#odd!reader

You'd like to follow him down the hall, loop your arms around his middle and meld against his chest. Whisper goodbye, tell him to be safe, make him promise that he'll come back like you always do. But the hurt has puffed up through the night, it stings.

Unhelpful. Can't even flip through some books.

All you do is prance around all day.

Get out of your head.

Is he just like everybody else? It makes you nearly cry to think about. Pretty Dean, who softens himself around you and lets you stick flowers through his hair, holds your hand with such tender care, smiles when you speak about the things that everyone else thinks you're weird for, couldn't be like them.

Could he?

He's gone three days and calls every night. You don't answer the first, but you know how worried he gets for you, despite how difficult it is to feel truly appreciated right now. And so you answer the two others with soft, quiet hums that barely reach him through the static.

He doesn't bring up what he said, which only works to form a bleary, wet stick over your eyes. You're called sweet thing and angel on the third phone call, and you're sure it's because he could tell you were upset. He cares, but he hurt you, and you never thought he would.

That's foolish, you realize.

You don't hear the Impala rumble up the road on the night he returns. Only the soothing bubble of water, and the small drips your fingers make as you strain the water through your fingers. A little cold, sitting on the pebbled creek bed. Peaceful and serene and alone, you've barely spoken at all today.

You've not even been prancing. Walking, idly, aimlessly. You saw a speckled dragonfly earlier and find yourself wanting to tell Dean.

It's strange, how that works. Often enough, he's already around the bend when you think up his face, his voice, his freckles. Your name is murmured soft from behind, but you don't turn. His boots crunch on the smooth rocks and he lowers himself to sit beside you.

"Sweetheart," he breathes. "Hey."

He looks tired, when you turn your head to see him. A smudge over his cheekbone, blooming blue shadows pressed into the dip of his under eye. Illuminated by silver moonlight and watching you carefully. His throat works. You blink at him.

"Hi," you offer. "Hurt?"

The relief he feels hearing your voice again is quick, it makes his stomach quiver. He shakes his head.

"You do okay while I was gone?"

You nod. It's all he's given, and he'd like more though he knows he doesn't deserve it. He sighs, a long, bleeding sound that billows white air out into the darkness. Bright stars ripple atop the creek, and you watch for several quiet moments while he gathers his thoughts. Always jumbled, he's not sure how to make things right again.

He decides to say only what he's been thinking. Fancy has never been his strong suit.

"I didn't mean it," he tells you. "I don't mean it. What I said."

You're quiet. His knee bumps yours. He goes on.

"You're… I love, uh… I love how you are. I don't want you to be any different."

"I'm unhelpful," you whisper. His chest pangs.

"No," he hurries to say. "You're not. You've helped me so much, in- in so many ways. I'm better because of you, you help me."

"I'm no good with all the hunting stuff."

"That's not true. Even if it was, you don't need to be. I don't care if you're good with it or not, okay? Will you look at me?"

You do. His eyes, shining with the universe, search your gaze frantically. It's so obvious, the easiest thing to understand now. He's sorry, he didn't mean it, he's feeling guilty and wants to make everything better. He isn't like the others, he could never be.

He loves the way you are. You feel a a dull throbbing all over.

"I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm sorry. I didn't mean any of it."

Your fingers poke at the denim of your jeans, as you take in his apologies. His hand finds yours and stills it. Careful and sweet.

"I know you are," you say. "I'm… I was being sensitive."

"You weren't," he protests, staring at you intently. "I was an asshole."

He was. Big time, you think, but nothing hurts anymore. Your lips quirk just subtly at his language and he relaxes, shoulders lowering along with his widened eyes. He breathes, chest rising and falling steady now.

"I love yo- how you are. Don't ever change. Got it?"

You squeeze his hand. Warm now, despite the chill.

"Got it."

You didn’t belong at Kelce’s party, not really. Not really a part of the inner circle, but when you got the invitation text, you jumped to go. Some desperation to fit in, you figured. 

You hovered in the corner, cup in hand, pretending to text, pretending you didn’t care no one was talking to you.

That’s when you felt him. That weird chill, like someone watching. Not casual. Not polite.You looked up and saw him.

 Rafe Cameron, leaning against the doorway, drink in hand, jaw working like he was chewing on something bitter. His eyes locked on you like he’d already made a decision.

You looked away.He didn’t. 

A minute later, he was in front of you. "You’re quiet," he said. Not a question. More like an accusation. 

You blinked. “Sorry?”

He tilted his head slightly, studying you. “You're the Kook nobody talks to.”

You bristled, ready to snap something stupid and defensive, but then his eyes dropped to your mouth.

“...I like that.”

You blinked again. “You like what?”

“That no one sees you,” he murmured, stepping closer. “Means I can.”

Your throat went dry. “That’s…really creepy.”

Rafe smiled. Not like he was offended, more like he was amused you’d said it out loud.

“You look like you’d break easy,” he said, voice dropping low as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear. “I like that too.”

You should’ve walked away, should’ve said no. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

Because no one had ever looked at you like this before. No kook gave you the real time of day like this before, even if the attention was coming from the kook king himself. 

“Wanna get out of here?” he asked, already knowing your answer.

And just like that, he had you.

You don’t know how you ended up in his truck.

One second you were drowning in the noise of that party, and the next you were pressed against cracked leather seats with Rafe’s hand crawling up your thigh like he’d done it a hundred times before.

“Scared?” he asked, lips ghosting over your ear as he parked behind some empty beach house. 

You didn’t answer. You were. But not in a way you hated.

Rafe smirked, brushing his knuckles down your neck. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll make it hurt just enough.”

You shivered. You should have left. He didn’t waste time once the door shut. One push and your back hit the plush interior, his hands under your shirt, mouth dragging down your throat with bruising pressure.

“You ever been touched like this?” he muttered, tongue flicking over your pulse. “Bet you haven’t.”

“I—” you started, but he kissed you hard.

“I don’t need the whole story. I can already tell,” he whispered, his fingers already working your jeans open. “You want someone to make you feel wanted. Seen.”

He shoved your pants down and dropped to his knees in the crowded space like it was routine, like worship was part of the whole thing.

Your breath hitched when his mouth met the inside of your thigh. “Fuck… Rafe—”

“That’s right. Say my name like that,” he grinned, voice muffled as he spread your legs wider. “You’ll be saying it all fucking night.”

He licked you slowly at first, teasing you slightly, but when you moaned, he got hungry with it. Hands gripping your thighs like he wanted fingerprints branded into your skin.

You came embarrassingly fast, gasping, shaking, your legs almost giving out.

He sat back up, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand like he enjoyed the mess of you. “Look at you. You finish so fucking easy.”

You whimpered when he pulled you toward him, dragging your shirt off. 

“Sit still.” His voice was sharp.

He undid his belt slowly, deliberately, eyes locked on yours.

“You’re gonna let me fuck you raw, aren’t you?” he asked, tone mocking and darkly amused. “Because you want me that bad.”

You nodded before your brain could catch up.

“That’s my girl.”

He didn’t go gentle. He slid inside you rough, deep, one hand tangled in your hair, the other gripping your jaw like he was molding your face into the shape he wanted.

“You’re tight as fuck,” he groaned into your neck, hips snapping. “Shit. You’ve been waiting for this. Waiting for me.”

You whined, clawing at his back, overwhelmed.

“Say it,” he panted. “Say you needed me.”

“I—needed you,” you gasped. “Rafe—please—”

“Fuck, you sound so good when you beg.”

He choked you lightly as he fucked you harder, eyes dark. “You’re mine now, you get that? No one else gets to see you like this. No one else touches you.”

You came again around him, wrecked and breathless, body shaking.

He finished inside you without a second thought, biting down on your shoulder like he wanted to mark you.

When it was over, he pulled out and zipped up, still watching you, naked, flushed, still dripping with the aftermath of him.

“You’re cute when you’re used up,” he said with a smirk, lighting a cigarette. “Might keep you around.”

And just like that, you nodded in agreement. 

It should’ve ended after that night. You told yourself it was a one-time thing. A mistake. A moment. But Rafe didn’t believe in moments, he believed in ownership.

It started small: he started showing up. At your pilates classes. Your house. Waiting by your car. Leaning against the doors like he had been waiting for you.

Then he began texting you constantly.

Rafe: Where are you?

Rafe: Who’s that guy you were talking to?

Rafe: Answer me, sweetheart.

Rafe: You want me to remind you who you belong to again?

And when you ignored him? He waited outside your house for two hours.

The knock came just past midnight.

You opened your window because you already knew it was him. You could feel it.

“You been hiding from me?” he asked, stepping into your room like it was his.

“I needed space.”

He laughed, quiet and mean. “You don’t get space from me.”

You backed up. He followed.

“I gave you everything,” he said, crowding you against your dresser. “I saw you when no one else did. I touched you when no one else wanted to.”

His hand wrapped around your throat, not tight, just there. A reminder.

“You think you can ghost me and walk around like I don’t exist?”

“I wasn’t—”

“Don’t lie to me.”

He shoved you down onto the bed, body over yours, hands everywhere, gripping your waist, pulling your shirt up, dragging your shorts down.

“You were made for me,” he growled, pushing inside you raw and deep. “And I’m gonna make sure you never forget that.”

It was rough. Possessive. Hungry. The kind of sex that doesn’t feel like sex, it feels like being controlled and owned.

He fucked you with his whole weight pressed down, biting your shoulder, your neck, dragging bruises across your skin like proof.

“You feel that?” he panted against your ear. “That’s mine. You’re mine.”

You moaned, too far gone to argue. Your legs locked around his waist like they’d betray you forever.

He stayed inside you for minutes after, breathing hard, resting his forehead against yours like you hadn’t just fought this all week.

“You’re gonna stop pretending you don’t love this,” he whispered. “Stop pretending you don’t need me.”

You didn’t say anything. That was your last shred of defiance.

He smirked anyway. Like he could see right through you.

The next morning, you found a little black box on your windowsill. Inside: a delicate gold necklace. A tiny charm. One single letter.

R

When you wake up, you’re freezing and out of breath. The initial moments after those long-term freezes were always frightening. You do not know how long it has been since you were taken, and part of you wonders if you ever will. You’re only ever conscious here, surrounded by generals and guards.

As soon as you wake up, a muzzle is clamped over your mouth. You’re a screamer, or at least you used to be. But now the muzzle is put on as a reminder that you are truly trapped and have no autonomy.

Someone will come in soon to say a list of words that will snap you out of your brain—Maybe snap is the wrong word. You will be locked out of your brain, conscious enough to know what you are doing but not at all in control.

You’re sitting in this big metal chair that might have scared you all those years ago, your arms strapped to the arms of the chair. The dimness of the room almost makes you scared as if you are a six-year-old who is afraid of the dark.

 A gruff looking man walks into the room, and behind him, you can see some soldiers dragging along an exhausted man, whose hair is long, but your eyes are drawn to him. Are there.. are there other people who are in the same situation as you?

In the back of your mind, a foreign emotion sparks, something that you cannot name at first, but then you find it— hope. Maybe hope is a strong word, maybe what you should be feeling is dread, that the things you are being forced into are happening to some other poor soul. You almost want to throw up when you realize it, but like everything else in your exhausting existence, you are ripped out of your thought by commanding forces around you. The man in front of you follows your eyeline to see you watching the man, and you think you see him grimace.

You have found something that was meant to always be a secret from you. You recall a foggy memory that isolation is the key to abuse.

The man nods towards you, and suddenly, you feel a violent shock go through your body as the man wills you to forget the small detail that you will hang on to for as long as humanly possible.

When a second jab of shockwaves hits you, you black out for a few seconds, only—

• • •

You sit up in bed, gasping or air as you try to orient yourself. Your hands come up to push sweaty hair out of your face, and you grip it tight to try and ground yourself. Your heart is racing as you take deep breaths in your nose and out of your mouth, not wanting to spiral into a panic attack.

You get up from bed to go shower, before changing your now drenched in sweat sheets, and it’s only then do you turn on your light and grab the book you’ve been reading.

You sit on the floor next to your bed, feeling disgusting and upset. You try to read, but you are rereading the same paragraph repeatedly. After twenty minutes of that, you grab your flip phone off the bedside table and dial Matt’s number.

You know it’s four in the morning. He’s asleep. He has to be up for work in the morning, but you cannot help it. You have been seeing the handsome stranger for a little under a month, and he has become your drug.

But there’s a couple of things.

First, you are still lying to him. He has no idea about your time as who is known in government circles as “The Midnight Agent”, and he has no idea that you will never be able to give him the life he deserves. Hell, you haven’t even spent the night with him, your relationship has been the definition of taking it slow.

Which leads to this: You have not slept with the man.

Back in 1945, you were surrounded by purity culture. Sure, you could have had a handsome soldier in your bed, but there was a part of you that always felt guilty when you looked to your large catholic family who were always insistent on saving yourself for marriage.

But you recall the memories of your time trapped, of guards who went unchecked and memories of men who took advantage of the fact that you were brainwashed, and how you might freakout if Matt’s hands wander too far..

And you recall Matt’s comment on your first date, about how he thought a long time to go without a date was a few months.

He picks up the phone before your thoughts can spiral any further.

“Hey, baby. You okay?” His voice is thick with sleep, and you feel a pang of guilt for waking him up. But you also melt at the simple pet name, not quite used to it yet.

“Hi.. I’m sorry I woke you up..”

“No, no, it’s okay.” He lies, “You didn’t..”

“Liar.”

“Okay, you got me.” He chuckles softly, “But seriously, it’s okay. What’s up?” He asks, and you let out this sigh. What to tell him, what not to tell him..

“Can’t sleep.” You sigh, rubbing your eyes. “Wanted to hear your voice. I tried to read The Outsiders, but I couldn’t focus.” You cannot seem to do anything right..

“Okay.” He says gently, “Why can’t you sleep?”

“I had a nightmare.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“..Not really..”

“Okay, that’s fine.”

“Sorry..”

“Why are you apologizing?”

You pause. It’s a good question.

“I dunno..” And then after a few moments you ask, “Matt?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Is it okay that we haven’t had sex yet?” The question eats at you. You recall Matt’s assumption that a ‘while’ since your last date had meant a few months. You’re worried that you’re not satisfying him and that he’ll get bored. Bored of you, bored of your quirks and oddities, bored of all of it.

And you don’t know when you’ll be okay to have sex with him, or if you’ll even be able to make it all the way through when you get to that point. And it’s eating you up— You could at least be good at something if you insist on being odd and bizarre throughout this whole relationship.

“Of course it’s okay,” He promised, “Why wouldn’t that be okay?” Sure, Matthew had his fair share of partners in the day, but this was different— You weren’t just a date to him, you were fascinating. If he hadn’t been such a realist, he might have accused you of being a time traveler.

And sure, sometimes he thought about you, about being buried between your thighs, about making you shake and cry with pleasure, and about how well he could fill you up..

But those lewd thoughts always take a backseat to how utterly interesting you are— Your odd taste in ice cream, odd movie and book tastes, the way you speak, some of the things you say..

“Because you’re hot,” you blurt out and then sigh. “That’s not what I meant. I mean, you’re so fucking handsome and I can’t even..” The words die out in your mouth, as you curl up into yourself on your floor, holding the phone pressed tightly against your ear.

“Oh, sweetheart, I don’t need to sleep with you to know that I care about you.” He promises. “Do you want me to come over? Maybe you’ll sleep better if we’re together.” He says softly.

You hesitate, looking around your apartment. If you had a nightmare, he’d question what happened.. But on the other hand, you were fucking exhausted, and maybe Handsome Matthew would be the trick to you getting some sleep.

“Sure.. but uh.. My apartment’s super messy..” You confess, and he just chuckles.

“Somehow I don’t think that’ll bother me.” He teases, and you laugh.

“Right, Right.. Sorry..” You say. “I’ll see you soon, then?”

“See you soon.” He promises, and as soon as he hangs up, you immediately get up and start shuffling around to clean your apartment.

You do the dishes, you throw all your dirty clothes in the hamper, you make your bed with pristine edge and of course.. You grab the gun you keep under your pillow and stuff it right next to your vibrator next to your fuzzy socks.

You’re finally finishing up with your minor chores when you hear a knock at the door. You open it and have to take a beat to catch your breath since Matthew looks especially good with his grey sweatpants and black sweatshirt.

He grins at you, leaning into greet you with a kiss as he steps into the apartment.

“So, this is where the magic happens, huh?” He asks, and you smile bashfully.

“Something like that.” You shrug, letting him lead you through the apartment. His cane tip-taps against the floor, and your hands come up to rub your arms. It is your apartment, and yet, you feel absolutely exposed. “Uh, just… Keep going straight and the bedroom is on the right. Do you need anything?” You ask, unsure if he has some weird hypervigilant bedtime routine at.. you know.. Four in the morning.

His cane shifts hands and he holds his free hand out behind him, for you to take.

“Just you.” Your face flushes as you take his hand,

“You’re such a flirt.” And he laughs.

“How can I help myself when I’m in a pretty girl’s place?” he asks, and you go to answer but he leans against the wall right next to the doorframe, dropping his duffle bag and cane in favor of pulling you close, your chest against his. Your breath catches and he smirks as if he can see your flustered nature.

“You’re a decent young man,” you start, “Hasn’t anyone ever told you that it’s rude to grab people?”

“No, the nuns never mentioned that.” He does that adorable half chuckle before tilting his head. “Why? Do I make you nervous, sweetheart?”

Your face flushes.

“Everything makes me nervous, Matthew, you know that.” You accuse and he laughs again, nodding.

“Yeah, maybe I do know that. Seems familiar.” He hums, his grip on you loosening a bit. He presses another kiss to your lips. “Let’s get you to bed, sweetheart.” You don’t protest, simply grabbing his hand and pulling him along to bed. He’s more than happy to follow you through.

You find yourself laying in the bed, and he’s standing to the side as if he’s staring at you. You raise an eyebrow to him.

“What? What is it?” You ask, and he quickly moves, jumping on top of you. You laugh a bit to hide your nerves, and he grins. He leans down and presses a long kiss to your lips before whispering,

“If we never have sex, I’ll still stay with you forever.” He says gently, and your face is deeply flushed.

“Forever?” You ask gently. He nods, leaning down and pressing another kiss to your lips.

“As long as you’ll have me.” He says gently, and then, he rolls over and lays next to you. His hand finds yours and he laces his fingers with yours. You look at him for a long time, just holding his hand. “What is it?” he asks softly, glancing over to you.

“I just..” you laugh a bit. “I’ve never had a boy in my bed before.” You confess, and he laughs, his arms wrapping around you.

“You’re so odd.” He says softly, his hands finding your hair to play with it gently. “I love it.”

• • •

And this is how you spend your early morning. You sleep soundly in the arms of the one who loves you, something you have never had the privilege of before.

You slip out of bed rather early considering that you don’t have work today. But you can’t help yourself, you find yourself making breakfast for Matt. Pancakes, sausage, and coffee, just for him. At some point, he calls out to you,

“Hey, babe, where’s the shower?” And it’s rather domestic, in a way that makes you both uncomfortable and giddy. At the same time. Weird.

“Uh, right across the hall from the bedroom,” you tell him. And after about twenty minutes, Matt comes out to the kitchen. He’s dressed for work, but his tie is undone, sitting on his neck. His jacket hangs over his arms, and for a minute, you are just as you were always meant to be—

A young woman, in love with a man who has a good career, who loves you and is kind, whom you cook breakfast for and anxiously wait for him to get home.

And before you can stop yourself, you walk on over to him and begin to fix his tie, and he tilts his head.

“Where’d you learn to tie a tie on someone else?” he asks curiously. Your brain flashes to the soldiers who were never taught to tie a tie, so you learned, making sure to help them make sure their uniforms were in pristine condition.

But better than telling your boyfriend about that, you settle on a different truth.

“Needed to tie my brother’s tie a lot before work.” You settle on, and he smiles. That was the first time you had mentioned any of your family, so he just nods.

“What was his name?” ‘Was’ is a cruel but accurate detail.

“Anthony.” You tell him, finishing your work on his tie. Then, you press a kiss to his cheek. “Ready for breakfast?” He smiles and nods, as you direct him towards your table.

Yes, even though you ate mac and cheese while sitting on the floor when you first met him, you do own a table.

“What’s for breakfast?”

“Pancakes and sausage. Oh, and Coffee,” You tell him. You serve breakfast and sit across from him, placing a jar of jam on the table as well as syrup. When you pop the lid off the jam, Matt tilts his head.

“Why do I smell strawberry jam?” He questions, and you just raise an eyebrow.

“For my pancakes?”

He begins to laugh.

“This is what I mean when I say you’re odd. The only other person I know who’d do that is my dad, who learnt it from my grandparents.” He tells you. You shrug.

“I grew up with jam. Syrup’s too sweet.”

“Of course you did.” He smirks, taking a bite of his breakfast.

• • •

After Matt leaves for work (After breakfast, a make out session and then ten minutes with you fixing his disheveled look), you begin to actually clean your apartment. But your apartment is only so big, so by lunchtime, you’re bored again.

So, you start cooking and making these chicken ceaser wraps and french fries, before hopping in the shower. You’ve never dated anyone who you’ve felt the need to make and bring lunch to, but there is a first time for everything.

When you get to his office, you take a while to notice and observe every little thing about the walk. When you get to the front door, your hands run over the sign that reads ‘Nelson, Murdock & Page.’ And then you remember that in going up these stairs, you’ll meet his two best friends, and your stomach flips at the idea of it.

But your fingers twitch at the idea of seeing Handsome Matthew again. You’re incredibly down bad for the man you refuse to sleep with, so you push open the door, making your way to the office. When you step inside, you’re faced with a blonde man holding a cup of coffee, talking to a different, more blonde, woman who eats her lunch. 

Maybe you have the wrong office.

“Hi— Uh, I’m looking for Matt.” The words tumble out of your lips, and you wish you could say something more.

“Yeah, he’s in his office, I can grab him for you.” The man says kindly, and steps towards the only office door that’s closed. You nod and stand awkwardly. This is weird, you know that. You are a stranger in this office holding a big lunch box.

Matt steps out of his office and smiles in your direction. Immediately, you relax. There he goes, Handsome Matthew completely messing up your thought patterns and making you go against everything you ever thought you’d do.

“Hi.” He says, leaning in to give you a quick kiss.

“Hey.” You smile, and you see a moment of recognition on the faces of his coworkers.

“Oh, you’re the girl—” The man starts, and then it clicks that these people must be his best friends.

“And you’re Foggy and Karen.” You smile, sticking a handout for them to shake, and they do. You introduce yourself, and they do the same. It’s not as awkward as you would’ve thought, but you’re making it so much worse in your head.

“What’s going on?” Matt asks, and you redirect your attention to him.

“Uh, I made lunch. I thought I’d bring it to you.” He smiles at this.

“Thank you. Here, let’s uh, eat in my office.” He takes your hand, and you tell Foggy and Karen that it was nice to meet them, as he closes the door behind him. You sit down in one of his chairs.

“Sorry for just barging in on you guys. I probably should have called first.” You decide, but he shakes his head.

“No, no, it’s perfectly fine.” He smiles, sitting down in his own chair as you unpack lunch. You’re seriously not used to any of this, so it’s as if you’re taking foreign steps.

The two of you make pleasant conversations before Matt asks you,

“Hey, do you want to come to the bar tonight?” He asks, “We have a usual spot we go to. I thought it might be a good way for you to get to know my friends.” He hums.

“Oh, I don’t want to intrude...”

You also don’t really want to get drunk around Matt, afraid of what you might say. But he answers,

“Don’t worry, Foggy’s wife is going and so is Karen’s boyfriend.” You notice the shift in Matt’s body language.

“You don’t like Karen’s boyfriend.” You immediately recognize.

“What? No—“ He chuckles, “It’s just a complicated history..” The part of you that never grew up, that wants to dive head first into drama, the part of you that is still twenty something, clutching the arm of your sister as she spills about all the people she doesn’t like gets to your mouth before you can stop it,

“What do you mean, ‘complicated’?” You ask, and he just laughs a little.

“Really, sweetheart, it’s not—”

“Let’s make a deal,” You say, “In exchange for me bringing you a delicious lunch,” You start, “And for telling you something about my messy past, you have to tell me about that complicated history.”

“Deal.”

“Okay, than spill.”

“You remember a few years back, the uh, Punisher?” He asks, and you tilt your head. No, you don’t. It was probably before you were allowed to have autonomy and live on your own.

“Uh.. No.”

“What? It was all over the news.”

“I wasn’t living in New York until a few years ago.” Not untrue, you were living in the middle of Europe until recently.

“Oh, right.” He nods, “Well, he killed a lot of people he thought deserved it, and, as someone who has great respect for human life, I don’t know, I just can’t imagine dating someone with a kill count at all, let alone over thirty people.” He sighs, “But Karen sees something in him, I guess.”

A shiver runs down your spine. You realize that you can’t ever tell Matt about what had happened to you. He wouldn’t understand, he’d see you as a monster. Well, you are a monster, but you cannot ever tell him that! Is this a mistake? Are you supposed to break up with him now not to hurt him?

“Yeah, I can understand that.” You take another bite of your wrap.

“I believe I’m owed some of your messy history.”

“Right,” you nod, “Well, Before I moved here, I was living in Europe.” You tell him.

“Really? Where in Europe?”

“Here and there.” You shrug. “I just sort of went wherever I was needed.” You explain, again—Not a lie. Definitely not a lie. You were ordered around and told to go here and there.

“What did you do there?” He asks.

“It’s all kind of a blur,” You’re really being truthful now.

“Has anyone ever told you how weird and odd you are?” He acts, voice full of affection.

“You. Last night.” You grin, and he just grins back.

“Right. I really have a way with words, huh?”

“Yup. You’re a real charmer.”

“I meant it though.”

“Which part? The part where you called me strange?”

“The part where I asked you to come out to the bar with us tonight—And the part where I told you I’d stay with you for as long as you’ll have me.”

“Yes.”

“Yes you’ll come to the bar with us or you’ll let me stay with you for a while?”

You get up, circle around his desk, before placing your hand on his jaw, tilting his head up to you. Your other hand comes up to take his glasses off. For a minute, you just admire him, before pushing the hair from his face. Then, you lean in to press a kiss to his lips.

When you pull away, his lips try to follow yours, but your thumb just gently wipes away your lipstick stains from his lips.

“Yes.” You repeat, and he just grins.

He absolutely adores you.

• • •

You make sure to fix your hair before you leave your apartment, and then, you find yourself leaning on the brick wall outside of the bar. Your heart is racing, and although you do not smoke, god you need a cigarette.

Your foot taps anxiously against the pavement.

This will be fine, you tell yourself. Matt likes you, surely you can get the others to do the same. Or at least, you can try your damn best, and not just sit out here like a bitch.

Your head glances over to the door as a rather tall and gruff man approaches the door. He sees you staring at him, and opens the door before asking,

“You coming in, kid?”

Kid.

You’re a hundred years old, but okay.

“Uh, yeah.” You answer, before heading into the bar, “Thanks,” He just nods back at you. You walk in and look around for Matt and his friends. You immediately soften when you see him. Of course you can do this.

As you make your way over to them, the man who opened the door for you also heads over to them. You tilt your head as you get to your boyfriend and his friends before Karen comes over to you guys, sends you a smile, before greeting the man with a kiss. Oh. This is the boyfriend that Matt doesn’t like.

Matt greets you with a kiss, before Karen asks,

“What are you drinking?” You realize she’s asking you. What do you drink?

“Uh, whatever. I kind of like everything,” You smile weakly, before shrugging. She just nods, and then her and her boyfriend head over to the bar. You glance over to Matt, and smile. “Hi.”

“Hi.” He smiles and kisses you again. “I’m glad you decided to join us.”

“Well, I did say yes earlier.”

“Yeah but you were being very vague and odd.”

“You said you liked that!”

“Shhh,” and then he kisses you again.

“You two are gross.” His friend, Foggy, says, and his wife just swats his arm.

“Sorry,” You smile, and then Frank and Karen are back at the table, and this large bottle of whiskey is placed on the table, and six glasses are placed along side it.

“Woah, big bottle.” Foggy whistles, and Karen shrugs.

“Long week. Lots of whiskey required.” Matt leans over to you and says,

“You don’t have to drink that if you don’t want to—”

“I said I like everything,” You told him, “And I meant it.” You remind and the people around you laugh, so it definitely gratifies your desire to please them.

“See, this is the type of energy you needed in a date,” Foggy grins, and Karen laughs as she pours the whiskey for you all.

“I agree, I like her a lot more than I liked the last one.”

“Flattered, I love when people talk about me like I’m not here,” You tell them, as you take a long drink of your whiskey.

“You are odd,” Foggy says, and again, his wife swats his arm.

“Franklin, you cannot say that to someone you just met!”

“I was just joking, really it’s fine,” You assure, and take another sip of your drink. Then another drink. Your eyes get a glint of dog tags hanging around Frank’s neck. You nod to him. “Military?” Everyone’s head snaps to look at you, and then to him.

“Marines.” He answers, and he waits.

“I was a nurse overseas for a while.” And you almost slap your hands over your mouth, horrified at the words that just left your lips. Everyone looks at you, very confused, including sweet Handsome Matthew.

“Wait, you were in the army as a medic?” He asks, and you just nod.

“Yeah, I don’t.. really like talking about it..” You sigh, “It was a long time ago.. Before I was in Europe doing whatever, I was in Europe being a nurse.”

“Europe? There hasn’t been active combat in Europe since the 40’s,” Frank says, and you shrug.

“That’s where they had me. It’s where I learned to drink.” You finish your drink and go to refill it, “You’d be surprised how many young cadets try to assert their dominance over drinking games.” You laugh fondly at the memory.

Matt leans in to kiss your cheek, whispering in your ear, “Odd.”

• • •

You and Frank get into your own form of a drinking game as the night goes on. After two glasses, Foggy and his wife stop drinking, something about brunch with her parents in the morning.

Matt stops drinking after three, and Karen after four.

But here you and Frank are, swapping war stories like old army buddies as you make your way through the bottle. Five, six, seven.. You can’t remember by the time the bottle is empty. All you know is you’re leaning against Matt, and Frank is holding Karen close, and you are happy.

You don’t feel hidden anymore.

When the bottle is done, Matt’s fingers run up and down your arm.

“We gotta get you home, honey.”

“You need to kiss me.” You blurt, too drunk to know what you’re saying.

“What?” He grins.

“Kiss me. I want you all over me,” and you lean over to kiss him, and after a few moments, he pulls away from the kiss.

“Alright, but let’s get you home first.” And then you nod, because that’s a good idea. You don’t want Frank and Karen to see all the vicious things you want to do to Handsome Matthew. He helps you up and wraps his jacket around your arms, before glancing back to his friends. “Have a good night guys. See you Monday.”

You take a minute, before smiling at his friends.

“Thanks for having me. I had fun.” You cannot remember the last time you had this much fun. “Sorry I’m so fucking odd,” You start giggling, “But I had fun.” Everyone else, too tipsy and drunk to say much else, just laughs and sends you on your way.

You and Matt stumble home, as you mumble soft things about how much you like him, how pretty he is.

When you get back to your apartment, he locks the door behind you and helps you to your bedroom. Once there, you begin to kiss him.

“Sweetheart,” He mumbles into your lips, “Wait,” He pulls away and smiles at you. “Pajamas first.” He requests, and you nod.

“Yeah. Great Idea.” You mumble, going over to your drawers (Not the one with your vibrator, socks and gun) and pull out an old tee shirt and shorts. You begin stripping down, and you stop and glance to Matt, in just your shorts and bra, before asking, “Wait, how do I know you’re not staring at me?”

He almost laughs at how drunk you are.

“Honey,” he begins softly, and then taps the space between his eyes. Then you laugh, feeling silly.

“Oh.” You unclip your bra and slip on your tee shirt. You sit on the bed, and then lay down. You sigh deeply, your bed surprisingly comfortable after all of those drinks. You watch as Matt begins to strip down. “Handsome.” You mumble, and he laughs.

You fall asleep as he kicks his pants off before crawling into bed with you.

• • •

You wake up at some god-awful hour, maybe around two in the morning. You run over to the bathroom and vomit into the toilet. After a while of throwing up, you wander on over to the kitchen.

You take a big, long drink of water, before sighing deeply.

Your stomach growls. You find a loaf of sourdough bread you had brought home from work yesterday and begin to butter a few slices. You munch on your food, and remember Matthew in your bedroom.

Your Matthew.

You finish your snack, and then find yourself sitting on the floor of your kitchen. Just like you did the first night. Your lean your head back against the cabinet. You think about your boyfriend, and you think about everyone you lost.

In your half drunk state, You only smile when Matt sits next to you on the floor.

“What’re we doing on the floor, baby?” He asks softly.

“Just.. Sleepy..” You mumble, and then a grin spreads across your face. “I’m thinking about my best friend.”

“Your best friend?”

“Taylor.” You say softly, “She was my best friend.”

“And where is she now?” He asked, leaning over to brush your hair out of your face.

“Oh, she died ten years ago.” You say, and then laugh as if it’s funny. “Natural causes.” You shrug. She had died of old age.. And you weren’t there for her. Your best friend..

Matt’s arm is around you in an instant.

“I’m sorry, baby.” He says gently, and leans in to kiss your head.

“And you..” You glance over to him. “You.. I don’t even know what to do with you.” You laugh, and he frowns.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean I..” You sigh. “I mean that no one’s ever made me feel like you have..” You mumble, and then you admire him, only in his boxer briefs. “I love you, Handsome Matthew. And I don’t know what to do about it..” You mumble.

Matt just leans in to kiss your head again.

“If I said I love you too, would that help?”

“It would be a start..”

“I love you.”

“Even though I’m odd?” You ask, “Weird and bizarre? Off my rocker, completely out of my fucking mind..?”

“Especially because you’re odd.”

--------------

"I've got to go feed them, Dean."

He shrugs a suit yourself and yanks out a beer before closing the fridge.

"You've got to, huh? They sound demanding."

"They aren't," you insist. His lips quirk behind the rim of the bottle as he sips. "They're very respectful and kind. And I like them very much. So they get honey crisps."

"Don't you wanna stay in and watch trashy TV with me?"

He just doesn't understand. "No, Dean. This is important."

You leave sweaty, smelly Dean behind swiftly. Outside again and under the welling heat that kisses your bare arms and knees, you make your way through Bobby's scrap cars and parts. You walk until the dry, pale dirt fades into a wash of lush green grass and then some, to a tree that gives shade to your two friends.

"Hi, sweetest," you murmur to a doe. She looks up at you expectantly. "I'm glad you're back."

It's truly very nice to see them. Gentle creatures that understand you, and only expect small fruits as opposed to conversation. They appreciate the quiet too, and it fills you with a special kind of solace as you reach deep into the sack to grab an apple.

It's cracked quickly. A fallen branch snaps behind you and sends the deer scampering several feet away and into the trees. You whip around.

The culprit has shining green eyes and winces at the look on your face.

And you love him dearly, he's been a loud, edgy constant throughout your growing up, but he really can be a pain. A pain that you put up with on the regular because he's burrowed his way into the crimson of your heart. You're happy to see him, no matter the circumstance. Even this one.

"Sorry," he hurries to say. "I tried to be quiet. Sorry."

You've already forgiven him, melting to a puddle at his uncharacteristic politeness. "Why did you follow me?"

He shrugs. "Wanted to watch."

"You have to be quiet," you tell him. "They scare easy. Especially if they don't know you very well."

He nods and listens and lets you guide him towards the deer again, stepping slow on heavy boots and watching the way you coo at them. It's pretty and sweet and he feels something funny all over, it loops over his ribs and knocks them together. He loves being here with you, he'd follow anywhere.

Dean thinks if you were a sound, you'd be the clatter of wind chimes. Soft and swelling through the air, something most people only shake or glance at. He stays to listen patiently.

There's a honeycrisp extended out to him, and he takes it with a brush of your fingers against his.

"Hold it out, De," you tell him. "Slowly or else they'll run again."

He's quiet, but calm, with your hand a tender press on his shoulder as you both admire the doe. She bites the fruit and takes it from him. Her and the other walk slow together and into a new patch of shade, and Dean thinks he could kiss you. For showing him how to be so gentle, for being perfectly you.

He tips his head to meet your gaze.

"That was cool, sweet thing," he says.

You smile. A winning, shiny grin. You're aflutter, he's no better.

"I know."

A long sigh bleeds from him as he lowers on his knees beside you and opens his palm. It's a mess of loose beads, greens and yellows and worn browns. This is maybe the third bracelet you've given him that's broke. He's much too active — fighting and running and ganking — for them to survive very long.

He's just as disheartened every time. It makes something pretty and sweet flutter in you.

"Oh," you breathe out. He watches you carefully. "I can make another with these."

"You can?"

You hum. "It won't take long."

Pink lip tugged between his pretty teeth, he's quiet for a considering moment. He could go, help Bobby with the cars or grab a beer and wander about alone with his thoughts. Plan the next hunt, take a drive and blast Metallica. He finds that the only thing he wants to do right now is be with you.

"Can I stay in here?" he asks, gentle. It's the easiest thing in the world to be gentle around you. He's not sure how you manage to turn him into something so docile. It scares him just a little to think about.

"You can stay," you murmur, nodding. Your hands extend to him.

He pours the beads into your waiting palms and settles in next to you with a short breath, criss cross and looking a little out of place amidst the soft fabrics of your room. Creams and light greens, lacy curtains and flowers and butterfly wings. Stark against the dark of his leather and scratched jeans, heavy boots.

He feels right, even so. With you and sharing space. He's happiest here.

There's a sweet, light expansion in his chest, as your shoulder bumps his and your hands busy up with twisting the beads onto a new length of bendy, bronze wire. A record spins on low, a breeze wafts through the window, honey and pollen and you, right next to him.

He isn't looking at your hands anymore. The slope of your nose, your lips, as they press together and hum something lovely and quiet, almost shy. He doesn't know why his cheeks are aching so badly until he feels how big he's smiling.

Because you're you, and you're so pretty and wonderful, and he thinks he might finally understand devotion and all those feelings he thought were just silly fantasies. Wanting somebody forever instead of for one night.

You're all he wants. You're everything.

Love.

He thought maybe that's what it was, what it is. The pull he feels towards you, the worry and the urges. To hold and protect and keep you close. The bitter taste on his tongue whenever somebody else has your attention, the relief when you look at him and smile after an agonizing ten minutes of not being around you.

It's scary to accept that he loves, because he loves you, and you're perfect. Better than anything, and he doesn't deserve you at all.

"Come back." He hears you say, and shakes his head. His thoughts are quickly swept under and in his haste to meet your gaze, his forehead nearly brushes yours.

You smile. He loves you.

"Hi," you whisper. "Where'd you go just now?"

His throat works. "Nowhere, sweetheart."

You look unconvinced, but patient even still. Lips quirked as your gaze flits about his face, his freckles, and he's close. He could kiss you, if you really wanted him to. He thinks he'd like to, one day, if you're ever crazy enough to love him the same.

"It was somewhere," you counter. "Was it nice?"

His nod is immediate. So nice, but here is better, and his heart is aching steadily now.

Your fingers wrap gently around his wrist to guide his forearm towards you. His new prized possession is slipped on, a perfect fit and reflecting golden back to him. You know exactly how to make it so.

"S'perfect," he manages to say. He feels just slightly winded, brain a mess and very loud. "Thanks, angel."

You, you, you. I love you.

"D'you want to stay and make some more?"

He's gone and melted, he's sure.

"Yes, yeah. I'll stay. You'll teach me?"

It's your grin that drives the stake through his heart. Bright and infinite, beautiful and everything good that he knows and feels, all marbled together. In your smile, your skin, your tender touch and the sound of your voice.

It's all here. It's all you.

"I'll teach you."