#major fluff

— the type to pull you into bed for “five more minutes” every morning because he already hates the idea of sleeping without you soon

— keeps asking little reassuring questions before leaving. “you’ll call me a lot, right?” “you’re not gonna replace me while i’m gone, right :(”

— absolutely takes candid pictures of you constantly before tour starts. especially when you’re laughing or not paying attention because he swears those are his favorite versions of you

— spends more time touching you before leaving :( fingers intertwined during movies, forehead against yours while talking, holding your waist while you brush your teeth together at night

— loves slow domestic nights before tour. skincare together, sharing snacks in bed, soft music playing while he lays across your chest listening to your heartbeat

— acts okay at the airport but the second you hug him goodbye he gets visibly emotional :( soft pout, watery eyes, whispering “already miss you” before leaving

during tour boyfriend!jimin :(

— facetimes you constantly :( hotel beds, backstage waiting rooms, in the car after schedules. he just likes seeing your face whenever he can

— the type to send “look jagiya ” texts with attached selfies whenever he’s feeling particularly clingy or tired

— misses physical affection more than anything and is always complaining about how cold hotel beds feel without you there beside him :(

— sends voice messages late at night in the softest sleepiest voice telling you about his day while half drifting off

— definitely falls asleep during facetime calls with his cheek squished against hotel pillows while you quietly watch him :(

— gets extra affectionate through texts during tour :( “wish u were here” “i wanna hold u” “come cuddle me rn”

— secretly keeps one of your stuffies with him during tour and sleeps with it beside him because it smells comforting

— when he misses you badly after concerts he gets emotional and starts talking about wanting normal things with you :( staying home together, cooking together, lazy mornings where neither of you has schedules

— acts playful most of the time but admits one night that performing feels lonelier when he can’t come home to you after

after tour boyfriend!jimin :)

— immediately melts into you the second he gets home :) long hugs in the doorway where he just stays there quietly holding you

— follows you around the apartment nonstop for the first few days because he missed your presence so much

— absolutely the type to stand behind you while you do skincare just so he can rest his chin on your shoulder and hold your waist

— domestic routines become deeply comforting to him after tour :) showering together before bed, sharing blankets on the couch, late night convenience store runs

— gets softer seeing all your little habits again :) the way you organize things, your morning voice, how you move around half asleep

— spends the first nights back tangled around you in bed because he slept ‘ok’ without you there during tour

— honestly looks happiest when you’re both doing absolutely nothing :) quiet movie nights, laying together while scrolling on your phones, soft conversations at 2am

— after tour he loves you more openly somehow :) clingier kisses, longer hugs, softer smiles. like being away reminded him how much comfort he finds in you

Perm taglist : @kimmynammy @celliez @alphabetically-deranged @m4aimm @raceme2hell @bo-rimmy @mustanggbabyy @divakoo @snookerdoodle @bratz-lad (comment or ask to be added)

Logan shrugged. “I can always smell you.”

From there, you both turned to find out why you’d been called down to the lab. 

Over the next couple of weeks, Logan noticed a change in you. 

You started napping. 

For the average person, taking a nap in the middle of the day wasn’t unheard of. But for you, someone who practically lived off four to five hours a night of sleep, constantly running around the place doing things, unable to sit still long enough to even think about taking a nap….

It was unheard of. 

First it had been in the living room on the sofa whilst the kids were either out or in their rooms before they’d get called for dinner. Then in the library, the hallway on the window seat bench, the kitchen. And Logan hadn’t been the only one to find you napping. 

But he was the only one to move you from where you were and into your bedroom. 

And each day your scent was getting stronger. 

For the life of him he couldn’t put his finger on it. He had asked Jean about it but since you hadn’t come to her, or hadn’t seemed unlike your normal self, she didn’t see anything to worry about. 

Maybe your body was just finally making you listen and telling you to rest. 

But as of a week ago, you had been throwing up every meal you had. But you didn’t feel sick. Save for the twenty minutes before and after throwing up. Most of the time you felt hungry and nauseous at the same time. 

Except, you’d kept the fact you kept puking to yourself. Until a morning meeting before classes were about to start. 

“Excuse me, just a second-”

You just about managed to get out of the door and down the hallway before throwing up the toilet lid and emptying your breakfast back into the water. 

Everyone looked around concerned and Jean was about to follow you when Logan caught her by the door. “Let me.”

Logan seemed to know something the others didn’t. 

“Is she okay?”

Logan nodded, looking around before finding Charles. “She’s fine,” he replied, turning back to Jean. 

“I’ll be back in a minute.”

Closing the door behind him, Logan found you in the staff bathroom, the door unlocked. 

Knocking on, he heard you take a breath before flushing the toilet and putting the lid back down. He slowly entered before closing the door behind him and looking at you as you sat on the lid of the toilet seat. 

“Here,” Logan grabbed a fresh flannel and ran it under the tap before handing it to you and crouching on the floor so he could see you. 

“Thanks.” You took the flannel from him and placed it over your face, wiping it down before folding it over and running it down the back of your neck. “Two weeks. Two weeks and I can’t keep a meal down, but I feel normal.”

“There might be an explanation for that.”

Then you felt yourself starting to cry. 

You never cried. 

At least, Logan had never seen you cry. 

“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. One minute I’m flushed and wanting to throw up my internal organs, the next I was to sleep for a decade and eat nothing but sugar. Maybe I’m coming onto my period.”

“You’re not.”

You threw the flannel into the sink before looking at Logan. “What?”

“You’re not coming onto your period. You’re pregnant, Y/n.”

“Excuse me?”

Logan sighed. “I can…smell it. Your hormonal changes. And it would explain the tiredness, and the puking your guts up every five seconds. And the emotions.”

You just stared at Logan. “What?”

“If you don’t believe me, take a test. Maybe I’m wrong-”

“You are.” You told him. “I can’t be pregnant. When would I have had-”

Logan raised an eyebrow at you as if to say, “You really don’t remember?”

You looked up, away from him and towards the door, doing the maths in your head. 

“I can’t….no. No, I can’t be pregnant.”

“Look,” Logan began. “At least take a test. Just to be sure. I could be wrong…but I don’t think I am.”

The next day Logan drove you into the town and towards the local pharmacy. 

Sitting out in the car, you unbuckled your seat belt and looked at the door before turning to Logan. “Will you come in with me?”

And he did. Without question. 

Spending a few minutes searching for the tests, Logan found them and handed one over to you. “Can tell as early as…” He read the box. “Five weeks.”

You nodded before looking back at the shelf, grabbing a different box of a different brand, just to be safe. At the counter, the cashier rang up both boxes for you. Neither you or Logan missed the light smile on her face as she looked between the two of you. However, the cashier missed the slightly awkward shift from Logan as he realised what she was doing and he somehow moved both closer to you and away from you at the same time. 

“That’ll be seven, ninety five.”

You handed over a ten dollar bill and collected your change. Both yourself and Logan thanked her before shuffling away from the counter, Logan looking behind him as he opened up the door for you, finding the cashier smiling and waving you out. 

By the time you both got home, you found a note on the desk in the hallway from Xavier. They had taken the kids out on a school trip to the museum. They should be back by dinner. 

So that left you and Logan alone to stand inside your bathroom, avoiding looking at the two tests on the counter. 

“I still think it’s weird you can smell the change.” You said out loud, sat on the toilet seat, your hands interlocked with each other. “I mean…what does it even smell like?”

You unlocked your hands and pressed them between your knees, turning to look up at him as he leaned against your sink counter. 

Logan seemed a little out of it, his head somewhere else for a moment as his eyes remained fixed on the skirting board whilst he brushed a hand repeatedly across his face. 

“Huh?” He snapped out of it, brushing his face one last time before moving his hands so they were against the cold counter before crossing his feet and crossing his arms once more. “Oh, uh, I don’t know, It’s just different.”

“Like a bad different?” You asked. 

“Just…stronger, I guess. Why do you even want to know? I thought you found it weird?”

You nodded. “I do. But you can’t tell me you’ve got questions for things you find weird.”

Logan looked at you. “What? Like your ability to watch a serial killer documentary before you go to bed, yet you won’t watch horror movies?”

“I knew you found that weird!”

Logan nodded. “That’s because it is. Scott isn’t allowed near you in the month of October because you said he watches too many scary movies.”

“I can see it in his aura. Being near Scott in the month of October is like putting you next to a magnet and hoping you don’t get stuck to it. Horror movies scare me any time of year, it’s just stronger in October. And Scott watches too many.”

“Who knew the woman who used to work for the FBI, doesn’t like horror movies?”

“Technically, I worked in the labs. Not the field.”

“Still. FBI that’s afraid of a couple jumpscares on a set full of actors. Kind of ironic if you ask me.”

“Oh, please.” You replied, turned back to looking at the door. “You’re just as scared of them. Don’t think I didn’t spot the claw shaped holes in the pillow from last Halloween.”

From the corner of your eye, you saw Logan squirm. 

“How long is left on this thing anyway?”

You looked at your phone. “Twenty seconds.”

You both watched as the timer went off before looking at each other. “Ready?”

It took you a second, but you finally nodded and Logan stood back up straight. As did you before pulling the face down tests from the counter. 

Logan stood behind you, his hand absentmindedly coming to your hip as he looked over your shoulder. You closed your eyes before turning them round and took another second before finally opening them. 

It felt like the wind had been knocked out of you. 

Two lines. 

Both tests. 

Two, vibrant, clear from space, lines. 

And despite him being the first to know, everything suddenly felt a lot more real for Logan. 

“Oh my god,” you breathed out before you felt yourself starting to cry again. “Oh my god.”

You looked at Logan through the mirror before turning around and his arms wrapped themselves around you as you stood on your tiptoes to bury your face into his neck. 

“What do you need? Tell me what you need.”

You set yourself back on your feet, your eyes locked on Logan’s chest. “Sleep? I think.”

Logan smiled a little and brushed the hair out of your face, kissing your forehead. “Okay.”

“Logan?”

“Yeah?”

“Will you…” The question disappeared. “Stay with me.”

With his eyes fixed on yours, Logan nodded. 

Laying down beside you, his arms wrapped around you whilst your legs tangled with his. And for a moment, he was transported back almost nine weeks ago when you and him had finally crossed the one line you both swore you’d never cross with each other, in a motel room, just off the highway leading back into New York. 

Neither of you woke up until a few hours later where you found yourself lay on your side, Logan’s arm around your middle with his hand gently pressed to your belly, whilst he remained behind you, a little more on his front, his face half buried in his pillow. 

Having felt you move, Logan stirred awake for a moment to fully turn onto his side. But you just kept looking at him. 

Just like you had done almost ten weeks ago when you watched the sunlight that was beginning to peek through the curtains that never just quite shut all the way, dance across his bed-ridden hair and over the muscles in his back, ghosting over where the sheet was draped over his bottom half.

And just like then, you brushed a few of the stray hairs from his face, watching his too tired muscles unable to fight off the smile on his face whilst his hand came up and held yours against him for a moment before he kissed the centre of your palm. 

“What time is it?”

“A little after four…I think. I don’t think the others are back yet.”

“I think we’d know if they were.” Logan joked a little before gazing at you. “How are you feeling?”

“Better, I think. A little less sick.”

“Good.”

You nodded for a moment before looking back at Logan. “I think I want to do this.”

Logan gave you a questioning look for a moment. “Are you sure?”

You nodded. “I’m sure. If you don’t want to-”

“I want to.”

It wasn’t ever a second thought for Logan when he had come to terms with you being pregnant, as well as him being the first to know. He would have supported any decision you made, but he couldn’t help but feel a little more than happy when you confirmed his question. 

He had been in love with you ever since you had splattered midnight spaghetti sauce on your face from when you had slurped spaghetti. He had chuckled and wiped a spot from your chin with his thumb. 

Of course, he wasn’t blind.

He had always found you attractive since he first met you, but becoming your friend and falling in love with you two years later over a bowl of spaghetti as you graded papers…that was something he could have only ever dreamed of. 

That night, he thought about kissing you. But promised himself he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. You were both friends. 

And when you both almost kissed after having stepped into him whilst you were both outside looking for logs to put on the fire pit outside, he had a strong feeling you felt what he was feeling, too. 

But fear…stopped you both. 

And Rogue’s voice from shouting for you both since you’d both been gone ten minutes longer than you had planned. 

But that night in the motel room. 

Neither of you could deny it anymore. And there was no one around to interrupt. 

Maybe both of you wished it had happened a lot more smoothly. But neither of you could deny you weren’t not happy about what had happened. 

“You want to?” You rallied his words back to him, trying not to smile too much. 

Logan nodded. “I want to.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

“One thing,” you said. “What do we tell the others?”

“You didn’t tell anyone what happened?”

You shook your head. “No. Work kinda got in the way.”

Which it did. A few hours after the motel, you had both gotten a call to get back to the school as quickly as you could. And work got too busy, neither you or Logan had time to talk about what happened and before you both knew it, it got too late to mention it again.

“Did you?”

Logan shook his head. “No.”

“This is gonna be a shock to their system.”

You nodded in agreement. “Maybe we don’t tell them so soon. At least wait until the twelve week scan.”

“Agreed. Accept-”

“Jean’s got to know.”

Logan nodded and clicked his teeth. 

“But we can trust her. Maybe we’ll just have to corner her in her lab before she and Scott have lunch together.”

Logan nodded. “Good idea. Does the lab even have a sonogram machine?”

You reeled back a little. “Logan…”

“What? I might have…read…a couple of books.”

You could help but smile. “You read books? On pregnancy?”

 Logan shrugged, once again trying to hide his smile. “Had to know if I was right about you being pregnant. And if I was, I wanted to know…what to expect. Just because I’m nearly 200 years old doesn’t mean I know what I’m doing.”

“And the entire world takes a sigh of relief. Even the oldest man in the world doesn't know what he’s doing. Maybe we don’t have to have it all figured out right now.”

Logan smiled, his hand pressing gently against the bottom of your back, pulling you closer to him. “Maybe we don’t.”

“But we’re gonna do this together?”

Logan gave you a nod and smiled. “We’re gonna do this together.”

By the time the others got back, Logan was on cooking duty since the smell of everything was sending you into waves of sickness once again, until Logan handed you a small bag of sweets with a couple of pretzels inside that helped curb your cravings and settled the sickness. 

And, just like you had said, you found Jean in her lab just a little after Scott had left and told her what she needed to know. 

Within moments she had you lay on the examination table and Logan wheeled a chair over to be by your side whilst she scanned your stomach to find your uterus. 

“Have to say, you two took your time.”

“Huh?”

Jean smiled. “Rogue was sure something had happened that night at the firepit when she went to find you two. When she finds out she’s gonna be thrilled something did finally happen.”

You and Logan looked at each other. “Other than Rogue…how many people think that…”

“You two would finally stop being idiots and do something about it?” Jean clicked a couple of buttons on the monitor. “Everyone.”

“Everyone?!”

Jean smiled. “Yep. And now they’re gonna be thrilled. Take a look.”

Jean explained what you were looking at. “See, here their head, and their feet. They look pretty comfortable there, tucked up nice and cosy.” 

Jean did a couple other things whilst you and Logan looked at the screen, Logan’s hand taking yours in his before he kissed your palm again. 

“Wow…she’s so small.”

You looked at Logan with a smile, and tears in your eyes. “What makes you so certain it's a girl?”

Logan shrugged. “I just do.”

Squeezing his hand, you smiled and looked back at the monitor. 

“I’d put you at about a little over nine weeks. We should be able to hear a heartbeat.”

You looked a little shocked, not expecting to hear a heartbeat so soon. But Jean found it and…you breathed. Or maybe you held it. You weren’t quite sure. 

“Stay still,” Jean laughed a little. 

“Sorry,” you apologised. 

Logan held onto your hand, tears forming in his own eyes. But for two reasons. One; finally being close to you, seeing your baby and hearing their heartbeat. And two; the small thumping Logan had heard every time he was around you, almost like an echo of your own – or maybe his – had been your baby. 

The baby you were having together. 

He had been hearing their heartbeat for almost a week. 

“Logan…that’s our baby.”

There was no stopping his smile. “That’s our baby.”

With his other hand at the back of your head, his thumb making familiar strokes back and forth, he kissed you and you squeezed his hand a little tighter, never wanting to let go. 

“I’ll set this recording for you and print off a couple of pictures. Congratulations guys. You’ve got a very healthy baby.”

Jean did as she said she would and by the time you were clean of the gel and sat back up with Logan standing by your side, Jean gave you a couple of information booklets. 

“I think Logan’s already got most of it covered,” you said with a smile, catching his slightly sheepish look. “But thank you.”

Jean hugged both of you. “Congrats guys, and don’t worry. They won’t hear anything from me.”

You smiled. “Thank you.”

By the time you both got back to your room, you had one picture, as did Logan however the third one, Logan kept looking at. 

Without saying anything, you both came to an agreement and it wasn’t long before you found who you were looking for. 

Closing the library door, you checked all the spaces before confirming both yourself, Logan and Rogue were alone. 

“What’s going on?”

Coming to a stand, Rogue stood in front of Logan and you rounded the table to stand beside him. 

He held out the picture. “We wanted to give you this. Figured you should be the first to know…apart from Jean.”

Rogue took the photo in her hands from Logan, it taking a minute before it all finally clicked in her head and confirmed what she was looking at. 

Baby Y/L/N HOWLETT printed in bold white ink in the corner. 

Rogue burst into a smile and let out a small laugh before hugging both of you quickly. “Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god!”

“But you can’t tell anyone.” Logan told her. “At least not yet.”

Rogue shook her head. “I-I won’t. I promise. Oh my god!”

She hugged you both again before stepping back. 

“I knew something was going on between you two! Congrats, guys! Oh, my god! This is just…incredible. Insane.” Then she calmed down for a moment. “Thank you for telling me.”

Logan shrugged. “Figured the kid’s Aunt would want to know first.”

Rogue smiled even brighter and then looked down at the picture lovingly. “When do you find out the gender?”

“In a couple of weeks,” you smiled, holding onto Logan’s hand and arm. “But he thinks it’s a girl.”

“You do?” Rogue asked, with a smile still prominent on her face. “You two are gonna make the best parents.”

“Thank you.”

“Thanks, Kid.”

And she was right. 

As was Logan when, only a few weeks later, Jean confirmed that you both were in fact going to be the proud parents of a baby girl. 

And by the time it came round to you giving birth, you may have bruised Logan’s hand as well as scared Scott into never watching a horror movie where a woman gives birth, ever again. 

Bobby had been the first to find you when you went into labour. You were hunched over the counter in the kitchen, holding onto your belly. 

“Y/n, are you okay?”

You managed to shake your head. “No.”

Then your waters broke. 

“Oh, uh, okay. Okay. Rogue!”

Practically sliding around the door, Rogue saw what was happening. “Oh, crap. Okay. Bobby, go and find Logan.”

“Do you know where he is?” 

“He’s…” you grunted through the pain. Jean had warned you that having a baby with one mutant parent might speed things along, but two? 

As you had gathered from Jean’s easy let down…

You were fucked. 

“Ugh.” You grunted. “He’s…he’s out in the gardens…they had trouble…ahh…they had trouble moving…”

“Just breathe.” Rogue assured you. “Bobby, go.”

And he did. 

“Okay, we’re gonna get you downstairs. I’ll call Jean.”

Twenty minutes later, Jean was back from her store run and rushed inside the school only to nearly collide into Logan. 

“Where is she? I can’t find her.”

“Rogue helped her down to the lab.”

When Jean and Logan finally ran inside, they found you bracing yourself on the bed as Rogue rubbed up and down your back and you felt the pain kick up a notch. 

“They’re here! They’re here. Logan.”

Logan was already on it, replacing Rogue’s hand with his own in yours. “Where the hell were you?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

“How’s your pain?” Jean asked, walking back inside in her scrubs. 

“Ever been kicked by a horse in your pelvis?”

Another contraction started up and as you held onto Logan’s hand, you braced yourself on his other arm. 

Jean gave a hidden laugh from your comment and started setting everything up. 

“Just tell me when the pain stops and we can get you moved onto the bed.”

It took a moment but eventually it slowed and, with Logan’s help, you got into the hospital bed and Jean checked you over. 

It was a few more hours before you were ready to push. 

“No, I can’t. It hurts.”

“Just a few more pushes. Come on, you can do it.”

Logan held onto your hand whilst his other arm supported you around your shoulders and back. “You can do it. Just a couple more and it’ll be over.”

You groaned. “Why can’t we be seahorses? The males have to push and they’re only pregnant for ten days.”

Logan could help but laugh a little. “We can always get Chuck to come down and narrate this. He’s no David Attenbourogh but he is English.”

“Oh, shut up.” You laughed a little. “Don’t make me laugh. I’m in enough pain as it is.”

Another contraction started up and you began to push again. 

“That’s it! Good…just a little longer.”

Fifteen minutes later the room was filled with the cries of a newborn baby girl and you felt yourself cry a sigh of relief, joy and worry. 

“You did it, honey.” Logan kissed your temple. “You did it.”

“Where is she? Is she okay?”

Jean smiled and nodded. “She’s perfect. Dad? Want to do the honours?”

Logan kissed you and walked over towards Jean, his hands trailing away from yours before reaching for the scissors Jean handed him. 

Cutting the cord, Jean hurried to weigh and measure your daughter as quickly as she could before handing her over to you for skin to skin contact. 

“Oh my god, she’s beautiful.”

Logan was crying tears of happiness. “She looks just like her Momma.”

“Congrats, you guys.”

“Thank you.” 

You couldn’t take your eyes off of her. She was…everything. 

Logan sat beside you on the bed, his arm above your head and the other around both of you. He saw you in her, but you saw him. 

“You guys picked a name yet?” Jean asked, standing on the other side of the bed, the camera by her side from where she’s taken a couple of photos already. 

Both yourself and Logan had been quiet about the names you had picked. 

“We haven’t decided yet.” Logan told her, his eyes never leaving his daughter. 

“But whatever it is, Marie is going to be her middle name.”

Jean smiled and took yet another picture. Everyone had been waiting years for this moment, for you and Logan to finally get together, for you both finally to realise you were both always meant to be, even before either of you knew it.

They were going to want pictures to keep forever of this moment. 

As were you two. 

And the ones Jean took were just the first of many to be taken, from everyone holding her beside you and Logan, to the big family photo with her in Logan’s arms, to the one you would always keep by your bedside of Logan holding his daughter for the first time. To birthday’s, Christmases, Easter, family dinners, first steps, first words. 

The others that made a small collection in your memory box for her, where she’s learning to walk, holding onto Logan’s fingers, climbing up her dad and going over his shoulder, finding easter eggs with Logan and Rogue, sitting in Xavier’s lap at his desk, learning to bake for the first time – a picture you didn’t know existed until you found it in the small box Logan had been keeping. He had taken the picture of you and her when you weren’t looking and had multiple copies. 

There was a picture of every moment and every memory that both of you would always treasure forever. 

Dean escaped death not two months ago. Had an entire surgery after the rebar impaled his back, three inches to the left, and it would've been his sternum. But it happened to be Dean's lung, and it rode him into the bed for one fucking month. Sam recommended exercise for faster recovery; Dean recommended his brother to kindly fuck off.

And, astonishingly, Sam did.

Three weeks ago, Sam went to check out a case two states over from the Bunker. Where he met a girl, and it became his last case.

Dean kept thinking his little brother would return, but then he got a call the previous night, and Sam told him that she might be the "one" – whatever the fuck that's supposed to mean. Dean's shoulders had sagged as he congratulated Sammy on the keeper, and his heartbeat accelerated when Sam asked him to drive out and meet Leah himself.

Dean didn't floor the accelerator like he usually did on that drive. He was stalling.

His fingers drummed leisurely to the faint music on the steering wheel. Dean'd been dancing to his father's tune, in John's footsteps, for over four decades now. His rock bands were all he knew; he vaguely wondered what song Leah played. He wondered how his repetitive personality that ran around hunting, apocalypses, and monsters was supposed to gel with a civilian. She would probably judge Dean's borderline alcoholism, his psycho paranoia, and his broken trauma.

Dean would probably fling a knife across the room if the wind moved wrong, and it would break a treasured family photo. He'll be asked to leave, and then he'll only see Sam on the holidays. Maybe special occasions like when they had kids.

Jesus. What kind of uncle would he make?

He didn't know what to do with those creatures anymore if he wasn't just protecting them.

It was late evening when he pulled up into the quaint, sleepy town. He booked into a motel: he was invited for lunch the next day. Dean thought he could take the night for himself, hit a bar, maybe see what attracted Sammy to this slice of earth.

He found the town bar that was crowded because it was karaoke night, the Friday night. Regular patrons, several huddles of befriended couples, and the singles raised the roof to the Heavens. There was a long line to sing; didn't matter how embarrassing the performance was, everyone was nauseatingly supportive. Beer bottles clinked, pool triangles scattered, lively conversation sent Dean's head into a lonely tailspin; he was in the corner of the bar with an un-clink-able glass.

He watched the performances across the room, tuning everything else out. He hadn't touched a mic since he'd been a demon. Too many bad memories. He missed his voice though; pulsing through the speakers, feet thumping on the ground, heart pounding against his chest and the mediocre air conditioner trying to dry his sweaty hair.

He tried to savor his whiskey because he was supposed to slow down in life now, apparently, but he ended up chugging it like it was cheap beer. Linus, the bartender, replaced his drink – awed by how well Dean was holding his liquor. It was a skill, but it was useless in a life out of hunting.

Dean felt useless.

'Hello, Linus!' a chirpy voice chirped as a woman slid onto the stool next to Dean's.

Dean glanced in the direction out of habit. Pretty, he thought off-handedly. But he was going to the motel, hopefully drunk tonight.

'You're in town!' Linus exclaimed. It was the most excited Dean had seen the bartender all night. 'O-M-G, how are you?!'

You laughed a ridiculous laugh that made Dean's lip quirk up without his permission. It was a pretty laugh.

'I'm good! I see that diet's been working,' you beamed up at the man as he twirled happily. 'How's Katie? And the kids?'

'Katie got the promotion!' Linus told you. 'Tracy's gone to second-grade and Cinamon won the state-championship!'

You gasped animatedly. 'That's big, Li – congratulations! See? You were worried about nothing!' You turned to Dean as if you knew he'd overheard it all. 'I used to be the assistant football coach here,' you grinned, putting your chin on your hand and your elbow on the counter. 'I trained Cinamon for a brief period.'

Dean blinked in surprise. 'O-Oh?'

'Mm-hmm.' You glanced back at the bartender, 'Get me my usual, Linus? One for the mopey guy as well?'

Dean's eyebrow quirked at your presumptuous statement. 'Why am I mopey?' he frowned.

You swiveled in your seat and then leaned forward, invading his personal space. Dean stiffened when your brows scrunched, scrutinizing him up close. He couldn't help but notice the pull of your e/c eyes; it reminded him of someone pulling the burnt cover of a marshmallow for the gooey center. Then you smiled warmly at him like you could read his mind, and Dean had to blink out of his daze.

On second thought, he reflected, you were downright breathtaking in your simple sundress; bold choice for a bar.

'Hunters are usually mopey, Dean.' You winked like it was your little secret with him. He realised you'd been waiting for Linus to leave to say that.

Color drained from Dean's face, and appreciation drained from his mind.

'Who are you?' Razor sharp.

You smiled softly, unfazed. You raised a badge between your two fingers, and Dean glanced at it cautiously – it dawned on him a second later. His hand went to his pocket, and he found the bulge missing.

'That's my—'

'Fake badge, yes,' you said, placing it on the counter. 'Found it in the parking lot. I'm a hunter too,' you said as a way of explaining. ''S all good.'

Dean breathed out subtly. 'Thanks, uh—'

Linus came back with two tall glasses. Ice fought the water to freeze your favorite color into an aesthetic taste. Even had an umbrella on the top.

'It's named after me,' you gestured at the drink with a twinkle of your eye. 'The Y/N.'

'You come here a lot then?'

You chuckled. 'Not at all. Just grew up around here. Small town, eh? Everyone knows me here – although I wish they didn't always.'

'Must make hunting tough.'

'You don't say. I have, like, a bounty on my head in three different states,' you snorted. 'Does not bode well that an entire town knows my name and addresses.'

'You have a home here?'

'Two,' you answered. 

He nodded. Both of you sipped on your drinks.

'Wow,' he muttered.

You smirked. 'Lots of champagne along with stuff I don't ask.' You tilted your head in a way that reminded Dean of his once best friend; his heart got tugged downward by weight when he recalled Castiel. 'It's supposed to cheer people up. Like me,' you snorted like it was a joke.

'It's nice.'

He was awkward to say anything else. Today didn't feel like a good day for anything.

You leaned towards him again, so your shoulders touched. It caught his attention, and among other things, he noticed your arresting eyes again. He could recognize the sort of intense happiness they shed.

'I'm no bartender,' you began. 'But you can tell me if something's bothering you.'

He couldn't. It was too mundane. Irrelevant. Like him.

'Nothing,' he said. Took him a heartbeat to shrug it off. 'Are you here on a hunt? Or just to visit your home?'

'The latter. You?'

His home was the Bunker. But then, so was Sammy. 'Just passin',' he lied.

'You know I'm a little mad at you,' you said after a hum of acceptance.

You straightened up as Dean's brows engaged.

'What'd I do?'

'What didn't you?' you giggled. 'You, sir, have a national criminal record!'

That, he wasn't expecting. 'You're mad at me for having a hefty criminal record?'

'Uh, yeah!' you scoffed. 'Do you know how cool that is? I mean, you kidnapped the President for God's sakes!'

Dean's eyes darted out to check if anyone overheard. 'We got into real trouble for that,' Dean said, voice low. He still shuddered about that federal imprisonment that Billie had to help them get out of. Then something occurred to him like the sharp pain of a paper cut. 'Wait . . . do you know my last name?'

You blinked at him. 'Yes,' you chuckled lightly then. 'Winchester! Dean Winchester: the man, the myth, the legend! Emphasis on the legend. I honestly didn't think one person could die so many times. Again – cool!'

Dean was starting to get irritated by your misuse of the word "cool". 'My name wasn't on my badge,' he said, giving his voice that edge again. 'Who told you? Are you working for someone?'

'Whoa!' You raised your hands. 'Calm down, man. No such thing. I just ran the police database for your picture before I realised it was a fake badge. I didn't want an FBI agent to catch me. Then, found out it's you and thought I'd come over and say "thanks".'

'For what?'

You snorted like he'd just cracked a hilarious joke. 'Saving the world?' you jogged his memory. 'Personally handling a bunch of apocalypses? I mean . . . don't we all owe you tons of gratitude?'

Dean's mood swung to another extreme. 'That's, uh, not necessary,' he said. He decided he was embarrassed with pink ears.

'Are you kidding?' you stamped his shoulder, startling him. He barely resisted retaliating with his hunter instincts. 'I've read Edlund's books, dude – it just fueled my idea that you were a myth – but if all that's true—'

Dean sighed. 'It is.'

'No way!' you gasped haltingly. 'I'm, like, a super fan!'

And just like that, the last chance of having a nice night was ruined. He never should've left that damn motel.

Dean pulled swigs of his bubbly drink while you finished getting breathless about him.

'Sorry,' your laughter tapered. 'I shouldn't be a Becky.'

Dean's lips came close to twitching.

'Linus!' you said with grandeur as you stood up. 'Put the gentleman's tab on mine!'

You got a thumbs-up in return, but Dean tensed.

'You don't need to—'

You surprised him by placing a gentle finger to his lips, and your face was close to his again. Standing up, you were more to his height. You smiled softly, and he couldn't help if his eyes flit down at the pink-petaled shade; the glisten made it seem all the more inviting.

'I know when I'm not wanted,' you said. Dean felt both relieved and disappointed. 'Doesn't mean you can't have a good night.' You lowered your hand: disappointment grew. 'Your life couldn't have been easy,' you admitted. 'I laugh like I'm high all the time,' you chuckled on cue, ''s a coping mechanism. Can't be broody like you, can I?' you teased. 'Mopey looks sexy on one of us. That ain't me.' Before he could fully register the compliment, you smiled sadly – and Dean realized what you meant: after seeing and hearing you laugh so well, sad was just too upsetting on you. 'Ciao, handsome,' you perked up again. 'Hope the open bar cheers you up at least one night!' You seemed to mean that – like you sincerely wanted him to be happy.

While you walked out, Dean was still trying to come up with something to say.

Dean didn't stay till close-up. He still wasn't drunk, and he'd hate to abuse your kindness too much. The cigarette-less smell of the night was nippy still. He wasn't looking forward to scratchy comforters and broken heat. 

'Oh, fuck!'

A short shout set him on high alert. Hand on gun, but he heard no signs of struggle. A small walk took him a few cars down. 

'Linus?' 

He turned with a phone in hand. Tears on his face. Held a finger up.

Dean let go of his gun.

The other man sniffled as he finished his conversation. Dean hesitated on leaving - how cold-hearted would he be considered?

'My grandmother just died,' the man sobbed, hanging up.

Oo-kay, very cold-hearted if Dean left. He ignored the dull prickle of his chest that to normal people felt like a sucker-punch when they heard of deaths.

'Sorry to hear that,' he said. He wished Sam were here. Dean would gladly opt out of this talk. 'Anything I can, uh, do?'

'Actually,' he cleared his voice of cracks. 'Can you get this file to this address?' He slipped a file off the hood of his car. It had a plain paper pinned to it. 'I need to go to the hospital but I was supposed to meet a client.'

'Uh, yeah, sure. Whatever you need,' he guessed.

Linus ignored Dean's "take care" and drove off. Dean sighed forlornly and set out.

He knocked on the right address. A vaguely familiar voice yelled for him to wait. When the door swung in, words died in his throat.

'Dean!'

'Uh, hey.' He didn't fail to notice your comfy shorts that were nearly swallowed by your oversized Scooby-Doo hoodie. His lip quirked up in a corner. 'I have Linus' file?' He forced himself to meet your eyes.

They had an unreadable emotion in it. 'Yeah. I found out.' You extended a hand for the file. 'Linus is selling the bar. This is its deed.'

'I thought you were a hunter.'

'I am. But I promised myself I'd leave the day I find a good reason.'

'What's stopping you?' he couldn't curb his curiosity. He was looking for a reason, too.

'Honestly?' you snorted. 'I'll tell you when I find out.'

He pressed his lips and accepted it.

'Do you want to join me for dinner?' you asked, popping a hip and placing a hand on it. 'I was just about to have some.'

Dean was reluctant, but his stomach rumbled its consent. Dean blushed a little.

'Didn't eat before drinking, did you?' you teased. 'Come on in! I make extra almost accidentally.'

Bit his lip, but caved for some reason he couldn't fathom. Stepping over the threshold was like entering a new world. 

Fairie lights were strung across the walls that gave your home a golden warmth. Your furniture was in soft colours and with softer curves. It smelled like a bakery, if he was honest. He followed the smell (and you) into the kitchen. He was downright delighted to see a platter of apple-cinnamon buns.

'Wow.'

You hummed. 'Help yourself. I got gyozas popped in and spaghetti's about done.'

Dean's face had lit up. 'You did all this for a regular night?'

'Cooking calms me,' you smiled. 'So does company,' you smirked at Dean. 'Get neither of them often, though.' You opened the fridge. 'Do you want beer to go with it all?'

'Okay, when this is over, I might not leave.'

You laughed that ridiculous laugh that tickled Dean's gut, too. You guided him to the plates, and he had a weird fluttering feeling in his chest as he helped you to the couch with all the food.

'I'll give the rest to Linus' family tomorrow,' you told him without asking. Like an old friend.

He hummed. You'd made enough that you'd have leftovers even after second servings (or third, if Dean was allowed to gander).

'What do you want to watch, Dean?'

You startled him yet again. 'Uh, don't you want to choose?'

You shrugged. 'I'm not picky.'

'Still. You've already done so much for me . . . '

'I wish I could say it was for you,' you teased. 'Would be a nice line - but all hunters are welcome in my home, sweetheart. Don't be shy, I love hosting people!'

He liked that you called him a "sweetheart".

You had subscriptions, much to his excitement, and he requested a few Western movies. You played them gladly, and much to his happy surprise, you joined in on the commentary.

Eventually, the long drive, luxurious couch, the wholesome dinner, and surprisingly homely company conked Dean right out. You shrouded him in one of your blankets and went to clean the kitchen.

Dean woke up a few minutes later to a dimmer room and to the sounds of the sink. A guilty stab made him drag away from the carpet and onto the cold tiles. You were twerking a bit on the soundtrack of "Heat Of The Moment" - Dean hadn't heard it since Sammy banned it; it made him grin like a little shit.

'Why didn't you wake me?' he rubbed his eye, voice ridden with gruffness. 'I could've helped.'

'Oh, but you looked so cute all relaxed!'

He didn't know how to react to that. 

His amusement faded while you were wiping your hands on a cloth, just about done.

Something compelled him towards you. You turned to his chest, puzzled because there was barely a foot of distance left. He stared you down, like he was trying to whittle you down to your core.

'Why are you being so nice to me?'

You smiled so widely that your nose scrunched. Dean wanted to touch it because it was so beautiful.

'Has no one ever been nice to you?' Rhetoric.

'Not like this,' he answered anyway. 'I mean, you paid for my drinks, we had dinner. If I didn't know any better, you're tricking me into a date.'

Your laugh rose like the crescendo of windchimes, even if he hadn't said anything too funny. He was starting to believe that laughing just came naturally to you. It was infectious in the way his lips turned up. You raised a hand to his shoulder as if to support yourself against the stitch in your side.

'Ah, sometimes I wish I were that conniving,' you wagged your brows at him, with a face-splitting grin. 'But I'm just a charitable woman, Dean.'

His brows furrowed. 'So I'm a charity now?'

'More like a cause,' you teased. 'Like, the cause of why so many people wake up in the morning.'

Smooth, Dean thought. He couldn't seem to decide whether he should take offence to your words, or get down on his knees and worship you for them.

'You're deflecting,' he chose to say.

You took a beat to look away, and then when your eyes found his again, they were more deliberate. 'I don't think my niceness is a problem here, Dean,' you said. 'I'm nice to everyone. The fact that I admire your invisible strengths and that I think you're scorchingly hot has nothing to do with my hospitality.'

Dean was glad for the natural dimness of your kitchen. It gave you two a romantic setting, but mostly, it gave him the darkness to hide how your words touched him - coated his cheeks in a fierce red.

'Well, I . . . I don't know what I could do for you.'

You smiled softly at him - and maybe the moon had changed the angle in the few milliseconds because when it touched on that smile, Dean could've sworn you lit up. His heart skipped a beat, and he was seeing you in a literal new light. His eyes dipped to your lips, and he got the incessant urge to taste them.

'My mom was a hunter,' you told him, bringing his eyes up again. 'My dad dedicated his life to an NGO. They were killed in a car accident. My aunt got me.' You shrugged. 'Gave me an option: I can stay at school or learn to hunt. I chose hunting. Decided I would leave the day I'd get someone to root around for, you know?'

Dean hummed in understanding.

'I've been prepping ever since. Paid off this house - my parents'. Had to do a few odd jobs for this one,' you gestured around you, fond smile on your face like you were proud of it. 'Got my aunt's house - it's a few streets away.'

'You paid for that, too?'

You ducked your head sheepishly. 'Okay, my mother comes from a rich family. My spinster aunt inherited most of the estate. My mom and dad liked the low-key life they had going. Aunty Moira offered to pay for this house after them, but I wanted something of my own . . . She passed away last year. I got a lot of money, the second house, and no one to squander it on.'

'Oh.'

'She had cancer,' you said, matter-of-factly. Your deep breath was telling of the emotions you were waiving, however. 'Anyway. You listened.'

He arched a quizzical brow.

You chuckled. 'This evens us,' you explained. 'You didn't know what you could do for me?' you referred. 'You listened,' you shrugged. 'It's a form of favour.'

Silence flooded in.

Dean took your hand in solidarity, charging the air with electricity. He deeply searched your face, inching closer like he was drawn to you. Your smile dulled like it was about to be the background of something more special. Time seemed to crawl to a stop when you two finally met at the lips. Short-circuit stuttered his heart, and he was afraid to breathe out lest you dissolve into the air with it.

Then he felt your fingers caressing his five o'clock shadow, and he couldn't wait to move. His hands found your waist, and he held you against him when your toes tipped up. He could feel your warmth through the layers, and he wanted to get closer, like Icarus when he tried to touch the sun.

Your tongue swiped his mouth for permission. He let you in with a moan, and he lifted you into the air with ease, gripping your thighs that wrapped around him securely. He was able to pull you closer, moulding you to him without much trouble. His fingers carded your hair, and you shivered.

You pulled away for a beat, forehead against his. 'Do you, uh, want to take this to the bedroom?'

'Is this one of the favours?' he teased, but there ran an undercurrent of genuineness as if he was making sure it was something you wanted.

He'd earned your laugh. Dean wondered if he could have sole proprietorship of it.

'Not a favour but maybe I am shrewd - maybe the date just went really well,' you winked, before dissolving into chuckles.

Dean slammed his lips against yours in a mouthwatering kiss and led you to the adjacent room.

Dean woke up alone. The shades were parted to let a sliver of sunlight in. He didn't hear the shower running or any utensils clanking. The house was dead silent. His hunter instincts were chided by the note you left for him next to a glass of water. It said:

Mornin', handsome. A tall glass of water for this tall glass of water 😘.

Had some errands to run and food to distribute. Make yourself at home if you decide to stay - I'll see you tonight. If not, I'll see you at the next apocalypse, lol.

P.S.: No wonder your criminal record is as long as a mummy's bandages – could bounce a quarter off that ass 🙄.

A laugh burst out of Dean. He didn't remember last when he'd done that first thing in the morning. Hell, he didn't even remember the last time he'd felt as well-rested.

'This girl,' he shook his head.

But his throat tightened a bit as he realised he might not be returning to the best night of his life.

He folded the note and saved it in his pocket. He decided to shower back at the motel because he didn't have a change of clothes on him. He dressed and walked down to what seemed like a deluxe continental breakfast: buns from last night, pancakes, bacon, toast, juice, and fruit. He questioned why he ever had to leave. There was another note - without any shenanigans here - that said he could take the leftovers with him, if he wanted.

Digging into the delicious treats, he mulled over your handwriting - even that was nice, your drawn emojis on paper impeccable.

He couldn't remember when anyone had felt so right. 

He picked up a peach cobbler on his way and knocked on the right address, three minutes before his arrival time. A familiar feminine voice told him to wait, and Dean had a sense of déjà vû. Before he could think about it, the door swung in.

And Dean's world tilted. 

'Dean!' Sam beamed.

He was standing with an arm around . . . you.

'Hi!' you waved enthusiastically. 'It's so nice to finally meet you! Please, come on in!'

Dean was paralysed by shock. Numbly, he managed to move in.

Sam took the cobbler from his hands. 'You okay, man?' Sam perceptively asked.

It slammed Dean back into reality. Guilt coiled low in his belly and made him nauseous.

'Sorry, it's all a mess,' you waved around the house. 'Sweetheart, can you check if the potatoes are done?'

Dean blanched at the very nickname you'd used on him last night, while Sam responded instantly and left the room.

'Would you like to sit, Dean?' you politely asked. 'Some water? Or beer. Sam says you have a taste for it.'

'What the fuck are you doing?' he hissed without Sam in the earshot.

You reeled back with wide eyes. 'Is, uh, everything okay?'

'Did you orchestrate this?' he spat. 'Is this some twisted fangirl scenario of yours? What the fuck is wrong with you? I trusted you! All that nice and sweet girl crap – was it all just some game to you?'

'Okay,' you crossed your arms, 'I don't know what you're going through, but I don't appreciate the tone!'

'Hey, babe, I forgot the–' Sam paused on his way back in, glancing between the sort of standoff his brother and girlfriend had come to. 'Is something wrong?'

Dean met your eyes with an icy warning. Sam worried because it was the same look his brother gave to monsters. 'Are you going to tell him, or should I?'

'Can you tell me?' you asked, bewildered.

But Dean didn't buy it. Not anymore.

His shoulders set back. 'She slept with me last night, Sam.'

'What?!'

Sam's lips parted in silent confusion.

You scoffed. 'I don't know why you're lying, Mr Winchester, but you cannot walk into my home and blot my character with false accusations! Last night, I pulled an extra shift at the hospital! I even cancelled my plans with—Ohhhhh!' your voice went down just as quickly as it had risen. 'Oh, my God,' you suddenly laughed, different than last night, turning to Sam. 'Do you remember who else is joining us for lunch?'

It dawned on Sam, and instantly a smile broke on his face. He laughed with you.

'Will someone explain to me what the fuck's going on?' Dean snapped, irritated beyond belief. You had the audacity—

The bell rang.

You were still laughing when you went for the door. Sam shot his brother an apologetic look that also seemed way too amused.

'Dean, Leah has a twin sister,' Sam supplied.

Dean's face fell in horror. He turned in time for the door to open, and the real you's voice flooded in.

'Oh, my God, Lee! You won't believe who I met in the bar last night after you cancelled on me–' You stopped dead in your tracks, a disbelieving laugh left you. 'Uh, Dean?'

Dean's soul had left his body.

Sam thumped his brother's back in solemnity. Sam was enjoying his brother's embarrassment too much.

'He thought I was you,' chuckled Leah.

Dean was struck that there wasn't a physical difference in your appearances, but in the way you two laughed. Leah's was a bit less ridiculous, like she wasn't trying to infect others with it, merely just a part of the crowd - or so it seemed to Dean.

You snorted, hand on mouth. 'Oh, my, I missed that?'

There was the eye roll only you seemed to elicit from Dean.

Sam grinned. 'I'm Sam, by the way.'

'Winchester, apparently!' you shook his hand. 'Why didn't you tell me your boyfriend was a hunter, hon?' you asked your twin.

Leah's eyes widened. So did Sam's.

'You are a hunter?!'

'Oops,' you bit your lip, turning with a bemused look towards Dean, who was both shocked and relieved that Leah didn't tear him a new one for jumping to conclusions.

'How do you know about hunters?' Sam countered.

'I am one,' you raised your hand.

Leah laughed. 'I thought you were a civilian.'

'Oh, honey, he's a legend,' you told her. 'You know those two brothers I told you about?'

'From your books?'

'You know about the books?' Sam groaned.

A smile threatened to break on Dean's face.

'Do you guys smell that?' you piped up.

'Oh, fuck! My potatoes!' Sam bolted like his ass was on fire.

Leah shared an identical grin with you and a superior communication than the one Sam and Dean had, passed between the two of you. Leah followed Sammy outside.

'Can't believe you called my sister a whore,' you giggled.

'I didn't say whore!' he said defensively.

You laughed, raising your hands. 'Sorry. I could only guess so much.'

'You two look freakishly alike!' Dean said, internally beating himself up for not being able to tell you two apart.

'Oh, that's for my benefit,' you shrugged. 'We cut our hair the same, wear similar clothes, and even try to keep nearly the same body weight – gives me an escape when the police comes a'knocking. We've learned not to talk about the other to protect ourselves. Sorry about the confusion.' You didn't seem sorry at all.

'That's . . . actually kinda neat.'

'So.' Meaningful pause. 'I guess we'll be seeing a lot more of each other, hmm?' Your eyes swept over him in a flirty gaze.

'Guess so.'

Timestamp: In A Sentence.

A/N: Might make this into a series some day 👀. Thoughts?

P.S.: Thanks to @mellowyellowdaydream for the gyozas idea, haha - anyone who knows, knows I suck at coming up with varied cuisine, lol.

Tag List.

@aylacavebear @hobby27 @stoneyggirl2 @emma1998sblog @globetrotter28

@bettystonewell @jollyhunter @imsiriuslyreal @lori19 @thewinchesterwench

You awake early in the morning to sunlight streaming in through your window.

You rub your eyes and clumsily push the plush red comforter embroidered with Messmer’s insignia back and ease out of your bed. Per usual, the servants at the Shadow Keep had catered to your every need, and your breakfast was already sitting on the table in your quarters. You truly believe you get better service than Messmer himself.

He had always treated you well even before he began courting you, but now, he showers you with the finest gifts he can find. Beautiful embroidered dresses, specifically tailored for you, flawless gemstones, rich wines, and sturdy armor sets were all left for you in your private quarters. You live quite comfortably here.

He has also ensured your protection. His most trusted guards stand watch outside your quarters, day and night, and you are allowed to carry your weapon freely around the castle. You don’t really need your weapon much, as Messmer prefers to personally guard you whenever possible. You have never felt more safe. His presence is comforting and warm.

Lately, though, you haven’t seen him as much. Perhaps a battle went horribly wrong, or he’s sick. You don’t know, but whenever he is around, he seems like something is troubling him. He doesn’t speak as often and he remains closed-off, even from you.

You were, hopefully, going to remedy that today. You requested various flowers, bath salts, and oils from Castle Ensis, and they had finally arrived. You were going to make him relax, no matter what. 

Dressed in a fine dress made of red velvet with glimmering gold accents and with a satchel filled to the brim with salts, petals, and soaps, you begin to make your way to Messmer’s chamber. Servants bow their heads in reverence to you as you pass, and you greet two Fire Knights as you approach Messmer’s door. Not unusual, but today they’re standing directly in front of the door rather than off to the sides.

“Good morning. I wish to see Lord Messmer.” 

The right guard bows his head and replies solemnly. “My Lady, Sir Messmer has requested to not be bothered.”

“Even if it’s me?” You quirk your brow upwards and place a hand on your hip.

“Well… I suppose he wouldn’t bar you from entering. Apologies, My Lady.” You hear a wavering fear in his voice. Perhaps he realizes that keeping his Lord from you would be a terrible idea.

Stepping aside, they push open the solid metal doors and bow their heads as you pass. Being the Lady of the castle certainly had its perks.

The heavy doors shut with a heavy thump behind you and you proceed into the darkened room. There are a few candles lit around the chamber. You hear thundering footsteps from behind the throne at the front of the room. You wonder if you should’ve left him alone.

“I requested to be left well alone. Secluded from all.” His low, authoritative voice echoes across the stone walls. You see one of his snakes poke its head out from the darkness and you straighten your posture.

Messmer comes out from behind the large throne and hurries towards you, steps light yet graceful, befitting a demigod. He grabs your hand and inspects you for injuries.

“My darling, whatever is the matter? Has something happened?” His features soften and butterflies erupt in your stomach from his gentle touch.

“Nothing has happened. Everything is alright, love.” You reach your hand up towards his cheek to cradle it and he lowers himself to allow you to. You notice that the dark circles underneath his eyes have grown heavier and he looks weary. “Are you alright, Messmer?”

The question takes him aback. He shoots you a weak smile and gently kisses your palm. “Yes, my darling. It has been a rather vexing week, nothing more. Thou must not worry about such matters; I will attend to them.”

You know he is lying. Something has happened, but why would he be worried to open up to you? He has been forthcoming about his mother and his crusade in her name, so what could possibly make him think he can’t talk to you?

“Love, I’m here for you. I know something is bothering you.” He looks away from you, head bowed down. You make him look at you, and he meets your soft gaze with hesitation. “You do not have to bear everything by yourself, you know. Please let me help you.”

He sighs and grabs your hands with his much larger ones. “A sweeter companion I could never hope to have. But some burdens are mine to bear as they are mine own sins.”

“Are you thinking about the war?”

“Yes. The blood I have spilled would paint this castle ruby, inside and out. And yet, it is Mother’s will. Her vengeance has become mine own flesh.” He sounds conflicted, like he knows what is right and wrong, and yet, he can’t bring himself to stray from the path his Mother set him on. He pulls his hands away from yours, scared he will taint your innocence with his touch.

“I’m not scared of you.” His eye gleams bright gold at your words.

“Perhaps not now. But, should we have met before, my visage would haunt thy very nightmares.” His snakes gently coil around him more, as if comforting him. You long to do the same. To take all his pain and make it vanish into thin air.

But you cannot do that.

“I have a surprise for you.” You break the haunting silence and interrupt his spiraling train of thought.

“What is it?” He sounds exhausted.

“If I told you, it wouldn’t be a surprise, now would it?” You shoot him a playful smile, and he returns it with a much weaker one. You take his hand and begin to lead him back to his chambers behind his towering throne. Slowly, you make your way to the back of his room where a large marble tub sits vacant. 

“So… there’s really no better way to say this, but I need you to strip and get in the bath for me.” Heat rushes to your cheeks. You dare to look up at him. His gaze shifts between the tub and you rapidly, and his face matches his hair.

“Only if you want to! If this makes you uncomfortable, we can forget this ever happened. I got fancy bath salts and soaps from Castle Ensis to help you relax.” You open your satchel and show him the various bottles and wrapped packages you brought with you.

“Thou hast done this… to offer me a respite?”

“You’ve seemed preoccupied lately. A nice bath always helps me clear my mind and rest.” You give him a bashful smile. His eye is wide and his face is twisted in confusion.

“Thou does not wish for me to disrobe for thy own pleasure?” 

You think you’re going to die before this conversation is over.

“No! I just want you to get in the bath and relax!” You take a second to breathe and quiet your voice. You don’t want him to think that you want him just for sex. “I can wash your hair if you’d like.” 

“I’d like that.” You barely hear his response over your rapid heartbeat.

“Okay.”

You begin to run the water, making sure it’s warm, but not hot. You sprinkle in some lavender and rose petals and throw in some sweet-smelling salts for good measure. Messmer watches you with a curious eye. His snakes do the same. They flick their tongues and turn their heads side-to-side.

Once the tub is filled, the room smells fantastic. You set your satchel to the side and fetch him a soft towel and his favorite red silk robe. You set everything within arms reach.

“Okay, I’ve got everything set up. So I’ll, uh, step out for a few minutes. Just call me back when you’re ready.”

He nods at you and you make your way out of his chambers. Shutting the heavy door behind you, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. Hopefully, this will help him relax and take his mind off of fighting a war he wasn’t meant to wage. You know you aren’t able to take away the horrible memories of hundreds of years of war, but you can help him forget, even if for a moment.

“I am ready.” His voice interrupts your thoughts. You take a deep breath and step back inside. Peeking around the corner, you see him sitting perfectly straight in the tub with his back to you, his snakes curiously peering over his shoulder for your return.

You sit on the edge of the bath and gently place a hand on his back, careful of where his snakes have torn through his skin. “How do you feel? Is the water okay?”

“I am… nervous. But the water is quite nice.”

“Why are you nervous, my love?” You rub soothing circles into his back.

“No one has ever seen me like this. Exposed.”

“I can leave if I’m making you uncomfortable.” You begin to stand up, but he grabs your wrist.

“Thy presence is never unwelcome. I am just not used to this. Thy touch. Thy care.” He lets go of your wrist.

“You deserve love and care, Messmer.” 

“Perhaps.”

“You do.” You lean down to wrap your arms around him, but he stops you.

“Thy dress. I do not wish for you to ruin it because of me.”

“Oh hush. Have you seen the amount of dresses in my wardrobe? Now lean your head back.”

He does as you ask and you see the worry in his eye. As gently as you can, you pour water over his head and smooth his hair down. You reach over and grab some shampoo and begin to massage it into his scalp. His eye flutters closed at the sensation of your nails scratching against his scalp and he shudders.

“Are you alright? Do you need me to stop?”

“No. This is wonderful.” You laugh and keep going. Your hands are comically small compared to his head, so it takes you quite some time to make sure all of his hair is covered. Not that you mind, however, when the slightest touch leaves him in such a state of relaxation.

Once again, you pour water over his hair and wash away the sweet shampoo. You ensure no suds get into his eye.

He has allowed you to move him how you please and you’re touched by how much he trusts you. Grabbing some conditioner, you run it through his hair and rub it into his scalp. Once again, he shudders and his breathing slows. He’s enjoying this.

“You’re very pretty, my love.” You see his cheeks redden and he opens his mouth to protest, but you scratch his scalp with both hands and he falls silent immediately. The next time he goes to rebuke something you say, you’ll just do this. You’ll never be wrong again.

Washing the conditioner out of his hair, you also notice that his snakes seem to be enjoying this. They watch you with content looks on their faces, tongues flicking out happily. You rinse your hands off and reach out to pet them. They nuzzle approvingly into your palm.

“They adore you, darling.” He gives you a loving smile.

“More than you do?” 

“An impossible feat.” The snakes hiss out in disagreement and you laugh. 

“Would you like me to let you get out?” You feel the water and frown as it’s beginning to get a little cold.

“Perhaps. I do rather enjoy this.”

“I’ll brush your hair when you’re dressed. How does that sound?”

“Marvelous. Thy surprise continues to enchant me.”

“Good.” You kiss him on the cheek and rise from where you were sitting. You move the towel and his robe closer to him at the edge of the tub, and leave his chambers again. You make a mental note to add the salts, soaps, and flowers to the supply list from Castle Ensis permanently. Perhaps this could be a weekly thing for him. You’d do it as often as it took for him to look so relaxed again.

The large door opens and Messmer greets you with a smile. He looks decades younger. His red hair dangles around his face, droplets of water kissing his skin and rolling down his neck. His red robe hugs his frame nicely. 

He holds out his hand and you take it wordlessly. He shuts the doors with a flick of his wrist and guides you over to his large bed. You notice that his hairbrush is already on the comforter. He sits down on the edge of the bed and you shuffle your way behind him.

“Ready?” You don’t need to ask, but you do.

“Yes. I do not know how this will go. Mine hair is… unruly.”

“Then I’ll just have to brush it everyday.”

“You spoil me, darling.”

“As do you. Now hold still, and tell me if anything hurts.”

You test the waters by running your fingers through his hair, and he wasn’t lying. His hair is rather tangled and will take some work to get straight. You silently curse your lover for not taking better care of himself, and get to work. You start with the ends of his hair and brush out the small knots at the bottom as carefully as you can. Eventually, with some work, the hair obeys and flows down his back as it’s supposed to. 

You take a second to check on Messmer. He’s been silent the whole time and you want to make sure he’s enjoying this. Your worries are short lived, however, when you see his eye closed and his face relaxed. His mouth is slightly open and his breathing is even.

“Is something the matter?” He asks you, still with his eye closed.

“Just making sure you’re alright, love.”

“With thee, I am blissfully content.”

“Please keep that in mind as I work through these tangles.” He laughs and shakes his head at your antics.

“I shall. I will repeat it as a mantra for thine efforts.” 

You give him a small peck on the cheek and return to your work. You begin to move up to the hair beneath his neck and slowly brush at any tangles you find. With some persistence, his hair is soft and silky once again. You notice one of his snakes out of the corner of your eye watching your gentle movements. The other is happily splayed on the comforter.

Slowly, you make your way to his scalp, and within a half hour, you have his fiery hair running in gentle waves down his shoulders. Putting the brush down, you use your fingers to sweep through his hair for any stubborn tangles, but you don’t find any. Satisfied, you wrap your arms around his shoulders and lay your head against his neck.

“I’m tired now.” Your remark makes him chuckle and wrap his hand around one of yours.

“I have no doubt.” He leans his head against yours and sighs. “This was a most pleasant surprise, my darling. I thank thee for this.”

“Of course. It’s the least I can do for you.”

He untangles himself from you and gently pulls you down onto the soft bed beside him. You tuck yourself into his side and yawn.

“There are days I find myself believing that I do not deserve thee. This is yet another one of those days.”

You kiss the back of his hand and shake your head. “You deserve all of this and more.”

“Perhaps.” He pulls you closer to him. His skin is smooth and smells like lavender. “Sleep, my beloved.”

“It’s not even time for dinner.”

“You would disobey your Lord?” He taunts you playfully.

“No, I would not.” You snort.

“I shall wake thee for dinner.” 

“You’re going to fall asleep with me.”

He relaxes into the cushions and pillows beneath him and kisses your forehead. “I do not hear thee complaining.”

“I’m not. I want to stay here forever with you.”

You’re beginning to slip into slumber. You let your eyes flutter closed and snuggle into Messmer’s side. He gently pulls a blanket over you and tucks you in as best he can.

“As do I, my beloved.”

“I love you, Messmer.”

Before you completely succumb to sleep, you hear his quiet reply.

It’s Sunday morning and instead of starting their day productively, Noelle and Yeosang are still in bed.

“Yeosang.”

“Hm?”

“It’s time to start the day, get off me.”

Yeosang does the opposite, throwing a leg over Noelle’s thigh and snuggling closer. Purrs of delight leave him as he buries his face in the space between her neck and shoulder, smiling.

“I don’t wanna,” he murmurs, lifting his head just long enough to press a kiss to her lips. Noelle huffs, brows knitting, but makes no real effort to untangle herself from her boyfriend.

A little salty at how little fight she put up, Noelle stops running her fingers through his hair. This makes the kitty perk up with creased brows and an adorable frowny pout.“Why’d you stop?” Yeosang asks, voice whiny, while nuzzling against her cheek insistently and purring.

“Pet me.” the hybrid whines.

“I don’t wanna,” Noelle teases, throwing his earlier words back to him.

Yeosang blinks then lifts his head to glare. “You’re so petty.” he says in a deadpan tone, clearly not amused. Noelle turns her head to keep from laughing outright, which only upsets the kitty more. Scoffing, Yeosang cups her jaw with a gentle hand and squeezes her cheeks.

“Are you laughing?” Yeosang questions, brow arched. “Is this a joke to you?”

Smiling, Noelle nods enthusiastically. The hybrid’s frown softens into a fond smile; “You’re lucky you’re cute.” he says before kissing her squished lips.

He kisses her a few more times, each one more aggressive than the last. Then he moves from her lips to the rest of her face, peppering kisses any and everywhere.

“Yeosang!” Noelle squeals through giggles, her hands pushing at his shoulders. “Stop it! That tickles!” Yeosang continues his assault with giggles of his own, both hands cupping her face. In retaliation, Noelle catches his ears in a careful but firm hold.

The hybrid startles with a quiet yelp, tail going rigid as he comes to a stop. His ears twitch in her hands. Yeosang gives her a flat, unimpressed look, eyes narrowing and nose scrunching in mock annoyance.

“Let go.” Yeosang demands in a low voice.

Noelle shakes her head with a cheeky grin, “Don’t wanna.”

The hybrid puffs his cheeks, “Then you leave me no choice,” before Noelle could ask what he means, Yeosang leans down and drags his tongue across her cheek from jaw to cheekbone. He grins triumphantly in triumph when she lets go of his ears to wipe her cheek, her face contorting in disgust.

“Ew, Yeosang! I told you about doing that!” the ravenette shrieks, her face a mix of disgust, amusement, and disbelief.

“You gave me no choice.” Yeosang says with a sigh, acting as if he really didn’t have a choice. The tone of his voice sounds apologetic, but they both know he’s the furthest thing from it.

Feeling pleased with himself, Yeosang plops down on his side of the bed and pulls Noelle into his arms. He buries his face in her neck and curls his tail beneath her tank top, purring.

Noelle is in her right mind to shove him away for the stunt he just pulled, but decides cuddling back is the better option. She wraps her arms around him, throws her leg over his hip, and nuzzles her face into fluffy brown hair.

It doesn’t take long for them to drift off. Yeosang falls asleep first, purring contentedly and snoring softly. Noelle follows soon after, no purring involved, but her snores are significantly louder than her boyfriend’s. Not that it bothered him in the slightest.

The couple didn’t start their day until early afternoon.