean jamming out on his bed, listening to music through the headphones he’d insisted on buying on your last trip. You huffed out a laugh and dropped the laundry basket of folded clothes onto the bed, garnering his attention.

He opened his eyes and glanced up to find you smiling at him.

“What are you listening to?”

He held one of the phones away from his ear and you could hear some serious strumming of heavy metal guitar coming out of it. “Huh?”

“I said, what are you listening to?” You asked a little louder.

“What?” He nearly yelled.

You picked up the top item from your pile, his Scooby Doo underthings, and playfully tossed it at him. It landed squarely on his chest and he immediately jumped up as if it had burned him, his cheeks turning redder by the second as he threw the headphones onto the bed.

“You did my laundry?” He asked in horror.

Amazing. You two had explored every single inch of each other time and time again, been sort of rooming together for the past month, but he was embarrassed that you washed his dirty underwear?

You shrugged and began to place his folded clothes on the bed. “I had room in the washer so I figured I’d grab yours, too. You’re welcome.”

“You washed our clothes together?” He sounded genuinely surprised.

You gasped and gave him a mock look of horror. “Oh no, not together.” You tossed a pair of jeans over at him and he caught it in time. “I used detergent, fabric softener, dryer sheets, and everything,” you teased. “But putting it away is where I draw the line, pal. That’s on you.” You pointed to the neat pile sitting on the bed before moving over to the door to head to the room you kept your things in down the hall.

Arms wrapped around you from behind, stopping your trek, and Dean murmured into your ear, “You washed my clothes for me?”

“And folded, too,” you pointed out. “Don’t forget that.”

“Mmm, what else can I get you to do for me?” He grabbed the basket from you and placed it down before gripping your hips and moving in to kiss your neck.

“Hey, I’m not your maid. I had room in the washer, that was it. Don’t get used to this,” you laughed before digging your teeth into your lip when you felt his tongue on a particular part of your skin.

“What if I want to get used to this?” He moved up to your jaw line.

“I’d say you’re SOL. Unless…”

“Unless?” He hummed near your lips.

“Unless you finally let me tidy up this room a little.”

His head shot up, frowning down at you. “What? Why, what’s wrong with how it is now?”

“Well,” You wrapped your arms around his neck. “Some of these papers on the desk need organizing, the books can be put in a stack on the table over there, these empty beer bottles can be thrown out, the shotguns you have near the bed can be put away…”

“There’s nothing wrong with anything you just mentioned,” he grumbled.

“Oh, really? So the other night when you were doing that thing—”

“That thing you really like,” he interrupted, smirking cockily at you.

You had to keep from rolling your eyes and smirking yourself. “When I moved, I knocked into the shotgun and it fell. It almost went off. You remember that?”

“Nothing happened or went off, well, except you.” His smirk got even bigger. “You remember that?”

This time you gently swatted at his shoulder. “Dean.”

He heard the warning in your no-nonsense tone and laughed, leaning in to kiss you. “Alright,” he whispered to your lips. “I’ll put the shotguns up out of the way. But everything else stays.”

You huffed out an exasperated breath. One of these days when he wasn’t looking, you swore you’d do as exactly as you’d suggested. Clear out the empty bottles and stack the books at the very least.

“Hey, it’s all about compromise, right? Speaking of that,” He turned you around in his arms and you were once again facing the laundry basket he’d left on the floor. “Find a space and keep some of ‘em in here.”

A pleasant shock ran through you. “Are you sure?” You whispered.

He slowly turned you back around and gently cupped your chin. “Yeah, sweetheart, I’m sure. You’re practically sleeping in here every night, anyway. I’d rather you not have to put back on the same clothes from the night before or walk naked down to your room. Then again, naked…”

You glared up at him, making him chuckle and brush his lips against yours. “I just didn’t want to crowd you,” you admitted after a moment. “It’s your space. If I’m in here too much, I can—”

“I want you here.” You gazed into his green eyes, unsure, but all you saw staring back at you was softness with a glint of earnestness. He was telling you the truth; he really wanted you to stay.

“Okay,” you agreed with a shy smile.

He beamed at you and then picked you up, making you gasp loudly and wrap your legs around his waist. “Not that you’re gonna be needing them right now.”

You shook your head and kissed him as he walked you both towards the bed. When he had you on it, you could hear the music coming from the forgotten headphones. “Is that…Whitesnake?”

Dean smirked down at you. “Uh huh. One sec.” He reached over, quickly clicked something on his phone, and the music suddenly changed. You smiled when a familiar song started up.

“Really?”

“What? It’s our song.”

You framed his face with your hands, looking up at him affectionately. “Dean Winchester, secretly sentimental and sensitive guy extraordinaire,” you teased him.

“Shut up,” he mumbled. “I’m not any of that crap. It’s the first song we made good use of Baby’s backseat to, that’s all. Now that you’re staying in here, we gotta celebrate.”

Romantic. You rolled your eyes but smiled. “Like I said, sentimental.” You pulled him down to you and kissed him sweetly. Needless to say, he had been right; you hadn’t needed your clothes for a little while.

You took in a ragged breath, your fingers gently touching over the papers on his desk. While you hated the empty beer bottles and you didn’t want to end up possibly shot with a salt round during a passionate moment of sex, you really hadn’t minded how he had things. You knew this was the first home he and Sam ever really had. He could keep things messy or disorganized if he wanted to; he had more than earned the right. It might sound silly to someone else but he deserved to experience living in a home, mess and all, like everyone did at some point in their lives. Not only did he not have a place to do that since he’d been four years old, he’d never felt comfortably settled in anywhere ever to be able to do it. You remembered him and Sam telling you how long it had taken Dean to settle into this room, to think of the Bunker as not just theirs but home. You’d kick the crap out of anyone who tried to take that away from him, and you would be the last person to try to do it yourself. You still thanked him when he hung the shotguns up on the wall; you were beyond grateful. That time, he was the one who went off and quite happily.

A sob nearly tore its way out of your chest when you saw his handwriting on one of the papers. Your fingertips traced each letter. How could he really be gone?

You ran your fingers over an open file, wondering what he had been looking at, when you heard the clicking of nails on the floor behind you. You spun, lifting your gun, to find Sam standing in the doorway, watching you with wide eyes as a dog appeared beside him. That must have been what you’d heard. You lowered the gun and let out a relieved breath. “What are you doing here?”

You winced internally at your question. He had every right to be here, this was his home. You were the intruder.

“The monitoring system we set up… I was alerted that someone was in the Bunker. I locked it down and I know only he and I had the keys, so I didn’t know if…” You watched as he compulsively swallowed.

You turned back to the desk. “I get that. Where were you, by the way? Why did you lock it down?” He didn’t answer for a moment when you glanced over your shoulder at him, seeing his gaze glued to the ground. “Sam?”

His eyes flicked up to yours and he swallowed again. “I was on my way to Austin. For a case. But then…” He gestured towards you. “I turned around and headed back to see.” You noticed he didn’t mention why he had locked the Bunker down but then again, he didn’t really need to. Who else would be coming here now that Dean, Cas, and Jack were gone? Mary was gone as well as most of the other hunters you’d worked with over the past couple of years. Apocalypse World Bobby was still up in Minnesota somewhere. Apocalypse World Charlie and Stevie had moved East, choosing to retire after what happened with Chuck temporarily disappearing everyone. Garth and Bess still lived in their home with their family. Jody and the girls had their own operation up in Sioux Falls with Donna lending a hand every now and then. And you…well, you never told Sam where you were.

You gave him a slow nod and dropped your eyes back down to the desk, running your fingers over the pages of an open lore book Dean had been reading. It was probably ridiculous but you thought maybe you could somehow still feel him here (though you did not want him to be a ghost), that perhaps by touch or sight or smell even that you could somehow connect to what his last days had been like. You wondered if he somehow knew deep down or if he hadn’t seen it coming. Even though he had always told you that he didn’t see a good ending for himself down the road, that he was forever bound to this life, you knew he also secretly fantasized about his life going in a different direction, one he’d included you in once upon a time. You then wondered if there was a girl somewhere who was either waiting for a phone call she would never get or was crying her eyes out because Sam had given her the news like he had you. It hurt to think that maybe he had found someone that he envisioned another future with instead of you, with someone he knew without a shadow of a doubt that Chuck hadn’t inserted into his life as a manipulation or a story device. Someone that he didn’t question what he had with them, if it was real. Though at the same time, you hoped he found a little piece of happiness. You still loved him enough to want that for him.

You briefly closed your eyes in pain when you remembered that last night you spent with him, telling him you loved him. You truly meant it and even though he hurt you again and again, you still did. You forced the thought away and instead chose to focus on the open book in front of you. “What was he working on?” You choked out, quietly clearing your throat once you heard how rough your voice sounded.

You turned the page, seeing mentions of witches and vampires, when you realized Sam never answered you. You glanced back at him, arching your brows in question.

Sam’s eyes were wide and laser focused on your body, his mouth hanging open. Shit.

You should’ve known that despite the dark clothing you were wearing, the long black coat you were sporting, turning away from him, that you wouldn’t be able to hide your secret much longer. Truthfully, it wasn’t even something you’d thought about when you set out for the bunker. Had Sam been here when you arrived, he probably would have seen it then.

You turned towards the younger Winchester and Sam’s eyes flickered up to you. “Are you…?”

“Yes, Sam.”

Sam closed his mouth and swallowed, glancing back and forth between you and your protruding belly. You read the clear question in his eyes that he was burning to ask.

“You’re going to be an uncle.”

Except the few times he’d been close to death, you’d never seen Sam look so pale.

You and Sam sat on the edge of Dean’s bed, Miracle (as you’d come to find out was the dog’s name) laid at your feet, his head on his paws.

“How?” Sam finally asked you.

You snorted in amusement. “You know how.”

“No, I mean… Why didn’t you tell Dean? Did you tell Dean? Because he didn’t tell me and I don’t think that’s something he wouldn’t have told me.”

You wet your lips with your tongue, feeling the heavy weight of guilt and sadness wrap around you once more. “No. I didn’t tell him,” you whispered. It was now the biggest regret of your life, right before the second biggest one of you walking out of the bunker the morning you’d last seen him and not fighting harder to get him to let you back in.

“Were you ever going to?”

Your eyes snapped to Sam at the judgment clear as day in his tone and they narrowed. “No, I wasn’t. He made it pretty clear he wanted nothing more to do with me or anything related to me. So, no, Sam, I wasn’t,” you snapped.

He pressed his lips into a thin line and looked down at his lap.

You turned your gaze forward again, taking a breath to tamp down the familiar anger and resentment that you’d worked so hard to try to let go of. After a moment, you rubbed at your forehead. “Yes,” you muttered. “I don’t know. I think so…”

Sam stayed quiet and let you sort through your thoughts which you were grateful for. You’d been caught completely off guard by the pregnancy yourself. When you found out, you thought back to how you unwisely didn’t take your usual precautions and since you and Dean had broken up long before that, you hadn’t been too concerned with maintaining your birth control.

You’d thought over your options. Bringing a kid into the hunting lifestyle was the worst thing you could do to it. Dean and Sam were living proof. Their mom herself had known it which was why she tried to get out when she married their dad. Not to mention, it would make you vulnerable in your line of work and the kid would always be in danger, always have a target on its back. Plus, you were pretty sure that even if you told Dean, he’d be less than thrilled. He always told you he didn’t want kids, for the very reasons you were now facing. And did you really want to bring a kid into the world that Chuck was about to end, only to have a father who was dismissive of it, or even hated it? You didn’t think Dean would be capable, he’d been great with Jack and Ben after all, but this was different. This kid would have his blood, his genes, would look like him somewhat. Sure, he had that in Emma once and that had torn him up, but this would also be different. This was for the long haul. And that’s only if he even wanted to be in this kid’s life. Which he might opt not to. How could you do that to your child? So you considered choosing to end the pregnancy, which would have been a true mercy given everything stacked against it before it would be born, but eventually you decided otherwise.

You’d heard the baby’s heartbeat on a checkup while you were still mulling it over, and that was it. Dean wanted to know if what you had was real or not? Here it was, its little heart thumping away deep within your body. After that visit, you’d decided the hell with it. You were someone who believed everything happened for a reason, well before things with Chuck went bad though you still operated on this age-old belief most of the time. You were having a kid, one who would be half of you and half of Dean, the love of your life for all intents and purposes. Though it had hurt when he dismissed you that morning, perhaps this had been the reason why he called you out of the blue, wanting you to come to him, and why you went despite knowing what would most likely happen and how much pain it would cause you.

So you made a decision to start pulling out of hunting. Donna rented her family cabin in Hibbing to you. Bobby hadn’t been back since Mary died so it was sitting empty and unused. You hid the pregnancy as best you could but ultimately, once the first trimester was over and you had popped, you couldn’t hide it anymore. Donna found out though she never knew who the father was. She didn’t pry which you appreciated. When she called you to warn you that Billie was making people disappear left and right, a familiar fear clawed at your chest. Not only fear for your child but also the fear of what if Dean found out about it. That was the only thing that kept you from offering to come down to Kansas to help.

“We’re going into some place warded to protect us. You should do the same. I can send you pictures of the sigils they’re using.”

“Okay, thanks. Are you sure you’re going to be alright?”

“Yeah, don’t you worry. We’ll figure this out. You just stay safe in the cabin. You and…well, you know.”

You appreciated her staying discreet when you heard Sam’s voice in the background. “I will. Thanks, D.”

“You betcha. Talk soon.”

You hung up and Donna did indeed send you the pictures. You did your best with what you had but it didn’t matter in the end. The last thing you remembered was painting a sigil on the window and then everything went black. The next thing you knew, you were back at the window, your finger extended towards the glass, the half-finished sigil staring back at you. You noticed the sun was in a different position in the sky than it had been and you immediately grabbed your cell phone. Two days had passed. How?

It hit you then what happened and you dropped the phone with a cry, immediately grabbing at your stomach. You ran for the machine Jody had shipped to you after Donna told her. At the time you’d been annoyed, but right now, you couldn’t be happier at the sheriff knowing about your pregnancy once your baby’s heartbeat echoed throughout the bedroom. You let out a huge sigh of relief, rubbing your belly affectionately. “We had quite a scare there, didn’t we, kiddo?”

It dawned on you then that while you had vanished, you were back, baby and all. Did that mean everyone else was back, too? You went back downstairs for your cell phone and immediately called Donna. Yep, everyone was back, they had all disappeared, and it wasn’t Billie but Chuck who had done it. You asked after Dean and Sam and that was when she told you about Cas and then Jack. You knew both brothers would be devastated, especially Dean, and you considered breaking your radio silence to call him. However, you chickened out at the last second and called Sam instead to check in.

It’s not that a part of you didn’t want to tell Dean he was going to be a father, it was that you were scared of what would happen when you did. Originally, you had feared that he would turn his back on you completely, more importantly on his kid, but now you were worried that maybe it would be the exact opposite. While you would be happy for him to be actively involved in your child’s life as its dad, you also knew Dean. He would try to resume things between you, make it work for the kid’s sake. Just look at how long he tried to make it work with Lisa for Ben’s sake. Not that he didn’t love her and he ended up leaving to protect them, but even Lisa knew his heart wasn’t in it. While that had been for different reasons involving hunting and Sam’s reappearance in his life, he still tried to make it work. But as he’d told you, the family thing didn’t work for him, and besides he already had a family with Sam, Cas, and Jack. You hadn’t missed how he didn’t include you in that group; you supposed you should’ve known then.

You didn’t want him to fake wanting to be with you just to give your kid some semblance of a family life that Dean himself hadn’t really had. You didn’t know if you could take him forcing himself to kiss you goodnight before turning his back on you every single night. Or forcing a smile when he’d come home after a long day and you were the first thing he saw when he stepped inside. It was a ridiculous fear to have, you knew that, and you should be stronger than this — you were stronger than this. Not to mention, you knew you were being selfish and not at all fair to your baby or Dean. But the images kept replaying over and over in your mind, making you flinch, and you told yourself you’d tell him the next day. The next day turned into next week, then the next month. Before you knew it, you were in your third trimester and you were getting a call from his younger brother to inform you of his untimely death.

Maybe that’s really why you raced down here from Hibbing. Maybe that’s why you wanted to see for yourself that he was gone. Not only to confirm that the man who had your heart was gone for good, but also so you could tell him, hoping he might hear it wherever he now was. Or maybe by some act of mercy Jack could relay it to him, wherever Jack was. It was cowardly, you were a coward, and you hated yourself for it. You knew you should have told Dean months ago, after you found out that he and Sam had beaten Chuck, Jack was in charge of the universe now, and the world was not coming to an end anytime soon. Regardless, you couldn’t turn back the clock.

A tear escaped that you quickly wiped away, not caring if Sam saw or not. “You know, when you first told me about Dean, I considered a demon deal.”

Sam’s head snapped up. “No! That’s not what he would want! No!”

You held out a placating hand. “I know. I’m not going to do that.” He seemed to deflate slightly in relief. “I can’t, anyway.” You motioned to your bulging stomach. “I couldn’t do that to my kid. Only be around for 10 years and then poof, I’m gone? Even if it had Dean, if Dean wanted it that is, it’s still terrible to do that to a kid.” You winced slightly when you realized you were saying this to Sam Winchester of all people.

“Dean would’ve wanted it,” he assured you quietly.

You grimaced and dropped your gaze down to the dog who was staring up at you. “Maybe.” You reached down to pet his head.

Sam placed a gentle hand on your shoulder. “He would’ve.”

You stayed quiet for a moment, thinking over his words, when you murmured, “Is there any way to get him back?”

Sam let you go and his hazel eyes began to shimmer. “No,” he choked out. “I, uh, checked with Jack and he said it was his time. So…no.”

“What?” You snapped, getting to your feet. “After everything you’ve done for that kid? He just—”

Sam got to his feet, tenderly cradling your shoulders. “I know. I didn’t want to hear it either but…Jack’s right.” Your jaw dropped, ready to let some f-bombs fly (which you usually tried to avoid since the baby could now hear you), when Sam’s hands moved up to your face, trying to get you to listen. “He was ready to go. Jack confirmed it. Dean’s in Heaven and he’s at peace.”

Tears were on the edge of falling when you heard that. “He’s in Heaven?”

Sam nodded, a tear making its way down his cheek. “Yeah. He is.”

If Dean was in Heaven…well, then that was some consolation at least. Just when he thought he’d never make it there thanks to his being a demon for a short stint, being killed by a Hell Hound, and everything that had occurred over the years — even some of the things he’d done. But that also meant he was gone, for good this time. It was confirmed; he wasn’t coming back. It hit you like a freight train and it punched a huge hole in your chest. You felt as if you were falling, falling, and would never stop. Dean was…gone. “Then he’s…”

“He’s gone,” Sam confirmed. “He’s not coming back.”

Your knees buckled and you nearly fell, Sam thankfully having caught you. You heard a wailing sound but you had no idea where it was coming from until you felt it ripping its way out of your body. Sam gingerly picked you up in his arms and moved you onto the bed. You were violently sobbing and you barely noticed Sam holding you, gently rocking you back and forth, his own tears falling into your hair. Miracle had jumped up and laid next to you, whining quietly and trying to shove his head under your hands, rubbing his body carefully against your belly.

There was no way. No way that this was real. This had to be a nightmare. But when you heard Sam sniffle above you, choking out, “It’s going to be okay, Y/N. I promise, it’s going to be okay,” you knew that it wasn’t. Memories of Dean’s face, his laugh, his smiles, his touch, his scent, the way he looked at you when you’d both been happy together, his kisses, the way he felt like home in a way that no other person or place ever could, the way he made you feel safe — all of it smashed over you like a tidal wave and it didn’t let up. Dean Winchester, the man you’d loved with all of your heart, the man whose child you now carried inside of you, was gone. And there was nothing you could do to bring him back.

Dean had just pulled the Impala over at a beautiful spot, where you could see nature’s beauty for miles. He rested back against Baby and marveled at it all. There was even a double rainbow that showed up and Dean chuckled, knowing that had to be Jack’s doing considering there hadn’t been any rain. Then he wondered if it did rain at all. How did things like that work up here anyhow?

He was still enjoying the view when Jack popped in next to him.

“There he is.” Dean grinned and went to give him a hug before he thought better of it. “Am I still allowed to…you know?”

Jack smiled. “Of course. I like hugs.”

Dean laughed and embraced him tightly. “Thanks, kid. For everything you did up here, I mean. Bobby told me.” He pulled back, clapping his shoulder in thanks. “So, where’s Cas?”

“He’ll be along shortly but first, I need to show you something.”

Dean’s brows furrowed but he shrugged. “Okay.”

Jack placed a hand on Dean’s shoulder and next thing Dean knew, he was back in his old room at the Bunker. “Whoa,” he whispered, thinking Jack and Cas had built the Bunker just for him. He would be able to wait for Sam here, in his home. He hoped the TV in the Dean Cave worked and that he still had access to his music. Baby’s radio had worked so he had high hopes. He was about to thank Jack when his eyes suddenly caught sight of someone in his bed. Well, two someones.

He glanced towards Jack who gave him a subtle nod, silently encouraging him to get closer. Dean shot him a confused look but did move closer. When he caught sight of you, his heart dropped into his stomach. Even being dead, he felt the same exact thing he felt the last time he had seen you. You were the one who got away, or more appropriately, the one he pushed away.

Sure, he’d been confused when he found out everything in his life was a lie when Chuck revealed himself to be a giant dick, but he did love you. He had such trouble reconciling the two: what he knew to be true and what his mind was telling him. No other romantic relationship had worked out for him, all two of them prior to you, and now he knew why. Chuck liked him better on his own, being the guy with no strings attached and rolling through town to save the girl, kill the monsters, get thanked, and move on his way. The only other person Chuck liked having in the Impala regularly was Sam. You, well, you he hadn’t seen coming and after the Big Bad Chuck reveal, he had to wonder why.

He had never meant to hurt you, though he couldn’t seem to stop from doing it. If things weren’t real between you all of this time, he didn’t want to keep pretending like they were. That wasn’t fair to either of you and he certainly didn’t want to continue stringing you along when his heart was no longer in it like it used to be. So he let you go, as painful as it was and as wrong as it felt, he did the right thing by you. Then that night he’d called you out of the blue, he’d been torn up about Cas’ revelations about Jack’s actual role in Billie’s plan, how badly he wanted Chuck gone, and how while he didn’t want to sacrifice the kid, he wanted his and Sam’s freedom more. Without thinking, he’d picked up the phone and dialed you. He shocked himself when he asked you to come over after hearing you weren’t that far away, and you shocked him even more when you agreed.

Dean hadn’t planned for you two to be intimate, but once you were there, right in front of him, it hit him hard how much he missed you, missed what you had together. So he made a move and you let him. He’d put everything he had, everything he felt but couldn’t tell you, into this stolen moment in time between you. And then the next morning, he thought it had all been a dream until he turned his head and saw you laying there, hair adorably disheveled, sheet covering you, doing something on your phone. It briefly reminded him of the many mornings he’d woken to find you in this exact same position, already up after a wild night, searching for cases. He wanted to bask in the comfort and familiarity for a moment longer, but when you turned and smiled at him, greeting him like you always had, he started kicking himself internally. He didn’t want you to think that this meant things would change when he knew they wouldn’t. He was being unfair to you and it wasn’t right. He’d been a selfish bastard and now he had to go into dick mode which would hurt you again. And sure enough, he knew he did when he saw your face fall as he easily dismissed you, not once but twice. He winced at the memory; he certainly didn’t blame you for not taking his calls or returning his voicemails after that.

The truth was that while he had initially been confused about his feelings for you and their validity, he knew he cared deeply about you and the most important thing was keeping you safe. He didn’t want you involved in the Chuck showdown, which is why he rudely dismissed you that morning, making up an excuse of a case in Duluth, something he knew you’d go along with. After watching you leave, as the door closed behind you, his heart fell into his stomach and he felt about three inches tall. He hated hurting you, hated pushing you away, but he knew it was for the best. You needed to be safe; not a target for Chuck.

After Chuck had been defeated and Jack took over, Dean realized in those months that he’d been a grade A idiot when it came to you. Sure, he’d been a cold dick, but he also had been a complete dumbass. He still loved you and he missed the hell out of you. What you had together had been something special that he stupidly threw away. There were quite a few nights after quite a few drinks, he’d picked up his phone and hovered over your number but he never actually called it. How could he even think of asking you to forgive him and give him another chance? After everything he’d said and done? He truly was a selfish bastard.

When he didn’t call, he then switched over to all of the photos and videos he had taken of you and both of you together. As he heard your laughter, saw both of your smiles, watched how you looked at him and the affection you’d shown him, he continued drowning his sorrows. He wanted so much to talk to you, to apologize and explain, and ask if he could come see you, but he never let himself ask. He didn’t deserve it; he knew that.

Now, here you were, asleep on his bed, Miracle curled up next to you. Staring down at you, he wondered how the hell he had ever let you go. And now, he’d never get to hold you again, feel your touch, or even share a conversation with you ever again. Even though Dean was at peace with his fate, regret languished within his chest the more he studied your face. He reached out to brush some hair back over your face but sadness overwhelmed him when he realized he couldn’t even do that small simple touch. Not anymore.

Dean’s eyes narrowed when he noticed an arm curled around you, almost protectively, pinning you to another body. His gaze traveled up that arm to find his younger brother, asleep right behind you. That surprised him but he quickly put two and two together. You must have gone to the Bunker when Sam called you to tell you the news and here you were, in Dean’s room, asleep on his bed with his dog. And while he didn’t begrudge you or his little brother some comfort you both might need, he didn’t like the look of that embrace or that Sam’s face was buried into the back of your neck.

Dean glanced back down at the arm, seeing Miracle staring right up at him. He couldn’t help but smile at the canine who had been his companion for months before he died. “Hey, boy,” he whispered, not sure if he would be heard or not but not wanting to startle you if he was. “How are you?”

Miracle didn’t seem to react at first, not until he got up and moved closer, wagging his tail. Dean went to try to pet the dog, hoping he could at least touch the animal, but he never got that far. His eyes zeroed in on just what Miracle’s body had been blocking.

His wide eyes flicked up to you, to Sam, back to you, and back to your fairly large and round stomach. The hell with being heard and possibly scaring you two. He glanced back to find Jack watching him. “What the hell is going on here, Jack?”

“They’re sleeping.”

“I’m aware of that,” he growled. “But what—”

Just then, Cas popped in next to Jack. When the angel saw Dean, he offered a soft smile. Dean felt himself relax slightly and a part of him wanted to go hug the angel but another part of him was nervous to. Plus, he really wanted to know what the hell was going on. He shifted his eyes towards Jack, his jaw tightening. “What the hell are you showing me?”

Cas glanced towards the bed, realization lighting his features, before he turned to Jack as well.

“The present,” Jack simply answered.

Dean cursed under his breath, not caring that both Cas and Jack could hear him. “The present of what? Because from where I’m standing, it seems like some time has passed.” He gestured towards your stomach. He tried not to be angry with you or Sammy, he really did, but dammit, his brother knew how he felt about you! Him dying didn’t change that! Besides, Sam had something going with Eileen last he knew, whatever happened to that?

“What you’re seeing is a few days after your death.”

Surprise ran through Dean at that revelation. So, this wasn’t some screwed up future scene he was witnessing? His eyes roamed over you, coming to rest once again on your stomach. You were very pregnant, looking as if you might be ready to pop any day now, he wasn’t sure. But one thing was clear; there was no way the baby was Sam’s. Sam wouldn’t have been able to keep that secret from him that long and he just didn’t see you or Sam going behind his back like that while he was alive. You were pissed at him, maybe even hated him, but you would never do that to him. Nor would Sam. The only answer was that you had found someone else and you were starting a family with them. Now he understood your radio silence even more. You might currently be sad at the news of his death, awash in memories in his room to where you’d fallen asleep on his bed and Sam had to comfort you, but you had truly moved on. That burned him even more. While he was happy if you were happy, knowing you’d found someone who wouldn’t break your heart and would treat you better than he ever could, a part of him was saddened by this knowledge. He knew you were too good for him, that you deserved better, but to see it confirmed in such a way, well, it was heartbreaking.

“So if she’s… Then she’s…” He couldn’t even put it into words; it hurt too much.

Jack clasped Dean’s shoulder. “The child is yours, Dean.”

Dean wasn’t alive anymore but if he had been, his heart would have stopped. He turned to Jack, shocked. “What?”

“You’re going to be a father,” Jack supplied, letting him go.

“But…how?” Dean’s gaze fell on you once more.

Cas suddenly appeared on his other side. “You don’t remember how you conceived the child?”

“What? No, I just…”

“Dean,” Jack called.

When he turned to look at the new God, the latter held up a glowing finger to him that almost reminded him of that movie E.T. “What are you gonna do with that? Check my temperature?” Speaking of E.T., hadn’t that been one of the last movies picked for movie night before the Chuck showdown?

Jack smiled and touched the finger to his forehead. Within seconds, Dean was reliving every single moment between you two:

…When you’d met.

…When he decided he’d liked you while you decided you didn’t like him too much.

…His constant flirting and trying to win you over.

…Your begrudging friendship that then grew into something more.

…Your relationship.

…Your breakup.

…All of the times you’d been in pain because of him.

…That last night.

…The next morning.

Then the memories shifted to yours from after that morning:

…You finding out about the pregnancy a couple of months later.

…Your hemming and hawing over calling him to tell him.

…Your fears.

…When you’d vanished with everyone else.

…Your panic upon your reappearance.

…The time you spent getting ready to retire from hunting and set up a normal life in Hibbing while preparing for the baby.

…The call from Sam with the news of his death.

…Your regret at not telling him about his child and your drive down here.

…Your conversation with Sam.

…Your collapsing in grief at finally realizing that he was gone and not coming back.

All of it that led to the scene he was witnessing now. He felt everything you felt, heard every thought, saw every tear, every smile.

By the time Jack pulled away, Dean’s eyes were wet. He wasn’t sure how he was able to produce tears as a dead man but he did. Not only did he feel how deeply he’d hurt you, but he also felt just how deeply you loved him. He already knew he’d been an idiot when it came to you, but he really had no clue before this just how incredibly stupid he’d been. It had always been real between you. That hadn’t been Chuck. Not by a long shot.

Dean discreetly wiped his eyes. “Send me back.” His tone was firm and he wasn’t really asking.

“I’m sorry, Dean, but your time on Earth is up.”

Dean turned a menacing glare onto Jack. New God or not, he didn’t care. “She’s having my kid and she needs me. They both need me. Sam, too. After everything I’ve done for this world, you owe me.” Jack stared him down, unbothered by the taller man’s attempt to make demands. “Now I appreciate the Fixer Upper: Heaven Edition, I really do, but I should be with them. I deserve a shot at this and you know it.”

Jack mused on that for a moment before staring up at Dean sadly. “I’m afraid it doesn’t work like that.”

Dean scoffed. “Then why bother showing me any of this? Why bother telling me that it’s my kid she’s about to have? What’s the point, dammit?”

“You were afraid that you had left nothing behind of value, except Sam and your beloved car. Afraid that your life hadn’t amounted to anything in the end. No matter how many people you saved, no matter how many connections you made, no matter what good you did. ” Jack gestured towards you. “It did amount to something. You are leaving behind something, something important. A legacy,” Jack gestured to your stomach. “A family,” he waved his hand over you and Sam.

Dean’s jaw clenched and he ignored the stinging in the corner of his eyes. “So this was just to show me what I can never have. The girl, the kid, the life…that’s just aces,” he muttered.

“No, Dean,” Cas spoke up. “What Jack is trying to explain is—”

“--your life amounted to more than you thought it had,” Jack finished.

Dean watched as Miracle went back and curled up against your belly once more, his head on his paws as he watched the scene in front of him. The corner of Dean’s lips tipped up into a smile. It was almost as if the dog knew it was his kid in there. And he was determined to protect it in Dean’s absence. His smile faded though when he thought of how he wouldn’t be able to see his kid, at all. He’d had enough of this. “That’s great. Appreciate the pep talk, fellas. Now, if you could send me back so I can actually raise my legacy and take care of my family, that’d be much appreciated.”

Jack and Cas exchanged a glance. Dean knew he wasn’t winning this one but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t keep trying. “It’s not your time yet,” Jack answered cryptically.

Dean’s head snapped in his direction. “What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that now your time is in Heaven, not Earth. And it’s best if you return to it.” Before Jack could snap his fingers, Dean held up a hand.

“Whoa, wait! That’s it? You’re not even gonna let me stick around to see what I’m gonna have?”

Jack smiled once more. “You’re going to have a son. A strong, healthy son.”

Dean reeled from that information. “A son?” He choked out.

Jack gave him a happy nod and held his fingers up again.

“Wait, wait! I’m serious, Jack. Why can’t I stick around?”

“You know what happens to ghosts, Dean. Besides, you’ve already been admitted to Heaven.”

“But you can do something about that, right? Like bring me back?” When Jack didn’t respond, Dean became desperate. “At least let me check in on them every now and then or something! You’re telling me you can’t even do that? You’re freaking God!”

Jack’s smile faded. “You’re not an angel, Dean.”

“No,” Cas interrupted. “But I am.” Cas stretched out his wings that were a lot brighter than Dean remembered. If he wasn’t dead, he was pretty sure he would at they very least be blinded from the brightness right about now. “I can take him back when he’s ready and I can escort him on any future visits.”

Dean was shocked but also beyond grateful at Cas’ offer. While they hadn’t spoken yet about how things were left between them before The Empty took away the angel, he couldn’t imagine it would be easy for Cas to watch as he pined over someone else, as he watched his kid grow, but Dean was grateful all the same.

Jack appeared to think this over before meeting Cas’ intent gaze. “You will make sure to bring him back each time.” At Cas’ nod, Jack gave him a knowing yet affectionate smile. “I expect you to keep to the rules during these visits.”

“Of course,” Cas agreed.

Jack then glanced over at Dean. “If you’re worried about her and your child, you don’t need to be. Sam is going to watch over them.” Dean’s eyes widened slightly and his head snapped in your direction, his eyes shifting to Sam’s arm around you.

“What the hell does that mean?” He demanded.

“It means that your family is going to be safe. They’re going to stick together. Sam is going to help Y/N raise your son. He won’t allow any harm to come to them.”

His jaw tightened, thinking it should be his arm over you, him behind you, him helping you raise your kid, you two together. He should be the one to take his son fishing, teach him about girls when he got older, show him how to keep Baby going, be the father his old man had the potential to be but minus a few things. He’d do whatever it took to keep the kid out of hunting, to give him a shot at a full happy life. He’d give up hunting himself in order to make it happen. And you…if you’d take him back, he’d never leave your side. Hell, he’d marry you if you let him. After Jack had caught him up to speed on everything you went through, everything you had felt and were feeling, he’d spend the rest of his life making it up to you, letting you know every single day just how much he loved you, if only you’d let him. If only Jack would allow him to come back. It felt beyond wrong that he wasn’t there and Sam was stepping into his place. Sam shouldn’t have to; he should be able to go and build his own family with Eileen or whoever, get married, have a couple of kids, buy a house, get out of hunting and go back to school — do whatever he wanted with his life. Not this.

“Dean.”

His eyes slowly lifted to Jack’s, who was a lot closer now than he had been before. He laid a reassuring hand on the man’s shoulder. “It’s as it should be. After you died, Sam was lost. She’s going to need help when the child is born.” He stared at Dean meaningfully. “They all need this.”

Dean’s gaze briefly roamed over the three of you on the bed before landing on Jack again. He thought back to his cryptic words from before. “Will I ever meet my kid? Get to see her again? Outside of Heaven?”

Jack’s expression didn’t change nor did he say anything but he squeezed his shoulder. That was the only response Dean was going to get apparently.

Dean huffed a snort and shook his head.

“I told you, Dean. There would be no more meddling with the world from on high. I will not repeat Chuck’s mistakes. Everything is as it should be.”

Dean’s jaw clenched and he dropped his gaze. No, everything wasn’t as it should be. He made up his mind then to talk to Bobby when he got back. There had to be something he could do to get back to Earth, to get back to you and Sam and the baby…to get back to you all. If he couldn’t convince Jack to send him back, he’d find some other way.

Jack released him as Cas came to stand next to Dean. “I’ll see you back in Heaven.” He then looked at Cas. “Not too long.”

Cas gave him a nod and like that, Jack disappeared, leaving the angel and the hunter alone. Dean wasn’t thinking about how that might have set them up to talk about Cas’ last words to him before dying; right now, his focus was on you.

“Cas, please…can I touch her?”

“Dean…”

“Please,” he begged. “Just one last time. I’m not gonna get to be with her or raise my kid. I just want to touch her one last time. Please, Cas.”

Cas thought it over and then moved closer to the bed, leaning down to place two fingers against your forehead. Dean’s brows furrowed when he noticed a golden glow appear from the touch. “Whoa, whoa, Cas. What are you doing?”

“I’m giving you what you asked for. Y/N’s a light sleeper, like all of you hunters. If she wakes up, she could think she’s being attacked by a ghost or some other entity. I doubt you want that.” He pulled away and gave Dean a look.

“No,” Dean quietly agreed. Cas moved away to make room to let him in. Dean gingerly sat on the bed, about to touch you when he glanced up at the angel, unsure. Cas gave him a nod and Dean turned to gently run the backs of his fingers down your cheek. He felt your warm and soft skin this time when he came into contact with you and he let out a small breath of relief, sadness filling his chest.

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. Had I known, I would’ve…” He supposed it didn’t really matter what he would’ve done. “I should’ve been there. You shouldn’t have had to go through all this alone. I should be there with you now, ready to help you take care of the kid. I…” He tenderly moved your hair behind your ear. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I never wanted to hurt you, but I had to keep you safe. I didn’t want you to become a target for Chuck. And I never should’ve…” He could feel a familiar stinging at the corners of his eyes and he wasn’t surprised that his voice was a bit gruffer when he next spoke. “I knew what we had was real. I know I questioned it for a second there but I always knew. That’s why it was so important to me that you were safe. But it doesn’t make what I did and said okay. And I’m sorry for that.” He ran his fingers lightly over your lips, wishing he could kiss you one last time, feeling you kissing him back. “I love you,” he whispered, a single tear falling down his cheek that he hastily wiped away. He stroked the apple of your cheek tenderly with his thumb. “And I always will.”

Not really wanting to pull away from you but knowing he was on a time clock, he reluctantly moved his fingers away from your face and laid his hand on your belly. He couldn’t feel anything except the taut skin underneath his fingertips, but it was enough to make him smile. “Being that you’re my kid, you’re probably going to give your mom a run for her money. Try not to make her too crazy, huh?” He let out a watery sounding laugh. “I’m sorry I can’t be there but your Uncle Sammy is going to make sure you and your mom are taken care of. Okay? He’s going to show you how to toss a ball around, help you with your homework, all that stuff. Just do me a favor, though. Don’t let him feed you kale the whole time and don’t let him get you into his true crime podcasts. The guy is a classic nerd, don’t let him turn you into one, too.” His smile slowly faded. “Saying all that, he’s one of the best guys I've ever known and I know he’ll be good to you, be good to your mom. So cut him some slack when you get older, alright?” He rubbed his thumb in gentle circles. “Take care of your mom for me. I’ll be watching over both of you. I hope I get to meet you someday.” Unable to resist, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to your stomach before sitting up and coming face to face with Miracle. The dog quietly whined and Dean gave him one last good head scratch. “You look out for them, okay buddy?” The dog whined again and Dean patted him.

“Dean,” Cas gently called.

Dean nodded and slowly got to his feet. His eyes shifted to Sam who was sound asleep, giving him a soft smile. “Thanks for taking care of them, Sammy,” he whispered. He didn’t vocalize that it was only temporary, that he was hell bent and determined to find a way to get back. His eyes then landed on you and he reached out to you one last time, trailing a fingertip along the dried tear tracks on your cheek. “Cas, can we just stay until they wake up?”

“Dean, Jack said—”

“I know what Jack said,” Dean snapped, glancing back at the angel whose parted lips pressed into a thin line. Dean immediately felt sorry for snapping at him; it wasn’t Cas’ fault and he wasn’t angry with him. He softened his tone. “I just want to be here when she wakes up. That’s all.” Cas seemed to be wrestling with his request. “Please, Cas,” he begged. “I just want to see her like this, awake.” He was slightly embarrassed at admitting that to his best friend but he wasn’t sure when he’d be allowed to visit again (and what he might be able to figure out to get himself back or how long it would take), and he had the strongest urge to see you up and about, walking around, pregnant with his kid. Not to mention he wanted to hear your voice one last time. “Please,” he whispered in a broken plea.

Cas stared at him for a moment before giving him a nod. “But after she wakes, we go back.”

“Thank you, Cas.” He meant it. While he highly doubted Cas would get into any real trouble on his behalf, he knew how difficult it must be for the angel to unwillingly push against Jack’s rules. Dean turned back to you, carefully sitting down next to you, caressing your face. “Sleep, sweetheart. I’ll keep you safe,” he murmured. He also made you a silent promise: he would do whatever it took to get back to you. His eyes briefly roamed to your stomach. To get back to both of you. Fate and the universe and all that crap be damned.

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littlejuicebox · 4 months

Note

Hi! I'm not sure if you take requests so if you don't, please ignore this and I hope you had a wonderful Christmas.

I just read your Astarion X Tav fanfic where Astarion proposes. It is said that the ring he got glows whenever Astarion thinks of Tav. I was just wondering if you could write a slice of life about the ring glowing at the most random times. Maybe during a stealth mission where Tav has to stay hidden or when he is smiling in his sleep and the ring glows. I just thought it would be cute and fun to write about. You can get creative with it.

Thank you for taking the time to read this, whether you end up doing this request or not. I hope you had an amazing Christmas and I hope you will have an amazing New Year's!

Hi Anon! I don’t think this is quite what you were asking for but… this is what came out! 🤷‍♀️ The smut gods blessed me and I cannot deny their gifts. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! Smut below the cut.

If you haven’t read my other work and would like context, Anon is referencing a two part mini story I wrote. Click here for part 1, and click here for part 2.

Warnings/Tags: 18+ only please, smut, masturbation, sex pollen, swearing/cursing, game spoilers

Word Count: 1.5K

-----

“I think we’re just… a bit out of practice, darling. It has been nearly a year since we were down here last, you know.” Astarion whispers, crouched next to you behind a Funguswood tree. He’s wiping bits of dirt, twigs, and mushroom pollen off himself with a handkerchief.

“Admit it, Astarion. You just weren’t fast enough.” You respond with a small, teasing poke of your tongue as you rearrange your weaponry and count your arrows.

The pale elf finishes wiping off the debris, and you return your attentions to the mission. You’d been contracted to scout out the vampire stronghold in the Underdark and report your findings back to Wyll and the Flaming Fists. Rumor was that the vampire hoard had wreaked absolute havoc on the Underdark; the city feared the creatures would soon return to the surface if they could not find sustenance here.

“Would you have preferred I let that wild Rothé ram you into those mushrooms in my stead?!” Astarion hisses in return while rubbing his hand over his arm, which now felt unbelievably tingly and was starting to radiate significant warmth, “Hells, what mushrooms were those, anyway?!”

You stifle a chuckle, knowing your fiancé is already past his limits of patience. You two need to get to the scouting point, set up camp, and hunker down for a few days… all while avoiding detection from the vampires or any other nefarious creatures in the Underdark. Best to do it without an ornery Astarion by your side.

“I don’t know what mushrooms those were. I’ve never seen them before.” You admit with a small shrug, “Come on my love, not much further now and then we can get you properly cleaned up.”

Astarion follows behind you in silence, apart from the occasional cursing and swiping at his skin. Gods, the heat had spread up his entire arm now. The scratching seemed to make it worse, but by the hells, he couldn’t stop no matter how much he wanted to. The two of you finally got to the cragged rock that led to a small cave where you would make camp, and he never felt more relieved in his life. He couldn’t wait to clean himself properly and be done with this burning sensation.

You glance at him briefly and then begin climbing the rock. Astarion remains below to keep you covered in case anything decides to attack while you’re left defenseless. He looks up to watch your progress and cannot help but to notice the overwhelmingly attractive curve of your bottom. It was always attractive, of course, but something about it in this moment was entirely… irresistible. Had you been working out recently in preparation for the wedding?

You’re halfway through climbing the rock when your engagement ring bursts into a spray of light. It often glows significantly at the surface, but in the blackness of the Underdark, you’re practically a beacon. Your stomach drops. Gods, how had you forgotten to take it off?

“Astarion!” You hiss in a panicked whisper, “Cut it out! Every being in all of the Underdark will know our position.”

Astarion had realized the issue as soon as the light had flared, of course. He was trying desperately to avoid thinking of you and all the delicious things he wanted to do when you two made camp, but gods he couldn’t control it. What in the hells was wrong with him? He wanted to stop, to ensure your safety, but your plump, perfect ass was practically calling his name, begging for his attention, and he wanted nothing more than to bend you over and—

He shakes his head, trying to rattle the lewd fantasies from his psyche, “I’m trying, my love! I don’t know what’s come over me I just—“

Hags. Hideous shoes. Ghouls. Manual labor. Gale.

The pale elf tries to think of all the most grotesque, unsexy things he can and push you entirely from his mind. You continue to climb, hoping to quickly reach the top and take off your ring as soon as possible. The ring is still glowing like a single star in the blackest night.

Ogres. The smell of Araj’s blood. Rats. Gale.

Gods, it was useless.

Finally, you reach the top. You rip the ring off your finger and shove it in your pack as soon as your limbs land on the surface of the cave. Astarion quickly scales the rock behind you, and when he reaches the top, you’re positively glaring at him.

“Darling, I’m sorry! I really tried. It’s just— gods damn these mushrooms!” The vampire is ripping off his shirt and scratching at his skin as the two of you walk into the little cave. Before long he’s down to his knickers and cursing as he rubs desperately at his flesh.

You’re trying to ignore your fiancé and quickly pitch the tent so you can handle whatever the hells is going on with him. A sideways glance to your pack reveals that the ring is still glowing quite intensely… perhaps more than it ever has before. Was that even possible? At any rate, you can’t get closer to the stronghold with it glowing like that.

“Astarion, I don’t know what—“ You spin around, and you’re surprised to see the elf fully nude on his blanket, doing perhaps the most provocative thing you’ve ever witnessed.

Astarion is beaded in sweat by now, and his hands are wandering over himself, chasing the burning tingle as it travels through his body. Gods, the feeling was becoming absolutely unbearable. He kept seeing visions of you and him in the throes of passion in his mind.

He couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. Did he want to stop? He couldn’t decide. All he knew was the intense tingling and burning coursing through his veins and the wonderful fantasies filling his brain. He needed release from this torture; his limbs were on fire and the sensation was spreading to his groin.

The elf knows by the throbbing pulse in his cock that his erection is at full capacity, and he feels the dribbles of precum slowly sliding from the head, down the shaft. Astarion is, admittedly embarrassed knowing you are mere feet away and witnessing such an erratic show, but he grabs his own cock regardless— gods, it felt like being possessed. He needed release and he needed it now.

As his fingers wrap around his shaft, a burst of relief travels through his body. The tingling ceases for a moment. But then, it flares again and he’s consumed by the burning feeling and vulgar thoughts of the two of you once more. He pumps his hand a few times, bucking into the sensation, and once again the torturous tingle halts.

What in the hells?

Astarion is now rolling his hips towards his own hand, groaning in pure ecstasy at the relief from the burn as well as the delicious sensation of his hands stroking his uncharacteristically sensitive member. His eyes are clasped closed, and his other hand is still wandering over his torso, chasing that burning itch.

Through panting, shaking breaths he murmurs, “Darling, is it— oh gods, is possible that those— fuck — mushrooms contained sex pollen? I’ve never— mmh, fuck.”

You’d been so enraptured by the vision of your lover touching himself in such an uninhibited display of lust that you almost didn’t hear what Astarion asked. The slickness of your arousal was starting to become apparent as you instinctively squeezed your thighs together.

“I’m… I’m not sure, my love. I’ve read of such things but I’ve never come across it… until, perhaps, now I suppose.”

Astarion isn’t really listening. Instead, he’s bucking wildly into his own hand, chasing his own release. He falls apart in front of you, with his limbs tensed and mouth agape in pure, unadulterated pleasure, clasping tightly onto his own length. The gasping, strangled moan of relief that escapes him as he reaches his climax and shoots sticky streams of hot white seed onto his abdomen ignites a fire in your groin. He’s shuddering with the rippling aftershocks of his orgasm and you feel yourself dripping with arousal as you rub your thighs together once more. This display was entirely feral.

For a few moments the vampire is breathing contentedly, eyes still shut. He’s still holding his cock, which continues to twitch insistently despite its significant spend. Your lover brings his unoccupied hand to his hair and rakes it through his disheveled, sweaty curls.

You flick your gaze to your pack and notice that it’s no longer emitting that ethereal glow. But then Astarion groans in dismay and you see light flare from your bag again. When your attention returns back to your fiancé, he’s already grasping wantonly at a second rapidly growing erection.

“Darling, I can smell you,” He hisses desperately, now slathering his own milky juices around the swollen, reddened tip of his thick cock. The veins in his arm and on his shaft are pulsing as he begins to stroke himself again, “Don’t be coy just— come over here and help me with this. Please.”

And by the gods, he asked so nicely, how could you say no?

#astarion x tav #astarion fanfic #astarion fic #baulders gate 3 #baulders gate astarion #bg3 fanfiction #baulders gate tav #bg3 fanfic idea #astarion x reader #astarion smut #astarion x female tav #astarion x you #astarion x female reader #bg3 smut #prompt request #prompt response #astarion prompts #smut

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yasmindifference · 9 months

Note

IMMEDIATELY asking for jason’s pov of the fake dating fic for the prompt meme. literally first and only thing that popped in my mind. i don’t have a specific scene in mind, any you want would be amazing

oh and i forgot to say happy belated birthday!! you don’t have to reply to this separately lmao

Thank you very much! I've always kind of wanted to write Jason's POV of the hickey scene in chapter two, so I hope you enjoy ♡♡

It probably made Jason a bad person, but how could he resist the opportunity when it was right there?

“You might not’ve noticed, but I’m a possessive kinda guy,” he said in extreme understatement. “When I own something—or someone—I make damn sure everyone knows. You need more than this if you’re gonna be mine.”

It was a lie. A shameless, shameless lie.

Was Jason the kinda guy who marked up his partners as much and as often as they’d allow? Yes.

Was there a single solitary person in Crime Alley who was gonna look at Red Hood’s boyfriend long enough to even realize he had hickies, let alone count them? Absolutely fucking not.

So it was a lie, and Jason knew it. Knew that Tim would be lucky to get eye contact as long as he was undercover, because nobody would want to be the moron caught staring at Red Hood’s boyfriend. Jason had never dated anyone as his crime lord persona before, so they wouldn’t know what kinda punishment he’d lay down for staring…but he was sure they could imagine, and it would keep all of their gazes firmly averted.

But the excuse was right there—right there like the hickies he’d left before, scattered across Tim’s neck and just begging to be joined by some friends—and who was Jason to ignore it?

Tim hadn’t answered. Jason felt like that was a good sign; better hesitation than an immediate ‘no.’

“So?” he asked. He couldn’t resist the urge to apply a little pressure to the mark below his thumb, treasuring the way Tim’s pulse jumped in response. “More, yes or no?”

Tim’s pulse evened out immediately, and not in a natural way. No, that was Tim applying Batman’s lessons in controlling his heartbeat. That was Tim needing to control his heartbeat, because Jason was absolutely getting to him.

“Sure,” Tim said casually. “Knock yourself out.”

“Great,” Jason said, matching Tim’s casual tone. Not easy, when the jealous, possessive thing in his chest was nearly purring in satisfaction. He’d had so much fun marking Tim up the first time and couldn’t wait to do it again.

…But half the fun was flustering Tim, and Jason was pretty sure Tim had a strength kink. (It would explain his baffling and infuriating affair with the super clone, for one, and also Jason was like seventy-five percent sure Tim had checked him out the last time he took advantage of the Batcave’s weights.)

So he took the excuse of their height difference to lift Tim right off his feet and put him on the kitchen island. Without asking. With no visible effort. (No effort required, it’d be so fucking easy to just pin Tim to the wall and hold him there while Jason fucked him—)

Tim was blushing. Fuck yes.

He also wasn’t asking why Jason had done that, which was an even better sign, Jason thought. Still, for the sake of appearances—

“You’re too short,” he offered in explanation. Tim didn’t so much as roll his eyes; another good sign.

He wanted to keep teasing Tim, see if he could get that faint blush darker and more obvious, but the other half of the plan called. They had a date to go on.

So he stepped up between Tim’s splayed legs and gripped his hips, yanked him to the edge of the island, and went to town.

Tim’s skin was soft beneath his lips. His shirt rubbed distractingly against Jason’s chest. And the quiet, hitching breaths he kept taking were driving Jason out of his goddamned mind.

He was obviously trying so hard to stay cool, to play it unaffected like he wasn’t bothered all by Jason’s attention, and he was failing. Calm, cold, unflappable Tim was being really fucking flapped by Jason giving him a few hickies.

It was hot as fuck—and, more importantly, it gave Jason hope. Hope that this plan might actually work after all. That he might walk away from this not only with his traitors dealt with, but with Tim finally being his as a bonus.

And if not…well, at least he’d have this memory: Tim’s stifled moans, the taste of his sweat, and his visible struggle not to arch up into Jason’s touch.

It wasn’t everything Jason wanted, but it was a damn good start.

#jaytim #yasminfic #prompt response #eidoloony

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mirohtron · 1 year

Text

Hero dropped down to their knees, keeping their gaze locked onto the villain’s, refusing to let go.

Their eyes were wide, and begging as they spoke. “Help me.”

Villain’s lip twitched into a smirk. “Say it again.”

The hero shivered, their voice breaking.

“Help me.”

“One more time.”

prompt by @avvail :>

—

Shame burned acridly in the hero's throat. They were stained with blood and dirt and soot. Gravel was embedded in their cuts. Their body was bruised and beaten and aching.

It frustrated the hero to no end, that before they’d come to the villain’s doorstep, the villain had probably thought that the hero was dead, and instead of seeming relieved that they were alive they were forcing them to beg.

Still.

"Help me." They willed the villain not to hear it.

The villain's smirk burst into a cruel grin. Their gloved hand snaked out and landed on their throat, squeezing, like they were going to choke the hero. They glanced at the small sliver of skin that the glove exposed at their wrist, the thin, raised line following the green of their vein.

The villain was out of their suit, since the hero hadn’t been expected. They doubted the villain was relieved that their biggest problem had shown up to their doorstep completely fine and only a little roughed up.

The villain's thumb grazed the bump of their voice box, pressing down just slightly.

It took everything in the hero not to move. The muscles in their arms flexed. Their fists stayed clutched at their sides.

Slowly, the villain stroked the dips along the line of the hero's collarbone, then went up their throat. The hero bared it for them, because they knew the villain would like it.

A dimple appeared on the villain's cheek. Their eyes crinkled. They looked wolfish. "So good," they said, then curled their hand around to take them by the back of their neck. "So tame. Oh, I could just eat you up."

The hero's breath hitched and they knew the villain caught it. They chuckled. Humiliation bubbled inside them.

"This concerns you, too," said the hero, and right after they said it the villain's hand squeezed harder. They dropped the grin, shushed them gently, as though they were looking to soothe.

"I know, doll." The grin came on again, delighted. Similar to the look a thief got, looking at a vulnerable person walking down a deserted street. Eager to take. Twitching to take, to grab at any open seam.

The news was on every single channel there was, the hero was sure. They estimated ninety per cent of the city's heroes had been pronounced dead in the last ten hours

The villain continued. "I know. It must seem completely out of character, doll, but I did expect your little superhero to turn rogue eventually. I kept tabs. Noted every little tick."

The hero's breath hitched again, a harsher sound this time, wanting to rage. They kept themselves from asking—why didn't you let me know? But they shouldn't have expected any magnanimity from the villain. As for expecting the attack...

It still hadn't entirely registered in their head, they didn't think. They didn't believe the superhero was straight up evil. But they definitely weren't in their right mind, either. They were off the rocks. Wrong.

Today had started off like any other day. Everyone had gathered in the common room, chattering. The superhero had walked in, looked around once, and just... razed the whole place down.

"They're being controlled." It was the best explanation that the hero could give.

"Or maybe they've just realised the good side isn't all that good. Maybe they'll come for you next."

The hero's spine straightened. "Maybe they'll come for you first. You didn't see them firsthand. They went on a rampage." They'd torn the head off an innocent worker in the building, haloed by the fire, and stared straight at the hero. Feral. Rabid. Angry? Mad? Looking to take something the world had taken from them? The hero no longer knew. It all turned into one moment and the next.

A gloved hand made its way to their soot-stained hair. The villain peeled strands of sweaty hair away from the hero's forehead with their other hand.

With no answer from the villain, the hero grew twitchy. They rubbed the pads of their fingers raw. Dug crescent moons into their palm.

"You're smart," the hero tried eventually, reaching for something that would give in the villain. "Clever, strong."

"Dubious, greedy. Oh, and don't forget evil."

"Help me stop them." The hero's bare hand cupped the villain's own, gloved, tangled in their hair. They leaned forward. "If not to help me then for your safety."

“So sweet.”

“You know a rogue, indestructible hero will doom the city. You must’ve seen the news? The wrecked blocks?” The hero’s fingers slipped down to the scar on their wrist, fingertips slipping beneath their sleeve. The villain’s eyes flashed dangerously, but they pressed on. “I know what they’ve done to you—”

The villain's grip tightened on the hero's hair, forcing them to bare their throat. Their smile went mirthless and dangerous. The hero left their hands, kept them hanging harmlessly beside their head. "Quiet."

"I'm just saying."

The villain's voice dipped low, down to a delicate whisper, far away from that wolfish grin. "I know, doll, you're just saying. But you don't know me that way, do you?" Their free hand went to roam the hero's side. Their wrist flicked, and the cool edge of one of the villain's many knives pressed to their side. The hero's fists turned white-knuckled. "Do you?"

"No."

"Good." The knife disappeared. The villain pushed the hero's head away. "I miss when you were helpless. Tell me that again. Tell me what you need from me."

The hero steeled their jaw. They wiped dirt and soot from their cheek and didn't look at the villain.

"Tell me," the villain repeated. "Ask for it."

"Help me."

"Nicely."

"Please help me."

"Good." The villain grinned again. It wasn’t the same. "You'll do a job for me before I help you."

The hero went to protest. The villain's hand snaked out again, pressing a thumb to their lips, the side of their index finger cradling their chin. The scar on their wrist flashed in the low light. "I know, doll. I know. Smart, clever, strong. But evil."

The villain drank up every emotion that flitted past the hero. The hesitation. The consideration. The reluctance. The capitulation.

"I'll do it, and then you'll help. To stop superhero."

The villain tilted their head. "Of course, doll," they said. "Anything if you ask nicely."

#will be watching invincible after this #hero x villain #kyles.writing #prompt fill #prompt response #heroes and villains #villains and heroes #negotiation #hero #villain #villain x hero #heroxvillain #hxv #writeblr #writing #my writing

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satancopilotsmytardis · 16 days

Note

20-Fake it until you make it?

But instead of it being faking that you are orgasm, be faking that you’re not having one? 👀 Take that as you will LMAO.

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: Shigadabi

Content: Porn Star AU, Daddy kink, CNC/Rape roleplay, face-fucking/rough oral sex, cum eating, humiliation, degradation, spanking, hole spanking, forced feminization, multiple orgasms, anal fingering, anal sex, rough sex, facial

If you'd like to read on AO3 you can right here!

Dabi has been a porn star for six years. Ever since he turned eighteen and his father wanted him to go off to school somewhere and stop bringing any further disgrace on the Todoroki name after how much bad press they caught in the wake of the Sekoto Peak incident. Dabi, of course, immediately started to look for the worst thing he could do that wasn't illegal and he had signed himself up to lose his virginity on camera for Japan's premiere queer porn site. 'Dabi' was technically his stage name, but he wasn't hiding anything else plus his burns are so distinctive, and after years of the Todoroki's being in the public eye, he was damn certain that everyone would know exactly who he was. He went to his first shoot, didn't get off, got paid, and waited. It only took a week for the scandal to break and his father was livid, but when he'd threatened to kick him out of the family home, Shoto and Natsuo had shot back that they would be the first ones to head over to the tabloids and tell them he was homophobic, and so his father just had to silently seethe that he had, over the past six years, secured himself as the best switch on the site. He was making more than enough to move out, but he didn't give his father the satisfaction of finding out that he does have an apartment that he stays at every night he's not home.

He's a hot commodity because he's got a pierced dick, a fire quirk perfect for temperature and wax play, and he's 'exotic-looking' for people who want more of a bad boy type. And he's been doing this for six years, and hasn't ever once actually cum on camera. He's not sure if it's because of his burns and fucked up nerves, or because he's too focused on this being a job, or what. But in professional circles, he's made a name for himself because of that too. The plus side is he can stay hard for ages and get his scene partners off as many times as they want him to. He also doesn't have any issues with cock rings, plugs, or chastity cages on him in a scene, and he's gotten absolutely masterful at faking his orgasms. There are already methods employed to make ejaculation look more excessive for the cameras, and he's fine with using those methods on camera. Because the thing is, as soon as he gets off-camera, even if he decides to actually fuck one of his previous scene partners in his free time, he doesn't have an issue orgasming then. He used some of his significant pay to try to see a few different therapists about that, but none of them had a real explanation for it, and given he was constantly getting tested and ensuring his sexual health was perfect with his doctors, and didn't show any other performance issues, he just shrugged it off. He doesn't get off on camera, but he's a perfect performer otherwise, and the directors that will work with him have absolutely made their money back a hundred fold, so they aren't complaining either.

Giran does look like he's going to burst a blood vessel in his forehead as he finds out that Muscular's STI test is out of date and they'll have to reschedule the shoot until tomorrow while he goes and gets tested today. That's really no skin off his nose. He doesn't like doing scenes with Muscular, the guy is just gross in a way that has him just waiting for something to come out about how he's treated his fans, or an ex, or someone else. But Dabi gets paid big, no pun intended, for doing shoots that show off how much of a size queen he can be and Muscular has a quirk that can literally make his dick get bigger while it's inside of him, so they've been paired together for a few shoots. He's just glad that he found this out before he got all into makeup because if he's suddenly got the afternoon free, he's gonna hop over to Natsuo's university and take his little bro out for lunch and to make a nice public scene of the porn star Todoroki corrupting the med student who might actually make something of himself.

They wrap it up for the day and he heads out. His brother is more than happy to go have a bite between classes and his father is furious to see the pictures of him in his sheer shirt and leather pants, wearing a cockring on a necklace, plastered across the front page of every gossip site by that evening.

///

"What the fuck do you mean he's got--" Giran's face goes red and Dabi thinks that he's in serious danger of bursting two veins today. "That's why he was trying to dodge it yesterday? Fuck that. Take him off our actor list. If he starts a fuss, remind him that his failure to show up with a valid test yesterday means that he was in breach of contract and he's lucky I'm not suing his ass." Giran hangs up and does something Dabi hasn't ever seen him do on set, he pulls out his cigs and lights up. "Pack it in. We don't have a second star."

Fuck. He was really looking forward to the paycheck for this one. He'll get paid for the couple of hours he sat around the past two days, but he's not gonna get anywhere near the payout that this shoot was supposed to get him. "You know I'm down for a solo scene." Dabi offers. It's such a waste to have rented the space for this, to have everything set up, and not even use it. "We can switch the script to the 'villains' having dosed me with an aphrodisiac quirk and I can use one of the oversized toys?"

"I appreciate that, Dabi, but the contract was for a two person shoot."

"Magne?" He offers. They don't normally film together, and he doesn't know if she'll want to take on this role as someone who's supposed to be 'assaulting' him, but she's got a big dick and they have worked together before. Though they have more fun drinking and clubbing together than they do working together.

"She's booked up for the next two days. Called her last night when shit seemed suspect with Muscular."

"Shit."

"Shit." Giran agrees.

"Um," They both look up when Iguchi speaks, blushing so hotly that Dabi can see it through his scales.

"Oh? Dude, are you packing something bigger than your boom mic?" He teases lightly. Iguchi has worked sound on every job he's ever taken with Giran and that's been at least fifty over the past couple of years, he's pretty sure joking about what's in his pants isn't going to get him in trouble in this context.

"Er, not me, um, but I have a friend?"

"An actor?"

"Not exactly? He's the owner of La Vénus. He's a professional Dom."

"Shigaraki." Giran says, which is a name Dabi doesn't recognize, but LV is something he does. A very high-end sex club that he has always steered clear of to avoid any possibility of stalking or harassment, or possible contamination. "We can't wait for an amateur to get tested and teach him the ropes."

"He's... not a total amateur? He puts on private parties and hires crews so he and his guests can make their own movies if they want to. He makes sure that everyone, including himself, has a current, clean test before they're let in." He scratches the back of his neck, as if that will hide the blush that has creeped there too. "...He had a party last night, so the test is as current as it can be, unless he found someone else after we'd packed up all our equipment."

"That's something, but we are looking for someone well-endowed. If we just wanted anyone--"

"He's ten inches soft."

"Call him."

///

Iguchi is on the phone for about fifteen minutes before he comes back and assures the group that Shigaraki is on the way. In the hopes that this works, Giran goes to get a fresh contract written up and printed and Dabi starts to get into makeup. He was particularly excited about this shoot because he's supposed to be playing himself. Or more specifically, he's supposed to be the kidnapped kid of a hero who's about to get 'assaulted' so that the kidnappers can leave him broken to be found later. He likes a CNC scene anyway, and one where he was getting fucked by a monster of a cock was definitely appealing to him, even if he wouldn't be getting off to it until he got to watch back the footage on his own. But that means his makeup gets to be a little rougher, and a mascara and eyeliner gets put on that is sure to run when he cries. He had actually used some of the early money to get his tear ducts repaired fully so that he wasn't bleeding on set and freaking people out, and his eyes are way more sensitive now. His siblings tease him for being a crybaby, but the money shot of his big blue eyes all shiny with tears and cum dripping down his face has won him three awards over the years, so he's fine with that.

They're an hour behind their shoot schedule when Shigaraki shows up. Dabi immediately gets out of his chair so that he can see what this guy looks like and he's a little startled to find a man about his height with long stark white hair. His hair hasn't been that color in eight years. He hasn't seen his mother in ten. But he shakes that disjointed melancholy and tries to take in the rest of him. He's wearing a long-sleeved gray sweater and tight black pants that Dabi is really doubting could hide the monster cock they've been promised, and black leather gloves with the middle finger and index finger cut out of the cloth. The long, wavy white hair falls across his face that's a little longer, a little more oval than Dabi's own, with a birthmark to one side of his mouth, a scar splitting his lips on the opposite side, and another going over one of his ruby-red eyes. And there's... a weird scaly-looking cracked-skin texture all over his mouth and around his eyes that immediately sends Dabi's warning bells ringing. Being clean of STIs isn't the only thing he needs to be worried about, and a rash or other skin condition means this is absolutely not happening.

Giran converges on him and Shigaraki shakes his hand. "Nice to see you again, Tomura."

"You as well. I didn't expect it to be like this, I will say."

"Well we're desperate and according to Iguchi you can fill the role?"

"I can try."

They all move over to one of the side areas set up around the rest of the room so that they can discuss the scene, and over the course of the next hour, Dabi finds out that La Vénus has been used as a filming set a few times before, which is how Shigaraki met Giran and Iguchi, and why he's familiar with the general setup even if he's never been an actor on set before. Dabi also learns that the shattered texture is an effect of his apparently, extremely dangerous quirk, that the weird gloves mitigate. They go through the whole contract, what they're looking for in the shots. The plan was only to have two days of filming, one for the bulk of the shots and then a second to do extra material or reshoots if they needed it. Now they only have this location for the rest of the day, and that means they've got to get this done in that amount of time unless Giran can stretch their budget. So after Shigaraki has been fully briefed on how they want things to get set up, what positions, how hard he can go, he gets a glance at the script, but there really isn't much there. The roles were written for him and Muscular, and they've worked together enough that Dabi had more than expected to know what he was in for, but he and Shigaraki do get acquainted as he learns what Dabi's pain threshold is.

They just move off to the side and he bends over, ass up, and lets Shigaraki bring his hand across the backs of his thighs, over his scars so that the camera won't pick up that he's been roughed up before they get rolling. The other man seems vaguely amused, but he's professional enough, clearly used to this kind of thing in his own professional experiences.

"What level are you wanting to stay around?"

"I've got another shoot in a few days, so I'd like to keep it at a five, but you can go up to a seven when the scene calls for it."

"I can do that." And he levels a blow against the backs of his thighs that makes Dabi's skin tingle and sting from the impact, but it's a good thuddy hit instead of stingy and he considers.

"Three."

Shigaraki gives him a few more hits until they're reliably at a five, and one seven so that he knows exactly how high his cap is for this scene. Then they start to get him into makeup and Dabi sits to chat him up for a bit, trying to figure out how to work with him, the same way he normally does when it's his first time filming with someone new.

"Anything I should stay away from while we're going?"

"Hmm, not really, I'm fine with everything in the script. What about you?"

"I like it when my hair gets pulled, and when you're going in for the face fucking thing, go as hard as you can. If a staple doesn't pop out, then it's not hard enough." He wishes he could smoke, but he settles for fiddling with one of the staples on the back of his hand instead. "And I know what the scene is about, but if you can avoid name-dropping Endeavor, I'd appreciate it."

"I can do that."

"Good, ‘cause if you don't and I go soft, then that's on you, newbie."

"What about the--"

"That's fine. I have never once called that bastard that. It's not gonna take me out of the scene." And then he hesitates but mutters, "And you have a nondisclosure agreement that you had to sign before filming with me, did you read the whole thing?"

Shigaraki doesn't blink. "I did," pretty sure he did it while he and Giran were going over what to change on set to do this whole thing in one continuous shot. "Every one of your orgasms is faked? That's surprising."

"You watch my videos?" He deflects, batting his eyelashes.

"More often than I should, is that a problem?"

"No, I worked with a nineteen year old last month who told me I was his sexual awakening."

"So how does that work?"

"You're gonna fuck me through the scenes until you finish, we can take breaks between scenes if you need them, and when we've gotten through the material, at the very end, I'll essentially be cock warming you while our makeup artists fake the final shot with some tubes and some clever angles. Depending on how much you cum, they might also squirt me here and there with a little more of the fake stuff to make it pop on camera."

"Alright."

"You're very chill about all of this."

"I run a sex club, this isn't anything new, though more sterilized than what I usually get up to." Jin comes over to get his measurements for their meager on-set wardrobe and Shigaraki lets him without blinking. "Have you ever been to La Vénus?"

"Not yet, but maybe someday. What's your security like?"

"We have a private entrance and exit for high profile guests, and we can assign someone to act as a bodyguard for you if you're worried about harassment. We've also hosted a few meet-and-greets for other actors if that's something you'd be interested in."

"Really?" Dabi perks up a little at that. Meet-and-greets and cons are great ways of getting some extra cash and keeping his fans happy, but there's only two Adult Entertainment conventions in Japan a year and he hasn't taken off enough internationally to get invited to any other ones. "Sounds like fun."

"I'll give you my card when you have pockets." He teases lightly, and yeah, the robe he's wearing over his black boxer briefs doesn't exactly have any storage.

They chit-chat for another half an hour and Dabi is pleased to note when Shigaraki does get changed into the tight leather pants and the body harness that they have to fit him, he's way more cut under the sweater and definitely has a bulge in his pants that he's looking forward to getting very up-close and personal with. With everything set, Dabi loses the robe and gets on set. The bare mattress on the ground looks absolutely disgusting, and it is actually kind of gross because the fake blood and dirt that got rubbed into it to make it dirty is kind of stiff and scratchy in areas, Dabi tilts his head up to get the last little bits of make-up applied, a bit of fake blood around his hairline and dripping down his forehead like he's been knocked out, then the quirk dampening cuffs are locked in place, and the black bag goes over his head. And Dabi forgets about the cameras.

///

Even footsteps move across the concrete floor towards him and Dabi tenses, reaching for his quirk, and when that doesn't work, he curls in a little tighter on himself, trying to protect himself as the cold air bites against his skin. He doesn't know what this is, where he is, and his voice trembles slightly when he tries to growl,

"People are going to look for me."

It's a man's voice that hums out softly as the footsteps stop in front of him, "Oh I'm sure they will. I'm just not sure that they'll find you." His hair is grabbed through the bag and his head is forced up roughly. The pain spikes out sharply enough across his scalp, and Dabi cries out as he does it, and that only makes the man give a low, cruel laugh. "Your heroes are coming to find you. But not before I make sure they see that you're nothing more than a filthy whore who isn't worth saving." He pulls the bag off of his head and Dabi squints, the light here is still pretty dim and diffused, but it's still more than he could see through the dark fabric. "And maybe, if you're a good enough one, you'll still be breathing by the time they get here."

He whimpers as he looks up at his captor, at how he's already only half-dressed, his cock already stirring as he catches him by the chin to pull his head up. The other man forces him to meet his eyes as his thumb runs across the line of staples in his chin, going up to his lower lip and pulling on it slightly. Just enough to make it part and Dabi squeezes his eyes shut as he trembles. "Don't, please." His voice is small and terrified and his captor is unmoved. "Please, I--I have money, I can make this all go away, no one needs to know--"

The other man laughs and it's even crueler than the one before. "Never heard a whore beg not to be fucked, but I think you're going to change your tune." The grip on his face goes harder and Dabi cries out as he's forced closer, practically falling into his legs with his limbs bound. "Because if you don't put on a good show for me," he hooks a finger under the edge of one of the staples in his cheek and Dabi gasps as pain starts to tingle out from the punctures. "Then I may get bored and find a different way to pass my time." He pulls a bit harder and Dabi cries out,

"Stop! Don't, please! I--I'll be good, sir!" He tries desperately. He pulls a little harder and Dabi tries anything else. He knows what sadists like him like. Knows they want to have him be beneath them, "Master," harder still, the staple is barely in place and he has so many. If he tears them all out-- "Daddy!"

The pressure lessens and the other man looks at him, his eyes shining with his mirth. "He's not going to save you from me."

Dabi can't move enough to rear back from the implication, and he feels sick to his stomach as he tries to pivot from the violence this man so clearly wants an excuse to use against him. But he makes himself speak anyway, leaning into his touch instead of trying to move away the way he so desperately wants to. "Please, Daddy, I'll be good." He tries to flutter his lashes. "Let me make you feel good, Daddy."

The grip loosens a bit and he tries to swallow his nerves as he leans forward until he can run his tongue along the leather of his pants, over the half-hard cock beneath like this is all he wants, and not just a desperate attempt to survive. He licks and sucks at the fabric as he tries to settle the roiling in his gut enough to be able to do this without vomiting. His hands, even cuffed together, can move up his thighs as he brings his mouth to his zipper and catches it between his teeth, pulling it down inch by inch, as he looks up at his captor. He smells the familiar musk of arousal even as the other man catches his chin hard again, making his staples bite deeper into his skin and bringing tears to the corners of his eyes.

"You're going to be a good boy for Daddy, or I'm going to pull out your teeth and then we're going to try this again."

Dabi whimpers, any fleeting thought of trying to hurt him a million miles from his mind now. "I'll be good, Daddy." He promises again.

"Prove it, whore."

He trembles slightly as he undoes his belt and button too, opening his pants completely and... reaching inside to wrap his fingers around him. He's still only half hard as he pulls him free, and he's already huge. Big enough to make his jaw ache, for certain. His cock is thick as well as long, the head flushing, and veins winding beneath the velvet skin of him. It's a big cock, a pretty one too, and if he were anywhere else, if this was any other time, it would make his mouth water. But right now he just feels a little sicker as his own cock starts to stir a bit. He looks up at the white-haired man through his lashes as he presses his lips to his head in a fluttery little kiss, then he really starts to work his mouth the ways he knows feel good. He licks his lips, and presses more kisses around his head and along his shaft as he grows harder and Dabi gets him wetter. He'll need him wet if he wants to get him all the way into his throat without too much discomfort.

His skin tastes clean, and that hot smell of arousal rolls through him like a thunderstorm. One of his favorite things to do in a shoot is give head, and against the haze of fear still trying to settle over his mind, he finds himself slipping into that space. The place where it feels so good to have the weight of a cock on his tongue and stretching open his lips. And oh, does his cock stretch him now. He's so big that Dabi has to pull off a few times, licking his palms and working his hand along his length as he breathes deep and relaxes his jaw a little more. He needs to do more than that, but the next time he opens his mouth, a hard grip is catching him by his hair and yanking him forward. Dabi's jaw is forced wide, the seam through his lower lip tearing and sending another sharp point of pain through him. And his cock is at the back of his mouth so quickly that he's gagging, even though he can normally fight that reflex.

The man above him laughs, and the sound is so cruel that Dabi squeezes his eyes shut against it. "You can't even manage this? Those movies must really fake a lot." He says it like he knows all of the times he's failed to get off during a scene and it fills him with a dizzying humiliation. Humiliation that pulses straight through his veins to his cock, that he knows must be hardening visibly in his thin boxer briefs. He rests his cuffed hands against his thighs and does his best to swallow around the massive intrusion in his mouth, running his tongue along a vein he feels pressing against him in the hope of distracting him. "That's better. Show me what a good fuck you can be from this hole and maybe I'll be nicer when I get to the other one, princess."

Dabi can't help the tears that finally spill over his cheeks as his captor grips his hair harder to hold him in place before he brings his hips back and snaps them forward with enough force that the head of his cock pushes past the tight ring of his throat and into his esophagus without letting him warm up the muscles for the intrusion. It's a sharp agony that steals his breath away, and he doesn't get even a second of reprieve because he's doing it again. He fucks hard into his throat two more times before Dabi manages to follow the brutal rhythm and actually start to swallow around him.

It hurts, and he hates it, and he's certain that he's bleeding from his lip, positive that if he isn't a little more gentle, then his staples will pull. He's not a whore. He's not a girl. But he's achingly hard as he barely manages to breathe. As he's turned into nothing but a hole for this monster to fuck. Drool spills down his chin and stings the split seam, but he doesn't have a chance to swallow. He must look like a mess, blood, and spit, and tears mingling on his face as he's used, as the world ceases to exist beyond the hard fucking his mouth is being used for. And every time he thinks that he can't take any more, that he can't possibly be this big, he fucks him a little harder, a little deeper, and his throat is a little fuller than it ever has been before without someone using a quirk to fill him.

And the sounds of it as it happens. God, the sounds are even more filthy, even more humiliating. Every hard thrust has his balls slapping his sloppy chin, and that crack of skin against skin as he makes the most pathetic gulping and gurgles as he's ruined, is enough that Dabi doesn't think he'll ever be able to shed the shame that comes over him. And he's hard. That keeps coming to him, reminding him with every rough movement that makes him shift where he's kneeling. His body doesn't care that this is wrong, that this is humiliating, that he's disgusted by what's happening to him. His filthy whorish body loves having such a big cock in his mouth. It makes pleasure tingle under his skin as the man's breaths grow rougher, as he growls and groans as his fingers knot hard enough into his hair that his scalp aches.

"That's it, fuck, that's much better. Really can be such a good slut when you're given the right motivation, can't you?" He pushes in harder, but slows down a little. It still hurts, but now he's lingering deep in his throat, and Dabi grows frantic, swallowing around him convulsively in the hopes of getting him out so that he can take a breath. "That's it, baby. Mm, just like that. Fuck, you're so hungry for it, aren't you, princess?"

He doesn't pull back until Dabi's vision is going black around the edges, and even then he keeps his mouth stretched wide as Dabi tries his best to suck in the air he's starving for while his head leaks all over his tongue. His pre is bitter and salty and the taste of him shouldn't make his undergarments get wetter too as he leaks as well. The man pulls all the way out, his head smearing his saliva and beads of pre over his lips as he loosens his grip on his hair and strokes through it instead, forcing him to look up at him again. "You want it so badly, don't you, baby girl?"

Dabi squeezes his eyes shut, fresh tears slipping over his cheeks as he sobs weakly. But then the fingers tighten in his hair again and he opens them again, sucking in a breath to plead, "I want it." His voice is scratchy and weak from how raw his throat is from the abuse. "Please, Daddy, I want it. Your cock is so big, it feels so good fucking my slutty throat. I wanna taste your cum, Daddy, please--" He knows all the things he's supposed to say, they come out of him automatically, and he's grateful they do because his mind feels like it’s a million miles away. He can't tell if he's floating or not, but it doesn't matter if he can just be good for Daddy.

"That's a good girl." A little flicker of pleasure goes through him again at the praise and he opens his mouth wide, relaxing as much as he can. "Such a pretty little whore, so eager to be used even after all that fuss." And Daddy sounds amused as he feeds his cock back into his mouth. He lets him suck and lick at him for a few seconds before he's tightening his grip in his hair. That's all the warning he's given before he's fucking back into his throat, but Dabi puts that warning to good use this time. He's ready to swallow around him now, ready for the roughness that comes and gets more frantic as he tastes more and more pre.

It only takes another few minutes before Daddy is pulling out of his mouth as his balls draw tight and his cum pulses out of him in thick spurts. The first lands across his lips and his open mouth, filling his mouth with the heat and taste of him, but the next splatters his cheek, his chin, and soon his face is dripping with it as he remembers what other people, partners, directors, performers have wanted from him. He opens wide so the other can see his cum on his tongue and then he swallows it, licking his lips and catching all of it there too. He doesn't like how that part is tinged copper with his blood, but it doesn't matter. Daddy is looking at him with hot red eyes, and he's not hurting him. He thinks that means he's being good.

"Thank you, Daddy." He slurs.

"You're welcome, princess. Do you like having Daddy's cum in your mouth?"

He barely manages to nod weakly. The grip on his hair goes tighter again and he pushes his head down. It pulls his neck sharply, and nearly makes him lose his balance and topple face-first into the concrete. He yelps.

"Then you'll enjoy cleaning that up, won't you, baby girl?"

His face burns as he finds that he is looking at a small puddle of the white liquid that had dripped off of his face onto the ground. It's disgusting and Dabi's entire mind twists in revulsion, but his treacherous body doesn't care. His cock is so hard that he's soaking his underwear. He sobs a little harder, but manages a tiny nod.

"Well then?"

Dabi leans down and starts to lick up the little puddle and Daddy laughs at him before he starts to move. He doesn't dare look up to find out where he's going, instead forcing himself to lick at the floor, the rough texture of concrete against his tongue as he eats the pooled cum.

It's not until he feels the thin mattress beneath his knees dip that he realizes exactly where he's moved to and what he's certain is coming next. His suspicions are confirmed when leather clad fingers catch the fabric of his boxer briefs and he tugs them down, exposing him. Dabi starts to lift his head, he wants to beg for the other to stop-- but the air around the room cracks sharply as a preemptive slap comes down over his ass hard enough he cries out instead of speaking.

The handprint is still stinging on his ass as Daddy takes a hold of that cheek as he spreads him open. "Look at that pretty pink pussy, baby girl. Can't even tell how many filthy cocks you've already had inside of you."

He flinches, "I-it's not-- I'm not a girl!" The protest gets him another hard slap, but this one comes down between his cheeks, directly against his hole, and Dabi squeals as the pain shoots through him and makes him sob harder.

"You are whatever I say you are, whore." His voice is a growl laced with menace and Dabi cries harder as he starts to shake so much, sure he's going to be hit again or torn open on his cock.

"I-I'm s-sorry, Daddy," he sobs.

"You will be if you keep misbehaving. Clean up that mess."

He doesn't hesitate this time, licking at the drying cum on the floor like he's starving for it. He's crying hard enough that he must not hear it when the other man tears open a packet of lube. But his fingers are definitely wet with it and so cool when they touch his stinging hole again. Dabi whimpers, the chill of his fingers feeling good against him in spite of himself. He shouldn't like that, it shouldn't feel good when he knows what is coming next, just the way he shouldn't still be so hard from having his throat fucked, but he is. It's a miracle Daddy hasn't noticed yet and even after he's finished cleaning up his cum, Dabi keeps his head down, his teeth biting into his lower lip and making the split worse because those fingers circle and tease his hole. They make him so wet that there's lube rolling down his taint and dripping along his balls like-- like he's got a gushing cunt before he even starts to press the first long finger inside of him.

Dabi sobs instead of moaning, and he thinks that's the best he can hope for. He doesn't know how long he's going to be able to hold out on that because Daddy starts to move his fingers inside of him, around him, stretching him open and making the nerves inside tingle and start to whine with pleasure as he prepares him for his cock. He whimpers, his thighs starting to shake as he's fucked open. His breaths hitch as Daddy murmurs,

"That's it, princess, fuck you're so hot here. All that fire under your skin and yet here you are, helpless and desperate for any scrap of mercy I give you."

He can't find his words before the other crooks his fingers and finds his prostate, and despite everything, he's still so turned on that just the barest touch there has a loud, wanton moan tearing out of his throat. The fingers inside of him stop abruptly and Dabi's whole body goes tight with terror.

The next second the man's other hand is knotting into his hair again and Dabi is being yanked back, pulled further on the mattress, his torso twisted onto his side, and his pelvis at an angle too, one leg pushed up so that hungry red eyes can see his hole and his flushed, leaking cock.

"Naughty little slut," the words are purred with the other man's pleasure. "Look at that, your pretty clit is just as desperate to be fucked as your throat and your pussy." Dabi shakes his head weakly, his insides boiling with his shame at his body being talked about like that, but he doesn't dare to protest verbally. He can't say anything at all when Daddy fucks his fingers back into him roughly, adding a third and stretching him wide.

Moans spill out from his ruined lips as Dabi clutches onto the dirty mattress with his bound hands. He cries harder because he's right. It all feels so good in a way sex hasn't felt for a long, long time. Better than any partner he's been with outside of work, better than his shoot partners for it. It feels good to be degraded and violated by this awful, cruel, handsome man with a cock he's dreamt about having all his life, and Dabi doesn't know how to handle it at all. He just knows he's so sharply overwhelmed that he's terrified that even the cuffs won't keep his quirk at bay and he'll set the bed on fire if Daddy keeps fucking his fingers against his prostate.

"Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!"

"So desperate for something else in your pretty cunt, princess? Alright, just ask nicely." His fingers pull out of his hole, but it's the other hand that catches his chin and makes him look out towards something else in the room. Dabi can't see far, his eyes blurred with tears and too much light from that direction making the other end of the room seem like a haze. "Tell the heroes how badly you want Daddy's cock in your pussy and you'll get it, baby girl."

He shakes his head again weakly. No, he's not a girl, he's not-- Daddy spanks his hole again and Dabi screams from the pain. "No, no, stop, Daddy, don't--" His protests earn him another hit right there and Dabi sobs as he gushes pre against his stomach.

"Your cunt is getting so puffy, princess." He hums. "Going to hurt even more if I spank you until this skin is the same color as your scars before I fuck you." And he gives him another slap.

Dabi shatters. "Daddy, please! Please, Daddy, please fuck my pussy! Please, I need your cock, Daddy," he sobs. "It felt so good with your fingers inside. Please, I need my cunt full of your cum! M-my clit is so hard, Daddy, please, please, please!"

Daddy groans and pulls him up by his hair again so he can lick the filthy words and the traces of his own cum out of Dabi's mouth as he hooks one of Dabi's legs over his shoulder. He barely has time to surrender to the tongue invading his mouth with a whine before Daddy's cock is rubbing against his puffy, aching pussy. He's cool from the lube and that contrast soothes some of the sting while still making the press of his head as he starts to sink in, feel even more intense than it ever has before. Dabi is sobbing again, this time from how good he feels, as he kisses Daddy back messily. His cock feels even bigger stretching open his pussy and he's moaning and whimpering, his whole body shaking, from his pleasure as he sinks inside.

Daddy pants against his lips, "That's it, baby girl, let me hear how much you like having your pussy raped."

It's a sharp reminder that he shouldn't like it. That he should be scared, that he shouldn't want more. But he does. He wants it as Daddy bottoms out inside of him. He barely gets a chance to catch his breath, to adjust, before Daddy is pulling almost all the way out and then snapping his hips forward again with the same brutality as he fucked his throat with. He moans and screams, his head thrown back as he's fucked, every movement putting such an enormous pleasure beneath his skin he thinks he may burst around it.

His throat is raw by the time he's gasping, "Daddy! Daddy! Please!"

"'Please' what, princess?" Doesn't stop moving so hard into his body even as he speaks. "Good whores ask for what they want. And you want to be Daddy's good whore, don't you?"

He wants it almost as sharply as he wants, "Touch my clit, please, Daddy! Close, please, need you--"

"Oh, my sweet little girl," Dabi mewls because the condescending words are only making him need it more. He's so close. "No."

Dabi whines, fresh tears falling down his cheeks.

"Because good girls can cum just from having Daddy's cock in their tight little pussies." And he's bound and determined to prove that, because the grip against his body tightens as Daddy angles his hips up a little more, pulls back nearly entirely out of is hole, and thrusts back in hard, making sure that the entire length of is cock moves over his prostate as he fucks him so heard Dabi's insides feel like they're being stirred up.

He barely hangs on for two thrusts at that new, perfect angle before he's screaming, "Daddy!", as his balls tighten and his clit kicks hard as his orgasm swells through his skin. He paints his release up his chest, splattering his own chin, and tightens even more around Daddy's cock as every cell in his body hums with pleasure.

"Fuck, you're so pretty when you cum, baby. Did such a good job--" Daddy keeps moving inside of him as Dabi writhes as his pleasure goes sharper and sharper on each subsequent thrust until it trips over the edge into pain and Dabi is whining again. Thankfully, it doesn't take much longer after that for Daddy to drive his cock in deep one more time before Dabi is drenched with his cum all over again.

He is beyond dazed when he realizes that Daddy's pulled out, but there's still something inside of him. Moving around in the mess that is beginning to leak out of his swollen cunt.

"Open your mouth, princess."

Dabi follows the command immediately and the fingers pull out of his pussy and move to his mouth instead, dripping with more of Daddy's cum. He doesn't have to be asked, he latches onto the soiled leather as soon as they touch his lips, sucking on his fingers and licking them clean as Daddy smiles at him softly and strokes his hair.

"You did such a good job, little girl. Such a good girl for Daddy. Showed the entire world how ruined you already are." His head is too full of cotton candy fluff for him to make sense of what he's being told. "Seems like such a waste to kill you now." Daddy's voice lingers for a second and he hums. "I'm sure I can find use for such an obedient whore, so I think I'm going to keep you, princess. Doesn't that sound nice? Don't you want to stay with Daddy?"

Dabi nods weakly with his fingers still in his mouth. Daddy takes them out and he barely slurs, "Yes, Daddy."

"Good girl. Let's get going before the heroes come and find your best performance yet, sweetheart." Daddy picks him up and Dabi curls up against his chest, too exhausted to know anything past how good it feels to be held after something so intense.

///

Dabi is fucking boneless when he sort of starts to come out of it enough to realize that someone's wiping the cum from his face, and has wrapped him in his robe. He blinks as he realizes he's just sort of staring at the cables running across the floor to the lights. The cloth touches the edge of a sore staple and he whimpers softly, that little bit of pain making him wince.

"Sorry," the touch lightens immediately and Dabi looks up to find the voice. Shigaraki tries to be even more gentle as he finishes up. "Here, Giran said you like to have this after you're finished?" He reaches over for the smoothie that he'd brought for the shoot. He hits the button to flip out the straw and brings it to Dabi's lips and he manages to stay coherent enough to take a few sips. The sharp sugary sweetness and coldness of the drink against his tongue has him moaning hazily, taking the cup and trying to get more into his parched throat. "Not too fast, baby." Shigaraki murmurs, stroking his hair softly. Dabi forces himself to slow down.

It still takes about half of the smoothie for him to fully register that other people are moving around. Lighting people, sound people, people breaking down the set because they must have gotten the shots they needed. Shigaraki is still sitting with him, one hand rubbing along his back, and the other tapping at some game on his phone.

"Holy fuck," He croaks.

Before Shigaraki can get a word in, Giran is right in front of him, looking ecstatic. "'Holy fuck'!" He agrees, possibly on the verge of vibrating. "You came! On camera! And the chemistry, you two played off each other perfectly."

Dabi is still a little too hazy to fully match his excitement. But yeah, yeah that was perfect. He can't remember the last time he was able to slip into the headspace of a scene on camera and not have little bubbles of work break through. But even though Shigaraki had mostly stuck to using Muscular's dialogue, he hadn't felt like cringing out of his skin, and the things he's added-- "I think I'm going to keep you, princess. Doesn't that sound nice? Don't you want to stay with Daddy?"-- he hadn't squirmed to try and get to a better angle for the cameras, hadn't given a thought to if his makeup was running the way it was supposed to or not. He had just been in the scene like this was for fun and not for work and he'd cum on camera.

"Did we get the shots?" He's pretty sure they must have, or Giran would definitely look more stressed out than happy.

"We got everything, kid. And you," He rounds on Shigaraki who's hand falls away from Dabi's back. "You should let me get you an agent. Once this debut airs, you're going to be in high demand."

Shigaraki looks amused, "I don't think I'll have time to do this professionally, but I'm glad that my performance was satisfactory."

"'Satisfactory'," Giran sounds disbelieving as he shakes his head. "Fucking Christ, you have no idea." He really doesn't. It's a good thing that he's already got a sex club, and Dabi wonders how many more people will be looking to contract him as their dom once this goes live. "Dabi, you good?"

He gives a weak thumbs up. "Ibuprofen?"

"I'll check with Mai." He goes away and Shigaraki gives him his full attention.

"Was anything too much?"

"You made me cum on camera, I literally don't think that you could have done any better, Shigaraki."

That gets the other man giving him a small, bemused smile. "You put on quite a show as well. I may be biased, but I think that might have been your best performance."

He's absolutely biased, but he's also right, and Dabi hasn't even seen the tape yet. "Best one I've ever put on in public, definitely." He hints very lightly as he takes another sip of his smoothie. Oh, he absolutely needs a real shower when he gets home and then he's gonna order a million things to eat before he soaks in the tub until it all arrives. Is that aftercare as good as when he has someone else seeing to his needs after an intense scene? No, but he knows how to make due after all this time.

Shigaraki reaches into his jacket pocket and Dabi realizes that he's dressed already. "I have to get back to V to start getting things set up for tonight," He explains. But he takes out a card and a pen and scrawls something across the back. "If you decide that you want to put on a meet-and-greet or another live event, you can reach me at the number on the front." He hands over the matte charcoal gray card embossed with red foil that has his name, number and email on the front. Dabi flips it over to the back and finds that he's written another number on the back in red ink.

"And this one?"

"My personal line, if you ever want to have a more private party or dinner sometime?"

Dabi hums. He gets asked out a lot, he gets propositioned a thousand times more often than that. He knows how to play it cool. Shigaraki doesn't need to know that he's committing the digits to memory. "I'll keep that in mind," he says lazily. "Thanks for your work today, Shigaraki."

"You can use my first name, Dabi."

"Tomura," he corrects, and pretends he doesn't like how that tastes on his tongue. It earns him one of those slow, approving smiles that makes Dabi want to get right back on his knees for him even though his lips are so sore already.

"I hope I hear from you soon." And that's all he leaves him with. Dabi watches him head out, stopping to exchange a few words with a blushing Iguchi and a slightly manic Giran before he's leaving the set. Mai brings him the pain meds he'd asked for and he finishes his smoothie before he gets dressed and he arranges his ride.

If he puts Tomura's personal number into his phone while he waits, then that's not anyone else's business but his own.

#ask #asks #shigadabi #my writing #mha fanfiction #fanfiction #101 kink prompts #prompt response #prompt fill #shigaraki tomura smut #dabi smut

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523rdrebel · 9 months

Note

Hello! I'm really enjoying your work! If you're still looking for prompts, could you maybe write something hurt/comfort or whump for Tech x Fem!Reader?

The reader throws herself in front of Tech to save him during a battle and she gets severely injured and Tech has to get her to safety. Maybe he's angry at her for putting her life on the line for him. But he's also secretly terrified of losing her because he has feelings for her!

Hello! Thank you SO SO SO much. The fact that you're enjoying my work means so much to me!

This one kind of turned into more than I had originally expected, so I do hope you enjoy it. It got kind of long...

Title: When Logic Fails

Content Warnings: Mild description of injury, Mention of Medical Trauma

Tech is knelt down, datapad connected to the Separatist Database, focused entirely on the high level data encryption required to complete the data extraction. A few feet away, you stand watch for enemy patrols. According to the mission intel, patrols made their circuit through this section of the base every 13 minutes. Time was getting short, the next patrol would be through any minute. You glanced back at Tech, “How’s it going over there, Tech? Another patrol will be coming through any minute.” You kept your tone even despite the feeling of urgency buzzing in your body.

Tech did not look up from his work, “The data is more heavily encrypted than our intel suggested. The encryption rewrites itself immediately after I’ve broken through, it is quite sophisticated-”

You can't help the slight curl of your lips at him but time was of the essence, “You can appreciate the quality of the encryption later - How long until the download is complete?”

Without hesitation, Tech responds, his tone confident, “7 minutes, provided there are no interruptions.”

“...Better be a quick 7 minutes.” You nod and mumble under your breath, as the sounds of the patrol break through the quiet. You take position off to the side, taking cover at the entrance to the server room you were holed up in. You wait, breathing deeply to center yourself for battle, then take aim, the shots quick and precise taking down the first two droids in swift succession.

The droids react quickly, blaster shots whizzing past you and keeping you on your toes. The alarms begin to blare and red lights flash down the corridor. "Tech! We’ve got reinforcements- We don't have much time!" You shout over your shoulder as two more patrols come into view. You can hear the sounds of more patrols nearing from the corridor’s on either side. You’ll be overrun if you don’t get out of here soon.

The droids are pressing in and you’re forced to move from your position behind to cover Tech as he works. You activate the energy shield on your vambrace, twisting your wrist to extend it’s size and rush to cover Tech’s back. “Tech.” You lean into his name, urgency increasing as you barely catch the blaster bolts with your shield, “It’s time to go now!’ You return fire, rapidly dropping droids as they press into the server room. But as quickly as you take them down, they’re replaced by one- two- three more droids. Where the kriff are they all coming from!?

“I am almost done- just a little longer–” He whips around taking out a droid that had slipped through your defense and gotten too close.

Despite the rapidly growing numbers, you seem to be holding your own, Tech occasionally pausing his work to pick off a few enemies. You toss a pulse grenade and hold your shield up to cover you and tech from the worst of the blaster bolts but you’re getting overrun. “Tech- we’ve got to go now–” You’re cut off by a sharp, burning pain in your side. You look down to see a blaster-burned hole in your armor. “Ah!” you exclaim as the pain doubles and you feel another shot pierce your chest. Suddenly, you’re on the ground, vision blurring at the edges. You hear muffled shouts, but you can’t process the words. “This will have to be sufficient-” Tech’s face appears and your vision blackens further.

You feel yourself being lifted up, pain shooting through your body at the movement. You register blurred movement, muffled sounds of blasters, energy build up, the corridor shakes and lights go dim. Then you are being lowered down onto a flat surface and you hear more muffled voices. Tech’s face enters your vision again, his brow furrowed. When did he remove his helmet? You reach a hand up to his face and mumble, “Hey there, Brown Eyes.” before passing out completely. -

Once they have arrived at the Med Center, Tech worries, despite the positive prognosis from the Medics, and despite the continuously lowering chances of infection or other complications. He continues running calculation after calculation, creating contingency plans of increasingly dubious nature, but cannot seem to stop the sour feeling in his gut that she may never wake up again.

Echo observes Tech’s tense shoulders and uninterrupted focus on his datapad calculations. He looks over Tech’s shoulder at the calculation he’s currently working on,

“I imagine if whatever outcome you're calculating has a 0.0003% chance of happening, then you’re probably working too hard.” When Tech doesn’t respond, he sighs deeply, quirking an eyebrow, “So what is it this time?”

Tech’s eyes don’t move from his datapad, “I am calculating the probability of a negative reaction to the particular strain of Bacta leaves used here causing a bacterial infection in the blood, resulting in cardiovascular failure.” There is a unique edge to his normally straightforward tone.

“Kriff, Tech!” Echo huffs a startled laugh, “You’re worrying over nothing. The Medics said she would be fine, she just needs rest and a few dunks in the Bacta tank. You know that.” He places a hand on Tech’s tensed shoulder.

There is a long silence, Tech looks at you lying prone and unconscious, then his gaze returns to his data pad. He takes a breath to steady himself, “Logically, yes. I do. All of the data points are there and the probability of her worsening or not waking up are infinitesimally low…” He pauses then looks up at Echo.

Hesitation was not something he associated with Tech. “But?” Echo prompts.

Tech removes his goggles and rubs a hand over his face then speaks, “But– while logically I understand that she will recover, that she will wake up…That just… Doesn’t seem to be enough. And I am…afraid.” He looks up and meets Echo’s eyes- pain, confusion, and worry flashing quickly across his face.

“You’re afraid you’ll lose her.” It is not a question.

Tech pauses again, thinking, considering, calculating. “Yes,” He finally admits.

“She’s going to be fine, Tech. Really.”

“I know.” He leans back in his chair, the sounds of the monitoring devices breaking the silence. “But how do I make myself believe it?” His gaze falls once more to you, his brain battling with his whirling emotions. His voice is halting, unsure, “I have always trusted the data before. It has never been wrong, incomplete perhaps, but never wrong. I do not understand what is different now…”

Echo watches his brother struggling to put the pieces together and decides to attempt a logical approach, “Maybe you need to think of her as her own data point. She is the differing factor here, not your calculations or medical reports.” He waits, considering his next words carefully, “– You just have to trust her.” Tech shakes his head, confused. “You have to trust that she’s strong enough to come back to you.”

That triggers something and Tech’s face scrunches in anger, “It is my fault that she’s injured– She nearly died, Echo.”

“You didn’t shoot her, Tech. They had modified blasters - armor piercing rounds–”

“She told me we were out of time - but I insisted that we complete the mission!” Tech’s hands were gripped into white-knuckled fists.

Echo held up his hands attempting to soothe his distressed brother, “You are not to blame, Tech. This is war. These things happen. And she is lucky you were there to make sure she made it home.” Tech didn’t respond and the silence stretched on. Echo smirked, a hint of affectionate teasing in his eyes, “So–When she wakes up, don’t waste your chance to tell her how you feel.”

“I do not think–” Echo cuts him off and fixes him with a knowing look, then rolls his eyes and exits the room, leaving Tech to consider their conversation.

You wake in a panic and try to get up out of the bed, the monitors and cords tangle and you nearly fall over. Strong hands grasp your waist, steadying you and bringing your mind into focus. “Hey-hey-listen– It’s okay. It’s me! You’re safe!” The hands help you back onto the bed and you look up to see Tech’s face.

Your memory comes back in broken bits, you can’t seem to recall how you got here. “Tech? Wha–What’s going on? Where am I? What happened?”

He gently pushes you back down on the bed, speaking in an even, soft tone, “Deep breaths, please.” You comply, breathing deeply in and out a few times to reduce your elevated heart rate. Once he is satisfied you have calmed down, he nods and continues, “You are alright. We’re at a Republic MedCenter. You were injured – badly, during our last mission.”

Your memories come rushing back - the mission, the data extraction, the droids, and pain and then nothing. “Kriff– How badly? How long have I been here?”

He takes the chair beside the bed and pulls it closer, “Six days, but you are recovering quite nicely–”

“Six days!?” Your eyes dart around the room frantically, it’s bright white and sterile, making you want to shrink into yourself.

Tech moves slowly, observing your widened eyes and the spike in your heart rate from the beeping of the monitors. Tech places a hand over yours, his voice taking on a rare softness, “Yes. But, as I was saying, you are recovering nicely, the Doctors have said you will make a full recovery.”

You exhale, releasing a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. You rub a hand over your face, trying to cover wince, “Did we at least get the data?”

He reaches up and adjusts his goggles, “Ah– Not entirely. We were getting overrun and you would not have survived if we delayed evac.” He pauses, observing your face to gauge your reaction, “But do not worry, the data that was retrieved was sufficient. Our mission was still a success.”

You offer him a weak smile, “Well, I guess I didn’t completely kriff it up then…”

Tech shakes his head, “You are not the first to get injured on a mission and I can assure you you will not be the last.”

You nod, but cannot deny the twist of guilt in your chest. The following silence leaves you feeling antsy, “So, how much longer do I have to stay here?”

He tilts his head, considering, “I am uncertain. But I suspect another four days at least. With bacta treatments, that should be sufficient…”

“Four days– I can’t– Tech, I can’t stay here for four days!”

“Do not worry. I can provide mental exercises to occupy your time.”

Despite yourself, his comment brings out a light laugh, “No– That’s not– I’m not worried about being bored,”

“I see…” You can see the wheels turning in his brain as he processes the information, “Then what is the issue?”

You close your eyes and lean your head back on the pillow, “I just– I hate Med Centers…okay?”

Tech squeezes your hand lightly, “You are afraid.”

“Yes. I–” You breathe in sharply, “I don’t know why exactly. I just have flashes of memories… Images of Doctors with terrifying smiles. Voices, sickly sweet telling me to ‘Be a good girl,’ and then other voices, angry or disappointed–” your vocal inflection goes up as if in question, “I remember pain. Bright, blinding lights. The smell of medical grade antiseptic. Rhythmic beeping of monitors.” You huff out an ironic laugh, “That’s all I remember.”

“Hmm. This would explain your reaction upon waking up… It is quite natural for a person’s brain to react in such a way, as a means of protection from further harm and trauma,--”

“That’s why I can’t stay here, Tech.”

He offers you a small smile, “Unfortunately, you cannot leave. This facility is the only one nearby with the necessary equipment to facilitate your recovery.” You groan in frustration. After a brief moment, Tech asks, “Would it help if I stayed –with you?” His cheeks are slightly flushed and his next words come out in a rush, “I find it is useful to have another person nearby as a means of distraction when seeking to avoid certain thought patterns…”

You regard Tech’s earnest expression and feel a comforting warmth growing in your chest. You smirk and respond with a teasing lilt to your voice, “Distractions such as ‘mental exercises’?”

His face brightens and he reaches for his datapad,“Ah! Yes. I have quite a variety available actually–”

“Okay, Tech.” You smile, trying to hold back the tears welling in your eyes.

He considers your face and body language, “Yes… You are sure?”

You lean forward, ignoring the sharp pain in your side, to look him in the eyes, “I want you to stay with me… Please.”

You watch as his face processes your request and finally softens, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly, “Y–yes, of course.”

“Thank you.” You whisper softly, suddenly exhausted from the emotional journey as well as your physical injuries.

Tech motions for you to lie back once again, “It is nothing. Now rest. We can complete the mental exercises later. I have one, in particular, that I believe you will find quite stimulating.” You laugh and comply, feeling some comfort knowing that he will be there when you wake.

#Tech has Mental Excercises #rebelwrites #Tech x Reader #tbb tech #hurt/comfort #the bad batch #tbb #star wars fan fiction #fanfic #prompt response

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nerdybluephoenix · 6 months

Note

Aliens meet a cat. Cat does not like them at all

I'm gonna answer this prompt with my usual ocs, because it gives me an excuse to redraw some old artwork I made in 2020

New version:

I might finish this drawing another time. Old artwork at the bottom of the post.

///

Captain Evek stepped into the room. Inside, two of her crew members were hunched around an open cage. The human, Constance, was cooing at whatever was inside. Evek could hear a horrible hissing noise inside followed by a low growl.

“I’m sorry - this is the animal you’ve been comparing me to?” Tix, the other crew member, did not look pleased. “It looks nothing like me.”

“What did you drag on my ship this time?” Both crew members looked up at the captain.

“Evek!” Constance happily waved her over. “Look what I found! It’s a cat!” Evek stayed rooted where she stood. She wasn’t going to step closer to some creature making clear warning noises like that.

“...remind me what a cat is?” Evek said. She thought over Tix’s words and her face scrunched up in amusement. “Oh, is it the Earth creature you say looks like Tix?”

“It does not look like-”

“It looks exactly like you!”

Now Evek was curious enough to step closer. If at least cautiously. She got down on her knees to get a better angle at whatever was inside. It was hard to make out with the poor lighting, but it seemed to be a ball of fluff.

“I can’t see it very well,” Evek admitted. “Why is this thing on my ship?”

“I found her. On the ship,” Constance said. “I think she snuck on after our last stop. I can’t believe humans are losing their pets in space already.”

“Are cats dangerous?” Evek said. On the firm “no” from Constance, Evek made up her mind to step over and gently tilt the cage so the cat slid out.

“Wait! You really shouldn’t do that!” Constance said.

It was too late. Upon being slid out of the cage, the animal popped to life like a firecracker. It flailed about the room, bounced off on walls, and knocked several items over. Tix fled underneath a table and let out a low growl that was much like the cat’s warning sounds. This only spurred the small thing more and it continued to wreak havoc until it finally clamored up a wall and onto a bookshelf. Constance cursed.

“Sorry, I just wanted a better look,” Evek said. She stood to look around the torn apart room then up at the creature on the shelf. From Evek’s height, the cat sat perfectly eye level. She stepped closer. It hissed. “Tix, I’m sorry to tell you this, but Constance is right. It looks a lot like you.”

“It does not,” Tix said from under the table.

“How do we get in back in the cage?” Evek said.

“Carrier,” Constance corrected. “And I have no idea.” She picked up the carrier and brought it closer to the shelf. The cat slunk away until she sat herself between a corner.

“She’s trapped now. Why don’t I just…?” Evek stepped forward and snatched the cat up in two hands. Much like before, the cat burst into panic. Captain Evek held the animal out as it bit and clawed at any skin it could reach. Okay, ow! “I thought you said it wasn’t dangerous?”

“As in, won’t kill you,” Constance said. “You should put her down.” She tried, but trying to place the cat back onto the shelf ended with more flailing and biting. Evek was stuck in an awkward position where if she wasn’t careful, she could drop the cat.

Maybe from exhaustion, the cat suddenly froze in Evek’s hands. It seemed to be glaring at Evek. Judgment practically seeped out of it. She could feel it’s little heartbeat running rapidly in its chest.

“Aww!” Constance cooed. She brought he carrier over and quickly scooped up the animal and closed the door. “She likes you!”

“That doesn’t even begin to be true,” Evek said. She rubbed at her hands, now covered in bite marks and scratches. “I’d like to get that animal dropped off at our next stop. Maybe we’ll find a human who wants it.”

“N’aww, but I kinda want her,” Constance said. She placed the carrier on the table. The cat was curled up in the back again.

“You already have Tix,” Evek said.

Tix came out from under the table to jump on top of it instead. His ears were back and his tail flicked in clear annoyance.

“I am not a cat!”

/// Old Art Under the Cut ///

#humans are space orcs #humans are weird #humans are space australians #humans are space oddities #aliens #space orcs #humans are so weird #outer space #galaxy #funny #cats #cat #old art #redraw #prompt response #haso writer #haso artist #haso #sci fi writing

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tcwmatchmakingau · 8 months

Text

Take a Chance (Part 2)

Pairing: Crosshair x reader

Rating: General (but MDNI)

Summary: Crosshair can’t scarcely believe that he’s been matched so quickly. The date he goes on is like nothing he’s experienced before.

Warnings: more Crosshair angst; fluff; more of my matchmaker OC Tal (and a blink-and-you-miss-it of my clone OC Creed); Crosshair has a lot of feelings but doesn’t know how to show them

WC: 5.2k

Read Part 1 here!

Crosshair spent the entire rest of the day in agony. Tal had promised to message as soon as possible, but Crosshair needed information three hours ago. Curse Wrecker for shoving his nose into Crosshair’s business. Curse Wrecker for wearing down his walls, lowering his defenses, putting him into this karking situation. It was nearly enough to dredge up the old itch under his skin for a quick smoke, something to take the edge off.

No. That wasn’t a promise he’d break anytime soon. 99’s wrinkled face flashed in his mind, and he sighed, slouching farther into his desk chair.

He’d sit at this damned desk all night if he had to.

Instead of the intel-gathering he should have done in the first place, all he could do now was sit and wait and hope that his target would stumble blindly into his scopes. It wouldn’t be the first time—but it certainly wasn’t his preferred way of completing a mission.

He tried, genuinely tried, to not think of this whole endeavor as a mission. The date looming in his near future could very well change the entire trajectory of his life in a way that none of the routine reconnaissance and black ops missions Clone Force 99 took on did. But he couldn’t help it. He was grasping at straws, snagging on anything that gave him a semblance of normalcy.

The dim Coruscanti sun had just begun to set, speared by the innumerable skyscrapers that blocked his view, when the comlink chimed. Forcing himself to breathe evenly, he glanced down at the newest message.

Crosshair— come to my office when you can. Nothing’s wrong. Just want this conversation to happen in person.

His brain shut off after the first sentence. Something had gone wrong. His prospective match—matches—somehow found out who he was and bailed, withdrew their applications with RTL. Worse, the matchmaking service had decided that he was unfit material for their clientele and would be barring him from utilizing the company in the future.

A swell of anger crested through him, burning away the anxiety he’d been wallowing in all day. They really had no idea who they were dealing with, did they? Well, he would just have to go down there and give Tal a piece of his mind.

Halfway out the door, he fired off a text to the group chat—going out—before putting the comlink on silent and shoving it into his jeans’ pocket. The walk to the shiny, chromium-plated building passed in a blink; before he realized it, Crosshair stood peering up at the clean white sign, a scowl marring his features.

The receptionist was different from the one he met yesterday, but the man behind the desk seemed to know exactly why he was here as Crosshair stalked to the check-in station. Pressing a button on the intercom, the man spoke in a low tone, holding up one finger for Crosshair to wait.

“Yes, of course,” the man said. “I’ll let him know.”

Setting the phone back in its cradle, the man gave him a cursory smile. “Tal will be right out.”

Crosshair grunted in acknowledgement, but refused to sit. He lingered in an aisle between chairs, arms crossed over his chest, pointedly staring at the door that led to the back offices. In the corner behind him, two regs conversed quietly. He felt their gazes bore into him. Normally, it pissed him off; right now, all he wanted was an explanation.

The moment the door cracked open, Crosshair yanked the handle. A young woman, eyes wide as plates and hand flying to her heart, shrieked in surprise.

“Oh—uh, s-sorry,” he muttered out, anger in his chest immediately dousing with embarrassment. “Thought you were—”

“Th-That’s alright,” she said, affixing a smile to her face. Blinking, she peered past him. “Creed?”

One of the two regs stood and straightened his denim jacket before disappearing to the back with the case worker. Before the door fully shut, though, it swung open once more, admitting the familiar figure of Tal.

“Someone’s impatient,” Tal noted with a raised eyebrow.

With a hard look, Cross merely swaggered past his case worker, taking the monotonous hallways back until he recognized the exact wood grain pattern on the correct door. Tal touched their keycard to it and the door unlocked with a click.

“Speak,” Crosshair spat as soon as the door shut behind Tal.

Tal’s jaw worked for a moment, their eyes narrowed as they appraised him. “Wanna try that one again?”

Crosshair deflated, sinking into the silken futon. He gestured helplessly for Tal to break the news, whatever it may be. It was as close to an apology as he felt capable of mustering right now.

“I just thought you ought to know that the match chosen for you,” Tal began, perching in their seat, hands laced in their lap, “doesn’t exactly live nearby.”

Crosshair scarcely dared to breathe. Eyes locked onto a faint stain in the area rug, he swallowed down the riot of emotions coursing through his body and focused on the words.

He still had a match.

Exhaling, he dared to glance up. Tal met his gaze with a calm expression of patience.

“I can see how my message may have worried you,” Tal said. “But I wanted to talk in person. These are very special circumstances, and I want you to know all the options.”

Still giving him a choice, still giving him control, even after he made an ass of himself. Mollified, Crosshair nodded slowly.

“Which are what, exactly?”

“Either we bring her here, or send you to her,” they said. “We recently opened up the applications to other planetary systems, intending to establish other branches wherever clones settled down. It just happens that her application matches yours, not any of the men on her own planet.”

He couldn’t quash the childish sense of pride that filled him with. “‘Special circumstances,�� eh?”

Tal nodded and said, “Leadership is willing to cover the cost of transportation for the first meeting at least. I am still negotiating for future meetings should this first one be successful.”

“You’re…fighting for me,” Crosshair said. The disbelief rang harsh, even in his own ears.

“That is my job,” Tal said with a wry smile. “Believe it or not, Crosshair, there are people who want the best for you and your brothers. For all the clones.”

Leaning back against the futon, he rubbed his hands over his face, pressing his fingers against his eyes until starbursts exploded across his vision.

“It’s a lot to take in,” Tal said. “But what I can tell you is that she is very excited to meet you.”

“You showed her my profile?” he asks, lips baring in a half-snarl.

“Maker, no,” Tal said with a gentle laugh. “The moment you let me choose was the moment this became a double-blind process. Once you agree to the meeting, you’ll receive just her holoscan and name, and she will get yours.”

Crosshair turned that information over in his mind. Never no mind the fact that he hadn’t been the one to give up the choice, it wasn’t lost on him that Tal used the word ‘meeting’ rather than ‘date’—removing a lot of the pressure and anxiety that he still felt over this whole situation. And really, what did he have to lose? His brothers would support him whatever his decision, like they always had, once they processed their own emotions. Sure, he’d probably let this mystery woman down, and Tal, too, but his match didn’t even live on Coruscant. He’d likely never meet her if he didn’t do this. And Tal, well… Crosshair was no stranger to shutting others out.

In reality, the only person who would be hurt if he chose not to do this was himself.

Maybe he owed it to himself to try.

“Alright,” he finally said. “I’ll go to her. See the sights.”

Which is how he found himself, a standard week later, standing in the midst of one of the less busy ports on Coruscant. The shuttle taking him to the nearby system, Stassia, was due to arrive at the terminal in just a few minutes, and Crosshair couldn’t keep his eyes off of the chrono. Would his date—he struggled over the word, even in his own mind—understand if he was late because of traffic delays?

Looking at the chrono meant that he also ended up rereading the series of messages from his brothers.

Remember, vod, just be yourself.

That is terrible advice, Hunter. Crosshair, be the opposite of how you usually are. -Tech

Don’t listen to Tech. You’re gonna be fine. She’s gonna love you no matter what! Or they wouldn’ta matched ya together.

Grinding his teeth, Crosshair shoved his comlink back in his pocket and tried to ignore the conflicting advice. As starships and people flowed around him like water, he remained unmoving, rooted to the spot. There were very few times in his relatively short life where he could recall feeling like this, and he despised every one of those memories.

He was a wreck.

Outwardly, he’d never show it. He knew he continued to exude the calm, collected, debonair facade that had practically become his trademark, even as his insides melted to jelly and solidified to permacrete simultaneously. He was being ripped apart from the inside by nerves.

He’d printed out the holoscan that Tal provided him, the only bit of you that he knew so far besides your name. The flimsi crumpled in his grip before he remembered to relax. Even in a holoscan, slightly pixelated and distorted, he knew you were beautiful. A bright smile and shining personality, he realized, staring down at the flimsi clutched in his grasp, he couldn’t wait to meet.

The shuttle arrived on time, departed the port on time, and made the jump to hyperspace on time. It did little to ease the heavy stone of nerves settled into Crosshair’s stomach. By the time the ship lurched out of the hyperspace lane, he’d bitten his nails down to the beds, one of them bleeding.

During the war, he’d seen his fair share of planets—always in quick bursts, flashes of cultures and climates that sometimes left his mind whirling. In their own ways, every system was unique and beautiful, and this one was no different. The Stassia system was on the smaller side, a surprise given its location in the core, but what little snooping he’d done on the HoloNet revealed a comfortable, temperate planet dominated by agriculture and cattle. As he gazed through the transparisteel viewport down at the vast green landmasses and deep azure oceans of your homeworld, the nerves that had been plaguing him for the past week settled.

He was here. He could do this. He would do this.

He still had no idea what activity he’d be expected to partake in. Hunter’s first date with his partner had been a simple dinner; Tech took his to the Coruscant Library; and Wrecker met his to watch a speeder race. But that had all happened on Coruscant, a city-planet; this, he mused, disembarking the shuttle, this planet was much quieter.

Breathing deep, he enjoyed the scent of hot earth, grass, and animals that filled his lungs. The sun, hanging low in the sky, scattered color across the sky in a vast canvas, oranges bleeding into purples, as fireflies gently warbled lime green across the field ahead of him. “Quiet” was certainly the word for it; this quaint little space port boasted a singular platform and loading dock, nestled at the edge of a small town.

A few other passengers had gotten off at this stop as well, all of them nat-born. Crosshair watched in silence as they all rushed off the platform, joining their loved ones who waited along the dirt path that led into town. Skimming the small throng, any hopes that had buoyed up upon landing suddenly burst. He didn’t see your face among the crowd.

Biting down on his toothpick, he stuffed his hands into his jean pockets and trudged along the dusty footpath toward the town. The closer he got, the more this world came to life around him. The sweet smell of freshly baked bread wafted on the warm evening breeze from open windows, mixing with the joyous sounds of children giggling in whatever game they played. The buildings here were short and square, made of wood instead of metal, but looked comfortable. A string of warm yellow lights flickered to life overhead as he passed through the town center, a latticework of wires, bulbs, and gently chiming trinkets. He watched as lovers linked arms to stroll down the street and parents scolded their spawn for darting too far ahead.

And then he saw you.

Standing at the end of the main square, clutching at the strap of your crossbody bag, your face quite literally glowed in the incandescent illumination above. Head tilted back, a soft smile playing over your features, Crosshair had never seen someone so…at peace.

He didn’t realize he was staring until you seemed to notice him, frozen in place, eyes locked onto your face.

He watched the recognition spread over your features instantly, your eyes widening and smile broadening into a beaming grin.

“Crosshair?” you asked, striding toward him.

He gave a single, curt nod. “That’s me.”

Holding out your hand, he glanced down at it before shaking it. Your skin was warm against his, smooth and pleasant. You gave him your name, even though he already knew it, already had it committed to memory, and then resumed fidgeting with the strap of your bag.

“So,” you said, “how do you feel about going to the carnival?”

“Never been to one.”

“That’s not what I asked,” you said, squinting up at him, a defiant light sparking there in the yellow lights.

Arching one thin eyebrow, Crosshair couldn’t help but chuckle. “No, I don’t suppose it was.” He let the word fade, let you sit for a moment to ponder whether he would actually answer your question, before continuing, “Carnival works fine. Lead on.”

“We’ll have to take a speeder bike,” you said. Walking backwards to keep your eyes on him, he marveled at the sudden impulse to turn you around if only to avoid you hurting yourself. “It’s not far. And it’s so worth it. The fried dough is to die for.”

To die for. Every time a nat-born let that phrase slip out around him or his brothers, they always followed it up with some asinine question like, “Oh Maker, was that insensitive?” He hated it every time. And now, he tensed, expecting the faux-pity, the sympathy he never wanted. But it didn’t come. You’d since pivoted on your heel to lead him through the gathering dark without a second thought to your words.

He lengthened his stride to match your pace. “You’ve been to it before?”

“Every year since I was a youngling,” you said. “Family tradition. But my parents are gone now, so, it’s just me.”

Another reflexive tensing of his shoulders, jaw clenching around the toothpick. Parents, or any mention of families, also set nat-borns on edge around clones. But again, you didn’t offer any apologies or even showed any sign that you were privy to the way Crosshair reacted.

He simply grunted in response, not sure what to say now that his usual scathing remarks were unnecessary. You seemed content with his response. The pair of you passed through the rest of the town and came upon a secondary, smaller platform with a half dozen speeders parked on it. Moving to the farthest one down the row, you shot him a look as if to say, Coming?

“This yours?” he drawled, eyes narrowed as he focused on the way that your hands moved with practiced ease over the bike’s controls.

The engine revved to life. Swinging your leg over the main seat, you nodded. “Used to be my dad’s. C’mon, hop on.”

Somehow, it hadn’t occurred yet to Crosshair that taking a speeder bike to this carnival would entail some kind of physical contact. He’d just assumed that there would be multiple, that maybe they would race, but not this scenario.

He hesitated only for a split second, processing his options in record time, before hitching his leg over the back of the bike and perching onto the narrow passenger seat. Now faced with another decision, his hands froze in the air as he debated where to hold on.

You saved him the trouble by reaching back and, blindly groping, snagged one of his wrists to draw around your middle. Surprise thrummed through Crosshair, the feeling of your skin once again sending a thrill of excitement down his spine. He leaned against your back, settling his chin in the crook of your shoulder as his arms locked around your body.

Pressed against you like this, he felt the way your body shook with silent laughter.

“Was that a test?” he asked flatly.

Your laughter rang out as you guided the speeder off the platform and into the tall grass. “No. Maybe. Alright, yeah, it was. I can tell a lot about a person by how they react to sitting behind me.”

Cross hummed. “What can you tell about me?”

“Secure,” you said, and then all conversation ceased as you pushed the speeder to its limits.

The roar of the engine mingled with the rush of wind in his ears. Tall plains grass whipped past; he was grateful he’d chosen denim pants and a thicker leather jacket, the garments offering protection against the sting of the grass. When you leaned forward, urging the bike faster, he had no choice but to lean with you, his chest pressed to your back, warmth blooming somewhere behind his sternum. Even at this speed, whatever perfume you’d put on filled his nose, gentle and peaceful and muted.

In the rapidly gathering dark, it wasn’t long before he picked out the telltale sign of the carnival. Multicolored lights, strobing and flashing, twinkled like so many beacons in the midst of the sea of grass. You guided the speeder down to a reasonable speed, and Crosshair caught his first real glimpse of the carnival.

Red and white striped tents dotted the landscape, sprawled like childrens’ toys, clustered around large mechanical rides. He didn’t have names for most of the rides, but already knew that his favorite would be the one just ahead, with four main arms that branched down into double-seater pods. Carnival-goers already sat strapped into the ride seats as the machinery whirred to life. Engrossed, Crosshair watched as the main arms began to orbit the center spoke, and, to his surprise, the groupings of seats rotated around one another.

“That’s the Scrambler,” you explained, following his line of sight. “We can do that one first. It makes me real dizzy.”

He said nothing as you eased the bike to a stop a short distance away from the main entrance. A large, lighted arch proclaimed Welcome in stylized Basic; a short queue shuffled underneath as visitors bought tickets and darted off once inside.

He followed you, content to let you lead, as he soaked in every new sight. Children tugged on parents’ hands toward much tamer rides, spinning teacups and dancing bears; gaggles of teens giggled past as they shoved cotton candy into their mouths; other couples, young and starry eyed, traipsed toward the tallest ride, a massive metal circle. But what really caught his attention were the draped stalls. He spied a number of games, all based on aim, all promising prizes of a soft, squishy variety. A small thrill of anticipation hummed through him. How many of those could he win for you?

“Crosshair?” you asked.

Yanking his attention back, he blinked down at you. “Hm?”

“Should I get enough tickets to do everything once?”

He nodded and fished in his back pocket for the stack of credits that Hunter had shoved into his hands before he left. But you shook your head with a small smile, saying, “You get food, I’ve got tickets.”

Hesitating only a moment, he nodded once, acquiescing. In no time at all, you exchanged brief pleasantries with the gate attendant, purchased a bundle of tickets, and turned to him with a wide smile, happiness shining in your eyes.

“Shall we?”

He twitched his eyebrows up in an approximation of a ‘yes.’

You took a step forward, then turned back, a suddenly shy look on your face. “May I?” You reached as if to grab his hand.

He studied your face for the space of a heartbeat, drawing in as much visual information as he could, in only the way that he knew how, a product of his engineering. Now that he was over the initial shock of seeing you in person, his enhanced eyesight cataloged every feature of your expression that you probably weren’t even aware of. The single eyebrow hair that you’d missed while plucking, the way that your left canine was just a smidge crooked where it gleamed between your parted lips, the accrual of living a life outdoors ingrained into your skin.

Crosshair was, by nature, a visual person. He placed a lot of emphasis on both his appearance and how others presented themselves to him. He’d long since forgiven himself for honing in on the defects, the blemishes, the scars and marks and imperfections.

Looking at you now, he found that the imperfections were what made you perfect.

In silent approval, he held his hand out for you to take. Skin sliding against skin, his tongue toyed with the damp toothpick as he marveled once again at your softness. You led him directly to the Scrambler, true to your word; handing over the required number of tickets to the attendant, you shot him an expectant look as the two of you joined the short queue.

“So,” you said, leaning against the battered metal railing, “Right to Love, huh?”

Whatever warmth had taken root in his chest wilted a little. Arching one eyebrow down at you, he scoffed. “So, clones, huh?”

“I’ll tell you why if you tell me first,” you offered.

The line moved up as the ride came to a clattering halt. He used the movement as a momentary distraction, enticed and yet unsettled by your forwardness. But to his dismay, the attendant shut the gate before the two of you could go through, putting you at the front of the line.

As the ride chugged to life once again, Crosshair allowed himself to sigh. “My brothers wouldn’t let up until I set up an appointment.”

The gaze you fixed him with said you wanted to call his bantha fodder, but you just nodded slowly, digesting that.

“Your turn,” he said.

You huffed a laugh. “I have high standards.”

Crosshair felt his eyebrows creep up. “Standards.”

“Yup.” You fiddled with the fraying strap of your bag. “Always wanted more than the farm could give me. Not that there’s anything wrong with the farms here, they’re just…the same they were when I was a kid. And they’ll be the same when I’m old and dying.”

“The stability means nothing to you?” Crosshair asked. Though he supposed he understood your viewpoint: he chafed under routine, living the same days on nearly endless repeat.

Shrugging, you exhaled slowly, turning your face skyward. “I dunno, I just… I look up at the stars and know there’s entire worlds out there.”

He followed your gaze. He’d seen his fair share of those worlds; he wanted to see them again someday, under better circumstances.

“Anyways.” You laughed, sounding hollow and forced. “Um. I hope you like this ride.”

“I will,” he said.

And he did. Though it reminded him of some of the cadet training he went through with his batch, the centripetal force pinning him to the seat also smushed you alongside him, your bodies touching nearly their entire lengths. Your breathless laughs and thrilled squeals as the ride whipped around, faster and faster, set his heart ablaze. Dimly, he was confused—was this supposed to be so easy?—but the low chuckle that escaped him felt right. You felt right.

He owed Tal an apology, and a thank you.

The pair of you stumbled out of the ride, hair windswept and messy. His lips twitched into a grin as he watched you sway, his own vision tilting on its axis for a moment before righting itself.

“Where to now, trooper?” you asked, giggling.

“You pick.”

Hours later, when you’d ridden every ride and after he bought you both some overpriced, overly greasy fair food that you insisted he try (and that he silently admitted was amazing), he finally dragged you over to one of the game booths, intent on earning a souvenir, at least for you, if not for himself, too.

You groaned as he tugged you by the hand. “Crosshair, these things are always rigged—”

“That’s because you don’t have a marksman’s eye,” he drawled.

Stepping up to one that seemed like it should be simple—a wall of balloons and a pile of darts—he wordlessly passed the worker the trivial number of tickets and accepted the three darts he was allotted. He turned the darts over in his hand, feeling their balance, calculating angles and trajectories and even wind speeds on autopilot. He could do this part in his sleep. No, he was incredibly aware of the way that you openly stared at him, a smile toying with your lips, as you waited for him to prove you wrong.

“Watch and learn, doll,” he murmured, and then he threw all three darts at the same time.

Pop-pop-pop!

Three balloons exploded into tatters as the darts landed in a neat line. Pride reared its head in his chest as your mouth fell open, an admiring gleam glazing your eyes.

“You were saying?” he said, smug.

Laughing in disbelief, he couldn’t help but preen as you shook your head. “Wow. Um. That was impressive.”

“Let’s make a bet.” The words were out of his mouth before he even realized what he was saying.

Cocking your head, you grinned. “What kind of bet?”

“I bet I can win every game here.” He held up a finger at the impatient attendant who tried to interrupt.

He watched as you weighed the options for a moment; he could nearly see the gears turning in your mind, the way your brow scrunched as you thought. Then you nodded.

“What are we wagering?” you said.

“If I win, I pick our next date,” he said simply. He enjoyed the way your smile turned shy, face tilting down for a moment. “If I lose, you pick again.”

“That’s awfully presumptuous of you,” you said. But when you reached out and gently ran your fingers across the back of his hand, he knew you were just teasing.

“Hey, man, you gonna pick a prize or what?” the huffy attendant asked.

Rolling his eyes, Cross jerked his head at you. “Pick.”

“Oh!” Delight sparkled in your eyes as you quickly glanced over the options. “The little green frog, please.”

He’d lost track of time. This was the most fun he’d had…ever, and he wasn’t even sure how it was possible to feel so connected to a person he’d just met. Let alone a nat-born. He’d only experienced one fit of angst when he thought you weren’t looking, wondering if his snark was grating on you, but every time he quipped, you matched his energy. You held your own. He appreciated it.

But by now, the night was winding down. Fewer people crowded the grounds, and the sounds of screams had declined dramatically. He still had one more game to win—much more at stake, of course, than just the stuffed toy waiting for him.

“If you win this one,” you said, arms full with an assortment of squishable friends, frogs and Loth-cats and baby banthas and a number of other critters, “you’re picking the prize. I can’t carry any more.”

“Deal.” His eyes skimmed the prizes in this booth. They were the biggest ones yet, massive Loth-cats that probably stood at least half of his height. It would be so out of place in his otherwise sparse bedroom, but it would be his. All he had to do was win.

With only a couple handfuls of tickets left, he doled out the specific amount for this game. The attendant yawned their way through the explanation of the game: toss the rings over the bottlenecks without knocking any down. If he got all five, he got the big prize. As with every other game, he took a moment to feel the balance of the projectiles, assess angles, get a feel for what he had to do.

Maybe it was just the knowledge that his entire bet rode on this final game, or maybe it was something else, but a nagging doubt wriggled at the back of his brain as he held the rings.

Shrugging it off, he took one and, aiming, tossed it for the bottle directly in the center. It was a good throw—a perfect one, he knew—but he watched, horror mounting, as the ring caught the lip of the bottle and bounced.

“What?” he snarled.

Tossing the second ring, he aimed for the same bottle, and again, the ring bounced. Kark. He gritted his teeth and tried again, adjusting his stance. This one was a little better, it at least flipped over the neck of the bottle behind the one he’d aimed for. Holding his pose, he tossed the remaining two rings and got them both on.

You snorted a laugh at his side. “Technically, you won.”

“No, I didn’t,” he ground out. Throwing tickets at the attendant, he scooped up another five rings.

Taking his time, he held each individual ring to get a feel for its particular balance. Four of them sat in his hand, identical in every way; but the fifth, that traitorous little piece of plastic and rubber, was unbalanced by the tiniest margin, something he’d obviously missed in his overconfidence the first time.

He threw that one first, accounting for its unfair design, and it slotted home on exactly the bottle he aimed for. Triumph burned hot and fierce in his chest. The other four rings landed perfectly, as well, testament to his skill as a marksman. And as he clutched the giant, white-and-gray Loth-cat plush to his chest, he caught the way that your gaze softened as you studied him.

“What?” he asked.

You shook your head. “Nothing. Do we have enough tickets left for the Ferris Wheel?”

Only three tickets remained clutched in his palm. The Wheel, he saw, peering over the dwindling crowd, required two tickets per rider. His heart sank in his chest, a peculiar, unfamiliar feeling.

He saw the exact moment that your disappointment registered, and his heart squeezed. He hated the way that your face fell, eyes downcast, before you reassembled a falsely cheery mask over your expression.

“That’s alright,” you said, forcing a smile. “We did a lot tonight.”

Crosshair was already searching the ground, eyes darting around in an attempt to locate any stray or discarded tickets. He would fix this. He would make you happy.

There.

Balancing his Loth-cat on one hip, he bent to retrieve the trampled, soggy piece of paper. He held it aloft with the barest hint of a grin. “You were saying?”

Crosshair had never known a softness quite like the one in your eyes as you beamed at him.

#tcw matchmaking au #clone matchmaking au #The Bad Batch #prompt response

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