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mae-gi-writes · 7 months ago

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let it be me | kuroo tetsurou (3)

In which you, as a new divorcée, can't help but crush on your 4-year-old's new PE Coach.

genre: singleparent!reader x coach! Kuroo, fluff, acquaintances-to-lovers

taglist: @patpatspatz @matchagirliris @multi-fandom-fanfic @alittlebirdahgaselx @kuroos--little--kitten @menacejelly12 @aeshiue @dreamlessnight @altheades @loonalockley @not-your-average-fangirl @bertqut1 @sunlixfl-blog @nabboo007

a/n: enjoy! <3 thanks for all the love given to the first part of this story! here's the second part. Third part is coming soon ~

---- previous | part three | next part >>>

"Seems like the night out helped then?"

Osamu can't hide his grin from the way you're flushing a deep red. It's so cute and adorable to see you this way, after months and months of just having the corpse of your soul wander around his coffee bar like you didn't know where else to go.

Now it seems, is a completely different story. You're glowing.

"How do you know that?" you almost splutter out your coffee as you gawk at your cousin from the other end of the bar.

Osamu proceeds to wipe down the counter. It's a Monday afternoon and it seems that the activity has slowed down somewhat, giving him a chance to catch up with you. He tries to stop the smile from spreading across his face as he answers, "how do you think I know?"

"Your brother can't keep his mouth shut now, can he?" you mutter into your coffee with a scowl.

Osamu laughs, "can you blame him? This is probably the first time since your breakup that you've even considered the possibility of going out and meeting new people. Let alone go through with it. You should be thanking him--"

"He takes too much credit for my happiness. He doesn't need more stroking to his ego."

"Point taken," Osamu can't argue with that. His brother is somewhat of an egocentric bastard. One with a kind heart and a nice smile nevertheless. But still a bastard. Done with the cleaning, he walks over to you as he leans atop the kitchen counter, "so? How was it then?"

"Fine."

Osamu's brow raises, "give me a bit more than that, y/n. I'm not stupid."

You pause, "it was..." the words feel weird swimming along your tongue, "...fun."

"Right?" your cousin breaks into a grin, "and how's the little chica doin'?"

"The little chica is a little too obsessed with her PE teacher."

"At least she likes him."

You hum, "point taken."

Talking to Osamu is a lot easier than his twin counterpart, solely because he isn't as dramatic and is rather subtle, able to control his emotions better and easier to have a conversation with actual sense without going off the rails every five minutes. It was refreshing, despite the fact that you didn't spend as much time as the grey-haired young man due to clashing schedules.

"So...this Kuroo guy..."

A groan can't help but fall from your lips as your head hits the counter, "Osamu, I'm twenty-nine. I don't need any boy talk--"

"Oh yes you do honey," he sing-songs and leans even closer, grey eyes sparkling. It's in these moments that he resembles Atsumu so much you wish to whack him one, "just because your father ain't here doesn't mean you get to do whatever you wa--"

"Enough." your hand shoots out, slapping onto Osamu's mouth.

He pulls away with a cackle, wiping his hands along his apron, "I'm serious though. Kuroo's a good guy, but if he ever does anything out of line--"

"Yeah yeah I got it."

"--I'll kick his balls so hard--"

"Osamu!"

"Okay okay," he chuckles and holds out his hands in surrender, and you glower at him from your seat.

It's bad enough that Atsumu has constantly been wheedling some answers out of you. Adding Osamu to the mix is not something you want on your agenda. Ever since that night, you have been exchanging messages with the said PE Coach despite the growing anxiety about where this will all lead to. But in-between organizing events for your job, baking cakes and debating on whether to sign those darned papers, it's been a welcome distraction.

Okay, maybe more than a welcome distraction.

It's been...amazing.

Something to look forward to. Someone that seemed to understand you, your sense of humor, who doesn't judge and makes you smile no matter what mood you might be in. And somehow, it's hard for your heart to just close off when Kuroo is so insistent on making it melt into a puddle of goo.

Like that one time you were late to pick up Sakura from athletics practice for instance, having been taken up with a client on the other side of the city centre only to have rushed through traffic like a madwoman, arriving when the courtyard was practically empty. Panicked and more than a little worried about Sakura's whereabouts, you had found her at the entrance of the gymnasium, playing footsie with none other than Kuroo.

"Oh," Kuroo noticed you first, golden eyes lighting up just as your daughter's head turned towards the source of curiosity, "Mum!"

She'd dashed over and you'd cradled her in your arms, your heart finally able to resume its normal beating now that you knew she was safe and sound.

You'd looked up at Kuroo then, with his ball tucked under one arm as he casually strode over to you. The words felt pathetic and useless as they tumbled out of your mouth, "I'm --thank you, for staying with her."

"It's no problem," he stopped before you, a smile dancing across the curve of his lips, "it's a good excuse to see you, I suppose."

You blinked at him, "huh?"

And then the words hit you like a truck.

Your face colored so fast even Sakura took note, tilting her head up at you as her eyebrows furrowed in concern, "mum are you okay? You're all red--"

"Oh I'm fine, just--you know, the heat--" you were glad for that excuse. Your entire chest area felt on fire, "I--uhm--It's nice to see you too, I guess--Kuroo-sensei."

It was just impossible to miss the sparkle in Kuroo's eyes and you swore you could feel the warmth from him, like a cozy blanket on a cold night wrapping around you. That was before you'd quickly excused yourself and practically bolted.

Another time you'd been late in dropping Sakura off, having slept in and barely being able to shove a few bits of toast down your throat in hopes of beating the morning traffic. Kuroo, it seemed, had been assigned to morning duty that time, and as you'd rushed through the gates with Sakura in tow, you quickly bowed to him before ushering Sakura to her class.

"Go now," you pressed a quick kiss to your daugher's forehead, "I'll see you after school okay?"

"Yes mum," and Sakura had sauntered away as you watched, breathless and chest heaving, a piece of hair stuck to your lip.

"Everything okay, Kosuke-san?"

When you turned to see Kuroo, hands in the pockets of his basketball shorts and looking all too fine with his PE jersey draped over his broad shoulders like a runaway model, your eyes flitted away with embarrassment.

"Yeah," you nodded, "morning traffic is terrible."

"I bet," Kuroo's eyes flitted down and you followed, only to make a small sound of embarrassment as you spotted two different pairs of sneakers on your feet, "someone woke up late today."

You really want to hide. Maybe duck your head in a whole. Maybe ignore him—

But you can’t, and so you can just shuffle awkwardly like a penguin, “I—was trying out a new style.”

Lame. But what else could you say?

Kuroo’s laugh bought warmth to your cheeks and before you knew it, his fingers had come up to untangle the hair stuck to your face. He pushed it back behind your ear.

“Suits you,” his voice drops to a murmur.

Every single cell in your body had exploded and you’d quickly fumbled for an excuse before rushing into your car as far away as you possibly could.

You tried your best to push him to the back of your mind, for there were a million other things to take care of. Like the divorce papers for example, which had been glaring at you from your coffee table ever since the mailman had deposited it right outside your doorstep.

You were all for signing it, but every time you mustered up the courage to, Atsumu’s words rang like an echo inside your head:

Don’t do it unless you’re getting something out of it.

It keeps eating away at you, the mixture of guilt and remorse. Not to forget the fact that you’ve been adamantly staying away every time you see Aoi’s name flashing across your screen. That all comes to an end one Friday evening when he rolls up in his car to pick up Sakura for the weekend.

Your daughter, unaware of what’s going on, is quick to stick her face to the window, “papa!”

Her shriek makes you wince. Once, this name had made your heart warm.

Now, it just hurts.

“Hey,” Aoi lets himself in with practiced ease and you turn away to stuff the remaining items in Sakura’s bag, all so that you can avoid watching the scene because it hurts a little too much.

“Papa, I’ve been playing a loooot of volleyball recently!” Sakura’s jumping around like an excited pup, “—and I even scored a point once!”

“You?” You hear Aoi chuckle and zip up Sakura’s bag a bit too harshly, “you barely have the height to reach the net!”

“It’s not the actual net Papa!” Sakura scowls then, “it’s a children’s net! Papa, you really need to come pick me up more often. You’ll understand what it looks like then!”

“Yeah you’re right Kura, maybe I should.”

Ache and longing seep through your chest. You couldn’t help not listening in when they were right in front of you, but you did your best in blocking out your ex-husband’s voice as you wrap up the last of her belongings just as Sakura’s voice belts out in surprise:

“Kuroo-sensei?!”

Huh? Your head whips up so fast that you feel the ache of it at the back of your neck. Sakura meanwhile, jumps up and down in barely restrained excitement while pointing at the window, “mum! Mum did you see?! Kuroo-sensei is here!” She turns to look at you, “Why is he here mum?”

Sure enough, the said young man stands at the doorstep, hands in his pockets and leaning against the threshold in a manner that has your heart racing.

You scramble to your feet at the same time that Aoi straightens and swivels towards the door.

Surprise flits through Kuroo’s eyes, lasting a millisecond before he’s grinning and extending a friendly hand, “hey,” he directs it towards your ex-husband, “I’m Kuroo, Sakura’s PE coach.”

“Nice to meet you,” Aoi gives his hand a deft shake and you want nothing more than to disappear, “I’m Sakura’s father.”

“Yes, I see the ressemblance,” Kuroo smiles wanly just as the said child bounds straight into his arms, “Kuroo-sensei! What are you doing here?”

You ignore the way Aoi is drilling holes into your skull. Now is definitely not the time for explanations.

What kind of explanations do you owe him anyway? It's not like he's asked for your permission before he went and played love island with some kind of bimbo you barely knew existed.

“Hey munchkin!” Kuroo sweeps her up and she shrieks in delight before settling her back down, “I’m here for your mum today.”

He is? Your eyes widen, finding his own golden irises in a silent question that Kuroo only responds with a bashful grin.

“Really? Where are you taking mum? Can I come along?” Sakura, as clueless as ever, bounces up and down in delight.

You’re quick to intervene, “Sakura, you’re spending the weekend with Papa remember? He’s been waiting all week to spend some time with you.”

“Yeah, don’t you want some time alone with your dad, kiddo?” Aoi spreads his arms, “come on! Didn’t you want to go to the zoo?!”

Sakura gasps at that, her eyes going round, “we’re going to the zoo?!” She all but squeaks.

You can’t resist smiling at her reactions, leaning down towards her before tucking her hair behind her ear, “that’s what you wanted wasn’t it?”

But her chubby hand grabs onto yours, “are you coming?”

The words pierce you and you take a small inhale. Your eyes find Aoi’s from across the room and though you know it’s not his fault, you know this isn’t something he did just on a whim, your eyes say everything you cannot: you did this to us.

Instead, you’re forced to smile down at her, smoothing one hand over the back of her head, “it’s just going to be you and papa today alright Sakura? And then I’ll see you when you get back tomorrow.”

Her face falls and something twists in your gut, “okay,” her voice is small when she answers.

But you have no choice but to let her go, watching as her father grabbed onto her hand and walked out of the door. You can’t look at Kuroo’s face, knowing that there’s probably pity written all across his features. Definitely not something that you’d want if the situation were reversed.

You’re surprised he still hasn’t high-tailed it back to his car up until now. But maybe he’s just being polite.

“I’m sorry,” is the first thing that makes its way out of your mouth when you finally gather up the courage to face him.

Your eyes stay glued on a spot along his shirt, glad for his tall height as you continue muttering out, “it’s just a bad time, I didn’t know you were coming—“

“Actually I’m the one that should be sorry.”

Your eyes flit up to his, the gentleness in his voice throwing you off guard and what you find in those golden pupils make your heart flutter slightly.

Kuroo just gazes down at you with a small smile,looking a little sheepish, “I realize I just barged in when I wasn’t really welcome.”

“No—no, no! Not at all!” You lift your arms in a sign of surrender, “I’m curious though… why did you? Come, I mean. Is there—“ you hesitate slightly, “—is there something you need?”

“Well,” his smile blossomed into a grin. Pressing against the countertop, he leans forward towards you, “I wasn’t kidding when I said that I came by to see you.”

His words cause a blush to spread across your cheeks, “don’t—say things like that,” you stammer out, “people will misunderstand.”

“Misunderstand what exactly?”

“What we are, our relationship,” you let out a breath and shake your head, “anyway, it doesn’t matter. So? What’d you come here for?”

“Like I said,” his eyes are golden glimmers, sparkling with mischief, “I came to see you.”

“Surely it’s not just that,” you splutter.

“More specifically I came to hang out,” he continues, “I heard there’s this new italian place that just opened up a few streets down. Since you seem free, would you like to accompany me?”

“I—uhm—“ the request is so sporadic it sends your brain into a fuzzy cloud, thoughts scattering and making no sense as you try and piece together a reason as to why you cannot make it out.

Your subconscious is begging you to go, practically kneeling on both knees and jumping up and down in excitement. Your brain though, the logical part, is pulling her hair out at the atrocity of it all.

“Fine,” is what you blurt out. Before you even realize what you’ve said. But when Kuroo gives you that million-watt smile you think that maybe it’s all kind of worth it.

———

“No way, he wouldn’t do that—“

“Oh no, he did.” Kuroo snorts into his drink. Leaning back against the parisian chair in which he’s seated as he splays his legs out before him, you fold one leg over the over, all too aware of how physically close he is. If you moved your leg any further you’re certain to brush against his knee.

A delicious, yet terrifying thought.

Kuroo chatters on with the story about Atsumu being kicked out of the boy’s dorm, “when the manager finally found him, they made him do two-hundred pushups and thirty laps around the training grounds. Was a pretty worthy sight, if you ask me.”

“That sounds exactly like what Atsumu would do,” you can’t help but roll your eyes. Trust your cousin to go through all that incessant stuff just because he’d opened his big mouth.

“How come I’ve never seen you around before?” Kuroo leans back in his seat, golden eyes scanning your face as if trying to piece together his memories of whether he’d seen you or not, “you’re related to them. You should’ve popped up sometime in the picture.”

“I—“ a lump fills the back of your throat and you press your lips together, look away, “we weren't close as we were growing up. They were so--so overwhelming and I was a shy kid. Until Sakura came into the picture."

Kuroo's eyes are warm. Warmer as he keeps on gazing at you with a softness, with the kind of gentleness that makes your heart ache. He's not supposed to look at you like that. Most people will clear their throat at this point in the conversation, or turn their head away.

But he doesn't. He just keeps his eyes on you at all costs. Like you're the most important thing in this room.

You're not sure how to feel about that.

"But when they heard I was pregnant, Atsumu and Osamu were there practically every day," a small smile flickers across your face at the memories that resurface, "they took care of me a lot, especially since my parents were so angry."

You let out a small chuckle, but it's definitely far from funny. It sounds hollow even in the bustling restaurant.

Kuroo leans forward so that his arms rest atop the table, muscles bunching and tensing as he does so. Gorgeous, you think to yourself as he says, "you were alone during your pregnancy?"

"Not actually alone," the smile you show now his bitter, "I had Aoi. At the time he was a really good husband. We got married quickly, just civil, because our parents didn't approve of us keeping the baby. It was quite a shock for them. And I had my two cousins to help me out whenever Aoi wasn't there."

"That must've been hard."

"It wasn't that bad," you take a sip of your water, glad for the distraction.

Kuroo shifts, his knee brushing yours. The warmth sizzles up your leg and a knot forms in your chest. God, you really can't take this.

Almost out of impulse, you find yourself blurting out, "Kuroo-sensei, can I ask you something?"

He tilts his head to the side, a sign for you to go on.

"Why--" the words get clogged up in your throat, "why are you being nice to me?"

The last few words are said in a whisper, for fear of what he will say in return. You hide your hands in your lap to stop them from shaking, but it seems your leg takes on a life of its own as it starts jiggling up and down.

"Kosuke-san."

And that's when Kuroo's hand rests atop your knee. Barely there. Yet searing hot.

Your breath hitches.

You blink at him, heart racing.

He cracks a small, comforting smile. The kind of smile that is crooked at the corners and makes his eyes crinkle up, "you're not scared of me, are you?"

"No," you mumble out, "just scared of your answer."

You shouldn't be so comfortable with him touching you like that. It's gentle, barely there, feather light. It should be scandalous. You should be technically ripping his hand off because in any other normal setting this would count as perverse.

And yet.

Yet, his touch ignites heat that sears right through the material of your jeans. Your heart flutters at his touch and your leg freezes in mid-shake, unsure of whether to continue when his gaze makes you feel a multitude of things, things that you're not sure are good considering what happened in the past.

When Kuroo answers next, you almost swoon right out of your chair. His voice dips into a murmur, one so raw and throaty it turns your insides to mush:

"Because I think you deserve some kindness."

"So," your forehead creases as you attempt to decipher his words, "do you pity me, then?"

“No, well—maybe a little, at first,” he catches himself, cheeks suddenly blazing full pink under your gaze, “obviously, it’s hard not to sympathize when I see a single mother doing her best for her daughter.”

“Surely I’m not the only single mother in that entire school.”

“No, but you’re different,” Kuroo’s eyes fill with warmth, “and also, not all parents are as kind as you are."

"That's not really--"

“You’d be surprised,” Kuroo cuts you off with a raised brow, “don’t be so naive, Kosuke-san. People aren’t as nice as you might make them out to be,” his eyes lock on yours, “but you are.”

You look away and swallow thickly, “yeah— I suppose.”

His hand is still on your knee. One part of you wants to move away. The rational part screaming that this shouldn’t be appropriate at all. Yet another bigger part of you is squealing in delight in hopes that he never takes it off.

You don't know which part of your brain you wish to turn off and trample on until it's just an afterthought in your subconscious.

Thankfully, the waiter approaches and Kuroo's hand drops away from your skin. He insists on paying the bill despite your best efforts and even goes as far as to drive you back home in his beat-up truck.

"Thank you," you mumble as you spot your front door, void of any activity now that Sakura's at her father's. It's always like this; lonely nights, with thoughts of what-ifs trickling through the back of your brain like a never-ending stream of water that gets muddied the more time passes. You understand and are happy that she at least has a father who wants to be in her life. That's the least you could've asked for from your ex-- well, soon to be ex-husband once you sign that darned paper -- but it's the thought of the other woman that makes you sick in the stomach. Jealousy churns like an ache that spreads and knots and tightens. What if Sakura likes her stepmom better? What if the other woman gives her everything she wants, everything she needs without batting a single eyelid?

You're so caught up in your own head that you barely hear Kuroo's murmur, until he's calling out your name from the driver's seat.

You quickly spin your head towards his, a guilty smile curving across your lips, "sorry, I got lost in my head for a second," you chuckle in hopes that it will dissipate the sudden tension filling the vehicle, glancing out of your apartment complex and glad that, for once, there's a bit of light flickering in the corridors.

"Thanks for bringing me home," you tell him.

"Pleasure is all mine," Kuroo replies. His eyes are on you though, as if reading right through you.

So you quickly try to dispel his worry by saying, "I'm just going to go up and rest. It's been quite a day and--"

"Do you--" he hesitates, purses his lips in thought, "do you want me to hang out for a while? Until you're sleepy and kick me out."

You're not too certain what to do except gawk at him. Which he takes as a cue that you might've twisted his words in the wrong way. For he quickly adds in a scramble of words, "Not--Not like you're inviting me over or anything. Just--I mean, as a friend. I just--I could keep you company."

His words echo in the silence and something in your heart swells at the kind gesture. Kuroo says that you're kind, but he clearly doesn't see how much effort he does for you. And here he is, sitting there looking bashful and embarrassed about asking to keep you company. Your heart melts a little and you agree, showing him the way to the guest parking.

Just as a friend, you try to tell your heart, just as a friend. And nothing else.

-----

If someone had asked you, a few weeks ago, whether Kuroo was a fine catch. You'd probably answer yes and move on with your day.

But now, your life seems so entwined with his that you're not sure whether that's a good or a bad thing.

After your little outing a few weeks ago where he'd decided to keep you company in the dark hours until the very early morning, you'd seemed to have crossed a bridge that you cannot back-pedal no matter how hard you try. If you close your eyes, you can still imagine the vivid picture of the two of you; first at the kitchen table sharing a glass of wine as you kept babbling about random stories and tales from your childhood, before you'd finally landed on the couch playing a crazy game of Mario kart, courtesy of Aoi's mistake of having forgotten his Switch when he'd first decided to move out.

You'd never had so much fun in so long that you'd almost cried yourself to sleep that night, right after Kuroo had stumbled out of your flat. He'd blatantly refused your couch as guest room, saying that staying over would just be more of a hassle when he had early classes the next morning.

But that doesn't stop him from seeing you when he can. Nor you him. And it's become something of an addiction.

He drops by every week now whenever Sakura's gone to her father's place. These nights are spent playing scrabble, watching reruns of Harry Potter like the nerds you are, and holding conversations that run longer than you'd expect them to. It seems like routine for Kuroo to clock out around one in the morning and every time he does walk away and disappear down the corridor, something in your heart clenches at his absence.

The flat does feel a little too lonely once Kuroo's gone. But you'd never tell him that small fact.

Today he's come around a little earlier than usual, due to a special meeting between teachers and parents that the school had organised. He's busy playing house with Sakura while you're preparing the pizza base for your night in, something that you hadn't done since--well, ever since Aoi had moved out actually. But now, you're even humming to imaginary music and glancing at the living room couch where Kuroo is currently giving a full-on review about Sakura's imaginary cooking skills.

Your heart swells tenfold and you swear the sight makes you cry. It's what you crave for, it's what Aoi had done for you once, for your family. Before he'd decided that you weren't good enough and had moved on to someone else.

"--perfect combination of sweet and spicy. I think I'mma gives this Mac and cheese a perfect ten out of ten," Kuroo was saying just as the front door rang.

You went to open it, wiping your hands down the front of your jeans before unlocking the door.

The sight of Aoi always made your heart sink and your stomach churn.

But not today. Today, your heart barely acknowledges him and you think it's good progress. You even go as far as give him a smile, "hey Aoi."

"Hi Y/N," he keeps glancing behind your back and you're pretty certain why; it's the sight of Kuroo with his daughter, probably, that unnerves him.

Your suspicions are proved right when he mutters, "what's he doing here again?"

It's low, like a grumble, so that only you can hear it in this vicinity.

You straighten, "he's my friend. He's spending the evening with me today."

"Like he's been doing every week?"

"Yes," you raise a brow, prop a hand on your hip, "is that a problem?"

"I have one problem, yes," Aoi scowls back, "why is he spending time with our daughter like he deserves it?"

"Why is that a problem? Do you not let--what's her name again? Josie? Jodie? -- do you not let her play and spend time with Sakura?"

"It's Judy, and she's going to be my wife, Sakura's stepmother," Aoi hisses and you can't help but flinch, "don't you think you're just making it harder for Sakura? It's been bad enough with the divorce and everything--"

What? You chuckle and that ignites into a laugh so hollow and void of emotion that Aoi flinches, "excuse me?" the nerve of this man. Your voice hardens, "I'm the one making it harder for Sakura? Tell me Aoi, who's the one who left?"

"I left because I was unhappy--"

"So was I!" you suddenly spit out, anger rising through you. You don't care that Kuroo can hear you now. Well, you should care that Sakura's witnessing one of the many fights you will have with her father. But you can't take it. Not all this belittling.

Not when you're finally feeling something other than this overwhelming grief that plagues you and breaks you into tiny pieces every time you look at that fucking darned document.

Your knuckles shake so hard you have to tighten them into fists that you glue to your sides.

You continue, "I was unhappy and guess why? It was all because of you! Because you always had something--you barely spent time with us after Sakura was born and--and we barely talked! You didn't want to talk. Heck, you made sure to steer clear of me whenever we were in the same darned house," your voice rose with each sentence, the clench in your stomach finally unleashed after restraining it, holding it in for Sakura's sake.

"But I endured. I endured it, because we had a daughter. We had a child, and goddamn it I was responsible enough to think of her first, and not myself," you snarl, for once glad that Aoi seems at loss for words, almost panicked, "and--what? You're lecturing me about making it hard for her? About being selfish?" you snicker and spread your arms wide, "look around Aoi. You know who's responsible for this mess, and it's definitely not me."

The silence that follows your little monologue is so heavy and laden with emotion that nobody dares break it. Even Sakura has stopped talking, though you don't know what's happening behind your back, wanting to keep your eyes on that fucking bastard and end this, once and for all.

When Aoi does nothing to answer -- because what's he going to say when you're right?-- you swivel, go to retrieve the signed divorce papers atop your kitchen table you've been dutifully ignoring until now, and storm back to him.

"And here," you thrust the papers at him so suddenly he shrieks as he grapples with the folder, "you can take your damned divorce papers. I don't need them, and I don't need you."

And before Aoi can say anything else, you've slammed the door in his face.

Bang.

Silence.

You can hear a pin drop.

You're heaving, chest rattling with every breath, gaze fixated on the door.

Breathe in.

Breathe out.

It's the relief that sweeps in first, through the cracks of anger that slowly melt away.

And then, realisation that nothing will ever be the same.

Then, grief.

It hits you like a truck.

Everything you've worked for. Everything you had lost.

You're not sure when your body decides to crumple to the ground, just that there are warm arms to catch you this time before a soft baritone echoes through the side of your head, through your chest and making you want to cry.

Kuroo is talking, and somewhere in-between the lines of numbness and pain you make sense that he wants to take Sakura out for a bit, just enough time for you to recollect your thoughts. You're so lost in your own thoughts that he has to repeat a question twice for you to snap to attention.

"Do you want me to stay? Or do you want me to go? Up to you, anything that makes you happy."

Kuroo is babbling, but the fact that he even asks you for what you want, for once, makes your chest ache with terrible sweetness. You don't deserve him in any shape or form.

You nod, and Kuroo takes it as a good sign, for he prompts, "what do you want me to do Y/N?"

As if on impulse, his hand pushes stray hairs away from your face. The action is gentle, kind. Almost loving.

Almost.

"Take her out," you manage to mumble, "please, Kuroo. I--I don't want her to see me like this."

"Got it." And Kuroo's off, scooping up Sakura with a playful tone, distracting her from the mess that you are huddled over in the corner of the living room as he shoves his shoes on and strides out of the flat so that all is left is you, the echo of silence that remains, and the feelings lying in the pit of your stomach.

-----

It's some time later that you hear the lock twisting in the door. You've managed to pull yourself together by then, finishing up the pizzas so that they're warm and fresh out of the oven. Sakura's footsteps echo against the wooden floor as she runs over to you.

"Mum!"

You force a smile. It comes a little easier when you see your daughter so excited, "hello, you," you coo. She slams her entire body right into your mid-section and your arm wraps around her, "how was the walk with Kuroo-sensei?"

"We saw ducks! And--And Kuroo-sensei let me play on the swings. He even pushed me so that I went up high!" Sakura's chubby finger pointed towards the ceiling to show just how high it was, and you chuckled before hugging her close. Feeling the warmth of her small body against yours is something you'll never really get over. It's like she fits and moulds right into the crevices of your broken parts to make them whole again.

Your eyes travel over to the said young man in question who's been responsible for so much of her happiness, and you soften, "thank you," you mouth to him over the kitchen counter.

He shakes his head and sends you a smile. It melts your insides, warming your tummy and instantly causing your cheeks to flush bright red.

You look away with a sharp swallow, "I've made something that looks like dinner," you propose tentatively, "if you'd like to stay."

You don't look at him as he strides over, big steps closing the gap between the front door and the dining table. He shrugs off his coat in the process, "I'm always in for food."

It would be stupid of you to think that such a normal dinner routine might make Kuroo forget all about what happened a little earlier. But it's the way his eyes search your face when he thinks you're not looking, the way the concern swims in his entire demeanour, like he's not sure whether he can completely relax yet.

Part of you is more than horrified by this turn of events. You don't want Sakura's sports coach thinking you're an unsuitable parent, nor do you want him to know about your personal matters considering he's a bit too close to home. It's embarrassing and humiliating and every time you meet his eyes by accident across the table you make sure to look away as quickly as you can.

The other, more selfish part of you, though, is suddenly relishing in the warmth that Kuroo's presence brings to the flat. And you can't help but crave for more, despite knowing this is not what's best for you and your little girl.

After all, even if Kuroo did think of you that way -- which he doesn't by the way -- he'd be tied down with a liability that's too hard to bear when it's not your own child.

Cleaning up after dinnertime in silence, Kuroo volunteers to take charge so that you can put Sakura to bed. You send him an apologetic smile, quickly going through the bedtime motions with your daughter before you can tuck her into bed.

"Mum," Sakura's voice is merely above a whisper as she cuddles into her blanket. The sight is so cute, it makes your heart swell and you resist the urge to coo, "Are you okay Mum?"

You pause, hiss in a breath.

What are you supposed to tell her?

What exactly are you supposed to say?

You manage to choke out a soft, "I'm alright."

"Is Papa okay?"

"Yes," your heart breaks a little more. You barely manage to murmur, "yes he's okay sweetie. Just--It's been a hard time."

"Why Mum?"

You don't know what to say, so you opt for pushing her hair away from her face, "well, sometimes adults face difficult decisions. And those decisions ...they hurt us. Sometimes."

"Did Papa hurt you today?"

Tears well at the corner of your eyes but you refuse to sniff, refuse to show her that you're as battered and beaten as what your heart says.

"No sweetie, he didn't--he would never hurt me, or you. Because he's your Papa and he--he loves you very much."

"Does he really?"

"Yes," you wrap your arms around her in a hug, hoping that this will dissipate all her queries, all her suspicions of her father, "yes he does. He really does love you. A lot."

From the depths of your arms, you hear your daughter's soft echo of, "okay."

It takes more than just a few minutes for Sakura to doze off. But you tuck her in gently when she does, rearranging the blankets around her frame before slowly backing out of the room. You find Kuroo still at the kitchen sink with your supposed apron around his waist, and the sight of him -- so domestic, like he's been living here all along -- makes you want to cry all over again.

"She's asleep?" Kuroo's voice causes your shoulders to jump. You nod and walk over to where he stands, taking note of the amount of dishes left.

"Thank you," you gesture towards the squeaky clean plates hanging off to dry, "it's all good now, I'll take over--"

Kuroo throws you a look and tuts, "sit down. I'm gonna make us some tea."

"But--"

"Kosuke-san," the dip between his brows deepen, "go sit down."

It's non-arguable and you let out a soft sigh of defeat as you pad over to the couch, grumbling something incoherent under your breath. Does he have to be so perfect at everything? It's almost like living in a fairytale dream.

Or is he just being nice because he wants something out of you?

A shudder suddenly makes its way up your spine and you shake your head, ridding yourself of all negative thoughts. No, he won't do that, your brain chides, he's not like that.

He's not like Aoi.

"Here."

You look up to find none other than the said man settling down beside you, nudging a cup of what seems to be hot water into your hands.

"Sorry," he mumbles, "I couldn't quite find your tea. Your place is a bit like a labyrinth."

"Yeah that's what happens when you have a toddler," you grimace, "but thank you. I do appreciate--" you hesitate, a small smile flickering across your lips, "hot water."

Kuroo chuckles, "right? It was made with love."

You sip on your hot water as a comfortable silence settles over you, with only the hum of the fridge and distant cars from afar filling the room. The weight of all your troubles are finally getting to you, making your body sluggish as it succumbs to the comforts of your pillows.

"Kuroo sensei," you bite down onto your lower lip, before your eyes flutter up to his face to find that he's already been looking at you, "I--"

"It's Kuroo," he interrupts, "we're friends, right?"

You try to bite back your smile, "yeah. I suppose," your head dips back down to your lap, "I just--I wanted to say thank you. For everything. But...especially for today."

"Kosuke-san, I think it's fair enough to say that you were having a hard time," Kuroo answered, "I just did what I thought was right. And--also, not to be that person, but he didn't have to do it in front of his daughter."

"Yeah you're right," you sigh, "well, that's Aoi for you. Selfish, self-centred, always wants what's best for himself."

There's a moment for the words to digest in the air. You sip on your hot drink, not wanting to meet Kuroo's eyes for fear of what you'll find there.

If you had any doubts about Kuroo questioning his interest for you, that had to be long gone by now. Nobody in the world wanted someone who already had baggage, and a physical baggage that would forever be a reminder of your past.

The truth hurts. It punches you straight in the gut.

You suck in a sharp breath, loathing yourself for even thinking about it. For even entertaining the idea.

But then, Kuroo asks you a question. One that instantly breaks down your walls no matter how much you fight it.

"Are you alright?"

You can't help it.

You break.

It's as if all tears once bottled up are suddenly let loose. Pressing your hands up to your face to muffle your cries, you feel Kuroo's arms wound around you again, pulling you insistently to his chest despite your best tries at resisting. But he's warm and for once in your life you don't feel like fighting, which is how you find yourself sobbing into his shirt, hands gripping it tight like he might disappear at any given moment.

All that time, Kuroo merely lets you cry, one hand smoothing over the back of your head while he presses his cheek against your temple.

"Shh," he keeps murmuring into the shell of your ear, "it's okay. It's going to be okay."

Some time later finds you in his arms, practically cuddled up to his chest and your cries reduced to mere sniffles. Kuroo has leaned back onto the couch so that you're resting against him, soft curves pressed to his firm ridges and hands absentmindedly running through your hair in a way that makes your eyes flutter with the heaviness of sleep.

It's comfortable. Too comfortable you might just fall asleep here.

Kuroo dares to peek at your face, noticing that you're staring off into space.

Your phone suddenly buzzes from your pocket, startling you out of whatever daydream you'd concocted. Quickly fishing it out of your pant pocket, you unlock the screen only to find Atsumu's message.

Atsumu: I suppose you're with Mr. Hotshot? Any chance of getting laid tonight? ;)

Your face colours right when you feel Kuroo's chest vibrate with a laugh.

You quickly whip the phone away from his view, "y--you're not supposed to read other people's texts!"

Your heart is practically cartwheeling at this point and you swear you feel sweat dot your hairline as Kuroo throws his head back with even more laughter.

You scowl at him, "what's so funny?!"

"Nothing, oh--god, nothing at all," he can't seem to control himself, shaking his head with a grin so wide it makes the sight adorable for some unknown godforsaken reason. He runs a hand over his face, trying and failing to calm down, "I just--oh man Atsumu. Do tell me more."

"Like I said, it's rude to read other people's texts," you snap.

"Oh I'm sorry, you opened it in front of my face though," Kuroo's grin is so wide that it frustrates you to no end. But before you can shove him away, his hold tightens as he pins you closer.

Your eyes widen, fluttering up to meet his golden brown pupils in surprise. He's warm, and firm, and just about as delicious as you had imagined. It makes your stomach knot, makes you slightly dizzy as you get a whiff of his deodorant--something musky, something that smells just like him.

When he speaks next, his voice has dropped two octaves.

"So how long were you going to keep it a secret from me?"

His murmur sends a chill up your spine. Your hands, not knowing what should be done with them, curl along his shirt.

Your eyes find a blank spot in the middle of his chest, "it's...not a secret. It's just a--a joke. Of some sort."

"A joke?" his smirk widens, "well share it with me too."

"It's none of your business."

"Pretty sure you made it my business by opening it in front of me."

Oh god. You can't even stop your heart from beating so loudly it's like a hummingbird. You're pretty certain Kuroo can hear it. "I--uhm--"

Your brain tries to scramble for words. But it's impossible. Not when he's so close. Definitely not when he's looking at you like that. With those eyes.

"Something tells me you've been holding out on me."

"Not at all."

You're still very adamant on averting your eyes. But his hand finds your chin, tilting it up until you have no choice but to look straight into those beautiful swirls of golden shimmering with amusement and what seems to be -- tenderness? Affection?

"Tell me," his murmur is raw, throaty. Like warm, melted chocolate.

You take a soft breath. Your chest constricts. It's impossible to breathe.

"Atsumu," you start in a shaky whisper, "he thinks--" you swallow, "he thinks that we might have... a--a thing."

"A thing?" his arm laced around your middle tightens slightly, "what makes him think we might have a thing?"

"Well I don't know, I--' god, is this supposed to be this hard? To admit that you have a small crush? You suck in air in-between your teeth as you bite the inside of your cheek, turn your head away, "I guess I talk a lot about you."

He hums in reply, "I like the sound of that."

And with another tug at your chin your eyes have no choice but to lock on his. There's a softness there in those beautiful pupils flecked with long, drawn out eyelashes.

""The sound of what?" you blink.

"Us having a thing," Kuroo's hand seems to find it fun to caress up and down your hipbone. His touch is searingly warm against your skin, "you talking about me, you blushing because of it."

"Well don't be so full of yourself," You huff out, "you're a good friend, and I'm grateful--"

"Y/N."

Woah.

You've never imagined the sound of your name falling from his lips. But here it is, laced with some kind of attentiveness, with some sort of affection that makes you weak at the knees and causes warmth to drip to your lower belly.

Your lips part. But you find you can't seem to formulate words. He continues, "I like you, not just as a friend. I think you're brave, incredibly kind, smart--"

"What are you doing?"

"Huh?" Kuroo frowns, "I--What does it look like I'm doing?"

"I don't know," you're starting to panic, pulling away slightly in the process, "that's what I'm asking you."

"Well I--" a small chuckle echoes past his lips, "I guess what I'm trying to do is ask you out."

"Oh." the words take a few seconds to register in your brain.

Oh.

"Oh." you repeat like an idiot. Oh shit.

He's actually serious.

Oh shit.

Oh fuck.

"Uhm--" your throat has suddenly gone so dry that nothing seems to come out of It no matter how hard you try.

Kuroo just lets out a small laugh before his hand goes up to push a few stray hairs out of your face, "cat got your tongue?"

"Kuroo-sens--I mean, Kuroo--" you try to stutter out through the butterflies rippling through your chest at his gentle action, "It's not that simple, I--I have a daughter. It's a responsibility. A liability. And I'm no casual dater, I'm more of a long-term relationship type of girl."

"And?"

"And there's absolutely no reason for you to like me other than as a friend, because I have baggage. I'm not a single woman, I'm on the brink of a divorce and I have a four--almost five year old -- always running around," you realise you're babbling but it's impossible not to, especially not with him looking at you like that, "trust me, that's probably the last thing you want--"

"When I say I like you," Kuroo murmurs, "I mean all of you. And that includes Sakura."

"You don't mean that, until you actually experience--"

"I do mean it."

You shake your head, "Kuroo I--"

"Can I just take you out?" There's a slight note of desperation in his tone. In a smooth motion, the hand twined around your waist slips up to your hand, thumb drawing soft circles over your wrists as his eyes pin you down with an intensity that makes you want to squirm, "just one date. That's all I ask."

Your immediate response is no. Because why would you? You're literally just getting out of a relationship. The last thing that you want is another of these holes that you'll take months to recover from. And what if Kuroo decides you're not what he wants after all? He's younger than you, dashingly handsome, and can get whoever he wants in this entire world.

So why you?

But as soon as you open your mouth to tell him no, your thoughts fly back to this afternoon; the way he'd cared for Sakura when you were having a mental breakdown, the way he'd cradled you in his arms like you were fragile porcelain, the way he hadn't hesitated the moment you'd asked for help.

Even back then, Aoi hadn't taken charge this way. Aoi hadn't even bothered. And so you'd gotten used to not asking. To do things all by yourself.

Looking back into those golden-hued eyes makes you hopeful. And that's the worst thing that can happen to you, hope. But still, it's impossible to say no when Kuroo's gazing down at you so fondly. Like you're the only thing holding his world together. like he'd do anything to be with you.

So you say yes.

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captainquake42 · 6 months ago

Text

> ♡ °. INKED UP

♡ four

☆ kwon jae sung x fem!reader

summary:

You go out to a bar with your team and kwon sees an opportunity.

OR reader teaches kwon a few moves

notes:

I can't dance so I did my best describe it.

Also, if you are the person who asked me to write a fic of the reader getting hurt. I accidentally deleted your request, but that is something that i'm working on a little bit.

part one // prev part

1.1k written by:

S A R A H

You sat with Sam and Robby a table away from Dimitri and Eli. The bar buzzed with music and chatter, but you were more focused on your water (you didn’t like drinking, same as Robby, and pop was off-limits during the season—you were strict about keeping your body in peak condition). Sam and Robby were deep in conversation about Tory and Miguel, their voices low but laced with tension.

“ I hope Carmen is okay.” Robby said idly, spinning his straw in his glass “ Did you talk to Miguel before they left?”

Sam shugs, “ for like thirty seconds. We were excited to go exploring but now…”

You nudged your twin with an elbow. “ You feel any better?”

He scoffed, his lips curling into a humorless smile. “ No, honestly I'm actually thinking of adding rum to this coke.”

Sam smiled a little thinking he was kidding. “ Yeah right you don't drink.”

Robby’s gaze dropped to his drink, his fingers tightening around the glass. “ might be the time to start, I've been screwing everything up since Tory put us on break and it's not even affecting her.”

“ Like salt on an open cut.”

“ Yeah, she's fighting better than ever.”

Sam leaned forward letting her arms rest on the table. “ Tory chose the other side and I feel terrible for her but we can't keep letting her get in our heads like this. We just have to accept she's against us.”

You huffed, rolling your eyes. “ You guys are acting like we're at war, she's not against us.” You said with a shake of your head. “ She picked a different team because she was vulnerable, and a master manipulator took advantage of that. It’s not that simple. You of all people know that, you were talking about it last night.”

Sam stared over your shoulders without replying, her facing falling. “ I'm gonna get some air.” She said getting up.

Both you and Robby turned confused following her gaze to the door. That’s when you saw them—Tory, Kwon, and a few of their teammates walking in, looking every bit like they owned the place.

Kwon stared at you and gave you a little nod. A smirk tugged at the corner of his lips as he made his way across the bar.

Your back straightened unconsciously, and you had to put your hands in your lap to stop yourself from messing with your hair.

Kwon stopped beside you, his smirk growing wider. “ Hey,” he said smoothly, his eyes locking with yours. “ Dance with me?”

Before you could say anything, Robby’s chair scraped back as he stood abruptly, squaring his shoulders. “ She’s not interested.”

Kwon barely glanced at Robby, he only had eyes for you. “ I’m pretty sure she can speak for herself, man.”

“ Robby cool off, it's fine.” You said, trying to defuse the situation.

Robby frowned, his jaw tight, but he didn’t say anything else.

“What do you say?” Kwon asked, his voice low enough that it felt like the rest of the room disappeared.

You hesitated, glancing at Robby, who was still standing stiffly. Then you looked back at Kwon.

“ Okay,” you said, taking his hand.

Kwon’s smirk turned into a genuine smile as he led you to the small dance floor at the center of the bar. “ I didn’t think you’d say yes.”

“ Why?” You looked up at him.

“ You don’t like disappointing your team.” He huffed.

“ One dance won’t kill them.”

“ Just one?” He teased, slipping an arm around your waist. “ I plan to keep you here all night.”

You felt your cheeks get warm, but put an arm around his neck anyway. “ One,” you repeated, though your lips twitched into a smile.

“ Counter offer, ten and a kiss.” He said with a sly grin.

Your jaw dropped, and your eyes went wide. “ Damn you got a drink in you already?”

“ Nah don’t drink in season.”

“ That right?”

He hummed swaying with you to the beat. “ That’s right.”

“ Five and I teach you how to two-step and a shoulder dip.”

“ Deal.” He said almost before you could finish talking. “ Sounds like you know your stuff.”

“ My mom used to take me and Robby to bars all the time, I learned a few things.” You took both his hands and held them up by your sides. “ A two step is easy, all you do is step forward with your left foot, then follow with your right foot. Then go back, right foot first and repeat.”

“ Just go back and fourth?”

“ Yep, super simple.”

So that’s what you did, a back and forth two step until he seemed to get bored and spinning you. “ Alright now show me the other one.”

“ Okay,” you laughed. “ First thing, take my hand,” he did. “ Now you're going to spin me out, away from you.”

He did as told, spinning you out and pulling you back in, “ Like that?” He asked.

“ Just like that,” You encouraged. “ But when you pull me back, spin me in twice, so towards your body.”

He did both steps again.

“ Perfect next cross your arm over and slide while I drag my hand around your back.” You explained while showing the moves you were talking about. “ Now I do a half spin so my back is facing you and I am going to fall.”

“ A trust fall?”

“ Yes. There is more but I don’t think your ready to carry me on your shoulders.”

He scoffed playfully, “ I can, promise.”

“ Swear you won’t drop me?”

“ Yes.” He says, “ what’s the saying?”

“ Cross my heart?”

“ And hope to die, yes that one.”

“ Okay in that case, grab my waist.” He did. “ I’m going to jump onto your shoulders, on three ready?”

“ Yes.” He effortlessly picked you up, and ducked his head under your spit legs.

“ Next I’m going to swing my left leg around and you are going to keep hold of my right, when I do that my body will fall into your arms while I keep an arm around the back of your neck to support you. When we both are standing again you will spin me one more time with the hand you have around my thigh. Got it.”

“ Understood.” He yelled back over the music.

“ Ready?”

“ Yep.” He confirmed.

You did everything you said you were going to, albeit a little clumsy, with it being his first time, but at least he didn’t drop you like the guy who taught you did. He was spotting Robby, who was holding you, the two of you were only ten and thought it’d be a cool trick to show mom. Instead you got your first concussion, and Robby broke his nose when he fell face first into the floor.

Kwon steadied you as you spin back to him, his arm loosely draped around your waist. His grin was wide and infectious, “ real speed this time?”

He didn’t wait for your answer before he spun you out and back in while you giggled.

#cobra kai #kwon jae sung #kwon jae sung x fem!reader #kwon jae sung x reader

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eclec-tech · 3 months ago

Text

🖤 Shiny spotted at GAR Goth Night! 🖤

Plus, someone seems to have left a rather interesting message in the ALT text for @wings-and-beskargam and @eobe's collaborative art of CT-9075. Interesting...

Want to know how a shiny in white ended up at 79's GAR Goth Night? Read his story below or the entire fic on AO3!

"The Shiny" Part One

Ask any commander about shinies fresh from Kamino, and they’ll all say the same thing: The first thing they do is wear themselves out from excitement.

That was certainly true of the latest batch of newbies who had just landed on Coruscant this evening. Every one of them left Wild Space with enough adrenaline in his veins to power the Venator he arrived on. But traveling from the edge of the galaxy to its center isn’t a short trip. By the time they arrived, the group of newly graduated troopers had gone from wanting to show the galaxy what they were made of to wanting someone to show them where their barracks were.

However, there’s always that one trooper…

That shiny stood with his arms folded as he stared his brothers down. “Seriously? None of you want to come?”

“I’m tired,” one of them said simply, plopping down on his bunk.

“We get our assignments tomorrow,” another reminded him. “No way I’m meeting my new CO with red eyes.”

“But it’s 79’s! Our new commanders might even BE there!” the shiny reasoned excitedly.

“As of tomorrow, we’re Coruscant Guard. Don’t you think we’ll be seeing a lot of 79’s?”

The eager shiny sighed. He wasn’t going to win this one. “Fine. You can all be good little tubies and sleep tonight. I’m going to 79’s to finally see what it’s all about!”

“Have fun,” one waved without looking up. “Don’t do anything to get yourself arrested.”

“Yeah, that’d be awkward,” another added with a laugh.

“But it would be a great way to see the inside of HQ before the rest of us. Maybe that’s his plan.”

“Maybe I’ll be invited there by one of our commanders,” the shiny teased as he slid on his new, gleaming white helmet. “Or maybe I’ll go home with some hot civ.”

“If you get that lucky tonight,” the first trooper said with a smirk, “I’ll polish your helmet with my tongue.”

“Ugh. Good incentive not to then.” The shiny waved over his shoulder as he left the others to their rest. “Sweet dreams, little tube-lings!”

----------

CT-9075 was easily the most energetic of his batch. He was also incredibly observant and made connections others often missed. His near perfect marks in all aptitude tests involving deductive reasoning made him a prime candidate for the Coruscant Guard—not that they ever let him know that. The last thing the trainers on Kamino needed was to stoke the fire of a promising cadet’s ego.

Trooper 9075’s boundless energy wouldn’t let him rest as he should have done. It was his first night ever on another planet, and he wasn’t about to waste it. He had heard stories about 79’s, usually as he was listening in on the conversations of older troopers who didn’t know they were being spied on—stories of drinking, dancing, card games, and beautiful people who weren’t clones. He needed to see this wonder of the universe now.

He could feel his heartbeat quicken as he approached the doors, its tempo almost matching the thrum of the music within. He was glad he had his bucket on to reflect the orange light flooding down from above. He was certain he had a silly, “fresh off the meiloorun truck” grin on his face just from being at the entrance to the bar he had heard so much about, and he was glad he could hide it.

That grin faded to a nervous frown as soon as he walked in.

There had been people blocking part of the entrance, and though he could see the upper corner of a notice on the door, he hadn’t had a clear line of sight to read it. Now that he was inside, he turned around to read it through the other side of the transparisteel. Even backwards through the clear surface, he could make out the words “GAR Goth Night.”

Goth Night? I didn’t know 79’s did themed nights! What even is a goth night?

A quick look around gave him his answer.

Troopers and civilians alike were dressed in a dark and rebellious style. His clone brothers were all out of armor and wearing a mixture of styles and textures he would never have dreamed of putting together until now. Fishnet shirts or no shirt at all, tiny vinyl pants that left nothing to the imagination and full-length leather pants that…well, they didn’t leave much to the imagination either. Leather coats, studded collars, corsets, lace, fur, chains, spikes, piercings...

The civilians in attendance were dressed just as provocatively, though there were considerably more low-cut crop tops and short skirts being worn by that part of the 79’s population. 9075’s shoulders slumped. He had hoped to blend in and be part of the 79’s crowd tonight. Instead, he was literally and figuratively the shiniest thing there.

He couldn’t stay dressed as he was, but as his eyes landed on the bartender, he had a hopeful idea. He pulled off his helmet and secured it beneath his arm.

“Excuse me? Is there somewhere nearby where I can find some different clothes?”

The bartender took one look at the very un-goth armor in front of him and chuckled. “Didn’t get the memo about tonight, did you kid? Well, you’re in luck. There’s a whole storage closet in the back full of things people have left. Look for the door labeled ‘Lost and Found.’ Just don’t forget your armor when you leave. Something tells me you aren’t used to wearing yours yet.”

9075 pursed his lips to the side. He hated how right the older man was.

The lost and found cupboard was a treasure trove…if you were a woman. He wasn’t so desperate for a new look that he considered putting on one of the six black breast binders hanging on the closet’s hooks, but his young and curious gaze lingered on them for longer than he would ever admit. He didn’t fancy wearing a skirt either, though the sheer number of them had him wondering why so many of 79’s female patrons left the bar missing their clothes.

His bin rooting paid off. He was eventually able to find a few camouflaging choices for a man his size and left his armor carefully tucked beneath a pile of coats. He left the tiny room in a black turtleneck tee and pants, a couple of silver neck chains, and long, gray fingerless gloves roomy enough for him to tuck his vambrace into. It was a barely acceptable look, but with so many far more interesting people present, he doubted anyone would notice, and anything was better than his stark-white armor.

He sat at one of the empty seats of an unoccupied table and watched the comings and goings of the people at the bar. The view was intoxicating in its variety—so much so that he decided to put his skills to the test and try to discern what he could about the people he saw. It would be good practice for the detective work he would soon be doing.

Trooper 9075 knew full well why he was being assigned to the Guard. His observational skills were in the top five percent of all clones. It’s how he noticed the passwords of his trainers and knew when and where they would leave their datapads. He didn’t give it a second thought when he had looked up his scores. If they hadn’t wanted him to know, they should have done a better job of keeping the information secure.

His hidden vambrace was the perfect way to record his observations about the scene around him. He watched as nonchalantly as he could, discreetly speaking his findings into his vambrace’s recorder to review later:

CT-9075: 79’s Stealth Report A woman just walked in, a pretty one—brown hair streaked with the same blue as her eyes, nice smile... CT-9075: 79’s Stealth Report Marshal Commander Cody is here! I would know that legendary scar anywhere. He’s keeping his assets tastefully covered tonight... CT-9075: 79’s Stealth Report I heard someone refer to the clone with the full beard as Commander Mayday. He seems to know he looks good in that sleeveless shirt with the mesh sides. It’s too bad THAT ONE wasn’t in the lost and found closet... CT-9075: 79’s Stealth Report The little Mikkian talking to Commander Wolffe must be a Jedi. Three people have addressed her as “commander” in passing... CT-9075: 79’s Stealth Report The men in front of me seem to be setting up a group holopic. Is that...Commander Fox? Then that must be Commander Thorn beside him. Here comes the marshal commander again. Oh, kriff! Here come three more. They're ALL commanders? Whoa! I'm going to be in the background of a commander holo! They all look so cool standing there, and here I am looking no more interesting than the bar stools. I don’t want to ruin the shot. I should do something to fit into it better. Finger blasters maybe…or a victory sign?

This was something his new brothers in the Guard wouldn’t be able to boast about! 9075 knew he would probably be tired in the morning, but it would be worth it. After all, how many shinies could say they were about to be framed on the desks of some of the GAR’s finest commanders?

He was feeling a little less shiny already.

(divider by @sinisterexaggerator)

#gar goth night #79s clone bar #coruscant guard #oc 9075 #clone oc #clone shinies #mysterious holographer #the clone wars #clone wars fanfiction #it was a dark and gothy night #amberowl24

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jeysbvck · 1 year ago

Text

you made a mark on me (a golden tattoo)

welp, here it is! cody has been my favourite wrestler since 2007/2008, and i NEVER thought i'd write a fic about him, but here we are! after mondays segment, i couldn't get this out of my mind and i hope you all enjoy reading it as much as i enjoyed writing it!! please reblog & comment, they are really helpful & motivating to fic writers!

taglist; @nightmare-viper @harmshake @wrestlezaynia @alyyaanna @xtripleiiix @afterdarkprincess @courtninacole @crxssjae @wrestlingprincess80 🫶🏻 (if u wanna be taken off the list or added, lemme know!!)

warnings; teasing in public, f receiving, m receiving, slight praise kink, p in v penetration, slight exhibitionism, jealous!cody (if i've missed anything please let me know!)

word count; 2.7k

summary; once again, teasing Cody works wonders.

Even from the other side of the room, you could feel those blue eyes on you, staring so hard you were sure you'd find a burn mark on your cheek when you looked in a mirror. You leaned your elbow on the bar, twirling a piece of hair around your finger as you half listened to Damian; giggling and playfully slapping his arm or chest at the right times. You could barely pay attention to Damian. All you could think about was Cody and how he was reacting to the very obvious flirting happening. You could picture his face clearly in your mind; the way his usually soft gaze would be hardened watching the scene play out, the way he'd be clenching his jaw or biting the inside of his cheek; waiting for the moment he could drag you away without causing suspicion.

The moment came sooner than anticipated when Dom dragged Damian away to rejoin the rest of The Judgement Day in the booth they'd occupied all night. You looked around the room, searching for Cody, but when you couldn't find him, you opted to join Sami and Jey, who were waving at you wildly. Before you could, someone came up behind you, and their hand gripped your bicep tightly.

"I know what you're doing," Cody said, his voice low in your ear.

You craned your neck so you could smile up at Cody. "What? I was just having a very lovely conversation with Damian." You said innocently.

Cody spun you around and glared down at you, his eyes looking brighter under the dim lights. "It won't work." He told you, and you tilted your head, pouting slightly.

"I don't know what you're talking about." You replied, batting your eyelashes, making Cody roll his neck. "You wanna dance?" You quickly asked before he could say anything else.

He glanced at the mass of people dancing and pulled a face. "We really shouldn't..."

"Come on, I was dancing with Jey earlier. It doesn't -"

"You were dancing with Jey?" He asked, his nostrils flaring as he narrowed his eyes. "Fine, let's dance." He conceded, unable to hide his jealousy as he pulled you to the dancefloor as you giggled.

You took advantage of the number of people on the dancefloor and pressed your body up against Cody while snaking your arms around his neck. His hands rested on your waist, and he raised his eyebrow, to which you shrugged, a smile dancing on your lips. "Sorry." You mouthed, and he shook his head, unable to hide the smile. "You're terrible." He replied, making you grin.

"Oh, you know you love it." You said, massaging the back of his neck with your fingertips, just like you did when you were curled up in bed together. Being this close to him was driving you wild, and if you couldn't touch him the way you truly wanted to, you'd revel in driving him just as wild.

You pushed your pussy into Cody's bulge as you danced, and his grip on your hips tightened. "Don't tease me," He warned, his voice almost a growl. "I'm not sure I'll be able to control myself."

You lifted yourself onto your toes and whispered in Codys' ear, your breasts pushing against his chest. "Who's asking you to control yourself? You could just let go."

Your breath on his neck and your scent in his nostrils was intoxicating. It sent a shiver down his spine, and he closed his eyes as he inhaled through his nose; a futile attempt to control the effect you were having on him. His hands made the journey from your hips to your ass and you glanced around the room, thankful that nobody was paying any attention to the two of you. Considering neither of you was ready for people to know about the two of you, you were playing a very dangerous game. Teasing each other and flirting around other people, stealing kisses and secret moments in crowded rooms, sneaking into each other's hotel rooms or onto Cody's bus; it was all so thrilling, and it was a miracle nobody had caught onto the two of you.

"Baby, you gotta stop." He groaned, squeezing your ass. "You're killing me."

Your eyebrow arched upwards, followed by a smirk. "You want me to stop?" You questioned, slipping your hand in between your bodies, sliding your hand down his shirt until you stopped at his belt buckle. "Just say the word, and I'll do whatever you want."

Cody dropped his head onto your shoulder, a low, almost animalistic sound emitting from his throat. He rutted against you, nipping at your neck as he did, the action making your pussy throb as you caught a moan in your throat. Before you could move your hand lower, Cody promptly grabbed your wrist.

"How about we continue this somewhere more private?" Cody said into your ear. He'd posed it as a question, but it wasn't intended as one— which was apparent when he didn't wait for your answer and practically dragged you out of the main party room and through the hotel lobby.

With his hand on the small of your back, he pushed you through the doors, the cold night air pinching your naked arms. Cody guided you around the corner, and before you knew it, you were up against the wall, his lips attaching to yours, forcing his tongue into your mouth. You reciprocated the kiss, tongues wrapping around each other; both moaning in harmony as he fondled your breasts over your dress. You unbuckled the belt and popped the button open, and when he bit down on your lip, you grinned. You tried to slip your hand into his boxers, ready to feel his cock in your hand, but Cody pulled away, breathless.

"Not here." He said, lacing his fingers around yours. You walked hand in hand across the parking lot, towards where trees lined the edge of the lot. The closer you got, the more you noticed the large outline of Codys' bus, hidden in the shadows of the trees, tucked away from the moonlight.

"You brought your bus here?" You laughed. "You couldn't use the car?"

Cody unlocked the door and ushered you up the steps. "It's a good thing I didn't, isn't it? I knew you'd try something." He teased, slapping your ass lightly. You turned to face him.

"I knew it'd work." You said, reciprocating the soft smile he sent your way as the lock clicked. He took a few steps towards you, his eyes boring into your soul. They were mesmerising, like two oceans you were certain to drown in, and you wouldn't mind a single bit if you did.

"Of course, it worked," Cody said softly. "It'll always work."

You couldn't wait any longer. You pulled Cody towards you by his tie, your lips smashing together forcefully, his fingers tangled in your hair as he tugged slightly, deepening the kiss. He was like a drug you were addicted to, one that you'd never want to give up.

Cody spun you around and slowly unzipped your dress, peppering your naked back with kisses. The black, velvet number fell to the floor, and you turned to face him, standing in just your heels and black panties. He took a step back and carefully studied you like he was looking at his favourite work of art. He grinned and licked his lips as he arched his eyebrow.

"Get on the bed." He ordered. You stepped backwards until your legs hit the edge of the small bed, and you lowered yourself down, the mattress dipping under your weight. Cody pulled at his tie until it loosened and unbuttoned his shirt, smirking at you as he did.

He stood in front of you, his trousers still open from the make-out session outside, and you maintained eye contact as you pushed them and his boxers down his thighs, freeing his cock from its restraints. Cody's tongue poked out of between his teeth as he smirked, his eyes dark as he flicked his thumb across your bottom lip before he lined his cock up against your mouth.

You stuck your tongue out just enough for it to brush the tip, the simple action making Cody buck his hips. You opened your mouth wider, taking as much of Cody's cock as you could. His hand bundled your hair into a ponytail and as you closed your mouth around him, a groan left his lips as he pulled on your hair, throwing his head back. You dragged your tongue up the underside of his cock, the sensation making it twitch in your mouth. You flicked the tip before curling your tongue around it,and you grasped the base of him, taking a moment to look up at him while you pleasured him.

Cody's eyes were glazed over, profanities spilling from him while he guided your head and fucked your mouth. You loved the noises he made, loved the look on his face whenever you were together. He was usually so calm and collected, so to be the one who made him lose control, to fall apart because of you, it made you feel incredibly powerful and confident; something you didn't have much experience with until you met Cody.

He found himself in a rhythm— one that you wanted to disrupt and so you rolled his balls in your hands, massaging them gently as you took the rest of his cock, choking slightly as the tip hit the back of your throat. The noise Cody made was sinful, and you weren't sure you could be any more turned on until you looked up at him through teary eyes. The sweat was beading around his hairline, his teeth almost biting through his lip as he grunted and thrust into your face.

You wrapped your tongue around his cock and he forcefully pushed your head into him before he couldn't take anymore. He tugged you off by your hair, a Pop! echoing out around the bus. You watched him lean towards you and you crawled up the bed slightly, until Cody was leering over you, his eyes full of lust. He wiped your wet cheeks with his thumbs and kissed you; so much passion in the soft and tender embrace. The longer the kiss went on, the more fierce it became, and your back hit the soft sheets, bringing Cody down with you. His mouth followed a path, planting little butterfly kisses down your jawline, your neck, down to your cleavage — where he latched onto your breast, sucking and biting as your hands ran down his shoulders, fingertips scratching his back. His mouth then continued its journey down your sternum to your stomach while his hand caressed your breast and rolled your nipple with his fingers.

Cody hooked his thumbs under your underwear line and ripped them clean from your body. He threw them over his shoulder and held your hips down with one arm, his other hand snaking back up to your throat. He flattened his tongue against your slit and slowly dragged it up your cunt, beginning his feast.

Your hands grabbed the back of his head, and you attempted to buck your hips, but his arm wouldn't let you. "Ohhhh, Cody," you whimpered through little gasps, "feels so fucking good!"

You felt him smile against your thigh as he kissed along the insides before burying his face back into you. "You're such a good girl." He said. "You're my good girl." He said, before flicking your clit with the tip of his tongue. Your hips bucked again, and his grip on your throat tightened as did the grip on your hips. Cody was great at everything he did, he had that Midas touch, but he was incredible at making you feel amazing.

You squeaked as he pushed his tongue into your entrance, releasing your throat so he could caress your clit with his thumb as he fucked you with his tongue. You writhed underneath him as much as he'd allow, pushing his head deeper into your cunt, gripping your thighs against his head, unintelligible sounds leaving your throat as your toes curled.

"Co-Cody, please! I'm gonna cum!" You gasped. He chuckled, picking up the pace and your moans got louder. You were certain that everyone in the hotel would be able to hear you, and that the bus would no longer be hidden from everyone— but you didn't care one bit.

You came undone in seconds, and Cody released your hips from his grasp so you could ride his face, his name spilling out of your mouth. His kept working as you rode the wave of your orgasm and when he came up for air, you giggled breathlessly.

Cody climbed up your body like a lion hunting its prey. He needed to be inside you, to feel your walls clench tight around him as he fucked you hard. He rubbed his cock against your slit, sliding it between your lips, without penetrating. You wrapped your legs around him, attempting to pull him closer to you, trying to force him to give you what you craved. He laughed, his tongue poking out the corner of his mouth and rubbed your entrance with the tip of his cock.

"Cody, please -" You whined, your heels digging into his ass cheeks.

"Use your words, baby."

"Cody- I want your-" His tip teased your cunt again and you groaned, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. "Cody, please fu-fuck m- ohhh ffuck!"

He slammed into you, guttural groans passing through his lips at the euphoric sensation. He would never tire of any of this— of being inside you, making you scream his name and lose control at the slightest touch. He loved feeling your body underneath him or on top of him. Even the smallest of gestures; the slightest touch of your pinky fingers secretly interlocking around people and his favourite— when you placed your palm on his cheek before a match, a little good luck ritual you'd implemented long ago. He would never get enough of the sparks that coursed through his veins when you touched.

His pace quickened when your walls clenched around him. Your moans echoed around the room, in harmony once again, and as another orgasm reached its peak, your arms reached around Cody's neck and pulled toward you, pressing your lips together. The kiss was messy and toothy, and he interlaced your fingers together, sending his free hand between your bodies, his finger circling your clit. You quickly became unglued and your head thrashed against the bed, screaming Cody's name, just the way he liked; as Cody reached his own orgasm, his mouth found your neck, biting down hard before he lapped at the skin with his tongue.

He dropped his body onto you, and you wrapped your arms around his back, enjoying the weight of him on top of you. He nuzzled his head into your neck, pulling the sheets over the both of you, and you closed your eyes, feeling content. With his chest on yours, your heartbeats combined, like your two hearts were one. There were so many reasons for you to go public with your relationship, to let people in on your secret. You wanted to scream from the rooftops about how lucky you were to be the one Cody Rhodes wanted to be with. But you also wanted to stay in your bubble, in your own world where it was just the two of you, nobody else mattered, or even existed.

Cody lifted his head off your chest and leaned onto his elbow, tilting his head as he grinned at you. "You okay?" He asked and you turned to face him, reaching your hand up and placing your palm on his cheek, smiling at the beautiful man with the hearts in his eyes that were for you, and only you.

"I'm starving." You whispered, grinning at him. He rolled onto his back, reaching for a phone that was on the bedside cabinet. He settled back onto the bed, and you found your usual space on his chest. "What do you fancy?"

"Apart from you?" You asked, tracing circles around his chest. Cody laughed loudly, and you grinned wider. "Chinese."

"Whatever you want, you shall receive." Cody replied, making you blush. "Yeah?" You asked, and he nodded, planting his lips on your forehead softly.

"Of course. Always."

#cody rhodes #cody rhodes fic #cody rhodes fanfiction #wwe fanfiction #wwe #wwe fanfic #cody rhodes x reader #cody rhodes x you #cody rhodes smut #my writing*

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theshiniestgemstone · 12 days ago

Text

after midnight

okay so, this might be my favorite jesse and his soft spot for reader fic i've written to date. it is also very much self service

College is hard, but the distance is harder.

Gideon tried to make it out to campus as often as he could. He flew out during long weekends and on short breaks, always looking for a pocket of time to spend with you. Sometimes, he'd land on a Friday, and the two of you would drive out to a nearby town for the weekend full of cheap motels, greasy diners, and hours of uninterrupted company. Once, during finals week, he surprised you. You’d gently asked him not to do that again. His well-meaning presence only added pressure to a week already stretched tight with anxiety and caffeine. He didn’t take it personally. “I just like being with you,” he said simply, pressing a soft kiss to your hair. Still, he promised not to come unannounced again.

Every afternoon, when your last class let out, he called. Sometimes you’d walk across campus with your phone pressed to your ear, smiling like an idiot. Other times, you’d sit in the grass outside your dorm, letting the late sun warm your knees while you listened to his stories from back home. He always asked about your day, and somehow remembered even the smallest thing you’d mentioned in passing.

You’d once sent him your color-coded schedule mid-rant, mostly to complain about the absurd gaps and the 8 a.m. classes, and without saying anything, he’d printed it out and pinned it to his bulletin board. The first time you saw it during a FaceTime call, your heart did a little flip. You never brought it up, but it never stopped making you smile.

You were in between classes now, hustling from one building to another with a granola bar clutched in one hand and a notebook in the other when your phone buzzed in your backpack pocket. A quick glance at your email revealed that your next class was canceled, leaving you suddenly free for the next few hours.

You slowed to a stop near the edge of the quad, blinking up at the clear sky. A nap sounded tempting. But so did catching up on your to-do list. The park would be busy in this kind of weather with people sprawled out on blankets, intramural games in full swing. The library, in contrast, would be quiet and cool, bathed in that stillness you always loved. You adjusted your bag and turned in that direction, steps leisurely now. You thought about grabbing a coffee from the student union on the way.

Just as you were picturing what kind of treat you’d splurge on, maybe a lavender latte, or something with whipped cream, your phone started buzzing again, this time with a call. You reached for it, not recognizing the number immediately until the name lit up: Jesse Gemstone.

Your brows lifted. You slid your finger across the screen.

“Hello?” you answered, eyebrows knit in confusion. Jesse never called.

“Y/N!” Jesse’s voice boomed, sunny and unbothered. “My future daughter-in-law, how’s it hangin’?”

You nearly tripped over a sidewalk crack. “It’s… going fine. Is everything okay?”

“What? I can’t call my favorite person?” he asked, mock-offended. You could practically hear the grin in his voice.

You sidestepped a speeding cyclist, pulling your backpack higher on your shoulder. “What are you up to today?”

“Well, I’m lost right now,” he said, like it was the most normal thing in the world. “Where is the Harry B. Rawl Arena?”

Your eyes flicked around as if expecting him to materialize from behind a tree. “Are you on campus?”

“Trying to be,” he chuckled. “Daddy’s got me goin’ to this seminar. Didn’t even ask me to speak at it, just attend. Like I’m a college student or somethin’.”

You laughed, beginning to retrace your steps toward the main road. “I’m on 19th, near the statue of the president. You’ll see me.”

You waited patiently at the corner, the sun warm on your face as you sipped from a water bottle and watched cars inch by. Jesse’s rental SUV stood out immediately; it was sleek but too shiny, as if it had been detailed just this morning. You caught sight of him behind the wheel, sunglasses on, head tilted slightly like he was trying to read street signs that were too small to matter.

When he spotted you, he gave a lazy wave, the kind that looked more like he was swatting a fly than greeting someone. The car behind him honked impatiently, but Jesse didn’t flinch. He reached over, unlocked the passenger door, and pointed dramatically toward the seat.

You climbed in, the scent of leather and cologne filling your nose as you settled in with your backpack on your lap.

“Go straight and take a right at Miami Ave,” you instructed, buckling your seatbelt. “Then the fourth parking lot is your best bet. They don’t usually check permits in the afternoon.”

Jesse made a thoughtful noise and merged back into traffic without signaling. “See, this is why I needed you. Gideon said you’re like, crazy organized or whatever. You should be on staff.”

You laughed, glancing at him. “Pretty sure they’d frown on nepotism.”

“Pssh, it’s only nepotism if you’re not qualified,” he said, tapping the steering wheel as he drove. “Anyway, how’re classes? Gid said you’re takin’ some sciencey stuff I wouldn’t understand. Physics or potions or somethin’?”

“Psychology,” you corrected, smiling. “But I do have a chemistry elective this semester. Close enough to potions.”

“See?” he said, slapping the wheel like you’d proven his point. “That’s exactly what I said! You’re out here studying brains and chemicals and God knows what else, and I’m just tryna find this dang arena without gettin’ towed.”

You turned onto Miami with him, pointing ahead at the brick building in the distance. “That’s it there. But don’t turn in yet. Go past the crosswalk. There’s a little gravel lot no one uses.”

He followed your directions easily, pulling in with a grunt of relief. “You’re a lifesaver. I mean it. If it were up to me, I’d be parked halfway across campus in a loading zone or somethin’.”

You shrugged modestly. “I’ve had to learn the hard way. One too many parking tickets.”

Jesse threw the car in park, then turned fully toward you, pulling his sunglasses up onto his forehead. “Hey, I’m glad I ran into you. Been meanin’ to talk.”

Your brows knit slightly. “Everything okay?”

He smiled, genuine this time. “Course. Just… you make him real happy, y’know?” His voice had softened, like the weight of the words caught him off guard. “Boy’s got a lot of loud people in his life. It’s nice knowin’ someone quiet’s lookin’ out for him too.”

The words caught you square in the chest. You weren’t sure what to say.

So instead, you nodded. “He makes me happy too.”

Jesse gave a small nod back. “Good.” Then he reached for the door handle.

With a free afternoon and nowhere to be, you found yourself trailing behind Jesse through the conference like a slightly underdressed shadow. He’d flown in that morning, full of bluster and energy, completely forgetting, by his own admission, that this was your campus.

“Didn’t even click until I saw the bookstore,” he said with a laugh as he handed you a lanyard and slapped a name tag onto your chest like he worked there. It read: Y/N Gemstone – Guest. You blinked at it, wondering if he knew what he’d just started by printing that name. You couldn't help but smile, giggling silently at how good it looked, as if you hadn't doodled it in your journals before.

The conference wasn’t your scene, not by a long shot. Most of the crowd consisted of well-groomed men and women in pastel button-downs and dress shoes polished to a mirror shine. They shook hands with the practiced ease of political candidates and laughed a little too loudly at each other’s jokes.

You, in denim shorts and a loose tank, looked like you’d wandered in off the quad. A few people smiled politely when Jesse introduced you, but their eyes flicked down to your clothes, then quickly back up again. You couldn’t bring yourself to care.

While Jesse networked and waxed poetic about sermon streaming stats and spiritual branding, you meandered over to the refreshments table. It was more of a catered bar setup, nestled into the corner of the conference room beneath a linen-draped table. Small plates of prosciutto and fancy cheeses sat beside baskets of croissants and sliced fruit you were almost sure weren’t from the dining hall.

But what really caught your eye were the wine bottles that lined up like tiny trophies in a row, labels elegant and foreign. A quick search on your phone had your jaw dropping.

“$160?” you whispered to yourself, squinting at one. “That’s… four weeks of groceries.”

The wine you were used to came in screw-top bottles with names like Sunset Blush and Barefoot. These were a different universe entirely, French, crisp, and poured generously by a waiter in a bowtie who clearly didn’t mind that you weren’t old enough to be a donor or a board member.

You hovered there, sipping water from a champagne flute to feel fancy, until Jesse reappeared at your side with a plate in each hand.

“Got you a little somethin’,” he said, handing over a plate with a single mini quiche and two strawberries. “Can’t have you wiltin’ from hunger while I charm the Baptists.”

You smiled, taking it gratefully. “How do you know all these people?”

“Conferences,” he said casually. "Don't ask me a single name."

You snorted into your cup. Jesse gave you a wink and glanced down at your name tag. “People keep askin’ if you’re my assistant. One guy thought you were a local reporter.”

You raised a brow. “What did you tell them?”

“Told ’em the truth,” he said with a shrug. “That you’re smarter than me and probably takin’ over the world while I’m just tryin’ to figure out if I’ve already eaten this cheese cube or not.”

You rolled your eyes, but your cheeks warmed a little.

The truth was, even though you stuck out, even though you had no clue what half the theological jargon flying around meant, it was strangely fun. It was nice to be out, unplanned and unscheduled, tagging along with Jesse as he played the charming southern pastor in a room full of them. And it was even nicer to get a taste of the world Gideon came from, and realize you could hold your own in it.

You weren’t sure how it happened.

One minute, you were unlocking your apartment door in the graduate village complex, giving Jesse a quick tour so he could “report back to the family” about how well you were living. You pointed out the thrifted bookshelf you built yourself, the fridge cluttered with color-coded sticky notes and leftover takeout containers, the string lights you never bothered taking down after move-in. He was genuinely impressed by how cozy the place was, though he did take a long look at the pile of Gideon's clothes folded in a stack under your desk.

And the next thing you knew, you were two tequila shots deep, swaying slightly as you lined up a dart with the focus of a professional marksman and the coordination of a baby deer.

Jesse stood behind you, bright red in the cheeks from laughing and drinking, his button-up rolled to the elbows and wrinkled from the heat. He was definitely not dressed for the bar you ended up in, a low-ceilinged dive called The Wreck with sticky floors, jukeboxes that only played mid-2000s alt-rock, and walls covered in Sharpie graffiti.

“This is a student bar?” Jesse yelled over the noise as he missed the dartboard entirely, his dart thunking into the wood paneling.

“This is the student bar,” you corrected, giggling as you swayed to the side. “Every couple has either met here, broken up here, or thrown up here.” You placed a hand on his shoulder. "Gideon and I have done that last one at least three times."

He howled with laughter at that, doubling over slightly and pointing a finger at you. “You’re evil. I like you.”

You grinned and wobbled toward the chalkboard to mark your points, none of which were correct.

Somehow, a margarita had shown up in front of you. You couldn’t remember ordering it, but Jesse claimed it was a gift from the bartender, who apparently recognized you from karaoke night a month ago. He asked if you were going to sing again tonight. You declined with a very serious shake of your head.

You leaned your weight on the table while Jesse told some story about an old youth retreat where he caught Gideon trying to sneak off with two girls from the snack bar. You laughed so hard your face hurt, and when you turned to grab your drink, your elbow nearly knocked the darts off the ledge.

“I am way too drunk to be holding weapons,” you mumbled.

Jesse nodded solemnly, then reached into the plastic cup on the bar to retrieve another dart. “Exactly why we have to keep playing. For the thrill of danger.”

You stared at him. “You are a pastor.”

He held the dart like a knife. “I am a man first.”

You nearly fell off your stool from laughing.

And it hit you then, somewhere between the third drink and the eighth miss at the board, that you were having a genuinely good time. Not in a polite, guest-of-the-family way, but in the way you did with your own friends. Jesse wasn’t just tolerable, he was kind of great.

You shot Gideon a text with a blurry photo of him sticking his tongue out mid-throw, captioned:

your dad is drunk and dangerous. i like him

Almost instantly, your phone buzzed back.

Gideon:

why is my dad there?

is this why you didn't answer me earlier?

You stared down at the screen, lips parted in a soft little “oops” as the blurry letters blurred even further while your brain caught up to your fingers.

You:

srry baby, i was kickon hid asd in darts

A moment later:

Gideon:

he sucks at it anyway. you could do that sober.

You giggled into your palm, even as you squinted at your typo-riddled text. Jesse noticed, tossing a pretzel into his mouth and leaning closer. You sent him a selfie. Your eyes were half closed, a lazy grin on your face while the lights reflected off of the light sheen of sweat on your cheeks.

“Is that my boy?” he asked, voice a little too loud over the hum of Mr. Brightside blaring from the jukebox.

You nodded, holding your phone out. “He said you suck at darts.”

Jesse scoffed, puffing up dramatically. “Well tell him I beat the pants off the Dean of Texas Bible College once in a tournament. And I was drunk then too!”

You tapped out a reply slowly, making sure to get each letter right.

You:

he says he beat some dean one time. drunk. claims victory is in his blood. our babies better be winners then. skips a generation ig

Gideon responded almost immediately.

that explains why he's always losing arguments with my mom.

they'd already be winners with you as their mom

You snorted, this time not even trying to hide it, and handed Jesse your phone. “He’s roasting you.”

Jesse squinted at the screen, grinned, and took the phone like it was his own. “Gid. Son. Let me tell you somethin’. Your girl is over here throwin’ darts like she’s possessed by the Holy Ghost, I’m 3 tequilas deep, and if you were here you’d be crying because she’s better at everything.”

He handed the phone back. “Make sure you tell him I said that. But like… respectfully.”

You tried to steady your thumbs enough to text it back, but autocorrect was not your friend anymore. You gave up halfway through and just sent:

he’s scarred. ur girl is a Wepin™

Gideon:

a weapon?

You:

yes. love you

Gideon:

i miss you

you look cute in that pic, even if you are probably a mess rn

You smiled down at the message, then tucked your phone away against your chest for a moment, warmth rising all the way to your ears.

“I miss him,” you murmured without meaning to.

Jesse heard you anyway. He was sipping something neon off the bar and watching you over the rim.

“I know,” he said, quietly. “He misses you too.”

You didn’t say anything right away. The noise of the bar faded just a little as the thought settled in your chest. The distance had been wearing on both of you, but hearing it out loud made something ache.

Then Jesse tapped your elbow. “Wepin.”

You blinked.

He grinned. “That’s your new nickname. Weapon."

You groaned, laughing again, letting the ache roll back into laughter and warmth and ridiculous company.

Somewhere, at some point, the night would have to end. But for now, you were just a weapon at a bar with your most likely-future father-in-law, feeling a little drunk and a little lucky.

#gideon gemstone #the righteous gemstone #gideon gemstone x you #the righteous gemstones #gideon gemstone x reader #gideon gemstone fanfic #gideon gemstone x fem reader #fanfic

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reds-writings · 1 year ago

Text

rust cohle headcanons

(pairing: rust cohle x fem!reader)

a/n: here's some more rust brain rot on my behalf <3 feedback is always appreciated!

warnings: implications of sex, light cursing, etc. let me know if i missed anything! (minors shoo!)

word count: roughly 1k

-----

adding to the headcanon floating around of him being an acts of service type man through and through. yes, he can go on neverending tangents but sometimes words about his more sentimental/mushy feelings are better demonstrated by him being at your near beck and call whenever you’re in need

you don’t even have to directly ask him to do anything. it’s more like if you were to mention offhand that something in your car didn’t sound right or your fence needed some redoing they’d find themselves fixed within the coming days without so much as another word

that man is crafty and i cannot be convinced otherwise! the little beer can people he made are just a small example of what he can do with his hands. one day in town you saw a beautiful chestnut dining table but it was just a tad out of your price range so you figured you’d save up a little more for it and get it the next time you stopped by

rust had some downtime (more like made downtime during his bouts of extreme insomnia) and got to building. it was a while after and by that time you had long forgotten about the table you saw until one day you got home from work only to find an ornately designed table in your dining room. it was a bit different than the one you’d spotted at the shop but no less beautiful. in fact it was even more gorgeous with its polished shine and intricate details

you had searched for a note or maybe even a sign left anywhere of the maker that it came from to then spot a neatly carved ‘RC’ underneath one of the tabletop’s lefthand corners

your fingers grazed over the simple set of initials as your brain damn near short-circuited at the fact that this man built you a damn table. with his bare hands. rust cohle saw that you liked a table and decided to just make it himself

you’d made your way to the receiver on your wall after snapping out of your disbelief and rang him up

“You built me a table.” You said it more as a statement than a question instead of a normal greeting.

“I did.” His tone held no sense of pride or smugness at your shock. As if this were no big deal at all.

“You built me a table. When did you have time to build me a whole table? In fact, when’d you start bein’ able make tables in the first place-”

“D’ya like it?” He interjected in that lackadaisical way of his and you paused.

“...I love it.”

“Good.”

“Well, I guess then it’d only be fair for me to invite you over for dinner so that we may put this lovely new table to good use. As thanks of course.”

You heard him huff in fond amusement on the other line, “Yes, ma’am.”

y’all put that table to good use alright

he’s more of a grappler than a cuddler when it comes to sharing a bed

he holds you as if in need of tethering himself. it was as if he were to let go somehow this wouldn’t be real and your presence would flit away should he loosen his grip at any given moment

if you get too hot in the night any point of minimal contact was still initiated like tangling your foot with his or linking pinkies just so he knew you were nearby (this happens longer down the line in your relationship when he feels a bit more comfortable having someone in his space a bit more constantly)

quality time together isn’t necessarily always spent doing something totally stimulating or exciting

it could be as simple as cooking dinner together or curling up on your sofa while he reads and you watch something soapy on television

he’s a very private man so going out to do something super couple-y isn’t really up his alley. he won’t really ever deny you if you wanted to really switch it up and go to places like bars, the movies, fancy restaurants, etc. he’d just find himself more reserved in more public spaces but no less completely and utterly focused on you

he’s not much of a dancer but don’t get it twisted. his ass can dance. the man is from Texas so you best believe he has more than a few line-dancing routines ingrained in the depths of his mind

on the very few occasions you’ve gotten him to agree to dance with you when you’re out you nearly laugh every time with how seriously he takes it

you find yourself cooking food for him often. not that he ever expects it of you but living off of cigarettes and beer can only do so much for a guy. he genuinely forgets that his body needs a meal when he gets all caught up in his work (you don’t bother nagging at him much because he’s grown and more stubborn than anything at times)

if you aren’t available to check in on him you’re not above making Marty grab something for him when they’re stuck at work

any kiss he gives you is not one made in passing. anything rust does has some level of deep intent behind it but he never kisses you or says ‘i love you’ out of routine or empty habit

he’s a deeply feeling guy and a lot more handsier the longer you’re together (usually still only in the privacy of your own home). it goes back to just having to feel tethered or connected to you! it comforts the more broken/scared bits of him knowing that you’re just there and present and real

his synesthesia can make things overwhelmingly intense so sometimes when you’re out or after certain activities he finds himself in need of longer moments to himself (which you never take personally)

in less serious moments you find yourself asking him the dumbest questions you can about smelling colors or tasting places

“So does that mean Marty’s got a taste to him? You've tasted your coworker?” You snickered as you lay beneath the weeping willow in your front yard with him.

“It don’t work like that.” He said around the unlit cigarette in this mouth, tone sounding as if he were entertaining a silly child.

“Nuh-uh! You said somethin’ awhile back about my presence tastin’ like jasmine and clementines or somethin’-”

“Drop it.”

You poked your tongue in your cheek trying not to giggle.

“I bet you Marty tastes like stale coffee and I dunno…regret-” You snapped out a surprised laugh as you felt a quick pinch on your side.

#rust cohle x reader #rust cohle imagine #true detective season 1 #matthew mcconaughey #true detective imagine #rust cohle headcanons #rust cohle #reds-writings

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nephilimeq · 5 months ago

Text

Stuck in the Middle With You

Prompt: Clingy Boyfriend

@bucktommyfluffebruary

A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/62721625/chapters/160733068

Buck was annoyed.

No, scratch that—he was pissed.

It had been over seventy-two hours—and he still hadn’t seen his boyfriend. Hell, he had been forced to go back to his apartment because there was no point in going over to Tommy’s house because he wouldn't even be there for another forty-eight hours. Somehow—he had no idea how—the end of Bucks forty-eight had overlapped with the beginning of Tommy’s seventy-two, and the only thing he wanted to do was pull his hair out by the roots and scream into the void.

…But he couldn’t, so instead he was doing the next best thing: drinking with Eddie and complaining about his life.

“Dude, you’ll be fine,” his friend reassured him as he sat next to him at the bar at a quarter past eight. “it’s not like you guys haven’t gone five days without seeing each other since you two started dating…”

Buck didn’t look up at him, casting his eyes down towards his glass.

“Seriously?!”

He let out a whine as he stretched out almost flat against the bar and reluctantly admitted, “Yeah, we’ve kinda been attached at the hip—”

“Or other body parts,” Eddie muttered before taking a swig of his beer and Buck glared at him and said, “Hey! No interrupting!” and threw a rogue peanut shell at him, and then added, “I mean, we still text, call, and video chat, but…god, it’s just not the same, you know?” and then took a long drag of his own beer, thinking about the fact that Tommy would reprimand him for choosing such a generic brand instead of going for one of the nicer craft beers with a better flavor.

But he didn’t want a better flavor, he wanted to drown his sorrows and didn’t need something like flavor getting in the way of that. Besides, he wouldn’t have appreciated the taste anyway, far too focused on trying to numb the longing feeling in his chest that felt as though it was turning into a cavernous hole.

Eddie gave him a look and said, “Look, if you miss him so much, then why don’t you swing by the 217?” and Buck shot him a look.

“Because, they’re on standby for the fires and their schedule is all over the place! And-and I don’t wanna just, you know, show up like the clingiest boyfriend in the world! I’m not some, some…tween girl who’s obsessed, you know?”

“You’re not? Coulda fooled me,” his friend drawled as he turned and leaned with his back to the bar and Buck found himself glaring at him all over again, getting slightly annoyed at his friend’s attitude, and threw another peanut at him, thrilled when it hit his chin and then fell into the front pocket of his flannel, and he muttered into the crook of his folded arm, “Ha, three points,” knowing that if Tommy had been there he would have appreciated him making the basketball joke.

Eddie merely shot him an arched eyebrow.

“You’re acting like Christopher, right now, you do know that, right?” he said as he fished out the peanut and popped it into his mouth.

Buck scoffed and slowly sat up, saying, “If you’re telling me that I have the emotional maturity of a fourteen-year-old, you are way off on that mark. According to Dr. Jensen, I have the emotional maturity of a twenty-five year old.”

“Buck, you’re thirty-four.”

“Yeah, I’m still catching up. So?”

Eddie merely shook his head and took another sip from his beer while Buck cast a glance around the bar, noting that it was still a light crowd. Of course, it was the middle of the week, and eight o’clock on a Wednesday evening wasn’t exactly the hip time for people to be out drinking. God, he was pathetic.

“Oh, god, just call him!” Sal said, sounding thoroughly annoyed—but Tommy shook his head and said, “I can’t! He’s out with Eddie and I don’t want to bother him while he’s having a good time off shift, you know?”

“If he’s anything like you, he doesn’t know how to have a good time,” muttered Lucy from behind her cards on the other side of the table, her feet propped up on the edge. “I take that bet and raise you two skittles,” she then said, arching an eyebrow at him, and Tommy knew immediately that she was bluffing and said, “I call.”

She smirked.

“Read ‘em and weep, Kinard.”

She laid down her cards with all the confidence of someone twenty years her senior—and Tommy nodded and said, “Nice hand, Donato. Full house…which would be great if I didn’t have a straight flush,” and he laid down his hand with a smirk, and she let out a huff and dropped her legs and said, “God, I hate your poker face. You’re inscrutable.”

“It’s a gift,” he said, pulling the pile of candy towards him, popping a lemon skittle into his mouth…and found his eyes drifting towards his phone, where he had left it on the table, wondering if he should give Evan a call. He hadn’t been able to spend any time with him for two days already, and now he was stuck with another three days without him. God, he had never gone more than three days without him, and now he was going to be away from him for a total of five fucking days.

His hand twitched—and then Sal said, “For fuck’s sake, just call him!”

“Language Deluca!” shouted their captain, but he simply rolled his eyes and moved over to him, shoving his shoulder up against his.

“Look, have the two of you been apart for very long before? Anything longer than two or three days?” he asked…and Tommy reluctantly admitted, “Uh…no. We’ve never spent more than three days apart since we got back together,” and his friend let out a long sigh that lasted so long it almost seemed as though he was deflating.

He then said, “Mierda…you two are grade-a clingers, aren’t you?”

…and Tommy snorted and started to laugh and through his laughter he managed to say, “Okay, yeah, I guess we are. When we’re at home we do almost everything together,” he admitted, giving Sal a sideways glance. “I think we’re both kinda touch starved and we both need a lot of reassurance after what happened to us all those months ago. I think we’re also both a little bit afraid on some sort of subconscious level that the other person is gonna just up and leave …”

His friend turned so they were both facing the same way and said, “You two are good together. So, why don’t you text him?”

“…Because if I text him, then he’ll know that I can’t go more than a couple days at a time without him!” Buck explained as he stood on the other side of the pool table, moving the stick between his hands in an agitated manner. “I don’t want him to think that I’m desperate! Don’t you get that?”

Eddie glanced up at him as he lined up his shot and muttered under his breath, “I get that you’re both grade-a clingers…”

Buck shot him a look.

“You don’t get it,” he said, shaking his head and walking over to where Eddie was lining up his shot. “If I reach out first then that means I’m the clingier one! And I am not the clingier one! You’ve never seen how Tommy follows me around the apartment when he comes over…or how-how whenever I go to his place, he is constantly calling out to check in on where I am just in case so he can find me if he wants to share something with me because he thinks texting across the house is-is too…impersonal!”

At that, Eddie took his shot, missing it, and then straightened and said, “Je-sus, Buck. I’m thinking you two might be a little codependent,” and at that Buck arched an eyebrow at him as he bent over to line up his own shot and said, “Oh, big word for you. Therapy working?”

His friend shrugged.

“Eh, yeah. I guess. Still feels too much like confession to me,” he said with a pointed look, “But I think it’s working. Still—you and Tommy have a weird relationship.”

“No, we don’t,” Buck stressed, taking his own shot and sinking it without even glancing back down at the table. “We have a healthy relationship. I think the two of us are just trying to make up for lost time, you know? Those few months without him were hell for me, and for him, and now we just…I think maybe we’re just scared that one of us might come up with another reason to walk away from it and so we don’t like being away from each other for too long…”

Letting out a sigh, he went to line up his next shot…and then Eddie said, “So you’re not texting him because…?”

“Because if I text him, then he’ll know that I can’t go more than a few days without him,” Tommy said to Sal as they got the injured hiker into the medevac chopper. “And if he knows that, then he’ll know that I’m the clingier one, and I’m not! Do you know that Evan tries to text me across the house? I’ve told him to just let me know where he is and I can come to him, but no. He insists on being allowed to text me across the house, which is just…weird.”

From below them, the woman on the gurney lifted up a feeble hand and said, “You know, you and your husband should just sit down and talk about how to communicate when you’re feeling insecure, because that’s what I’m picking up on here,” and he quickly corrected her.

“He’s my boyfriend, not my husband.”

Sal then interjected, “But you want him to be your husband, don’t you?” and Tommy ducked his eyes and moved back to the pilot’s seat, pulling on his headset.

“I’m not talking about this with you, Sal.”

His friend shot him a look and said, “Uh, you kinda are. So just text him, already! You miss him because you love him, that’s not a bad thing,” he said as Tommy lifted the chopper into the air, heading for the hospital. “Love can make you do stupid things—like break up with someone when they ask you to move in with them,” he jabbed at him, and the airman groaned and repeated, “I am not talking with you about this! Evan and I…we can figure it out. We got back together, didn’t we?”

At that, his friend chuckled and said, “Yeah, sure, like you were the one who figured it out. Isn’t the only reason why you two got back together because Howie pulled some underhanded shit with his wife and kid in order to get you and your boy into the same room again?”

Tommy sighed.

Okay, so yeah, it had been because of Howie and Maddie that he and Evan had gotten back together…but it was because of them talking things out that they had finally decided that it was worth it.

Still, as he angled the chopper towards the direction of the hospital he thought about what Sal had been trying to say to him the entire shift—and he hated to admit it, but the man was right. He missed Evan because he was in love with him, and that wasn’t a bad thing. Hell, it was practically expected at this point in their relationship.

Tommy continued to think on it as they dropped off the injured hiker…

…and then as they landed back at the 217, he reluctantly said to Sal over the headset, “Okay, maybe you’re right.”

His friend shot him a far too smug look, and the airman was already regretting his words, especially when the other man said as they sauntered back to the main hangar, “Oh, I want that put onto a t-shirt! ‘Tommy Kinard says that Sal Deluca was right!’ This is a pretty damn good feeling! So…you’re gonna text him, right?” he prodded, and Tommy nodded and reached for his phone, feeling a small sense of relief as he saw the picture of his boyfriend smiling on his lock screen.

He smiled down at it and then swiped his phone open…where Evan was the background, and he continued to smile.

Sal playfully shoved at his shoulder with his own, saying, “Someone’s in lo-ove,” and Tommy shoved him right back, pleased when the other man stumbled.

Hesitantly, he brought up their texts and then stared at them for a moment or two, trying to get up the courage to message him first, noting that their last conversation had been about the shopping list for the cookies that Tommy had baked for the 118.

He stop midstride and stared at it…and then began to type…

“He’s bubbling me!” Buck said, staring at his phone in shock. He had finally caved and reached for his phone to text his boyfriend, only to see those little bubbles telling him that Tommy was texting him first.

“Yipee,” Eddie said dryly from the corner of the pool table, looking at it with a curious expression, as if expecting it to rearrange the balls for him so that he would have a better shot.

Buck ignored him and continued to stare at his screen, waiting for the message to show up—and then grinned when the words that popped up said, Hey, thinking about you. Sorry we have to spend so many days apart, babe, and he couldn’t help but feel lucky to have someone in his life who understood just how hard it was for him to be apart from the people he loved for long amounts of time, and he immediately texted back, Thinking about you, too. Miss you, along with a kissy face emoji.

Feeling reassured, he slid his phone back into his pocket and turned his attention back to the game and teased, “You gonna take your shot or what, Diaz?” and Eddie gave him a bitch-face and leaned against his pool stick and said, “Gimme a minute! Your last shot fucked me up…”

Buck rolled his eyes.

“Oh my god, you’re so dramatic! Just take the shot!”

“Well, looks like someone’s in a better mood,” his friend muttered as he bent over and took the shot, letting out another curse when the ball bounced off a bumper and went wide, setting it up perfectly for Buck’s next shot, and he grinned and set it…and in three moves he had finished the game.

Eddie pretended to be annoyed with him, but he was smiling as he said, “So, think you can manage a few more days without him?” and Buck shrugged and said, “I guess so, yeah. I just…I sleep better with him next to me, you know?” and his friend tilted his head and remarked, “Yeah, I guess I can understand that. I remember it was hard for a while after I was deployed to sleep without Shannon next to me, so I get it,” and patted his shoulder.

Buck nodded and turned back to the pool table.

“Wanna go again?”

Eddie smirked.

“Bring it on, lover boy.”

Buck scoffed and said, “Oh, c’mon, I’m not that whipped, am I?” and Eddie lifted an eyebrow and said, “Yeah, you kinda are, but that’s okay. By the way,” he said as he moved around to the other side of the table, “Are you even living at your apartment anymore? Why don’t you just move into his place?” and his heart skipped a beat.

Yeah, okay, he’d thought about it, but it was too soon, and he knew it—he had jumped the gun last time, he wasn’t going to do that again.

“Uh, I still have my lease,” he finally replied, avoiding eye contact, focusing on re-racking the balls for their next game. He didn’t have to look up to know that his friend was giving him a side eye…but Eddie said nothing, and he breathed a sigh of relief.

Just three more days.

It was three days of torture and the shift from hell, and Tommy couldn’t quite believe that he had managed to survive. Letting out a sigh of relief, he dropped his bag as soon as he stepped inside his front door and kicked his shoes off and tossed his jacket to the side, uncaring of where anything landed…

…and then the next thing he knew, he had his arms full of his boyfriend, who immediately buried his head in his neck.

“God, I missed you,” Evan said, his voice slightly muffled from where it was pressed into his collarbone, and the airman chuckled and wrapped his arms tightly around him and said softly, “I missed you, too, babe,” and pressed a kiss to his damp curls, which told him that Evan had just gotten out of the shower. He took a deep breath, smelling his own soap on his skin, a blend of cedarwood and spearmint, and then nuzzled his nose into his hair, letting out a sigh.

Evan practically melted into him, and the feeling of his body pressed up against his was the best thing he had felt in a long time, having been spending far too much time dealing with Lucy and Sal on either side of him, their presence welcome, but not the same as the man he loved.

“As much as I love this, babe, can we move to the couch? I am beat,” Tommy muttered, and his boyfriend nodded.

Not quite letting go of each other, they made their way to the living room and then promptly crashed onto the couch, Buck laying out flat with Tommy on top of him—

—and god was that nice.

With all of his previous ‘relationships’ he had always been the big spoon because of his height and broad build…but with Evan he was able to relax into another broad chest without having to worry that he was going to crush him.

They lay there for a long while, not saying a single thing, Evan’s fingers carding through his hair, the sensation soft and lulling him into an almost sleep…but then through the haze of exhaustion, he heard him ask, “Am I…am I too clingy for you?” and Tommy snorted and said, “Nope, not at all. Actually, Sal and I talked today, and he says that I’m the clingy one of the two of us,” and he felt a chuckle run through his boyfriend’s chest as he said, “Funny enough, Eddie said the same thing about me…”

He grinned and rubbed his hand over Evan’s side, enjoying every single second of being able to touch him, and softly added, “Well, it seems to be working for us, so I say we keep on doing it.”

Buck chuckled a second time.

“I like that idea.”

He then tucked a finger under the airman’s chin and lifted his head just enough to press a kiss to his lips and Tommy moaned into the kiss and then said as they both pulled back from it, “I’ve never been happier to have a clingy boyfriend,” and Evan gave him a look.

“Damn straight.”

“Damn…gay, actually,” he teased, and was thrilled when his boyfriend groaned and rolled his eyes and said, “Oh, god, I forgot how bad your jokes are.”

“Excuse you, but I am hilarious,” Tommy retorted, lifting himself up slightly to rest his hands on Evan’s chest and prop his chin on top of his clasped hands. “You just don’t appreciate my brand of humor, Evan.”

They shared a look, both of them trying to stare down the other—and then they both broke into giggles, both of them sounding almost manic with the way their giggles dissolved into breathless gulps of laughter, neither of them able to contain themselves. Tommy knew that part of the reason why he was acting so ridiculous was because he always acted punch drunk when he was this tired, and he knew that Evan was just naturally that amused at him.

Eventually it subsided and they rested quietly against each other once more…

…and then Evan said, “I like it when you’re clingy,” and Tommy whispered back, “I like when you’re clingy, too…”

A warm silence fell, and as they lay there the stray thought entered the airman’s mind that Evan always felt like home to him, and that he spent more time at his place than back at his own apartment. Even though it felt too soon, he wanted him to move in…but not yet. It could wait a bit longer, he mused as his felt his boyfriend’s fingers tracing along his spine.

Yeah.

It could wait a bit longer.

#bucktommyfluffebruary #tevan fic #tevan fanfic #tevan fanfiction #tevan #tommy kinard #evan buckley #fluff #clingy boyfriend #buck x tommy #nephilimeq fanfic

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copperboom82 · 1 month ago

Text

Piece of My Heart

Pairing: Dean Winchester/OFC (Lainey)

Word Count: 19,061

Title Credit: Piece of My Heart by Janis Joplin

Summary: When Sam's sick and Dean comes across a case, he's got no choice but to work it with Lainey, despite the fact that, these days, they barely seem to tolerate each other under the best of circumstances

Set season one between Phantom Traveler and Bloody Mary

Rating: M

A/N: This was written for @chevroletdean 500 celebration! Congratulations, again, that's such an amazing milestone ❤️ I had so much fun doing this, and it was such a cool challenge

Thank you @justwhisperingfantasies for saving my ass on this one - you're an amazing beta and your support always means the world, but you really bailed me out on this one. Love you forever!! ❤️

Warnings: This one is definitely on the darker side. Let's see... angst, for sure, hurt/comfort, some fluff in there, jealous, strong language, drinking, reference/implied sexual activity, use of date rape drugs, and canon level gore and violence... established past relationship? I think that catches everything, but please tell me if I missed anything.

*****************

Dean had never been much of an early riser, but in the weeks since he’d hit the road with Sam and Lainey, he’d come to appreciate the solitude he could find in the morning hours. Some days it was the only reprieve he got from his brother’s constant moping and his ex-girlfriend’s constant bickering.

Of all the fucking people for Sam to have kept in touch with after leaving for Stanford and cutting ties with their dad, he just had to pick Lainey fucking Hollings.

After a month, however, that particular complaint seemed to have lost its punch and Dean had stopped voicing it. Lainey drove him batshit, but even he could see how much good Lainey did Sam — how much good she probably had done him in those years after he’d struck out on his own. Begrudgingly, he could even admit to himself if to no one else that the logic really couldn’t be argued with either.

Sam had been on his own with no one else to turn to. Lainey had only been out of their lives a year at that point, and Sam hadn’t known anything more about why aside from the fact that Dean and Lainey had weren’t together anymore, and John and Bobby had had a falling out.

It made sense that Sam would reach out to her — Lainey had been the only person either of them knew that had been in the life and still gone to college. Of course she’d been Sam’s first call. If anything, Dean was more pissed he hadn’t seen it coming.

It was one of those mornings that Dean found himself craving the peace and quiet that he stumbled across what he thought might be their next case.

The three of them had just wrapped up in Pennsylvania, and without having a clear direction of where to go had somehow ended up in Philadelphia after Sam had argued they needed time to regroup and Lainey had pointed out it would be easy to hide and blend in a big city. For the briefest of moments, it had actually felt like the three of them were on the same page.

Then they’d decided to go out once they’d checked into a motel, in search of at least food - Dean had reasoned drinks and a couple of people to hustle, whether it be pool or darts, wouldn’t hurt either - and the illusion had been shattered.

Sam had started complaining almost immediately - why couldn’t they have found somewhere quieter, why were they out drinking when they could be trying to find their dad, and did everything have to be a scam? And Lainey hadn’t been any more fucking pleasant. Dean couldn’t remember what had started their latest round of bickering, but they’d been at each other’s throats almost from the start, only adding to his frustrations.

In the end, Sam had turned in early, Lainey had found some jackass at the bar to blow - which, of course, she’d made a point of flaunting - and Dean had been left sitting at the bar grinding his teeth wondering what the hell he’d been thinking bringing these two along with him while he looked for John. His night hadn’t improved any once he’d called it either - Sam had a particularly rough night, the combination of his nightmares and snoring managing to rouse Dean from sleep whenever he’d started to drift off, and the all-too familiar sounds coming from Lainey’s room next door haunting him and making his blood boil in equal measure as he’d tossed and turned in his own bed.

By the time the sun had started to peek in through the windows, Dean had been desperate to get away from both of them and had wasted no time pulling on his clothes and slipping out of the room. The walk to the nearest diner had been short, and it was as he’d sipped at his second cup of coffee, having already polished off breakfast, that his eyes came across the newspaper article that caught his attention.

Some local musician had bought it in the middle of the night. Bloody, gruesome scene. Throat sliced. Head bashed in. But the body had been found in a room that had been locked from the inside with the chain on the door still in tact and no evidence of a break in.

Dean made his way back to the motel with much more enthusiasm and energy than when he’d left it, eager to share what he found with Sam. His brother hadn’t been the most enthusiastic about picking up the stray cases along their way to finding their dad, but even Sam couldn’t ignore this one. There was no way it wasn’t their kind of thing, and they were right there.

Of course, all that was waiting for him back in their room was disappointment.

“Dean, the entire room is spinning, I can hardly see straight,” Sam moaned when Dean tried to shake him awake, “and my whole head feels like it’s gonna explode. I think I caught something.”

“You’re just hungover,” Dean tried to dismiss. “Fucking lightweight. C’mon, let’s go. Hair of the dog’ll cure you right up. Shake it off. We’ve got shit to do.”

But Sam glared back at him and yanked the covers out of Dean’s hands, diving back into the pile of shitty, flat pillows he’d pulled together in the middle of the bed.

“I’m goin’ back to sleep. Get Lainey to help. Might wanna ask if you can crash with her while you’re at it. Whatever I’ve got, trust me, man, you don’t want it.”

Dean had tried to push, but Sam wasn’t having any of it, and Dean had reluctantly changed and slipped back out of the room on his own.

He’d glanced at the door next to his and Sam’s for all of thirty seconds before his eyes narrowed and he shook his head, dismissing Sam’s suggestion out of hand. He could see the car the jackass from the night before had been driving still parked outside their rooms - some plastic piece of shit that looked like it’d be obliterated at the slightest impact - and Dean wasn’t interested in spending anymore time watching Lainey fawn all over Prince Douchebag like his dick was the holy grail or something.

She was just trying to get a rise out of him anyway. There was no way she was actually into that jerk. It wasn’t the first time she’d pulled this crap, not even close.

But he sure as hell wasn’t about to let her know it was working. She could bang whoever she wanted. He wasn’t gonna say a goddamn word. It was a game they’d been playing for the last month, some fucked up game of chicken, and he’d be damned if he was gonna be the one to lose it.

No, he’d leave her to stew in her own mess and go work the case he found. He didn’t need her help, or Sam’s. And next time they all went out he’d find his own diversion - turn the tables back around and see how she liked it.

It didn’t take him long to find the crime scene. Cop cars were still parked out front, and there was still all manner of investigative staff meandering around the building, ducking in and out of a section marked off with familiar yellow tape. Dean flashed one of his fake badges - Agent Plant of the FBI today - and moved towards the apartment like he belonged there. His casual clothes earned him a few odd looks but Dean brushed them off, knowing that confidence was key.

The living room where the body had been found was just as gnarly as the paper had implied - blood spatter everywhere but pooled in the carpet where Dean assumed the body had laid, coffee table smashed to pieces, what looked like broken glass scattered around the floor. He picked his way through the mess carefully, sweeping around for the kind of evidence that the police were bound to miss.

Powerlines made the EMF reading he got all but useless, but his gut feeling and the way his hairs stood on the back of his neck pushed him to keep digging. Years of carefully honed instincts had given him something of a sixth sense and he was sure something out of the ordinary was afoot.

Most of the apartment, however, aside from the blood bath in the living room, seemed to be in order. Simple but tidy kitchen, a dining room with a table cluttered in scattered mail and other types of junk people accumulated instead of tucking away in its proper place, cramped bathroom, and a plain looking guest room sparsely furnished with a double bed and a single dresser. It was when he finally pushed open the door of the main bedroom that Dean thought he might be onto something. That feeling intensified and immediately had him on edge, and he began to methodically sift through the room, looking for anything that might tip him off.

Unlike the rest of the space, which had been devoid of any real personality, this room was oozing with it. The walls had been painted a deep red, with all sorts of posters and photos tacked all over them. Every surface in the room was cluttered with junk and knick knacks. The queen bed taking up most of the space in the center was unmade, an open guitar case lying in the center of it, pale pink electric guitar still inside, and a squished up looking backpack haphazardly thrown down next to it.

Still, even with all the stuff, it wasn’t until Dean reached the closet that anything made him pause. That was where, tucked behind the deceased’s clothing, he found what seemed to be some type of alter, littered with books on the occult, candles, semi-familiar symbols, dried herbs, crystals, and other paraphernalia that could only spell one thing:

Witchcraft.

Dean hung his head at the revelation. It wasn’t a smoking gun - he doubted the chick had offed herself - but if she was dabbling in the stuff, it was worth considering that another witch could be involved. And if they were dealing with witches… well, Dean didn’t want to think about what that would inevitably mean.

Determined to still try and tackle the thing himself, he set about going back through the apartment again, this time methodically checking anywhere and everywhere he could think of for hex bags or any other signs of magic. It was around eleven when he finally called it, ready to admit he’d come up empty-handed. Before leaving, he made sure to find out where the body had been taken, thinking he might have better luck with the corpse, and once he was outside he debated for a moment - to the morgue or back to the motel to rally the troops. Or rather troop, because there was still no part of him that wanted to go crawling to Lainey for help.

Finally he decided it had been long enough that it was worth trying Sam again to see if he had better success the second time around, and started to backtrack to the motel. It wasn’t that he couldn’t have tackled it by himself, but a second set of eyes never hurt anything, and if they did need Lainey, he’d be more than happy to let Sam bear that burden.

It was Sam’s fucking fault she was there with them anyway, back in Dean’s life despite the fact that they’d both made the decision to not so much as contact each other in the five years they’d been broken up. He could fucking deal with her.

Back at the motel, however, Sam was somehow worse than when Dean had left him, and it became very clear very quickly that Sam was in fact sick and not hungover as Dean had hoped.

“Dude, you look like hammered crap,” Dean said as the door swung shut behind him and he eyed Sam curled up in bed, cocooned in blankets in a way that would have been cartoonish and funny if it weren’t for the absolutely miserable expression on his face and the fact that Dean needed him. Sam glared.

“I told you, jerk, I’m sick.”

“Bitch,” Dean quipped back automatically, but Sam didn’t even manage one of his customary eyerolls. “C’mon Sammy, what’s going on?”

There was no argument or complaints about the use of his childhood nickname either, which told Dean he was really off, and for the next few minutes he found himself distracted, moving around the room, doing what he could to assess what was wrong and whatever he could to make Sam comfortable. He was burning up, no doubt running a fever, and in the short amount of time that Dean was moving around getting him water and digging around in their bags for whatever meds they had handy, a small pile of used tissues accumulated on the nightstand next to him as Sam repeatedly blew his nose, sounding like a freaking trumpet.

“It definitely sounds like our kind of thing,” Sam told Dean weakly after a few minutes, trying to sit up to swallow the ibuprofen Dean had just passed him. Dean rolled his eyes.

“No shit, Sam.”

“You know what you gotta do, right? It would be stupid not to -”

Frustrated, Dean waved him off before he could even finish his sentence. “Yeah, yeah, I fucking know. You don’t gotta rub it in.”

Because he might have been capable of investigating the case on his own, but he’d have been shooting himself in the fucking foot to not enlist the help of their resident witch considering what he’d found at the apartment. And even if it wasn’t Lainey’s area of expertise, she was annoyingly insistent on being in the middle of everything.

“You know, Dean, if you two would just talk instead of trying to piss each other off all the time -”

“Oh give it a damn rest, Sam,” Dean groaned. “Laine and I are ancient history. We just tolerate each other for your sake so quit buggin’ us.”

Sam snorted before muttering under his breath, “Tolerate seems like a generous descriptor.”

Dean had his bag slung over his shoulder, intent on tossing it in the trunk so he could get to his stuff without disturbing Sam when he reached the door.

“Suck it up and ask if you can crash with her,” Sam called, his voice muffled and hard to understand through the congestion. “I’m serious, Dean!”

Outside, Dean found himself staring at her room again, mentally fortifying himself. The douchebag’s car was at least gone - small mercies - but knocking on her door was still just as unappealing as it had been a few hours prior. There was no excuse good enough he could come up with, though, to justify not going through with it. So walking the few feet, he paused, took a deep breath, and looked up just as he finally rapped his knuckles against the wood.

There was a flurry of noise from inside and from the corner of his eye he saw the curtains on the window twitch before he heard the lock turning and the chain on the door being unfastened. The door swung open seconds later, revealing none other than Lainey Hollings in all her glory.

She was still rumpled and clearly still waking up, despite how late into the morning it was. Her auburn hair had been pulled back into a messy bun - the kind Dean had distinct memories of working his fingers through and pulling apart on lazy mornings like the one she was apparently having - with loose tendrils escaping the elastic and falling down to frame her face. The t-shirt she’d pulled on was loose, hanging off one of her shoulders and exposing more skin than Dean needed to see, just like the fucking shorts that barely covered her ass. Her green eyes were still clouded with sleep, and he could see what looked like a hickey peeking out from the collar of her shirt, dotting a spot Dean knew from personal experience was particularly sensitive.

Of course, his eyes didn’t miss the silver necklace still hanging around her neck, unmistakable against the black fabric. His necklace. The one that, despite every hateful, angry thing they’d said to each other in the weeks since they’d been thrown back in each other’s paths, he had yet to see her without.

She could bang whoever she fucking wanted, but there was a smug satisfaction Dean didn’t want to acknowledge that some part of her, however small, was still his.

“The hell do you want?” she complained, her eyes already darting around and her irritation clear when it became apparent he was on his own and Sam was nowhere to be spotted. “It’s too early to deal with your shit. I haven’t had my coffee yet.”

“Well good morning to you too, princess,” he fired back sarcastically. “You do realize it’s almost noon, right?”

Lainey huffed but let go of the door, allowing it to swing open, as she walked back into the room.

“Fuck off, Winchester, no one asked for your commentary. Where’s Sam?”

Dean strode in behind her, hovering in the door way but quietly observing the room. The bed closest to the door was still perfectly made, but the one further in was a mess, sheets and blanket all jumbled up, and her clothes from the night before were still littered across the floor - though Dean noticed, she was lazily stooping to scoop them up as she moved around. The air still smelled faintly of sex and there was a bottle of rum - Lainey’s favorite mango crap - sitting on the table with two plastic cups, one of which still bore the imprint of Lainey’s lipstick from the night before.

“Sick,” he commented dryly, and at that, Lainey straightened up and turned around to look at him, genuine concern - the kind she always seemed to manage for Sam - flickering across her face.

“Shit, really? He seemed fine last night.”

Dean scoffed even though he’d had the same thought. “No he didn’t. Not that you’d have noticed, I guess, what with Captain Fantastic’s dick on your mind.”

Guilt had started to color her features, but at Dean’s barb she rolled her eyes. It was when her lips curled into a smirk he realized he’d made a misstep.

“Jealous, baby?” she taunted with overdone, faux sympathy that had him giving her a look of pure exasperation.

“Please. Go blow whoever you want, Laine, ‘s not like I’m missing anything special.”

It was a outright lie, one he suspected she could see straight through - even in the years since they’d gone their separate ways, there wasn’t a single person that had ever learned his body the way Lainey had. But she let it drop, the only sign that she didn’t quite believe him being the way her smirk deepened just a bit.

“Mmhmm. So why are you here banging on my door? I wasn’t under the impression you and I did social calls. Sam need something?”

The idea of telling her he needed her help was about as appealing as chewing glass, so with a sigh, he reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the newspaper from earlier that morning instead.

“Found a case,” he groused, holding it out as an offering. Lainey’s head tilted in curiosity, some of her edge falling away while she tentatively padded back towards him. “Stopped by the crime scene, definitely seems like our kind of thing.”

She locked eyes with him, and for just a moment, a fraction of a second really while she reached out and gripped the newspaper, it felt like old times. Then she was pulling it out of his hand and walking back away, frowning while she scanned the text.

“Find anything good?” she asked mildly, even as she continued reading. Dean shrugged.

“Exactly what you’d expect from that article… and an altar in the girl’s closet.”

That caught Lainey’s attention and she froze, looking up at him with an expression that started off analytical and grew irritated as she made mental calculations Dean could guess at. “Seriously?”

Dean didn’t flinch… refused to. “What? Let’s not pretend you don’t have some expertise in that area.”

Lainey glared at him then, really glared at him, and stalked over to roughly shove the newspaper back at his chest. In hindsight, he should have expected the reaction. It was the first time they’d actually broached that subject since that awful night outside of her apartment - the one that they’d both screamed the most hurtful things they could think of, which given the span and depth of their history had been plentiful, and ended with him driving away without looking back while Lainey watched with uncharacteristic, angry tears streaming down her face and holding a piece of his heart Dean figured he’d never get back.

“Fuck you,” she seethed, turning back around and starting to move around the room, tidying things up the way she did when she was agitated. “First of all, you know what I am isn’t that -“

He did. Lainey Hollings was a natural born witch - a rare breed, but distinctly different from the scum they usually ran into in their line of work. But that didn’t mean there was no overlap. “Yeah, but -“

“Second of all,” she continued as if he hadn’t spoken, “you don’t get to ask for my help with that shit after how you left things -“

“Oh, come on, Laine!” he found himself barking before he could stop himself, voice raising and his own anger triggering and flaring immediately. “That ain’t fair, I never had a problem with -“

“And third,” she all but shouted over him, “I don’t practice anymore, so you can fuck right off with that shit.”

Dean couldn’t help the scoff that slipped past his lips. “Gee, where have I heard that before,” he muttered.

If looks could kill, he’d have been six feet under, no question.

“Get out,” she said flatly, dangerously, after a beat of silence. “I have shit to do, you can work your own case.”

Her demand was a sobering reminder that he didn’t have a plan B, and he needed her. Though living out of the Impala the next couple of days while Sam suffered whatever bug he’d caught was starting to sound more palatable by the second.

“Alright, alright,” he said quickly, knowing exactly which nerve he’d struck and holding his hands up in a surrender motion. She tried to shove him towards the door but Dean stayed rooted to the spot and instinctively grabbed her wrists, with all the gentleness he used to use when handling her. “Hey, I’m sorry, okay?” he continued when she met his eyes, fury still simmering in hers.

“You’ve got a lot of nerve coming in here, coming in here and -“

“I know,” he jumped in, hoping to cut her off before she amped back up. Once Lainey dug her heels in, there was no chance of reasoning with her. “I didn’t mean - look, can we just… can we just work the case? It’s not like we’re goin’ anywhere with Sam being sick anyway. I was about to head over to the morgue, see if I can get anything off the body.”

She had been steadily deflating, softening even, as he talked. But at the mention of the morgue she arched an eyebrow and finally wrenched her arms away from him. Dean didn’t immediately miss the warmth of her body as she backed away.

“You’re an idiot,” she muttered, shaking her head in exasperation. “You come in here, ready to pick my brain about witchcraft, but don’t even think to mention you’re heading to the morgue. Did you forget what I’m getting my doctorate in?”

Dean rolled his eyes, and tried not to ruminate on that. Another reminder he didn’t need that he’d have never been good enough for her even if his dad finding out about her… talents… hadn’t blown their relationship to hell.

They’d never stood a chance, and he’d be kidding himself if he thought anything else.

“I thought your thing was bones,” he pointed out dryly. Lainey flipped him off.

“Still know my way around a corpse and an autopsy report better than you do,” she called over her shoulder as she began digging in her bag. “Let me shower and I’ll go over with you. Get changed while you wait, no one’s gonna believe you as a professional dressed like that.”

He glanced down at his worn jeans and flannel, frowning but not wanting to cede the point.

“I’m not putting on the damn monkey suit, I’m fine as is.”

“That’s debatable.”

“Lainey,” he said, warning in his voice, but Lainey, of course, was undeterred.

“Dean.” They stared each other down for a moment and then she was moving again, this time heading towards the bathroom. “Don’t be stubborn. And be ready by the time I’m out.”

The door was almost shut when he remembered his other problem, and he mentally cursed, even as he opened his mouth to call out after her. “Uh, hey Laine?”

Her head poked back out, a challenging expression on her face, her fingers gripping the doorframe. “What?”

Dean scratched the back of his neck, hating the words before they were even out of his mouth. “You think I could crash with you? My room’s sorta…”

He trailed off, but she understood anyway, and Dean watched her internal conflict play out, years of knowing her letting him read her mind expressions as easily as if she’d spoken. He could tell she didn’t want to say yes, and he couldn’t blame her - he wasn’t happy about it either. They drove each other crazy enough with their own space and having Sam as a buffer when they had to interact. Working a case just the two of them and sharing a room was going to be a fucking test to say the least.

Finally, however, she let out a suffering sigh and gave him a wary look.

“Sam’s really sick?” she asked.

“As a dog,” Dean nodded. “Haven’t seen him like that since that flu he caught Christmas your sophomore year.”

“Fine,” she relented. “Just keep your crap out of my way. You can have the bed by the door.”

And without another word, she disappeared back into the bathroom, this time the door slamming shut behind her with a heavy thud. Dean exhaled, slow and heavy, as he ran a hand down his mouth and listened to the shower click on.

Something told him he was definitely in for a long few days.

******************

Dean was loathe to admit it, but having Lainey with him at the morgue ended up being a pretty big win. It wasn’t surprising - by then, he’d worked enough cases with her and Sam to know what she generally brought to the table - but he hadn’t been sure what to expect with just the two of them. If her irritation being stuck with just him would change anything. Lainey was a lot of things and, though she’d deny it till her dying breath, emotional was definitely one of them.

She was the picture of professionalism, though, which did take him by surprise. Especially considering the start they had in the car.

He had begrudgingly changed into the suit he’d picked up for their last case, running a lint roller over it he spotted sticking out of Lainey’s bag and hastily stuffing it back away when he heard the door opening. She’d emerged wrapped in a towel, steam billowing out behind her, and spared him a single look before grabbing her bag and ducking back inside to change. By the time she came back out, all traces of her night out were completely gone and she wasted no time ushering him towards the door, picking the newspaper back up as they went and the black bag she seemed to cart around most places.

“Need to stop for coffee on the way,” she informed him as they each climbed into the Impala. Dean turned over the ignition and raised an eyebrow.

“Oh are we?” he pushed back, but Lainey didn’t even look at him. She just went about settling in, pulling out that stupid iPod he always saw her carrying with the tangle of wires around it.

“As if you won’t get a cup too,” was all she said before popping the stupid little wired earbuds into her ears and focusing her attention on the newspaper. Dean glared at her for a moment before finally backing out of the parking spot and starting to navigate towards the morgue, keeping an eye out for coffee on the way.

She was a major pain in his ass, but she wasn’t wrong, and more importantly, Dean knew what hell it was dealing with an un-caffeinated Lainey Hollings.

Bringing her along, however, started paying off as soon as they hit the door. She got them through security barely batting an eye, not that Dean would ever admit to her it had anything to do with the ridiculous outfits she’d made them wear, and even though Dean was no slouch after spending as many years as he had poking around fucked up stiffs, there was no contesting that Lainey did in fact know her way around an autopsy report. That fucking internship of hers, he quietly remembered, that she’d been at when he’d showed up for Sam.

“We’re in the middle of a fucking murder investigation, in case you forgot,” she’d snapped at Sam when he’d suggested she come with them to look for John. “I’ve got shit do do, and so do you.”

Of course, Lainey had ditched the internship, along with everything else she had going on, when her and Sam’s home had gone up in flames. A sabbatical, she’d called it. Something about taking some time and doing independent study before she had to go back some time in the Spring to finish up her degree.

“No chance you took any photos while you were at the crime scene, did you?” she murmured, her voice distracted, most of her focus centered on the wound to the vic’s neck. Dean scoffed and reached into his pocket, pulling out a digital camera.

“What’d you think I am? A fucking amateur?”

She glanced up, an amused smirk tugging at her lips as she wordlessly accepted the device.

“Guess you’re not completely useless,” she remarked, already turning it on and squinting at the small screen to scroll through the photos. Unlike most of her usual barbs, however, this time there was no heat behind her words.

“Y’know,” she began as they pushed through the front doors of the building a little while later, heading towards the Impala, “I’ve seen something like that before. Whatever sliced her neck damaged her hypoid, and the striations it left on the bone are just like a case I worked over the summer.”

Dean wasn’t sure what it was in him that couldn’t resist needling her, but he found his mouth opening almost of its own accord.

“Ooo look at you,” he taunted, “college girl with her fancy words, thinks she’s so smart. Hate to break it to you, Laine, but whatever creepy evil thing we’re hunting isn’t gonna stop and wait for you to prove your case like we’re on fuckikg Law and Order. We just gotta figure out what we’re dealing with and gank the sucker.”

“Jackass,” she shot back automatically. “What’d you, have something against using your brain now?”

“Just sayin’,” he dismissed as he wrenched open the drivers door and began to get in. “Anyway, what’s your point? I assume you have one.”

He could feel Lainey glaring at him, even as she pulled her own door shut, but Dean kept his eyes forward as he started the car.

“Murder weapon ended up being some sort of wire sculptors use on clay,” she gritted out after a moment. “Just thought it might be worth keeping in mind, could be a clue.”

“What, you think we’re dealing with some dead artist turned vengeful spirit?” he quipped, antagonizing her coming nearly as naturally as breathing these days. Lainey huffed and dug the iPod back out.

“You know what, never mind. Just shut the fuck up and drive, how about that?”

“Whatever you say, princess,” he returned, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

The rest of their day went about the same, with both of them picking at the other and finding new ways to get under each other’s skin while still exploiting all the old ones they already knew. It didn’t stop them from working the case, but it certainly made for an even more frustrating experience than normal, and Dean had a new appreciation for the buffer Sam’s presence typically provided.

Despite Dean’s initial concerns, and Lainey’s claims that it wasn’t her area of expertise, Lainey was quick to toss out witchcraft as a theory after going through the photos he’d taken of the altar.

“Half of this is fake, and the real stuff is all low level,” she declared, already moving her attention from the photos onto the copy of the police report they’d managed to score.

Through the barbs and bickering, they steadily worked through the life and legacy of their victim, looking for anything that might even resemble a lead. That was how, the next night, Dean came to find himself slipping inside a dive bar in Philly with Lainey at his side.

They’d found no skeletons in their victim’s closet, and as far as friends and family went, the dead chick hadn’t had many. From what he and Lainey had been able to gather, she’d only moved to the city recently, and had been living in Brooklyn before, and raised up near Boston. Her day job had been some marketing gig at one of the personal injury firms that seemed to be advertised on nearly every street corner, but they’d found nothing of interest there, even after talking with her co-workers and manager. So they were left hoping that her side gig, the remaining members of the band she’d theoretically relocated to play in, would yield better results. Tracking them down had been difficult, but at the last minute Lainey had come across something on Myspace, which Dean still didn’t understand, saying they were still playing Friday night at The Raven.

The place wasn’t much to look at from the outside, and the inside wasn’t all that much better. For a moment, Dean had wondered if Lainey had gotten something wrong - the bar was just inside the door, cramped, with hardly any extra space around it, a spiral staircase in the back left corner, and an alcove filled with books and cushy chairs and a couch to the right by the singular, large window in the wall. Music was coming from some where, loud and real, but Dean was thrown for a moment, because a band was no where to be found and it was hard to imagine where they would even fit. Then he noticed the clusters of balloons - gold, some sort of brassy pink, and mint - by the stairs and then another two on either side of an open doorway in the back wall he almost missed.

Lainey, of course, was already heading in the direction of the doorway before Dean had even registered what was going on, and he hurried to follow after.

The backroom, as it turned out, was much larger than the one they’d initially walked into and filled with the kind of crowd Dean would have expected for a Friday night. There was another staircase, a second smaller bar, a smattering of small, high top tables, and - most importantly - a stage where the main event was happening.

There were more balloons inside the room, mixed in with streamers of the same colors and what looked like star shaped confetti on the floor. Four people were up on stage - a dude on drums, another on base, and two chicks on guitar. The one in the center was the most animated and clearly the main face of the group - she had colorful hair, black, torn up fishnets under a mini skirt and some graphic tee, and bright pink, platform boots with black laces that went up most of her calves and matched her instrument. He and Lainey shared a look, silent question in his eyes just before she nodded, and they began weaving their way through the crowd, looking for a spot to melt into the background.

With the crowd, however, it was easier said than done, and they were about halfway through the room when Lainey - still as clumsy as ever - made a move for a free table she spotted but managed to stumble, losing her balance and violently elbowing the guy standing just a foot or so away from where she’d been heading. Dean watched with mild exasperation that turned into a flare of very real irritation as her eyes widened and her attention moved to her latest victim.

“Oh, I’m so sorry!” she cried, just barely discernable over the sound of the music, even to Dean who was standing right behind her. The guy - tall, dark, and douchey - had grabbed her elbow to help keep her from really falling, and flashed her a toothy smile as he made sure she was steady on her feet again and gave her a very obvious look over.

“No, no, you’re fine. This place is packed, could happen to anyone. You alright?”

Lainey, still flustered and her cheeks flushing in a tell-tale sign of embarrassment nodded. “Oh yeah, I’m fine. Ah shit, your drink though! Let me buy you another.”

That was when Dean realized the front of the dude’s shirt was pretty wet, and he was holding a nearly empty glass out away from him with a free hand. The guy shook his head, finally releasing Lainey and taking the glass into that hand, flicking excess liquid off the one his drink had clearly spilled all over.

“I wouldn’t hear of it. Pretty girl like you shouldn’t even have to bother buyin’ her own drinks.” His eyes found Dean at that point, and something flickered in his eyes. “Though, of course, I’m sure your boyfriend’s got you covered.”

It was such a lame, obvious line that Dean couldn’t stop himself from rolling his eyes, but before he could actually say anything, Lainey let out a derisive snort, only even sparing half a glance back in his direction.

“Dean?” she questioned, as if the idea of anyone mistaking them for a couple was beyond ridiculous. “He’s definitely not my boyfriend. Just a… family friend.”

Renewed interested flashed in the man’s eyes. “Well then. In that case - name’s Rick, and it’s nice to meet you. How about I buy you a drink and go replenish mine?”

“I’m Lainey, and I can’t let you do that - I bumped into you, I should -”

“Actually,” Dean cut in forcefully, seeing where the train was heading and having none of it, “Laine and I are kinda busy, but maybe she can catch up with you later.”

Watching her at the bar the other night had been more than enough of her bullshit for one week, and more importantly, they had a case to work.

Lainey, of course, shot him one of those annoyingly smug looks of hers - one of those ones that were overly self-assured, that told him she enjoyed getting under his skin, and that she’d already, incorrectly, assumed she knew what his problem was. When she turned back to Rick, however, her expression was fully apologetic.

“Dean’s right. We’re, uh, here to… scout out the band for a… party. But maybe we can get that drink later if you’re still around.”

If Rick was disappointed, he didn’t show it, just nodding towards one of the corners where the crowd seemed particularly condensed. “Ah, yeah. These guys seem popular lately. From what I’ve gathered the 21st birthday over on the left booked them tonight.”

“Good to know,” Lainey smiled, and Dean ground his teeth.

“Well, I think I’m gonna see what kind of trouble I can get into at the bar. Maybe if I get lucky, I’ll see you around.” And with nothing more than a wink, Rick was disappearing into the crowd, leaving Dean and Lainey standing at the table she’d originally spotted.

As soon as he was gone, Lainey spun around towards Dean, face set in a withering glare as she lightly shoved him. “What the hell was that for, you ass?”

Dean looked back at her incredulously. “What are you, fucking kidding me right now, Laine? We’re working, not cruising for your next fucktoy.”

If possible, her eyes narrowed further, and her nostrils flared. “Oh for fuck’s sake, do you think I’m an idiot? I know what we’re here for,” she hissed, “but you didn’t have to be so rude about it.”

“C’mon. You can’t tell me you actually care what that douche thinks, do you?”

Lainey rolled her eyes. “That’s not the fucking point,” she muttered. Dean raised an eyebrow, but she turned her attention to the stage, determinedly shutting him out.

“Not the fucking point?” he repeated. “What the hell is, then?”

Lainey only flipped him off and Dean let out a groan of frustration he wasn’t even sure she heard. By the time the band started wrapping up for a break a few songs later, however, Lainey seemed to have forgotten she was mad at him - Dean at least noticed the tension had eased from her shoulders - and she shared a quiet look with him.

“What d’you think, time to go try and talk to them?” she proposed. Dean watched as the four of them situated their instruments and gathered, stretching and chatting with each other as they meandered towards the staircase.

“Yeah, might as well,” he agreed. “FBI?”

Lainey nodded, biting her bottom lip - a familiar sign that she was thinking. “Yeah,” she said slowly. “Careful, though. Don’t wanna spook ‘em.”

The upstairs turned out to be just as crowded as the ground floor, with music pouring out of a sound system rather than the live music the band had been putting on downstairs. There were less tables and more dancing, and for a moment, Dean worried they’d lost their lead. But then Lainey was tugging at his hand, the unexpected contact of her skin a shock to his system he didn’t fully process before she was pointing to the other side of the room.

“Through there,” she said, just loud enough for him to hear. “They went that way.”

Dean followed her across the room, trying not to get frustrated at the way she used her smaller size to duck and weave with an ease he couldn’t match. If he didn’t have the benefit of knowing how deeply ingrained that instinct was for her, he’d have sworn she was doing it just to get under his skin… and even knowing, he didn’t rule out that it was at least a little bit intentional. Unsurprisingly, she made it to the door first but she waited, smirking over her shoulder when she turned and watched him make it across the last yard or so.

Luckily on the other side of the door the only thing waiting for them was a mostly empty room, filled with scattered boxes, worn looking armchairs and couches, an old desk, and a folding table littered with food. The four members of the band he and Lainey had been watching downstairs were spread out, subdued but quietly talking amongst themselves, one of them picking at the food and one of them with a plate tossed on the coffee table in front of them. All four pairs of eyes snapped up when the door opened and the conversation lulled.

“Uh, hey guys,” the chick with the pink boots spoke up, taking lead just like she had on the stage, “not to be a bitch, but private room. You need to head back out to the main area.”

Dean watched as Lainey arranged her features into a properly contrite expression and dipped her right hand into her pocket, flashing her fake badge upon withdraw. “Sorry to just barge in, but we were hoping to ask you all a couple of questions. I’m Agent Larkin and this is my partner, Agent Plant, and we’re looking into the death of April Kenny. We understand she was part of Hollow Pines.”

The shift in the room was immediate at Lainey’s explanation, and though one of the guys - Shane, Dean thought his name might have been - tried to ask if it could wait, he and Lainey ultimately found themselves with four willing interview subjects as they settled into two folding chairs that had been propped up against the wall.

Willing didn’t translate to knowledgeable, however, and all too soon it felt like a repeat of talking to April’s coworkers. Most helpful, or closest to helpful, was the lead singer - the girl with the boots and the hair. Her name was Sasha, and as it turned out had been April’s college roommate, and the catalyst to her relocation. She did most of the talking and seemed to know the most about April.

The girls had been together earlier that night, playing a smaller gig and stopping off for dinner before going their separate ways. Nothing unusual had happened, April had seemed normal.

“Everything was fine,” Sasha insisted, scuffing her boots across the floor while she lent forward, shoulders hunched and a morose expression on her face. “April was excited about the show - oh, and her guitar. She’d had her eye on it for a while - vintage, one of a kind, found it at a freaking pawn shop but it still cost her an arm and a leg. Day before she’d finally bit the bullet and bought it, got to play it at the Fillion’s gig. Never thought that’d be the last time I’d see her.”

Sasha’s voice hitched and Dean noticed Lainey grab for a napkin from the corner of his eye, passing it over to the weepy girl without a word.

“Did April have any enemies?” Dean pushed on, eyes roving over all of them to make it clear he was asking the room at large. “Anyone who might have wished her harm?”

Sasha shook her head, bright blue strands of hair framing her face swaying with the movement, but it was the other guy, the drummer, that spoke up that time.

“No man, nothing like that. April was, like, the nicest person ever, and she kept to herself a lot outside of the band and at work.”

“She was still new in town,” the other girl offered, and Sasha nodded, seeming to pull herself together.

“Yeah, April was kind of quiet. But she was sweet, you know? The wouldn’t hurt a fly type.”

“What about strange occurrences?” Lainey pressed. “Anything unusual in the weeks leading up to her death? Was she anxious about anything?”

“Say anything about cold spots in her apartment, flickering lights, that sort of thing?” Dean tacked on.

Shane snorted from his position against the wall. “What would that have to do anything?”

“We just like to be thorough,” Lainey interjected smoothly. “Covering all of our bases.”

“No,” Sasha answered, ignoring Shane’s interruption. “Nothing weird that I know of." Her eyes darted to the clock on the wall. "Look, we need to get back downstairs soon. Our break's almost over."

Dean exchanged a look with Lainey, who gave a slight nod. They'd exhausted their line of questioning, and it was clear they weren't going to get anything useful. Another waste of time, another dead end.

“Right, thank you all for your time,” Lainey acquiesced, pushing back to her feet and already turning to fold the chair back up. Meanwhile, Dean reached into his pocket and quickly produced four of the “business cards” he kept handy.

“Just give us a call if you think of anything.”

Each of them took one of the cards, and Sasha nodded earnestly. “Of course. Anything we can do to help.”

“Well that was a gigantic waste of fucking time,” Dean muttered as he and Lainey slipped out through the door and back into the pulsing crowd taking up the majority of the bar’s second floor. She nodded, looking equally frustrated as they weaved their way back towards the stairs. This time, Dean noticed, she actually stuck with him.

“You can say that again.”

In the absence of live music, the same stuff from upstairs was pumping through speakers downstairs, though the room was just as crowded as when they’d left. Lainey leaned against the wall at the bottom of the stairs, running a hand through her hair, looking equal parts exhausted and frustrated. “We should probably get back to the motel. Check on Sam, get a fresh start in the morning.”

Later, Dean would come to regret not just saying yes, but in that moment, he was struck with an urge to try and test this tentative truce of theirs and see where they could get. After all, she’d been almost amicable during the whole debacle with the demon and the plane. Maybe, they could slowly move the needle.

For Sam’s sake, obviously. Because Dean sure as shit didn’t care if they kept arguing like cats and dogs, but he was sure his brother was sick of being stuck with both of them bickering, and his brother had enough crap on his plate these days.

And Lainey had never been adverse to a good time.

“Why would we do that?” he asked, raising an eyebrow and looking pointedly around the bustling bar. Lainey’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“What do you mean, ‘why would we do that?’ We’ve got no more leads, and Sam’s back at the motel, sick as a dog.”

“Yeah,” Dean agreed, a hint of a smirk tugging at his lips, “but Sam’s probably already asleep and there’s not too much we can do for him. And we’re already out. Might as well enjoy the night a little, blow off some steam. Not like heading back is gonna magically produce a lead, and maybe we’ll have better luck if we clear our heads.”

Lainey looked back at him skeptically, as if trying to determine if he had an angle. After a moment of consideration, her shoulders relaxed slightly.

“I guess that’s not the worst idea you’ve ever had,” she conceded, and Dean’s smirk turned into a full on smile.

“Definitely not. C’mon, when’s the last time you and me hit up a bar? It’ll be like old times.”

Lainey scoffed, though Dean knew her well enough to see she was trying not to smile. “Somehow I doubt that. I’m running to the bathroom first, meet you at the bar. Get me a vodka cranberry.”

“Yes ma’am,” he agreed with a mock salute. Lainey rolled her eyes and Dean watched her disappear into the crowd before making his way toward the bar.

Not feeling like fighting his way to the overrun bar in the larger room, Dean ducked back to the front room, only to find that it was only marginally less crowded. Luckily, a couple was backing away to head towards the stairs as he came in and Dean seized the opportunity, dipping into the small space they’d left and catching the bartender’s attention.

“Uh, whiskey neat and vodka cran - make that one a double,” he ordered, knowing Lainey liked her drinks strong. He figured the extra social lubricant couldn’t hurt either if they were going to willingly try being in each other’s proximity without the excuse of a case or Sam to talk about.

While he waited for the drinks and for Lainey, Dean found himself scanning the room, mostly out of habit. Since they’d arrived the crowd had only grown and become more diverse - college kids, mixed with an older crowd and people his and Lainey’s age. His eyes had just caught on some poster hung up behind the bar, advertising some local event, when he felt someone sliding up on his left.

“Is this seat taken?”

Dean turned and found the voice belonged to a woman - probably around his age, maybe a couple of years younger, blonde hair, dressed in skin tight jeans and a black halter top that showed off her ample cleavage even if it was at odds with the frigid weather outside. Her smile was confident as she met his eyes, and Dean returned it automatically.

“All yours,” he assured her.

“I’m Vanessa,” she introduced as she slid onto the stool.

“Dean,” he reciprocated just as the bartender put the drinks he’d ordered down in front of him. Vanessa noticed there were two of them and arched an eyebrow while Dean reached for the whiskey.

“You here with someone, Dean?” she asked, her tone making it very clear that depending on his answer, she was quite interested. That was the second mistake he made that night.

“Just a coworker,” he dismissed. “Was working, actually, but we’re done for the night.”

His answer both seemed to satisfy Vanessa and catch her interest, and she shifted closer.

“Oh? And what kind of work brings you to a place like this on a Friday night?”

“The kind I can’t really talk about,” he replied smoothly, smiling when he noticed the way Vanessa’s eyes darkened just a bit. It was predictable by then, really, how the mysterious answers only ever seemed to spur women on instead of being the deterrent he’d have expected.

“Sounds intriguing,” she said, leaning in closer, and Dean caught a whiff of her perfume - something fancy smelling he wasn’t sure how to describe.

"It has its moments," Dean replied, letting his eyes drift over her appreciatively, the stress of the case and the constant tension with Lainey momentarily forgotten. “How about you? What brings you out this evening?”

“Girls’ night out,” Vanessa told him with a shrug and a nod towards a group of people just visible through the doorway, back in the room Dean had just left where the band was once again playing. “But the one girl’s boyfriend showed up with his buddies and I felt like it was time for a change of scenery.”

“Their loss,” Dean said, moving in slightly himself. “My gain.”

Vanessa’s smile widened, her blue eyes sparkling in the bar’s dim light with excitement and fire that was pulling Dean in deeper and deeper by the second.

“Aren’t you smooth,” she commented.

“I have my moments.”

They fell into easy conversation from there, Vanessa laughing at his jokes and touching his arm occasionally as they talked. It had been a while since he’d found himself in this position - getting to just enjoy a pretty girl, with no ulterior motive and without Sam and Lainey up his ass, albeit in completely different ways. It felt almost normal, and for a moment, all the crap that had been bogging him down just sort of disappeared.

Dean was so caught up in it that he almost missed Lainey coming down the staircase to his left, but he did just in time to watch her eyes scan the crowd before finally landing on him — and Vanessa. What was more, he could see the exact moment she registered what was happening, her posture stiffening and her mouth tightening into a thin line.

For a second, Dean almost felt bad… felt the beginnings of a twinge of guilt. It evaporated quickly though. Lainey had been openly flaunting guys in his face for weeks now, and yeah, it wasn’t like he’d held back, but she’d been downright obnoxious about it. And they were broken up, had been for years. He wasn’t doing anything wrong flirting with a beautiful woman that was clearly into him.

The fact that there was something deeply satisfying about seeing that flash of jealousy cross Lainey’s face was just the icing on top. Not that he’d admit that to anyone but himself.

Vanessa laughed at whatever he’d just said, her hand resting lightly on his arm, and Dean pretended not to notice Lainey’s approach until she was right at his elbow.

“Making friends already, I see,” she greeted, her voice overly sweet in a way Dean recognized was a bad sign.

“Hey,” he said flatly, gesturing to the drink he’d ordered her. “Your vodka cranberry, as requested.”

Lainey reached between them, grabbing the glass and taking a small sip. Her eyes swept over Vanessa, a quick assessment that Dean knew from experience was more thorough than it appeared. It didn’t escape his notice that Vanessa seemed to be doing the same.

“Thanks,” she said in a clipped voice, and Dean, smirking, gestured to Vanessa.

“Laine, this is Vanessa, Vanessa, this is my coworker, Lainey.”

Lainey’s eyes met his briefly, a slight challenge in them, but Dean refused to be cowed and only smiled back. When her gaze ultimately shifted to Vanessa, her smile tight and hand extending in a way that it looked like it was causing her physical pain, he felt a ridiculous surge of satisfaction.

“Nice to meet you,” she said, though Dean suspected it was obvious even to Vanessa that Lainey felt quite the opposite.

“You too,” Vanessa replied coolly, seeming entirely unbothered.

“Sorry,” Lainey said, her eyes darting between Dean and Vanessa, “didn’t mean to interrupt.”

“We were just chatting,” Dean said lightly, big smile on his face even as Vanessa shifted closer. “Nothing to make a big deal about.”

The tension was palpable, and Dean found himself almost enjoying it. For once, Lainey was the one looking uncomfortable, trying and failing to mask her irritation. It felt like poetic justice after all the times he'd had to watch her flirt with random guys while he pretended not to care.

“Dean was just telling me about his car. Sounds like a real beauty,” Vanessa offered.

“Oh yeah,” Lainey said through raised eyebrows, taking another sip of her drink. “Especially if you like listening to the greatest hits of mullet rock on cassette tape and your legs sticking to the vinyl when its hot and the AC isn’t working.”

For the first time, Dean felt the smile slipping from his face, his eyes narrowing in Lainey’s direction. “Gee, I sure didn’t hear you complainin’ about it all those times I drove your ass back and forth between Sioux Falls and Palo Alto, or did I miss that memo?” he quipped before he could stop himself.

“Maybe I just didn’t wanna wound that delicate ego of yours,” she fired back with a roll of her eyes. That was when Dean watched it happen — her gaze shifted, catching on something behind him as a slow smile spread across her face. “Well, would you look at that. You know what? I’ll just leave you two to it, I see someone I was hoping to catch up with.”

And without another word to either of them, Lainey ducked away, weaving back into the crowd as she made her way around the bar. Despite himself, Dean twisting, craning his neck just in time to see Lainey make it to the other end of the bar, where he spotted that douchebag from earlier, Rick, sitting with another guy. His eyes lit up in recognition, a sleazy smile forming on his face as he greeted Lainey.

“Interesting co-worker,” Vanessa commented mildly, drawing his attention back. Dean tried not to grind his teeth.

“Yeah, she’s a real peach,” he muttered, taking a swig of his whiskey.

“And you’re just co-workers?” she pushed. Dean, realizing what was in jeopardy, did his best to pull it together. Lainey Hollings and her stupid bullshit was not going to derail yet another night of his.

“Yeah, just co-workers,” he confirmed, though he couldn’t help but shifting so that he could see Lainey and Rick on his right in his peripheral. She was now perched on a barstool, laughing at whatever he was saying. “Lainey and I go way back, but that’s it. There’s nothing going on there.”

“Good,” Vanessa smiled, her hand finding his arm again. “Because I’d hate to get in the middle of something.”

Dean forced his full attention back to her, pushing thoughts of Lainey aside. “You’re definitely not getting in the middle. I am unattached and unobligated,” he assured her.

As the night progressed, Dean found himself genuinely enjoying Vanessa’s company. She wasn’t a soulmate or anything, but she was a good time - funny, witty, refreshingly straightforward, and — best of all — uncomplicated. She laughed at his jokes, shared stories from her work in marketing, and warmed herself to him when she started gushing about her collection of classic rock CDs. And as the night wore on, and Dean moved onto his second drink, ordering one this time for Vanessa instead of Lainey, their conversation grew more intimate, their bodies shifting closer together until he could practically feel the heat radiating off her.

Still, despite his best efforts, he couldn't help but be aware of Lainey's presence across the bar. After all these years, it was still like a sixth fucking sense, his body trained to be attuned to her presence even when he wasn’t actively thinking about her. It was as he accepted the second round of drinks that Lainey threw her head back across the room, laughing at something Rick had said. The movement exposed the long line of her throat, the delicate curve where it met her shoulder—a spot Dean knew from experience was particularly sensitive. He tore his eyes away, annoyed with himself for noticing. It was a familiar sight by now – Lainey flirting with some random guy – but it still set his teeth on edge every time.

“You know,” Vanessa said once they were about halfway through their second round, her voice low and inviting as she leaned in, “my apartment isn't far from here. If you wanted to continue this conversation somewhere more... private."

Dean's pulse quickened at the invitation. "That's a tempting offer."

"It could be more than an offer," she murmured, her fingers trailing lightly along his forearm. "You just gotta say yes.”

Dean’s mouth was opening, the words hell yes on the tip of his tongue, when movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. Rick was leaning over Lainey, reaching for something on the counter. From Dean's angle, he could see Rick's hand hovering over Lainey's drink. She had her hand partially covering the glass, but she was distracted, laughing at something Rick's friend had said.

It was quick, so quick that if he’d blinked he’d have missed it, but Dean watched Rick drop something into Lainey’s drink, and Dean felt his blood run cold.

“Son of a bitch.”

He was on his feet before his brain had even fully processed what he’d seen. Vanessa’s startled face barely registered and he cut off her half-formed question with a hasty I’ll be right back, already moving through the crowd with a single-minded purpose.

He worked his way over as quickly as he could, eyes fixed on Lainey’s drink the whole time. She was still talking, completely unaware of what had just happened. Rich was nodding along, a small smile playing at his lips as he watched whatever conversation was going on between her and his buddy.

As soon as he was within arm’s reach, Dean wasted no time, his hand wrapping around her wrist and gently but firmly pulling it down just as she went to to take a sip. “Lainey,” he said, his voice low and urgent, tight with barely controlled anger. Her head whipped around to look at him, surprise quickly followed by extreme annoyance flickering across her face. “We need to go. Now.”

“What the hell? No way,” she said, and Dean fought back a groan. He could tell just from the pitch of her voice and cadence of her words that she was already tipsy, well on her way to drunk, and that wasn’t going to make getting through to her any easier. Lainey was hotheaded at the best of times. Drunk Lainey was as impulsive and as reckless as it got. “I’m having fun, and this was your idea. Go back to Vanessa, or whatever the hell her name is.”

Rick, Dean noticed, shifted uncomfortably. “Everything okay here?”

"No," Dean said bluntly, eyes fixed on the drink in Lainey’s hand. It took everything in him not to call the guy out right there, and even more restraint not to deck him, but both of those things would cause a scene that neither he or Lainey could afford. "It's not."

Lainey's eyes narrowed. "Dean, seriously, what the hell?"

"Can I talk to you?" Dean demanded, grabbing her arm. "Outside. Now."

"Jesus, fine," Lainey huffed, sliding off her stool. "Don't go anywhere," she told Rick with a smile, still holding the damn drink. "I'll be right back."

Dean practically dragged her through the crowd toward the exit, his jaw clenched tight. The cool night air hit them as they stepped outside, the street relatively quiet compared to the chaos inside.

"What the actual fuck, Dean?" Lainey snapped, yanking her arm free as the door swung shut behind them and the noise from inside faded away. "You can't just—"

"He spiked your drink, Laine," Dean cut her off, pointing to the glass in her hand.

Lainey stared at him, then at the drink, then back at him. "What are you talking about?"

"I saw him drop something in it," Dean insisted. "When you weren't looking."

He watched her try and process his words — first confusion, then shock, and then, frustratingly, anger and skepticism. “Are you seriously doing this right now? What, Miss Perfect Tits with the size zero waist wasn’t enough? You still had to come drag me away from a perfectly nice guy because you're what – jealous? Playing some fucked up game and decided it was a good idea to make up some bullshit story?"

"This isn't a game," Dean growled, his anger flaring. "I literally watched him spike your drink, Lainey."

He’d hoped that when he didn’t rise to the bait, that maybe some part of her would realize he wasn’t joking around, but Lainey only scoffed. “You’re full of shit. Do you think I’m new at this, Dean? I mean, really, how stupid do you think I am?”

“Right now? Pretty fucking stupid,” he interjected, but Lainey continued on as if he hadn’t spoken, the only sign that she’d heard him the way her eyes narrowed further.

“I’ve had my hand over the top of my drink the entire time. I can take care of myself.”

“Yeah? You sure about that? Because from where I’m standing, it seems like you’re the same reckless, know-it-all, pain-in-the-ass you’ve been since we were kids that would rather cut off her own nose to spite her face and can’t be bothered to listen to anyone but herself!”

He hadn’t meant to lose his patience, and when Lainey glared at him that time, he knew he’d really pissed her off. Her grip tightened on the glass, and for a second, he thought she was going to splash it in his face. Considering what happened next, he wished she had.

“Fuck you!” she snapped. “I’m so tired of your crap. You asked me to stay out, make a night of it for old time’s sake, and you’ve been flirting with that girl all night, but the second I find someone to talk to, suddenly there’s a problem?”

Dean ran a hand down his face in frustration. "Lainey, I swear to God, could you quit it with your bullshit for five fucking seconds here? I'm not making this up. That guy is bad news. I saw him drop something in that glass while you were laughing at whatever bullshit his friend was spewing. I wouldn’t lie to you about something like this.”

“No, he didn’t. Jesus fucking Christ, Dean, let it go! There’s nothing wrong with this drink, I’ll prove it.”

“Don’t —” Dean lunged forward but Lainey was too fast. Before he could stop her, she’d stepped back, pressing the glass to her lips and tilting her head back, downing the full contents in several large gulps. “Are you fucking crazy?” he cried, disbelief and horror churning in his gut. Lainey glared back.

“No, I’m just done.” She turned, heading back towards the door. “I’m not your problem anymore, Dean, so why don’t you go back to your date. Wouldn’t want her to get cold and lonely without you. Don’t follow me.”

Dean watched her go, frozen for a moment as he processed what had just happened. There was a part of him, the angry part, that wanted to just walk away — let her deal with the consequences of her own stubborn idiocy. She was right, she wasn’t his problem anymore.

But even as Dean said that, he knew it wasn’t true. Lainey Hollings had always been his problem, and always would be. Just like for all her piss and vinegar, he had always been hers. Even at their worst, Dean never doubted that she had his back when it mattered. Hell, when he thought about it he could still feel the warmth of her hand in his, the feel of her fingers in his hair, and the soothing sound of her voice when she’d pulled him away not a week ago on that fucking plane, talking him down the way only she had ever been able to do, putting aside all of their crap without a word and just being there.

Cursing under his breath, he followed her back inside.

The warmth and noise hit him like a physical force after being out in the cool night air, and somehow it felt even more crowded despite the fact that he hadn’t seen anyone else filter inside. His eyes found Lainey immediately, his eyes still trained to pick out her familiar auburn hair easily. She was already back with Rick, though his buddy was nowhere to be seen, smile on her face as she ordered another drink from the bartender and let Rick put a hand on her lower back.

Dean’s blood was boiling, and the voice in his head was screaming for him to go over there, beat that jackass to a pulp, and pull her right back out, but he refrained. There was the slightest chance that maybe he’d seen wrong, though he doubted it, and they couldn’t afford the kind of scene pushing further would create. So after weighing his options, he resigned himself to going back to the bar and keeping an eye out.

Vanessa was still where he’d left her, looking around with mild concern that shifted to relief when she spotted him approaching.

“Everything okay?” she asked, echoing Rick’s question but with what seemed to Dean like genuine concern.

He bit back a scoff. Was everything okay? Everything was definitely not okay, but he wasn’t about to unload.

“Yeah,” he lied instead, sliding onto the stool next to her that had opened up in his absence. “Just had to take care of something.”

As he settled in, he made sure he had a clear view of Lainey and Rick. Vanessa began to pull him back into conversation, and Dean did his best to appear engaged, but the easy flirtation he’d been enjoying earlier in the night had evaporated. He was far too concerned with watching Lainey and Rick like a hawk, waiting for any signs of trouble.

He didn’t have to wait long.

“So,” Vanessa was saying, her hand back on his arm, leaning in close enough that he could feel her breath on his ear, that fancy perfume of hers invading his sense of smell. “Like I was saying… my place isn’t that far if you wanna…”

That was when he saw Lainey sway on her feet, Rick’s arm tightening around her waist to keep her upright. Even from across the room, Dean could see the confusion on Lainey’s face, her eyes darting to the empty glass from before and then up at Rick.

Dean mentally cursed. She’d always had impeccable timing.

“Sorry, I need to go,” he said abruptly, standing up, barely even looking in her direction as Vanessa fell further away from him. “My friend needs help.”

Without waiting for a response, he pushed his way back through the crowd, back around the bar, his eyes never leaving Lainey. By the time he reached them, Rick had his arm fully around her, whispering something in her ear that made her shake her head weakly.

“Time to go, Lainey,” Dean said firmly, his tone brooking no room for argument and stepping right up to them. Rick’s head snapped up immediately, expression darkening when he saw Dean was back.

“She’s fine, man. We’re just having a good time and she had one too many. I’ll get her some water and some air and she’ll be good as new.”

“You’re not getting her anything,” Dean replied, his voice hard. “Lainey, come on.”

Lainey blinked up at him, her pupils blown wide, her normally sharp green eyes unfocused. “Dean?” she mumbled, slurring slightly. She reached for him immediately, and his heart clenched at the undercurrent of fear and confusion in her voice. “What… what’s happening?”

“You’re not feeling well,” Dean said, gently dislodging her from Rick and pulling her closer, slipping his own arm around her waist. “We need to get you back to the motel.”

“She said she’s fine,” Rick said, moving closer. “Why don’t you mind your own business?”

Dean instinctively pivoted them, putting Lainey firmly behind him as he glared back. “She is my business,” he growled, “and whatever was going on here is done.”

“Dean,” Lainey said again, her voice still small, the confusion only stronger, fear more prominent. She managed to stumble, even though they weren’t moving, and Dean tightened the hold he had on her even as he felt her clutching at his back, her movements clumsy. “I don’t… I don’t feel right.”

Rick tried to reach around Dean for her. “She just needs some air, I’ll take care of her.”

“Like hell you will,” Dean snarled, and before Rick could react, Dean had grabbed the front of his shirt and slammed him against the bar. "You think I didn't see you spike her drink? You think I'm just going to let you walk out of here with her?"

Rick's eyes widened in panic. "I don't know what you're talking about, man!"

"Save it," Dean spat. He leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "If I ever see you near her again, I will end you. Understand?"

Rick nodded frantically, and Dean released him with a disgusted shove. He then refocused on Lainey, who was swaying between leaning on him and the bar, and he tightened his grip, pulling her weight firmly back against him. Under any other circumstances it would have amazed him how easily she still fit there, how natural the action came to him, but then and there he was far too focused on the glazed look on her face.

“Come on,” Dean told her gently. "Let's get you out of here."

Lainey didn't resist as he guided her through the crowd toward the exit. By the time they reached the door, she was leaning almost all of her weight on him, her steps unsteady.

The night air hit them again as they stepped outside, and Lainey shivered despite the leather jacket she was wearing, pressing closer to Dean’s side. “Cold,” she mumbled, her head lolling against his shoulder.

“I know,” Dean sighed, his anger momentarily forgotten in place of concern, though some of his exasperation still lingered. “Hang in there, I’m gonna get you back to the motel.”

Parking had not been plentiful when they arrived and the Impala was about a block and a half away. Getting Lainey there was a challenge to say the least. Her coordination was totally shot, feet dragging and stumbling with every step. Of course, even drugged out of her mind, that goddamn stubborn streak of hers still reared its ugly head, and she started off insisting she could walk, though she didn’t take any issue with letting Dean help. By the time they actually made it back to the Impala, Dean was practically carrying her and Lainey had given up any pretenses that she could handle herself.

“Here we go,” he muttered, though he almost felt like it was more to himself than anything else for how coherent Lainey seemed to be. Carefully leaning her against the passenger side of the car, he fished his keys from his pocket. “Just hang on, Laine.”

Her head turned, lolled really, and her eyes found him, even if they were glassy and unfocused. “You were right,” she slurred, her hand reaching up to clumsily pat his cheek. “That jackass was bad news.”

“Yeah, well, you’ve always been a stubborn pain in my ass, haven’t you? Maybe next time you’ll listen to me,” Dean grumbled, finally unlocking the door and helping her into the passenger seat. Despite the gruff tone, Lainey seemed to read the affection underlying it and smiled vaguely at him, silent understanding passing between them.

“If only,” she joked lightly, her voice trailing off in that way that told him she was fighting to stay conscious.

By the time he had her settled and had circled around to the driver’s side, she was clearly losing the fight. She was already slumped against the door, her eyes closed, breathing shallow but steady when Dean slid behind the wheel.

“Lainey,” he said, reaching over to shake her gently. “Hey, sweetheart, stay with me, okay? No sleeping yet.” She mumbled something unintelligible but didn’t open her eyes, and Dean cursed under his breath. “Laine, c’mon, I’m serious. Show me those green eyes of yours.”

It took a moment but she blinked them open, even if they were slightly narrowed. “Bite me,” she muttered, and despite the circumstances, Dean let out a short snort of laughter.

“There’s my girl,” he said, shaking his head as he started the car and listened to the engine roar to life.

The drive back to the motel was tense, Dean constantly glancing over at Lainey to make sure she stayed conscious, occasionally reaching over to nudge her when she started drifting off.

“Talk to me, Laine,” he urged after they’d done the same song and dance a few times. “Tell me about… I don’t know, tell me about your classes or something.”

“Classes?” she repeated with a snort, her eyes fluttering open. “Why d’you… since when… you wanna hear ‘bout… my classes.”

“Oh come on,” he tried to cajole. “It’s been forever since I got to hear you out-nerd Sam.”

Something fluttered in his stomach when that drew a chuckle out of her. “Mmm… guess it has…” She paused, head lolling against the window, and Dean was about to reach over and shake her again when she opened her mouth. “Bones… lots of bones… and… dead stuff… s’great.”

“Yeah,” he nodded, relieved she was at least somewhat coherent. “You were always a little twisted and morbid.”

“You always told me that normal was overrated,” she slurred, and Dean nodded again.

“’Cause it is,” he said firmly. While not fitting in had always been something Dean embraced and made work for him, it had always been an insecurity of Lainey’s. “You were always weird but I always liked you better that way.”

“You’re weird,” she countered without heat and seemingly without any real thought, her words running into each other. “With your… car and your… music… and your face.”

Dean glanced over at her, brow raised. “My face?”

"Mmhmm," she hummed, her eyes drifting closed again. "Your stupid, pretty face."

Dean felt something twist in his chest at that, but he pushed it aside, concern taking back over. "Hey, no sleeping. We're almost there."

The motel parking lot was about half full of cars but mercifully devoid of any actual people. Dean was able to score a spot right outside their room, and quickly circled around to help Lainey out. She was even less coordinated now, her limbs flailing and disjointed, disconnected, from whatever she was trying to do with them.

“Woah, easy,” Dean said, catching her as she nearly topped out of the car. “I got you, baby, just… let me help, alright?”

She didn’t argue, letting Dean loop her arms around his neck while he scooped her up bridal style and kicked the car door shut behind them. He was glad he had thought to pull out the key to the room before grabbing her, though he still had to fumble a bit with the door given his arms were full of Lainey, and he only managed to flip the light on with his elbow.

“Bright,” she complained immediately, turning her face and practically burrowing into the crook of his neck.

“Sorry,” he murmured, keeping his voice soothing as he eased her into the bed furthest from the door and closest to the bathroom. “Just gotta get you settled.”

Soon as Dean let her go, Lainey curled onto her side, eyes closed, and Dean straightened up, running a hand through his hair as he thought through what to do next. He needed to get some water into her, probably find some asprin or advil or something for when she inevitably crashed… and then there was the concerning fact that he didn’t completely know what they were dealing with. He realized he should probably keep an eye on her through the night, make sure whatever that asshole had given her worked its way out of her system without causing any real damage.

God, what a fucking mess.

“Dean?”

Lainey’s voice was small, almost childlike in its uncertainty… vulnerable in ways she’d let Dean hear before but not for a very long time. It caught his attention immediately, despite how quiet it was.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he answered, moving back to her, trying to give her space but make sure she knew he had her. “What do you need?”

It took a moment, but he watched her force her eyes open, staring up at him with an expression that made his chest ache. “Just… don’t go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he assured her, perching on the edge of the bed and carding his fingers through her hair, tracing along her scalp in the way he knew she loved. “But I need to get you some water, okay?”

She nodded slowly, and Dean pushed back to his feet, ducking into the bathroom and filling one of the plastic cups with water from the sink.

“Small sips,” he told her when he got back, crouching down between the beds by her head and helping her sit up. “Don’t want you getting sick.” Though, as the words left his mouth, Dean wondered if that might not be its own kind of help - get some of whatever crap was in her system out.

But Lainey complied, her hands shaking too much to hold the cup herself. Dean held it for her, his other hand supporting her until, after a few sips, she turned her face away.

“No more,” she mumbled.

“Okay,” Dean agreed, setting the cup aside as he helped her lie back down. “How are you feeling?”

“Floaty,” she replied, her eyes drifting to the ceiling as she rolled on her back. “And spinny. Everything’s all… mixed up.”

“Yeah, well, that’ll happen when you chug a drink that’s been roofied,” Dean couldn’t help but point out. There was no heat behind his words, but Lainey’s face crumpled, uncharacteristic tears welling up in her eyes.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, rolling back onto her side to look in his direction and clumsily reaching a hand out to grab his arm. “I should’ve listened.”

“Hey, no,” he said, immediately regretting his words and reaching out to brush a tear from her cheek with his thumb. “That guy was a dick, Laine, it’s not your fault.”

“But you tried to tell me,” she insisted, her voice thick. “I was just… I was so… so mad at you.”

“It’s fine,” Dean assured her, hoping she’d just drop it. She was venturing into an emotional state Dean didn’t trust himself to deal with. “Water under the bridge.”

Lainey’s grip tightened, before sliding down to tangle her fingers with his. “No, it’s not fine. I was such a bitch.”

Dean sighed, giving her hand a gentle squeeze. “Yeah, well I wasn’t exactly Prince Charming. C’mon Laine, we don’t have to —”

"I'm always awful to you now," she continued as if he hadn’t spoken, the drugs clearly lowering all her usual defenses. "I don’t mean to be, I just... it hurts. Being around you… seeing you again… I don’t… don’t know how… it’s hard."

Dean froze, unsure how to respond. This was crossing a line they hadn’t even gotten near since they’d been thrown back in each other’s paths, and there was something that felt fundamentally wrong about letting her go there when she wasn’t capable of keeping those normal walls of hers up. He didn’t want to go there unless she chose to… but he didn’t entirely know how to shut her down either. Didn’t want her to think he was blowing her off.

“Me too, Lainey,” he admitted gently. “I get it. I’m sorry too.”

Her grip on his hand tightened, the only clue that she even heard him. “Everything used to be so good,” she murmured, almost to herself, her eyes fluttering shut. “And then it all hurt so much when you left.”

Dean swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. "Laine..."

"You were my best friend," she continued, tears she’d have never let out soberly cascading softly down her cheeks. “Best friends first, anything else second. No matter what, I could always count on you. You never… you never let me down… always… then… just… gone.”

The raw pain in her voice hit Dean like a physical blow.

He’d known, in an abstract sort of way, that their breakup had hurt her. They’d been too connected for him to go through the torment he did over it to think she walked away scot-free, and even if he had been that dumb… the pain had been too clear that night everything had gone to hell — on her face, in her voice as she’d screamed at him… memories that were permanently seared into his brain no matter what he’d done to try and dull them.

But somehow, in the years since, he'd convinced himself that she'd moved on, that the anger she’d been directing at him since Halloween was just annoyance at having him back in her life when she'd built a new one without him. Maybe even some of it really her anger at her own brother, projected onto him because of how things had gone down between him and Sam - she’d always been protective of Sam, and Kyle giving her up was a wound Dean would have bet the Impala had never healed.

But this? This was old pain, and their pain, deep and also unhealed.

"I missed you so much," she confessed, her voice dropping to a whisper. "I still miss you, even though you’re here all the time now. Isn't that stupid?"

Before Dean could formulate a response, Lainey's expression suddenly shifted, her face paling. "Dean," she said urgently, "I think I'm gonna be sick."

Dean reacted instantly, grabbing a nearby trashcan and sliding it under her just in time for her to lean over and get sick. He held her hair back as she retched, his other hand rubbing soothing circles on her back.

"It's okay," he murmured, "get it all out."

When she was done, he helped to the bathroom, taking the trash can with them to swap for the other in case she needed it again. Inside, they managed to rinse her mouth and wash her face before Dean carefully guided her back to the bed. She was even more unsteady now, the bout of sickness having sapped what little energy she had left, though Dean at least managed to get her jacket off this time before settling her back in the bed.

"Better?" he asked, helping her lie down again.

Lainey nodded weakly, her eyes already drooping. "Just tired," she mumbled.

"I bet," Dean said, pulling the covers up over her. "Get some sleep. I'll be right here if you need anything."

She reached for his hand again, tugging him closer. "Stay," she repeated, her eyes already closing. "Please."

Dean hesitated, at war with himself, but in the end carefully settled himself on the bed beside her, on top of the covers. "I'm staying," he promised. “You’ve got me, Laine, long as you need me.”

Lainey curled toward him, her head coming to rest against his side. Within minutes, her breathing had evened out into a rhythm that told Dean she was asleep. He found himself sitting there, staring down at her, trying to process everything that had just happened.

She'd missed him. Still missed him, even now. The thought was both comforting and painful. Because the truth was, he'd missed her too. More than he'd ever been willing to admit, even to himself. But he wasn’t naive enough to think it changed anything.

He and Lainey… there was so much baggage there… so much pain… he wasn’t sure they’d ever find a way to sort it all out.

Carefully, so as not to wake her, Dean brushed a strand of hair from her face. She looked younger in sleep, more like the Lainey he'd known before, when she was his and he was hers, and he felt ready to take on the whole fucking world as long as she was by his side.

Before his dad had found out about her magic. Before his dad and Bobby had their falling out. Before Dean had made the worst mistake of his life and let all of it come between them.

"I missed you too," he whispered, even though he knew she wouldn’t hear him — if she could, Dean was pretty certain he wouldn’t have been able to get them out anyway.

He stayed beside her the rest of the night, dozing occasionally but mostly watching over her, making sure she was breathing normally, that she didn't get sick again in her sleep. At some point, she shifted, curling closer to him, her hand coming to rest on his chest directly over his heart. The familiar weight of it was both comforting and twisted something Dean didn’t want to think about. After as long as it had been, and given the circumstances, it should have felt foreign and wrong, but Dean couldn’t bear to move her.

It was when the first light of dawn began to filter through the curtains that Dean finally extracted himself from her grasp, carefully, moving to make coffee and before going to check on Sam. He'd just started the pot when he heard Lainey stirring behind him.

She sat up slowly, wincing at the movement and one hand coming up to press against her temple. "Fuck," she mumbled, eyes squinting against even the dim light of the room.

"Morning, sunshine," Dean greeted, keeping his voice deliberately soft, even if there was a teasing lilt to it. "How's the head?"

Lainey groaned, falling back against the pillows. With the danger now passed, Dean tried not to be too amused – Lainey had never been much of a morning person at the best of times, and a hungover Lainey had always been the worst kind of morning Lainey.

“Like someone’s playing the fucking drums inside it. What the hell happened last night?”

Dean poured a cup of coffee, dropping the pinch of sugar and creamer in it he knew she preferred and then bringing it over to her, along with two Aspirin he'd dug out of his bag.

"What do you remember?"

She took the pills gratefully, washing them down with a sip of coffee.

“We stayed at the bar after we talked to the band… you were hanging out with that blonde chick, and I went to talk to that guy from earlier… Rick. Then you came over, all pissed off about something…” Dean watched her brow furrowed while she tried to remember. “You said… you said he put something in my drink…”

"He did," Dean confirmed, perching on the edge of the other bed, facing her. "You didn't believe me. Chugged the whole thing to prove me wrong."

Lainey winced. "Yeah, that sounds like me. Shit."

"Yeah," Dean agreed. "Shit is right."

“Oh,” she continued, and Dean could practically see the fragments of memory coming back to her, her eyes widening in horror. “Oh god. I was such a bitch to you.”

Dean made a face. “No argument here.”

She looked over at him then, her expression uncharacteristically vulnerable instead of fiery the way he expected. "You took care of me anyway,” she said.

It wasn't a question, but Dean nodded anyway, trying to brush it off. "Someone had to."

He tried to avoid her eyes, but he could feel her gaze on him anyway, even as he picked at his own coffee cup.

“Thank you,” she finally said, her voice still soft, and despite his intentions, Dean felt himself looking back at her anyway. And when she had his attention, she continued. “I mean it, Dean. Thank you.”

There was a moment of quiet understanding that passed between them, a temporary truce in their ongoing war they’d been waging on each other. Dean found himself wanting to prolong it, to stay in this moment where they weren't sniping at each other, where the walls Lainey had built around herself were temporarily down. Where his own defenses were lowered and they could just… coexist… they way they always had.

But he knew it couldn't last. Already, he could see her starting to gather herself, the vulnerability in her eyes being replaced by her usual guarded expression.

"I should check on Sam," he said, standing up, not wanting to linger to watch the temporary ease between them evaporate further. "See if he's feeling any better."

Lainey nodded, taking another sip of her coffee. "I’ll take a shower and then I’ll swing by."

Dean hesitated at the door, looking back at her. "You gonna be okay?"

“Yeah, I’m good,” she promised, a small smile pulling at her lips. “I won’t be far behind.”

Dean nodded and slipped out, breathing deeply to steady himself before moving towards the next door belonging to the room he’d initially been sharing with Sam. His brother was sitting up in bed when he entered, looking pale but definitely improved relative to how he’d been looking the last couple of days.

"Hey," Sam greeted, his voice still a bit nasal but head immediately swiveling to look when the door opened, at which point he then did a double take. “Dude, you look like shit. What happened to you?”

“Nothing to worry about, just a long night,” Dean dismissed, closing the door behind him. “How you feelin’, sasquatch?”

“Better,” Sam said, though Dean could tell he was unconvinced and not ready to drop it from the curious way he was still eyeing him. “Still not great, but I think the worst is over. How are you and Lainey making out with the case?”

Right. The case.

Dean fought back a wave of frustration, remembering the complete dead end they were at.

“Lainey and I went to go talk to the vic’s bandmates last night, but we didn’t get anywhere. We got no leads, and as far as we can tell the chick’s squeaky clean.”

“Right,” Sam said slowly. “Is that why you’re so bright eyed and bushy tailed this morning? Or did you and Laine get into it again last night?”

Dean scrubbed a hand down his face even as his back stiffened at the question. He realized seconds too late that even that action had given away more than he intended.

“Like I said, it was just a long night. You want me to run out and grab you food or anything?”

But Sam wasn’t listening. His eyes were narrowing, and Dean could practically see the gears turning in that big freaking brain of his.

“Dean, quit being evasive. What aren’t you telling me?”

“Nothing, Sammy, would you just drop it?”

Sam huffed but dropped back further against the stack of pillows behind him. “Whatever. So what’re you and Lainey gonna do next. Anything I can help with?”

Dean arched an eyebrow. “You kidding me? I haven’t seen you vertical in days and you wanna jump back in on a case?”

Sam shrugged, his eyes drifting towards the ceiling. “Starting to go a little stir crazy,” he admitted. “Maybe I could help with research or something.”

Dean chuckled and moved further into the room, settling in to lean against the dresser while he sipped at his coffee. “We got it covered for the moment, but I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Yeah, alright,” Sam acquiesced, and Dean silently cursed when he noticed his eyes hovering back by the door. “Hey, where is Lainey? She usually comes by to check in before you.”

“Shower,” Dean replied quickly, too quickly, and he took another sip of his coffee when Sam eyed him suspiciously. “Said she’d be along after.”

“Uh huh. And everything’s alright with her?”

Part of Dean thought about telling Sam what had happened - Lainey, he knew, was like the big sister he’d never had, and he suspected Sam had become her new best friend in the years they’d stopped speaking. He’d certainly seen the way Sam leaned on Lainey since the three of them had hit the road together, and knew that Sam would want to know.

But Dean also knew Lainey would want as few people as possible to know. Even if he thought she’d be more comfortable talking to Sam than him about what happened as she worked through it, and Dean was sure she’d be working through it for a bit, it was her choice whether or not to clue Sam into everything. So Dean slowly took another sip and pressed his lips together.

“She’s good, I promise. C’mon, you know I’d never let anything happen to her.”

Sam seemed to consider him for a moment, before snorting and shaking his head. “Yeah, I do,” he admitted. “You two fight worse than anyone I’ve ever seen, but damn I’d hate to see what would happen to anyone that tried to screw with either of you in front of the other. You remember when you two were in high school and that dick keyed her car because she beat him to that parking spot? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so violent over a car. Not even your car.”

Dean felt a grim smile forming on his face, the memory Sam describing playing out in his mind vividly. He and Sam had been crashing at Bobby’s for a long weekend while their dad had gone hunting something with his buddy Caleb. He’d just finished fixing up Lainey’s dad’s car for her the last time he’d dropped into visit about a month before. Fixing the paint job was easy, but the look on Lainey’s face when she’d seen it had made his blood boil, and Dean had reacted on instinct. He’d always been willing to walk for fire for her. She could do it herself, but especially back then, there’s been something inside of him that never wanted her to feel like she had to.

“Yeah, I remember,” he muttered. “Was, like, a million fucking years ago though.”

Sam snorted, and they lapsed into silence for a moment, Dean enjoying his coffee and Sam stretching out, reaching for his phone.

Despite himself, Dean found his mind wandering, thoughts veering back to the night before, wondering what Lainey would remember when she was fully coherent. If she'd remember the things she'd said to him, about still missing him. If she'd remember asking him to stay with her. If she'd remember curling into him like it was the most natural thing in the world, like five years of anger and bitterness had never existed between them.

Sam’s little walk down memory lane, short as it was, hadn’t done him any favors.

Dean was yanked from his thoughts by a knock at the door, and before either he or Sam could respond, it swung open to reveal none other than Lainey herself. Her hair was damp from the shower, but pulled into a braid she had draped over her shoulder, the loose wisps around her face already drying. What caught Dean’s attention was the fact that she was already dressed in that pencil skirt and light blue button down she tended to wear when they were posing as Feds.

“Hey,” she greeted, her eyes immediately going to Sam. “How’s the patient?”

“Better,” Sam shrugged, his eyes giving her a once over. “Still not a hundred percent, but I’ll live. How are you? Dean said you guys hit another dead end with the case.”

Dean knew he’d made the right call when Lainey’s eyes flicked over to his, the silent thank you in them clear as if she’d said the words.

“Yeah,” she said, “last night was a bust, but we might have a new lead.”

“Oh?” Dean asked, straightening up and arching an eyebrow. “Is that why you’re doing your best impression of a respectable member of society this early in the morning?”

Lainey rolled her eyes but smirked, tossing him one of the burners they kept on hand to use with local badges and witnesses.

“Yep!” she confirmed, popping the p. “Got a voicemail earlier. Lead singer from last night? April’s friend Sasha? Found butchered in her apartment same way April was. No sign of a break in, door locked from the inside. Figured we should get over there and check it out while it’s still fresh.”

Dean was already moving towards the door before she’d finished talking, flipping the phone open to call up the voicemail as he went. “Yeah, just lemme grab a shower and get dressed.”

“I’ll come with you guys,” Sam said, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“No!” Dean and Lainey said in unison, glancing at each other in surprise.

“You’re still sick, Sam,” Lainey added, “and Dean and I have this covered. We’ll check it out and be back before you know it.”

Sam looked between them, clearly surprised, if Dean had to guess, at Lainey’s willingness to handle it with just Dean. “Yeah, all right… but let me know what you guys find.”

“Promise,” Dean said, before dropping his gaze down to Lainey — she was only inches from him now as he hovered by the door. “Meet you out by the car?”

She bit her bottom lip but nodded, an eagerness in her face that told him she was anxious to put the last twelve hours or so behind her.

“Sounds good.”

Dean got ready in record time, joining Lainey only about ten minutes later. The drive to Sasha’s apartment was tense but not uncomfortable, and Dean kept sneaking glances to his right, where Lainey was staring out the window — her expression set in a determined expression he knew well. To his surprise, a fragile truce still seemed to exist between them, and he suspected that the events of the previous night had shifted something fundamental in the new dynamic they’d established over the past month or so. Not that either of them, he guessed, were ready to acknowledge it.

He certainly wasn’t. At least not head on.

“How’re you feeling?” Dean finally asked as they pulled up a few cars away from the cluster of police cars outside the apartment building. This one, Dean noted, didn’t have the same kind of power lines running into it, and he hoped the EMF meter might not be completely useless this time around, though he suspected the barrage of law enforcement might make it harder to check out without drawing attention.

Lainey turned to look at him for the first time since he’d started driving, the ghost of a smile crossing her lips. “Like I got hit and run over by a fucking tractor trailer, but I’ll live. Thanks though… could’ve been worse.”

Dean nodded, feeling unexpectedly relieved and simultaneously uncomfortable with the gratitude. “Don’t mention it.”

They approached the apartment without much more conversation, both of them slipping into work mode easily and falling back on a natural rhythm they’d formed after years of hunting together that even still they hadn’t quite forgotten.

Just like at April’s apartment the place was swimming with locals and the scene waiting for them inside was grizzly — blood spattered everywhere, and this time with Sasha’s corpse still lying on the floor, covered by a cloth. After exchanging a look with Lainey, he left her to take a look at the body while he worked through the rest of the apartment. Just like in April’s place, everywhere else seemed untouched. He was just opening the door to the office when Lainey reappeared at his elbow, a grim expression on her face.

“Well?” he prompted, eyebrows raised as he simultaneously pushed the door open.

“Same exact injuries as April. I don’t know what we’re dealing with but I still say it looks like their necks were sliced by some kind of wire.”

Dean couldn’t have planned it any better if he tried. Because no sooner were the words out of Lainey’s mouth did he turn to look into the room he’d just opened, and his eyes immediately fell on a pink, electric guitar — this time sitting in a stand, but unmistakably the same one he’d seen at April’s apartment that first day — and the pieces started to click into place.

The guitar in April’s bedroom. The way Lainey said it looked like the damage to the necks had been caused by wire. The band talking about April being excited to have just gotten the guitar at a second hand shop. And now that Dean was looking at it, he was fairly certain he’d seen Sasha playing the damn thing the night before.

“Son of a bitch,” he cursed, immediately drawing Lainey’s attention.

“What?” she asked, and he pointed, watching as her mind drew the same conclusions and her eyes widened in realization.

“Do you think…”

“Seems a little too coincidental to be anything else, don’t you think?”

Lainey frowned but didn’t argue, instead walking slowly into the room, hovering by the guitar but not touching, her mouth twitching into a frown as she thought. Dean followed just behind, his own mind spinning too.

“Still…” she said, “we should be sure. If nothing else, to make sure we don’t leave the job undone.”

There was a beat of silence between them, in which Dean noticed Lainey shift uncomfortably, and he wondered if her mind had gone the same place his had. He’d have been surprised if it didn’t.

“Solid reasoning, doc,” he joked, and the fact that her eyes stayed glued to the guitar instead of rolling in his direction with exasperation confirmed his suspicions. “You wanna do something about that?”

“Dean…” she warned, almost whined, and he finally caught her attention, shooting her a challenging look.

“What, Laine? What d’you want me to say? If you wanna be sure, we both know there’s an easy way for you to do that.”

Lainey was a solid hunter. Always had been. But Dean still remembered the edge her magic had given her when it came to cursed objects.

“There’s always research,” she muttered, but Dean looked back skeptically.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” he hissed. “Lainey, that’s time we don’t need to waste.”

Finally, her eyes narrowed. “I told you, I don’t —”

“Practice anymore,” he cut her off, glancing over his shoulder to make sure it was really just the two of them before stepping in closer. “Yeah, I know, you said. But Lainey, come on. It’s a simple spell, I’ve seen you do it a hundred times. Just… do your thing and let’s get this show on the road.”

He could practically see the war going on inside her head, catching the way she bit her bottom lip between her teeth, her hand absentmindedly coming up to play with the silver necklace still hanging around her neck, like he’d seen her do countless times before. Finally, she met his eye again, and Dean was surprised to see a glimmer of that old trust that used to be between them sparking to life, mixed with concern.

“I don’t do this anymore,” she whispered. “Why don’t you use the EMF meter? See if it spikes?”

“Alright, sure, let’s go that route. What if it’s the cursed object we both think it is? You got a container lying around that’ll take care of it?”

“No,” she sighed after a moment, “but Dean —”

Later, when he looked back on it, Dean wasn’t totally sure what made it click for him, but something did, and he realized that he was the thing making her uncomfortable with tapping into that part of herself. Or at least he was in that moment, and Dean felt a strange mix of guilt and something else he didn’t want to examine too closely churning in his stomach.

“Hey Lainey?” he interrupted. “If you really don’t wanna do it, I’m not gonna push. But I trust you… and if you can do this, we might be able to end this right here and right now. That’s all I’m saying.”

A day ago, there wasn’t a chance in hell he could’ve said something like that and have it go anywhere beyond in one ear and out the other. A day ago, she probably would have scoffed and thrown back some half-cocked jab about how he’d handled things with his dad.

She definitely wouldn’t have believed him.

But today, in light of whatever fundamental shift had occurred, she softened, and Dean almost didn’t believe his eyes.

He’d have still given anything to have kept the last twenty-four hours from happening — no matter how much she pissed him off, there was no part of him that ever wanted to see Lainey Hollings in pain.

But if all of that crap had to happen… he’d take whatever silver linings he could find. And any easing of the animosity that had been between them since she’d been thrown back into his life… well, that was a hell of a silver lining.

Ultimately it was with Dean carefully guarding the door to make sure that no one interrupted while Lainey set to work, her eyes glowing that ethereal purple as she first went about confirming they were actually dealing with a cursed object, and then, with a nervous glance in his direction, destroying the thing so thoroughly no one would have ever known it was there to begin with. Dean had never been particularly fond of witches, at least not the demon bartering scum they usually dealt with, but Lainey was a different breed, and there was something oddly soothing about watching her work.

Maybe it should have scared him, it certainly had his dad… but for all her sharp edges, Lainey had never scared him. Pissed him off? Sure. Drove him to the brink of insanity? Regularly. But he’d meant it when he’d said he trusted her… he always had, implicitly, and Dean was starting to realize that maybe she’d never stopped trusting him either.

It was something to see, the way she started off anxious and jittery, and then slowly fell into a natural rhythm he remembered from before. And when she turned to him at the end, some of those nerves starting to creep back in, he couldn’t have stopped the warm smile from spreading across his face if he tried.

“There,” she said quietly, smoothing her hands over her skirt as she walked over to him. “Should be all sorted.”

Dean stood up straight, peeking into the hallway, double checking that the local badges were still occupied in the living room as she drew level.

“Looks good on you, Hollings,” he commented, earning raised eyebrows from her.

“What does?” she asked, and Dean shrugged, shoving his hands into his pocket when he had to fight the urge to throw an arm around her shoulders the way he would have before.

“Nothing,” he dismissed, thinking better of anything he’d been tempted to say. “It’s just nice, is all, seeing you let those walls of yours down a bit.”

There was a beat, and then Lainey scoffed, a smile that was almost playful spreading across her face as she shouldered past him.

“Yeah, well don’t go getting used to it,” she said quietly as they nodded to the others and slipped back out into the hallway, heading back towards the Impala. “You’re still a major pain in my ass.”

Dean held the door open for her, letting her pass, and he couldn’t help but watch her go for a moment, trailing behind her as a smirk tugged at her lips.

Yeah, he was a major pain in her ass, and she was still a major pain in his, but he couldn’t help but wonder if maybe there might be some kind of hope for them yet. He wasn’t delusional enough to think the night before had solved all their problems, but maybe he hoped, they could stop pretending to hate each other so much.

And if they could do that? Well, Dean Winchester had celebrated smaller wins than that.

*************************

Tag List (let me know if you'd like to be added): @mrsjenniferwinchester @0ccvltism @chevroletdean

#chevroletdean's 500 #dean winchester #dean winchester x ofc #supernatural #spn fanfic #spn #spn fanfiction #supernatural fanfiction #dean winchester fanfiction #supernatural fanfic #annie writes #spn dean winchester #supernatural dean winchester x oc #dean winchester x oc #fluff #angst #hurt/comfort #hexed and held

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orphicrose · 8 days ago

Text

Beneath the beast

Chapter 1. Marigold

Cursed with a titan, you find yourself on the island of devils - Forced into the ranks of the scout regiment. But as you fight to control the beast, one man threatens to unravel everything… Levi Ackerman.

18+ • Explicit content, blood, swearing, gore, smut • Angst, Slow-burn, Titan shifter AU, Enemies(?)to Lovers, Hurt/comfort • Plot focused • Canon timeline •

w/c . 1.5K

( Wattpad . Chapter overview )

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Oil lamps flickered in the small hallway that lead down to your cell, a dim but warm haze that casted over the bricks cracked with time. Your hands stretched over the rusted bars that separated you from the rest of the world like cattle. Waiting to be allowed freedom.

Hours had dragged on down there, hours since they tossed you into this inhumane pit of self-pity.

You had thought the people of the walls may have offered you some grace when you had saved one of their soldiers, but they treated you like a criminal.

Above you was the council house. A large area that stretched across half the building, littered with chairs and long tables full of greyed men. Each scratching at the bald patches on their heads, questioning how the hell a young woman had made it outside their menagerie. Let alone survived it.

God, how you missed your bed. The warm, clean sheets that held scents of your mothers cooking. The wallpaper on the East wall peeling with time, that you and your brother would pick at mindlessly while you spoke of your day. The damp patches that drowned your ceiling in a black mold. Your father always claimed he would fix it. He never did.

But - oh, it was your black mold. And you'd do anything right now to be picking at the yellow, flowered paper with your brother, complaining about it all.

The memory stung, shunning itself into the corners of your mind. Shadowing itself from the light of the present. It was gone. All of it. There was no point to dwell.

Leaning your head into the bars, your eyes flutter shut. Bursting back open when a noise from above startled you.

A door at the top of the stairs had flung open. Followed with the sound of footsteps creaking down the old wood, forcing splintered shards to rain down from the ceiling braces.

You spun on your hands, eyes trailing up to a tall man standing with a commanding authority. Looming over you.

His blonde hair was neatly combed into a side parting that framed his slender face , with blue eyes that locked onto you with a vicious intensity. His uniform matched with every other scout you had come across. Yet, you could tell he was a higher ranking officer. The way he carried himself with sureness, the confidence extruded in his steps without a word having to be said.

It was intimidating, to say the least.

Eyes trained on you, not wavering even for a split second, he took a seat on the rickety stool opposite. Looking as if it would crumble with any added weight.

"They informed me you haven't said a single word since your arrival. Is there a particular reason?" He finally spoke with a sharp tone. Leaning forward with his hands locked in his lap.

You remained silent, still. Almost defiant as you stared at him back.

His lips tightened into a line with his pupils dancing across your features. Studying you.

"I'm Commander Erwin Smith." He spoke again, shifting back in his seat. "I just want to know what you were doing outside the walls."

Erwin waited for a response, watching as you turned your back to him with a deep sigh following through your parted lips.

Nothing.

"You're not a scout. You're not registered in any division. So, who are you?"

"Does it matter?" Your voice was gruff from the lack of use. Erwin's exhale forced you to turn your head, his blue eyes cutting through the lucent orange, glaring at your form that was retreated into the darkness of your cell.

"It does," he almost mused. Reaching into his cloak, you half expected him to reveal some sort of hidden weapon. Torture the information from you. That's what they would have done.

Instead, a journal with a knitted cover was pulled into his hands. Every page in between the wool was stained with a yellow tint, full to the brim with illegible scribbles and detailed sketches. He flicked through with his thumb, air from the fast turning paper stirring some loose hairs on his forehead. "Especially when this was found on your persons."

You swallowed, hard, when his focus abruptly flickered from you to one of the pages. Stopping his finger at random and clearing his throat as he brought the book closer to his face. Shielding whatever thought he held from your sight.

"'Subject showed signs of cognitive delay post-transformation. Possibly linked to exhaustion?'" He paused for a moment, shutting the journal with a loud thud. "These are not the notes of a frightened civilian. They are written by someone with extensive knowledge, possibly firsthand?"

The jig is up. You've been here for three hours and they've already sniffed out your betrayal, the stench of an oppressor.

"Just theories," you countered. "I've been piecing things together. I've seen enough titan encounters to know we're missing something."

Erwin hummed, reluctancy to believe you present in the way his eyebrows twitched. "So, you're a survivor? A witness? But not a name, not a file, not even a viable story that fits." He didn't miss a beat, rising to his feet and taking a daunting step closer. Lowering his voice in a way that made you shrink into your shoulders. "If you are hiding from something, or someone, I suggest you choose your allies wisely."

"I'm not your enemy." It came out as barely above a whisper.

"I know, Miche filled his report this morning."

"Miche?" The question was genuine, your brows tugging together in a confused scowl.

Erwin nodded. "He claims you saved his life. He believes you had every opportunity to run. Yet, you didn't."

He watches you for a moment, silence overwhelming the area once more. Quiet tapping of footsteps barely audible above you, distant murmurs of jurors and men of an important standing.

Finally, you spoke up, "what happens now?"

Erwin took a step back, the light flooding back into your cell as he retook his seat. "I have an offer for you..." His voice was even, but edged with something sharp. Steel. "Give me your name, and join the scout regiment. No secrets. From this point on you'll be one of us. Or you can spend the rest of your short, watch-listed life in this cell."

Lowering your head, you felt his glare on you. Burning through the invisible guard that was orbiting your mind. You swallowed ,hard, as you considered his offer, while simultaneously wondering why.

Why would he give you a chance at something so... meaningful. Especially considering you are behind bars, at present, being tried as a criminal.

"You'll be monitored closely. But we will put your mind to use. Your knowledge, instincts, it could save lives." He spoke again, eager for your answer.

"You don't even know who I am."

"Not yet." He held your gaze, unwavering. "But I know who you're not. Ordinary, reckless. And you're not untrained."

"What makes you say that?"

Erwin's lips curl, a broad smile forming on his face. "Most people run away when faced with a titan. You ran towards it. That's enough to earn you a chance."

You shift slightly, considering. Your body still aching from the previous hours, but your mind sharper than ever.

The walls are closing in around you, threatening to engulf you in a timeless prison. Prison means staying still. Staying still means losing control, means letting everyone down.

You didn't make it this far just to be cut off.

"You offer freedom like it's a favor," you mumble.

His expression doesn't change. "Is it not?"

Goddamnit, you think to your self. Becoming a scout is a high profile role, you're practically drawing yourself over as a target. But what choice do you have?

"Marigold."

Erwin doesn't flinch, he just raises a curious brow. Like you just made up a nonsensical word.

You repeat yourself, adding your first name into the mix. "But most people call me Marigold, or Gold."

Hesitancy struck the oceans in his eyes like lightning, his lids twitching. He didn't buy it. But he accepted it.

"You'll ride with the next outbound patrol to the headquarters. Squad leader Hange will ensure you know what you are doing. Levi, as you've met, will oversee your training. You'll need it in the field." Erwin stood abruptly, dusting his cloak of the filth that was this damned enclosure. "You'll be watched, but not caged."

You had tensed up at the mention of the runts name. Levi. He was the one who initially brought you to this retched place, the one who spat names at you on the journey back. Not a single fiber of him trusting you.

Though, who could blame him.

"One more thing." Erwin spun towards you, pausing at the bottom of the stairs. "If you aren't who I hope you to be..."

"Then I won't come back," you interrupt with a cold voice.

Erwin nodded, just once. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

He began his ascent up the stairs, the room tremoring with every step and movement. Shaking the metal bars of their rust when the door slammed shut behind him.

Your cell felt wider, not freer. But open enough to move.

This was your starting point. Your opening to rid yourself of this thing. This curse. Your opportunity to give your father everything he ever wanted out of life.

Humanity.

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(Continue reading)

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jestersprivilegee · 13 days ago

Text

High and Dry | ch. 8

t. jefferson x reader

Wc: I think 2.9k?

Lotta holiday talk for these next few chapters. Yes I know it’s not thanksgiving or Christmas sue me (also sorry to those who don’t celebrate!! I couldn’t think of anything else cus there’s specific scenes that need it to be holiday, but just wait y’all I got a plan)

Happy friYAY (depending where you live)

Avoiding Thomas had become a game, and you were determined to win it.

For five-and-a-half weeks, you had successfully dodged your counterpart at every turn. If he was walking down the hallway when you needed to, you’d find a different route. If he was making copies, there’s too much paper being wasted anyway! Wherever he was sitting in a meeting, you’d find the furthest possible spot away from him.

The only exception was lesson planning. And even then you kept it short. Half the time you’d just create your shit on a shared google slide and let him figure it out (which he wasn’t super happy about, but he wanted this space so he can’t complain). Your conversations were kept strictly work-related; anytime you felt it steering towards social or personal life, you’d redirect it back to the task at hand. He didn’t call you out on it, but it clearly got to him from the way he’d huff and sigh anytime he’d ask about your day only to be met with one word responses.

Somehow, you managed to do this all the way until thanksgiving break. Or at least until the Friday right before break.

You couldn’t avoid him too much longer at the staff thanksgiving/potluck/party. It wasn’t like you were planning on staying a while anyway, work-related gatherings like that always got boring from the criminal lack of booze.

“You’ve made it to the break without quitting. I’m proud of you, I wouldn’t have made it this far working alongside Jefferson!” Hamilton smiled, wrapping an arm around your shoulder while you walked to the workroom, where the ‘party’ was being held.

“It hasn’t been easy,” you sighed, “but I haven’t spoken to him that much these past few weeks, so it’s been bearable. I’m honestly surprised I didn’t quit in the first week.”

After getting called into Washington’s office and feeling like shit for being rude to Thomas, you gave him plenty of space, just as he requested. The only thing eating you alive was the fact that you never apologized. It added to the shame, the humiliation you suffered. So you avoided him all together, since looking him in the eye was a particularly difficult task.

“Regardless, I’m glad you stayed. And I’m also glad you brought those crappy sugar cookies,” he said.

“You either love ‘em or you hate ‘em,” you hummed, opening the door to the workroom and letting him step inside first.

Everyone who you expected to be there was there. Your large friend group in one corner since the Schuyler sisters were the newest addition (Alex had started dating Eliza a couple weeks after they hooked up at the bar. She turned out to be one of the sweetest women you’ve ever met, and you quickly became close friends), Thomas’s friend group in another. Other staff members were littered throughout the spacious room, people you wouldn’t talk to other than polite hellos.

You set the cookies on the counter with the rest of the desserts. There was enough food to feed a small village, ranging from various cultures and carefully crafted dishes to the Walmart-produced cookies you brought. It made you a little insecure to bring something so little, but they were pumpkin pie flavored. Practically calling your name in the grocery store, begging you to purchase them.

Thanksgiving had never been a big deal. It’s not like you celebrate it with family, anyway; your mom is in a mental hospital for fucks sake. And with no other living family to celebrate it with, you never got the chance to truly enjoy it. It was just another holiday. Another meaningless break from the strenuous school year. The same goes for Christmas, which winter break is only two weeks after fall break. Not that you're complaining. A week off, then two weeks later, another two weeks off? That’s something you can get behind.

You scanned the food options, looking for one thing in particular. Mac ‘n cheese.

More specifically: Thomas’s mac ‘n cheese.

If it was as good as you remember (aka, his mother’s recipe), you would be devouring as much as possible. Any time you’d go over to his house as a kid, you’d beg for his mom to make the dish. It was that good. She never did tell you the recipe despite your years of asking, but maybe, just maybe, Thomas used it. And maybe he would tell you. If you play your cards right, but the cards you got right now ain’t looking so great considering the poor relationship with him.

“Do you have any plans for the break, Y/n?” Eliza appeared next to you, an exhausted smile on her. Must’ve been a rough day.

“Binge watch Netflix and eat a pint of Ben and Jerry’s,” you joked, which earned you a pity laugh.

Alexander joined his girlfriend's side, snaking an arm around her waist.

“You’re not visiting family?” She asked, the smile she wore turning to one of concern.

How awkward. They didn’t know about your mother. To be fair, you never told them, so how could they know?

“Probably not,” you answered after a beat passed, “I don’t have any family. None in New York, at least. My mother is down in Virginia, and I have yet to call her.”

“So you’re spending it alone?” Eliza’s eyes filled with concern, sadness, and empathy.

You shrugged. “Yeah, it’s not a big deal. My mother has never been big into holidays, so I didn’t grow up celebrating them. It carried with me to adulthood, I guess.”

“I’m the same way,” Alex empathized. “I'm an orphan, so I’ve never had a family to celebrate with. Closest I’ve ever gotten are these work parties,” he chuckled dryly.

“Alexander, that’s so sad!” Eliza turned to him, a pout on her red lips. ”You’re coming home with me and my sisters for dinner. Y/n, would you like to join us, too? We have plenty of seats at the table, and you’re always welcome,” she offered.

“Oh, thank you, but I’m okay. Really,” you sheepishly declined. “I’m going to talk to my mom and maybe go down to visit her. I appreciate the offer, thank you, Eliza.”

“Of course,” she smiled, “if you ever change your mind, though…”

You shared a laugh, and shook your head. Alexander looked thrilled to hear Eliza would be dragging him to her family dinner, as he wouldn’t stop grinning from ear to ear. They got their portions of food and snacks, finding a spot at the table after promising to save you a seat.

With a tiny sigh, you glanced in Thomas’s direction. His eyes met yours, because of course he would already be watching you. Instead of looking away like you did, he excused himself from James and Aaron, strolling over to you, hands in his pockets.

“Hey.”

The smell of his cologne hit you, warm and comforting and forest-y. “Hi,” you replied. He took his stance next to you, leaning against the counter. “Something you need?”

“Do I have to need somethin’ in order to speak to you?” He asked, his gaze almost challenging. Being met with silence, he continued speaking. “I just wanted to talk to you, see what your plans are for the break.”

“Why do you wanna know?” Your eyes narrowed. The flicker of annoyance in his jaw did not slip past like he hoped it would.

“I’m tryin’ to be nice here, Y/n, create some small talk.” He frowned. You’ve had this conversation many times before, and it was evident that both of you were tired of it.

Sighing and swallowing your pride, you shifted to face him fully. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I don’t know what my plans are yet.”

His eyebrows raised in surprise. “Never thought I’d hear you admit I’m right about somethin’.” He teased, folding his arms over his chest. That burgundy sweater looked particularly good when he wore it.

“Don’t get used to it,” you scoffed. “Do you have plans you’re dying to tell me about or something?”

He gave an awkward shrug, the confidence he previously had faltering. “Nothing noteworthy. Just visitin’ family for dinner.”

“Oh yeah, I do remember you telling me about that. You’re not thrilled ‘cause it’s overwhelming, right?”

“Yeah, yeah, some other factors, too. They’ve been on my ass lately about my career and relationship choices, so it’s tough showin’ up still as an English teacher and still single,” he confessed.

“I’m sorry,” you sympathized, “that sounds frustrating. Not being supported by family members.”

A low hum rumbled from his chest, and he wiped his hands on his sweater. “Yeah, well, they’ll get used to it. These are the decisions I made and I’m happy with the direction my life has gone, whether they support it or not.”

At least he had a family whose opinions mattered.

“I like your attitude,” you paused, “Y’know, I was thinking earlier about the mac and cheese your momma used to make. Used to be my favorite part about going to your house as a kid.” A nostalgic smile spread on your lips, a warm fuzziness in your chest. Thomas shared the same experience. You continued, “do you, by any chance, have that recipe?”

“‘M sorry, can’t tell you that, darlin’. Family secret,” he winked. “Although I did bring some. Sure, it’s not nearly as good as mommas, but it’s pretty damn similar. All these years of makin’ it and I think this is the closest I’ve gotten.”

He pushed himself off the counter, motioning you to follow him to the dish he prepared. It was already halfway eaten when he uncovered it, and holy shit it looked delicious. Memories of sitting at his kitchen table, surrounded by a loving family consisting of only sisters flooded your brain. His older sisters, Jane and Mary, would always sit together, gossiping away from the rest of the group. The smell of fresh baked sourdough and sweet potatoes would waft in the air, and an apple pie would be sitting in the oven.

Last time you saw his momma, she was pregnant with a boy. Unfortunately, your friendship ended before you got to enter that chapter of Thomas’s life with him. Such a shame. You would’ve loved to be apart of that babies life as much as you were involved in Thomas’s.

“I have been craving this ever since middle school.” Your eyes lit up in excitement and you snatched a plate. “Jefferson, consider this the only compliment you’ll hear from me, but you are amazing.”

He beamed with pride, wearing a giddy, toothy grin from your praise. “Been waitin’ to hear that all year. First you admit I’m right, then you finally acknowledge I’m amazin’. Two in one day. Make it three?”

“As if,” you huffed, rolling your eyes in a playful manner. “When I said jefferson, I meant your momma for creating this delicacy.”

“Funny, ‘m pretty sure you said ‘you are amazing,’ if my ears don’t deceive me.” He smirked, earning a sharp glare from you.

“Your ears doth deceive,” you grumbled, shoving some pasta in your mouth. Damn. It was fucking phenomal.

He bit his lower lip, anticipating your reaction with big, hopeful eyes. “So? Just like mommas?”

“Mhm, just like mommas,” you nodded, covering your mouth since it’s rude to talk with your mouth full. His parents are where you learned that mannerism from, actually. “You sure you can’t give me the recipe? I won’t tell anyone, I pinky promise.”

His proud grin grew wider as he shook his head. “No can do. You’re not technically part of the family, and momma gave me strict instructions to keep it within our family. She’d have my head if I gave it away.”

Thomas knew that his parents considered you to be family. He did have a teensy little lie going that misled them into thinking he wasn’t single, but he’d die before admitting that to you. Regardless of his complex relationship status, his parents had always loved you like you were their own, and that love never faded. Even after all these years.

“Fine. I’ll figure it out myself.” Your eyes narrowed, as if you were plotting to steal the fucking Krabby Patty secret formula.

“Hah, good luck doin’ that,” he snorted.

It seemed like the moment you had something else to say, your phone rang. With a disappointed sigh, you pulled it out, about to silence it but the caller ID prevented you from doing so.

It was your mom.

“Shit, I gotta take this,” you muttered, “save me some pasta please.” You handed him the paper plate, rushing out before he could utter another word.

Thomas’s eyes followed your form until it disappeared from behind the door. A small frown tugged at his lips. He had seen who was calling. He knew the history with your mom despite being private about it recently. Sure, you’d mention her here and there, maybe call her from time to time, but you never said anything deep. And he couldn’t just outright ask. You weren’t at that stage of closeness yet, there was still some lingering anger from… well, everything. There always seemed to be some sort of tension hidden beneath the surface, like something hadn’t been fully let go, or something wasn't being acknowledged. It was discouraging, to say the least.

When you said your plans weren’t decided, he wanted so badly to invite you to spend thanksgiving with him and his family. There were a few instances when you did during childhood. He’d have your mom over as well, and it would be like a small extra addition to his already oversized bloodline. But it was comfortable. They enjoyed having you as much as you enjoyed being there. And then it stopped.

He shook his head, unfreezing so he could scoop a hefty portion of macaroni onto the half-eaten plate. Then, he followed after you, finding the hallway empty. You must’ve gone to your classroom.

—

“I-I don’t know if I can make it, Mom, I’m swarmed with work right now.”

You paced around the cluttered room, the palms of your hands growing sweaty. She had asked you to come down to Virginia to visit, but truthfully? You still weren’t ready. As much as you practiced and talked through your feelings with Suzanne, the years of therapy didn’t seem to do much for this moment.

Of course, you felt like a horrible trash can of a human being for continuously putting off visiting her. She didn’t deserve this. She deserved to have her child come down at least for the holidays. Even if said child was still recovering from the trauma of having her as a mother.

“Of course,” she mumbled, disappointment and sadness evident in her tone. “It’s alright, honey. I’d just love to see your face again, to hold my child.”

Guilt tore you apart inside out. Grimacing, you spoke, “I’m sorry, Momma. I promise I’ll come home for Christmas.”

She was silent on her end for a moment. There was a faint beeping noise coming from somewhere in her ward. “…You promise? You won’t give me another excuse when the time comes?”

God, the excuses you cultivated every time to procrastinate seeing her piled up. It was predictable. “I promise I won’t give you an excuse. I’ll be true to my word this time, I swear. It’s only another month, which I know may seem like a long time, but it’ll go by faster than you realize.”

“Okay, baby, I trust you. Will you call me over your break? Let me know you’re okay and we can talk?”

“I will. How is your medicine working for you?”

“It’s good, it’s good. I’ve been takin’ it consistently now, and I really have noticed a difference,” she expressed.

You smiled in relief, and for another thirteen minutes, she spoke about how recovery was going well, and how she’s changed. Even listening to her speak, you could hear how much more energized she was. She was taking control over her life.

After hanging up, you leaned against the wall, letting out a long breath. A hand came up to run over your features. It took a lot of fuel to converse with her. She was a curveball; you never knew if she would lecture you the whole time, cry, or tell you how much she loves and misses you. Perhaps that’s why you’ve always put off visiting her.

Three soft knocks sounded on the door, and a short moment after, Thomas walked in. He held the plate piled with macaroni and other foods he knew were your favorite, as well as a sheepish smile.

“Hey. Figured I’d bring you somethin’ since I’ll be headed out soon.” He handed the plate to you, where you set it down on the desk.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

A comfortable silence followed. Thomas was deep in thought; you could see the conflict etched between his eyebrows, the concern tightened in his jaw. He wiped his hands on his sweater again. The words he truly wanted to come out caught in his throat, and instead he stuttered backwards.

“Uhm, I should go. Have a great break, Y/n,” he stammered.

You watched him step backwards, pausing before softly speaking. “Have fun with your family, Thomas.”

With that, he awkwardly nodded and disappeared. You glanced down at the plate filled with all your preferred foods, even one of the pumpkin-pie flavored cookies you brought resting on top of an actual slice of pumpkin pie. Your favorite kind.

#hamilton #hamilton x reader #thomas jefferson #thomas jefferson x reader

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wcnderlnds · 8 months ago

Text

──★ eye of the tiger / peter maximoff

short drabble in which peter takes you to karaoke. some slight swearing! requested by anon <3

“Look, all I’m sayin’ is a lil karaoke might cheer you up and help you forget all about that loser,” Peter chewed on his gum, the nonchalant expression on his face showing that he really did not know a single thing about heart break. He wasn’t trying to be insensitive— this just wasn’t his area of expertise. He had accepted his role of dorky best friend with excellent taste in music years ago. It was fine. It was totally fine.

“I doubt it but… we can go,” you wiped at your eyes with the tissues Peter had zoomed out mere seconds ago to grab for you.

That was all Peter needed to hear. Swiftly, he cradled the back of your head then in a thwip, you were standing outside the karaoke bar. It wasn’t your usual hang out. Arcades and diners were where you and Peter usually spent your time but he figured this time he had to pull out the big guns. If he had to flex his rarely used vocal cords to put a smile on his best pals face then so be it. Peter would do anything to make you feel better. He wouldn’t call himself an empath - in fact, he’d probably make fun of anyone who did - but when it came to you he was always in tune with how you felt. He led the way inside, holding the door open like the perfect gentleman. Nobody needed to know he accidentally closed it in the young man’s face that was walking in behind the two of you.

“Okay, you ready to see me blow everyone out of the water? Not to brag or anything but I’m pretty sure after this someone will be offering me a record deal. I’ll remember you when I’m touring with AC/DC.” Peter shot a wink your way, heading to the microphone.

You hadn’t even realised the drink that was on the table in front of you — Peter must have used that mutation of his to grab you one without realising. You cradled the glass in your hands as the familiar tone of ‘Eye of The Tiger’ sounded through the speakers. Peter instantly began to belt out the lyrics not even needing to look at the words; he knew them by heart, of course. In true Peter fashion, he made a show of it by adding in his own jumps and dramatic flairs. At one point you were sure he was about to split those damn leather pants of his but thankfully he ended the song without exposing his ass to everyone. He bowed to the crowd (consisting of you and maybe three other people) with obnoxious comments like ‘I’ll be here all night’ and ‘I charge ten dollars for an autograph’.

As much as you hated to admit it, he had brought a smile to your face. Your cheeks were even aching with how big you were smiling. It was almost like you hadn’t just gone through a break up. Peter’s arm was thrown over your shoulder, the cool material of his jacket against the skin of your neck making you shiver. His cheesy grin letting you know he was damn proud of himself. “So, what’d you think?”

“I think I’m lucky to have a best friend like you.”

“Don’t go getting all soft on me now. Might start thinking you’re fond of me.”

“I am,” you spoke softly, arms sliding into his open jacket to wrap around him. He was warm, soft. It was exactly what you needed. Peter hesitated for a moment, hands hovering in the air while he wondered what to do with them before he mumbled a ‘screw it’ and wrapped them around you, holding you tight against his chest.

Maybe one day he’d tell you this meant more to him than you knew but for now he’d take what he could.

#peter maximoff #peter maximoff x reader #peter maximoff x you #quicksilver x reader #my fics

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kedsandtubesocks · 1 year ago

Text

you, my golden hour

Rancher!Javier Peña x Cowgirl!Reader

summary: 1997. as a fallen rodeo star, you can handle anything - except maybe your city’s hometown hero

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY MDNI, Post Season 3 Javi works on his family’s ranch AU, unspecified age gap (only age mention is reader can drink and Javi is older), major pining & yearning, emotional hurt & comfort, light angst with tender fluff, reader has a backstory and family, no physical description of reader but gendered language is used and reader can ride a horse, use of pet/nicknames, mention/description of rodeo accident, themes of dealing with burnout, small texas town toxicity, light Spanish use, reader & javi having insecurities they bond/heal over, bar scene with alcohol consumption, spicy moments with allusions to smut, intense makeout where Javi gets handsy, soft!Javi, dreamy & protective!Javi

word count: 10.2k (I’m sorry)

a/n: the second installment of ‘let’s rodeo’ and my love letter to Javi & Texas, the heart of this series - this fic is near & dear to me and I just appreciate getting the chance to write this, so to @lowlights @ahauntedcowboy & @perotovar for giving me the courage to post this know I’m so grateful… and to you reading this thank you, so dearly appreciate you too ♡

You haven’t thought of Javier Peña in years.

Older than you, he was handsome and had a smile that rivaled the Texas Friday night lights. He eventually hooked up with the number one town sweetheart who was even rumored to have won a local state beauty contest.

By the time you heard of their engagement, you already had started your plans for the circuits, for the road. You didn’t mourn or even feel heartbroken over the news.

Even after that, the rodeo consumed you. It kept you in a tornado like whirl for years until that fateful day it spat you out.

When that ride stopped, Javier Peña came back into your mind with a strange fog-like entrance.

While still on bed rest, the news on the TV had been showing a small special on the War on Drugs and the lull of it filled the room.

Your grandmother was the one who brought him up.

“That’s what Chucho’s son is involved in.”

“Wait, Javier Peña’s into drugs?” You asked a bit confused even without the pain killers.

“No. He’s going after the people who sell drugs.” She clarified.

Oh.

“He also didn’t get married either. Do you remember?” She had added.

You did. You heard he left the little Miss Homecoming Queen at the altar. Quite a scandal that made him the talk of the town for a while.

Then he became a big shot drug enforcer who took down one of the largest drug cartels in history and he again became the talk of the town.

It’s been a few years since your accident and now Javier Peña is back home.

Now driving into the Peña ranch you feel both so young, yet so aged at the same time, like you’re stuck between two realities.

Your sister bounces out of the truck with uncontainable glee and you’re grateful she’s excited.

Chucho Peña comes to greet everyone. His classic cream cowboy hat and gentle smile are all a beautiful welcome. It’s also adorable seeing your grandpa reunite with his old friend.

Señor Peña’s kind eyes eventually land on you with a sweet twinkle.

“It’s good to see you, mija.”

You’ve always adored Chucho Peña.

His son on the other hand…

You never knew Javier enough to fully know him. Even with his dad and your grandpa being pals, the years between you and Javier didn’t help. He existed outside your orbit, a figure almost out of reach.

“And that son of yours!?” Your grandpa of course perks up asking about him.

“Ah sí Javi’s here, just out in the stables.” Chucho explains casually.

The last time you physically saw Javier Peña he was walking out of the bank. You’d been waiting in your family truck when he stepped out. By that point, a small bit of shadow was forming against his jaw and upper lip as his facial hair began to grow thick. He was a young man on the verge of stepping into the threshold of being grown.

Now before you he’s a fully grown man.

For a minute you think the man in the barn is someone else because it doesn’t seem like Javier.

Yet when he turns, you see his eyes.

Rich soil of the earth stunning eyes and you know it’s him.

His body has filled out and his shoulders even look broader. He sports a similar mustache like his father’s and it adds to his older appearance. There’s a weathered weariness on his face evident in the wrinkles carved out by his eyes and on his forehead.

The button up shirt he’s wearing allows a peek at his chest and his skin shines with sweat from the Texas sun already shining its warmth.

He’s breathtakingly stunning and you can’t take your eyes off him.

He warmly greets your grandpa with a wide smile that touches his eyes and brightens his face. He’s still that charming young man you saw, a brilliant comet out of your galaxy.

But then his gaze lands on you and his eyes narrow. A conflicting recognition and confusion swirl in his eyes. He knows you, seems to remember you, but not fully.

His dad clarifies your name and you deflate a bit. Then Javier’s eyes go wide and his eyebrows shoot into his hairline.

So, he does remember you.

“Oh, yeah. Good to see you.” He nods fully realizing who you are.

“Guess the horse must be for you then?” Javier adds and your heart sinks a bit.

A grimace tugs on your face but you try recovering quickly.

“No mijo,” Chucho thankfully answers quick and gentle. “I told you, it’s for her hermanita.”

You grin small and tight in agreement.

“Oh…yeah of course.” He nods.

Your little sister immediately jumps in bright and eager to share her excitement. Thankfully the focus effortlessly shifts to her and the reason why you’re all here.

The horse is beautiful, playful and eager for attention. This first meeting already feels good. Of course, everyone holds their breaths when your sister goes for the ride.

And it couldn’t have gone more smoothly.

You even exhale relieved.

“You seemed nervous.” A smooth warm voice comes out besides you.

As you lean against the ring’s fence you discover Javier Peña moving to rest beside you.

“Just like the first day of school kinda nerves. Want to make sure everything goes smoothly.” You answer as your sister effortlessly trots around the ring with ease.

“Yeah, I bet. They already seem to be clicking.” Javier notes genuine and you’re grateful too.

Your grandfather now calls out to you.

Both you and Javier turn towards where the older men stand close to each other like conspiring headaches.

“To celebrate, we’re having dinner here!” Your grandpa cheers happily and a dread drop kicks your heart.

Immediately you stammer out panicked about how you all can’t impose.

“No pasa nada, mija.” Senor Peña gently reassures you saying not to worry. “Besides, you’re all more than welcome here. It’s been a while since Javi and I had guests.”

You don’t miss the unashamed hum Javier makes.

“And grandma?” You reply, trying to reach for more excuses not to stay.

“She can walk.” Your sister teases suddenly and you give her a sharp look.

“Will you go pick her up, please?” Your grandpa gives you his best pleading face before simply throwing the truck keys to you

Stubborn old man.

“Hijo,” Señor Peña calls out again, but this time to his son. “You should go too.”

Shit.

“No Pop, it’s okay!” Javi politely declines and you want to second that.

“Aye,” His dad chides and then he pointedly gives Javier a look that screams - Don’t be rude, go with her.

Damn.

The walk to the truck is quiet, awkward as hell, feels like two parents shoving their kids together to play nice.

Heading into the main part of town, silence fills most of the drive. You're also mentally kicking yourself for not getting the radio fixed last week like you should’ve.

“So uh, your grandma…still volunteering at the women’s shelter?” Until Javier offers a small branch of conversation.

“Yup.” You nod.

“Oh good, that’s good.” He replies.

But silence returns.

“So, you taking a break from the rodeo then? Pop used to tell me about you all the time.” Javier comments light, casual.

You feel like a cat with its hairs standing up. But even with that sensation, knowing Señor Peña spoke so fondly of you does simmer the sting.

“Sort of.” You decide to rip this off like a bandaid, get it over with now. “Had a bad accident a while back. Still haven’t decided if I wanna return.”

It’s been two years since you’ve been home.

“Oh…” Javier’s voice drops, the same way everyone does when you tell them.

“I’m sorry.” Except you’re surprise at how sincerely soft his voice is. “I thought I heard something about it. I should’ve fucking remembered… Sorry.”

He apologizes again, surprising you once more as genuine repentance floats off his voice.

You thank him understandingly. After all, it's one of the better responses you’ve been given. But you don’t want to dig into this, especially with him, so you quickly change the conversation.

“So how long are you here for? I’m sure there must be other drug cartels waiting for you to take them down.” You offer casual.

Not only had he taken down Pablo Escobar a while back, you briefly heard of his very recent grand move against the other cartel in Columbia.

He’s impressive, the town’s hero and golden boy.

“Uh actually, I’m retired. Gonna take a step back for a bit.” Javier answers just as polite and calm as you had answered him.

Oh. You hadn’t heard that. Or maybe you did and forgot.

You now feel like the foolish one and genuinely congratulate him.

“It takes a lot to decide when to step away. Besides, you deserve a break after all you did.” You mean those words.

After all, they were the same comforting words his father told you when you came back home.

A pause fills the truck and you worry you’ve maybe overstepped.

“I…yeah.” Javier breathes out. “Thanks. Appreciate that.”

Your heart flutters at how small and genuine he sounds.

“So…how about them Dallas Cowboys, huh?” Javier offers light and for some reason you laugh.

It’s not much, but it feels like a lifeline.

When you arrive to pick up your grandmother she gasps so giddy when she sees the surprise guest with you. Her excitement lights up the drive while she talks about her day taking full advantage of having Javier listening to her.

“Oh I’m so glad you’re back home safe Javi!” She gushes and then says your name.

You’re already panicking.

“With so many of your friends living out of town, maybe you’ll get to spend more time back in the city with Javier!?” She offers to you brightly and absolute horror seizes your heart.

Shooting a petrified face at her you silently plead for this discussion to die.

Javier in the back seat weakly laughs. Because of course Javier, ever the gentleman, had your grams sitting up front.

“Oh don’t give me that look.” Your grandma playfully teases back at you. “At least go rent a movie with him.”

The thought crosses your mind about turning around and dropping her back off.

“Did you know,” Javier innocently jumps in. “The first ever blockbuster was opened in Dallas?”

Your grandma coos in awe as if he’s just explained a miracle.

“See! Now you have to go with him to one!” She urges.

A horrified indignant noise escapes you. While behind you, Javier snickers even more and you’re tempted to drop him off on the side of the road to let the coyotes feast on him.

The minute you arrive at the Peña’s home you can’t get out of the truck fast enough.

Dinner fortunately goes smooth and you’re surprised at how eased the rest of the time unfolds. You do hate how many times your eyes flicker towards Javier like if you’re still trying to soak him in.

Then, from across the table, Javier’s gaze flickers to you fast catching you staring red handed. Your heart transforms into a jackrabbit, petrified and thumping fast, almost making you flee right then and there.

Until your grandpa addresses you. His warm eyes dance with a surprise in his gaze.

“We’ve decided to have some of your sister's training here.”

Your heart now skips over itself.

Your gramps and sister both explain the plan hatched while you were on the road. In order to get used to competing in different spaces, your sister decided to train here at the Peña’s.

You’re hesitant, but understand the logic. You’re even impressed. But you can’t pinpoint why you’re so nervous about this.

Señor Peña now calls to you, sensing your hesitation, and tenderly grins.

“Don’t worry mija,” his kind eyes crinkle with understanding. “It’s no trouble at all.”

His reassurance is grace and you smile back relieved while thanking him deeply.

“Seems like you’re the boss here.” Javier suddenly joins in with a casual tone and you freeze.

“Well yeah, that’s my coach you’re talking to.” Your sister proudly declares.

“Coach?” Javier’s voice perks up curious.

“Yeah.” You answer with a small smile. “That’s me.”

“Been barking orders at me all these years so why not put her in charge.” Your sister innocently adds and in pure sobbing annoyance you want to shove her face into her plate.

Thankfully everyone laughs, illuminating the room.

But you’re faced with a new reality. You’re going to be here more, seeing Javier Peña more.

And you don’t know how you feel about that yet.

The Peña ranch in the morning sits tranquil and the peace gives you the focus on training.

You’re surprised at how good your sister and the mare already bond. You explain a few drills and have your sister run a few repetitions of them.

“You sound like a tough one.” Javier’s voice surprises you and you almost jump over the fence.

Glancing back, he approaches you with two thermoses.

“Pop and I thought you might need an extra pick me up.” He offers and you can’t help but greedily grab at it.

“Tell your dad thanks and that he’s a saint.”

Javier snorts at your reply.

Now your focus returns to your sister. You recommend a type of turning drill vividly remember doing yourself. Your sister playfully salutes you and begins.

“How she looking, coach?” Him calling you ‘coach’ draws a dangerous electricity that snaps up your spine.

“Don’t call me coach.” You dryly tell him trying to keep yourself composed.

“Well isn’t that what you are?” He teases casually.

Your face scrunches up annoyed while his eyes crinkle amused.

“Don’t you have things to do, Javier Peña?” You sigh, already exhausted of this man.

“Javi…you can just call me Javi, coach.”

You’re tempted to childishly scoot away from him. Younger you would have never imagined he was this annoying.

“Don’t call me coach.” You dully repeat.

“Okay, coach.”

Now you contemplate just shoving him away.

But all the annoyance washes away when commotion hits. The horse makes a disgruntled whinny and immediately both you and Javier whip your attention towards the ring. Your sister calmly stays on the saddle, gently soothing down her companion.

After asking if she’s good, her eased thumbs up reassures you. She does a few trots to calm everyone down. You even exhale relieved.

“You lost in thought?” Javier comments.

“Yeah.” You answer him with a mutter. “Just thinking.”

“About?”

You almost don’t tell him. But you surprise yourself and do.

You explain the type of pace that comes with training in barrel racing. There’s a pattern and method to it all. You don’t realize you’ve rambled until you blink and realize Javier stares so directly at you. His eyebrows furrow slightly as if he’s focused hard listening to your words.

Embarrassed, you’re about to stammer out an apology when Javier whistles low.

“You know your fucking shit.” He nods appreciatively and hearing his pride ignites something dangerous in your chest.

Another surprise sharp whistle comes. Out from the barn, a further ways away, Chucho stands staring out. He even waves at you and you wave back.

“You gonna work today, hijo?” He calls out.

Javier curses under his breath.

“Busted.” You joke and now he’s the one side eying you.

“Please you’re the one slacking off here!” Your baby sister suddenly complains loud and cheeky “You’re not getting paid by the hour, coach!”

“Guess we’re both in trouble.” Javier snickers.

You roll your eyes but quickly sneer at your smiling sister.

“Alright then. See ya later…bandita.” Javier already walks away by the time you hear his goodbye.

But it hits you.

He thankfully stopped calling you coach. But now, what replaced it…

Little Bandit.

The nickname rips through you with a barbed fierceness you’re not prepared for.

The rest of the month follows this same routine.

On training days Javier shows up with something for you to drink. Once he even came with a few goods from the bakery across town.

No matter what, he watches practice with you for as long as he can before getting called back to the ranch.

During these moments together, he asks about how the turns are made or why you correct your sister when you do. It’s friendly. You actually start enjoying his company especially when your grandfather so eagerly leaves to hang out with Chucho instead.

The greetings and thanks are always the same.

“Thanks, Peña.”

“Javi,” he patiently corrects you everytime.

You can’t bring yourself to call him that just yet.

At the start of the new month everyone sleeps in and arrives later to the Peña’s ranch.

This time you’ve brought more barrels. Thankfully you can move them with the help of your sister. Suddenly besides you, boots clamor onto the truck and rapidly you snap your attention to the source of the sound.

Javier Peña smoothly climbs up to help you with the rest of the barrels.

He’s in a striking soft purple button up shirt. Sweat already shines against his bare arms. Thick worn in working gloves cover his hands. His hair seems a bit curlier today and he wears aviator sunglasses that suit his face.

Effortlessly Javier grabs onto one and lifts it by himself.

You’re stunned. Even your sister stops and stares just as surprised.

Javier is strong. Doesn’t seem like the muscular type but he’s built and radiates a type of seasoned strength of a well grown man, a rancher man.

His arms firmly hold the barrel, sturdy and toned, and you can’t look away.

“Where d’ya want me to put it?” Javier yells and you trip out of your thoughts to dumbly point where the barrel needs to be placed.

Your grandfather whistles proudly seeing Javier.

“If this rancher thing doesn’t work out for you Jav, you got the makings of a fine rodeo man.” Your grandpa teases.

Javier chuckles, with his eyes averted a bit bashful.

“Could add him to the team.” Your grandpa notes with a twinkling gleam of something mischievous.

You reply a dry no as you move to get off the truck.

In a flash, Javier jogs over and immediately reaches his hand out to help you get down. Placing your hand in his, Javier helps you down and you thank him.

He’s wearing gloves. This shouldn’t feel so significant. Yet the way he firmly holds your hand makes your heart sprout wings.

Even back on the solid dirt ground your legs don’t feel as if they’re under you.

Javier doesn’t stick around after that and you’re allowed to focus.

It’s later in the day, later than the usual practice times, and the Texas sun beats down with a fierceness. You call for more water breaks to keep everyone hydrated.

During a break, a rustling catches your attention. There towards the barn, Javi moves in and around the place.

You just catch the smallest glimpse of him with a hammer in his hand as he heads into the smaller enclosure. Curiosity gets the best of you.

Grabbing another water bottle you justify it as wanting to be polite, but curiosity gnaws at you.

The clang of hammering approaches louder and louder until you spot him in a goat pen. He hammers in a reinforced slab, probably fixing a hole. His back to you allows a glorious full sight of his broad shoulders at work.

He even switches to a drill and watching him casually use power tools, you never thought you’d find this so attractive.

One of the goats nearby makes a blep of a noise at your appearance and you almost want to shush them.

Javier glances over his shoulders spotting you.

“Hey there, bandita. Qué pasó?” he nods at you as the nickname flares up your heart.

“Just…knew how hot it was getting and gramps told me just to check up on you.” You lie waving the water bottle.

Javier turns to face you and you’re greeted with the sight of his full sweaty glory. You should be turned off seeing how bad his shirt sticks to him, how he smells of hay and dirt, but it’s incredibly hot.

The hard work of his day evident on every inch of him brews a dark cloud of desire in you.

“Oh well, tell your gramps thanks.” He replies snagging the water bottle from you.

His plus lips, the glorious sight of his thick slick neck, and the movement of the sweat just covering him as he drinks from the water bottle…

Getting this weak over the sight of him just drinking a water bottler you now think is the lowest you can go. You wonder about walking down by the river nearby and just jumping in to cool down.

From a distance, your sister yells out for you.

“Duty calls.” Javier smirks. With a sheepish smile you shrug then wave a quick goodbye.

You practically run out of that barn like a fleeing field mouse.

Later that night, alone in your room, your fingers slip under your sheets to slide under your sleep shorts. You imagine licking the sweat off Javier’s neck, picture his thick strong fingers, that fix up barns, hoist up barrels, and wonder how thick they would feel inside you.

You fall into desire’s blissful sticky release.

When you shower the next morning, you rationalize that those thoughts of Javier simply come from needing to scratch an itch.

Besides, you couldn’t get tangled with Javier. He’s older. He’s Laredo’s golden boy. He doesn’t go after broken cowgirls like you.

In the shower you turn the heat up more. A part of you hopes it will scorch off the building desire in your heart.

The morning is muggy, a soupy cloudy early day begging you to curl back into bed. Soft chirping echoes of the mockingbirds fill the air. You opted for earlier practices this week so your sister could prepare for a trip with her friends coming up. You agreed, wanting her to still enjoy moments outside of this.

“You out here all alone, bandita?” Javier.

He breaks the morning’s stillness. Holding his routine two drinks, he approaches you bundled up in a nice jacket that flatters him.

Thanking him, you greedily grab the drink and savor its warmth.

You explain that your sister is free roaming around the ranch this morning and it’s why you’re all alone. You stare at the empty riding area where the dirt sits holy and untouched.

“Do you miss it?” Javier asks. His voice is quietly probing, gentle as the morning mist.

That question holds a million answers all tied up in a messy knot.

“Sometimes.” You answer truthfully because you did. You missed the adrenaline, the wind blowing past you, speeding around a barrel so fast it was like you were out running the wind.

“Can I ask…” Javier and his soft, kind voice presses on. “What happened?”

Might as well. You’re now sort of friends with Javier even though the word feels sticky in your heart.

“You know that saying about how you just gotta get back on the horse? Well it's easier said than done.” You mutter.

It happened during a ride in Arizona. You’ve fallen and wrecked before. But this one just felt different. You took a barrel close and then everything slipped away. You remember being on the saddle, remember feeling your body float. Then the world went dark.

You woke up to a nasty concussion, a broken arm, and a couple of rowdy scrapes. You don’t remember your foot getting caught in the stirrup, but that’s what had happened.

“Holy fuck...” Javier breathes out, the weight of your words hang in his. “Shit I’m sorry.”

You thank him earnestly and reassure him it’s fine, just unfortunate shit like that happens. Everyone knew how dangerous the sport could get. The rodeo was a rough ride and every cowboy knew that.

But for you, you just couldn’t shake it off.

“I’m glad you made it out.” Sincerity blooms in his voice and your lips tug grateful at how considerate he is as you thank him again.

“You haven’t gone back?” Now he dances on a tight line.

“Nope. I tried after getting the clearance from the doctors but… it just didn’t go well.” You truthfully tell him.

You didn’t want to ride anymore, didn’t want to face everyone or the pressure of the race or the terror swallowing you whole. It felt as if you were burnt dry and exhausted from the inside out.

Your grandma gently embraced you and held you for what felt like hours.

“Then don’t go. You don’t have to do anything that makes you this worried and sick. Nothing is worth you being this scared, not even the damn rodeo.” She told you tenderly and with the most profoundly kind smile. You cried out of relief.

“It’s brave,” Javier says so firmly understanding. “Making a decision like that is really fucking brave, hard as fuck too.”

You gently grin and thank him again while blinking away a few tears.

“Same goes for you too.” You tell him.

From your gramps, who had gotten the full story from Chucho, you learned more about what happened with Javier and his final days in Columbia.

“I don’t know much but, what you did was brave too.” Your voice comes out softer than you expected.

He barks a laugh now. It’s dry, bitter, and can catch fire.

“Doesn't feel like it.”

You understand maybe more than he even knows. So you think about maybe what you would’ve told yourself.

“You did what was right.” You begin. “Everyone else might judge you or say shit but it doesn't matter. You’re not meant to please everyone or do what everyone expects you to do. And if that’s seen as a bad thing then…I don’t know, fuck them and fuck that.”

You say it so simply Javier busts out laughing. It’s a true blue laugh, so sweet it crinkles his beautiful dirt road eyes.

You’ve never seen him laugh like this before. And he’s beautiful.

You join in snickering as well but try to ignore the butterflies suddenly nesting in your stomach.

He’s really such a dream. A carved out Texas man so seasoned from the world, yet he still stays so kind and devoted to his family.

You get why many in the town, especially the girls during your time in high school, are all over him. Now you’re afraid you might’ve fallen into the same pit traps they did.

You’re falling under the spell of Javier Peña.

“So you’re really not going back to catching drug dealers and what not?” You ask when the laughter settles.

“I could’ve.” Javi answers. “Damn DEA would’ve taken me back. But…I just couldn’t see a future with it anymore.”

“And now here I am.” He says with a boyish soft grin.

“Now here you are”. You repeat with a nod.

“Well, I’m glad you’re here.” You truthfully tell him. You knew his dad worried about him. But the quiet truth is that you’re grateful for this time getting to know him now.

His eyes soften and your heat bursts.

“Thanks, glad I’m here. Glad you’re here too, bandita.” Then he softly nudges you. It’s playfully, friendly but it’s his words that almost take you out by the knees.

“Anyway, the government’s dumb. They don't deserve you.” You nod and Javier snorts amused.

“Guess I should listen to a cowgirl like you.” He teases.

You shrug. “Some people say I’m not one anymore.”

Especially because you didn’t ride anymore.

“Fuck them and fuck that.” He repeats your words and your lips twitch with a bubbling giggle.

Right now, it feels like you and him are two lonely birds sitting on a wire. Yet there’s something comforting about it, knowing it’s with him.

Then it dawns on you. You enjoy spending time with him. You know there’s desire already trickling in for him. But now he’s becoming someone precious to you.

You can’t even deny that anymore.

“Thanks, Javi.”

You don’t miss the way his eyebrows shoot up high.

Thunder roars suddenly clashing into the air interrupting the moment.

The dark clouds now loom on the horizon and coat the morning in an impending murkiness.

“Guess a storm’s coming in.” Javi mumbles.

Thankfully your sister rides back in quick and Javi decides to do some final things around the ranch before the storm rolls in. Before the rain comes, you and your sister pack up quickly. But it’s too late.

The rain pours down in a blink, almost like a hole in the sky popped to let a faucet drain out. The wind even picks up dangerously quick. It’s chaotic trying to wrangle the hose back to the stables but you and your sister manage.

“Come inside!” Gramps yells from the Peña’s porch and you and your sister scurry to the shaded sanctuary.

“You coming in?” Your sister asks while drying herself off with a towel. You don’t move from your spot by the steps.

“I’ll be in a bit.” You reassure her. She glares suspiciously and you shoo her away.

Javi hasn’t come back yet.

Noises clang out from the barn. A poisonous worry erupts through you and immediately you rush back out into the rain.

Inside the barn Javi tries yanking up a barn ladder that’s fallen over. It’s sturdy, wooden, and stuck in a hard position.

You move to help. Without any words or having to explain anything you both, as a team, work to yank the ladder out. Patiently and slowly the ladder gets moved to a spot the wind won’t knock it over.

The rush of it all has you breathing heavy.

“Thanks bandita.”

You breathlessly laugh and turn to maybe make a joke about now becoming a ranch hand and stealing his job. But all words, all thoughts, die instantly.

Having to work together to push the ladder, you now notice how close you are to him.

The sight of Javi soaked to the bone from the rain is corruptible. His clothes stick to him showing off his thick frame and shoulders. His drenched hair now seems darker with the curls more pounced.

He’s also heavily breathing too.

Now his lips, how soft and wet they look, have you hypnotized.

The pattering rain pours down hard on the roof, the only noise in the barn. You notice a shift in Javier. His eyes ever so slightly soften, almost hazing over. You might just be imaging it, but his face gradually seems to lean closer. Or maybe, you’re the one leaning towards him.

You’re possessed with an ache to kiss him, to see how the rain tastes on his lips.

It’s just you and him, soaked to the bone. You probably look like a drenched mess of a creature, but you’ve never wanted someone this much.

“Aye!”

Chucho suddenly shouts out from outside the barn and your heart stops.

Like a skittish roadrunner, you scramble away fast from Javier and just in time. His dad walks in from the other side of the barn holding an umbrella with an extra in his hand.

“You kids okay?” He calls out.

Both you and Javi yell back, quickly moving towards the elder Peña.

“You two look like a couple of soaked barn cats.” Chucho teases.

You weakly laugh and thank him for the umbrella.

Javi grumbles at his dad while he grabs the umbrella to open it up. Ever chivalrous, Javier holds it above you and him. Yet the entire walk to the house is quiet.

Fuck. Did you ruin this tentative whatever was forming between you and him? Or were you just imagining things?

You stay quiet the rest of the time waiting out the storm.

“You okay?” Your sister, keen as always, notices.

You lie with a smile saying the weather’s getting to you. When in reality, it’s a man that has.

Because you can’t stop thinking about Javier Peña now.

The rain stays for the rest of the week and everyone takes the schedule changes with stride. Your sister even heads out earlier on her trip earlier during a lighter drizzle.

By Saturday night the storm settles down.

Your closest friend from high school, now back in town for the month, even calls your home phone begging you to take advantage of the better weather.

“Look, before I go back to Florida let’s enjoy a nice night out, yeah? Maybe play some pool?” She pleads.

It’s how you now find yourself at the bar. You haven’t gotten dressed up in a while and you’re reminded of how nice it feels.

As much as you jokingly fussed about going out, being with your best friend laughing at the bar is lovely.

Ricky, one of the bartenders, actually was in the same grade as you two and it’s nice reminiscing, snickering over a nice drink.

“So how’s it been hanging out with Mr. Hero of the town himself?” Your friend smirks.

You make an unamused face at her while Ricky perks up.

“Wait, who are you hanging out with?” He whispers excitedly.

“Javier Peña.” Excitedly, she spills and you roll your eyes when Ricky gasps.

“You’ve fallen for the guy half the county is in love with!?” He hisses. You hate it, but it’s true and tastes soberly cold.

“Okay but practically all of our class was and maybe still is in love with him.” Your best friend adds.

“Well y’all do remember, he left Lorraine Wilson at the altar right?” Ricky reminds everyone and your mouth turns acidic.

“Oh fuck you’re right.” Your friend whispers.

“Might be bad news.” Ricky tensely tells you.

You want to hiss that he’s not like that. He’s kind, a bit annoying, but with a good heart.

“Shit, speak of the devil and he shall appear.” Ricky says in a low awed tone.

Worried you whip around to see what caught his attention. Absolute horror drowns you.

Javi and another man step into the bar and you want to run.

Your best friend squeals excited beside you, but you can’t comprehend what she says. Javier has stolen your attention.

Ricky called him the devil and he does seem like an angel dipped in temptation.

The sleek blazer he wears is dressed down by his nice button up shirt and jeans. His hair is styled nice, seeming so soft and begging for someone’s fingers to run through it. A buzz swarms in your head seeing him outside the ranch looking this gorgeous.

That’s when he spots you. For a split moment you two see each other. His eyes widen and before anyone can react you whip back towards the bar.

“Looks like you’re about to fall outta your seat.” Ricky snickers and you death glare at him.

“Okay,” your friend nudges you. “The guy he’s with, I think that’s David Martinez. He was in Peña’s class right? He’s so hot now, what the fuck?” She breathes out.

You almost toast to that because you felt the same about Javier.

So you keep your head down, enjoy your drink and maybe wonder about suggesting that game of pool your best friend advertised.

“Would you two beauties be alright with a bit of company?” A sweet male voice comes out and immediately draws the attention to him.

Behind you stands Javier Peña and his friend.

David has always been kind to your family and his mom even worked with your grandma at the shelter. You appreciate that Javi still hangs out with him.

“Yes of course. We’d love some company, right?” Your friend brightly asks you and you smile polite.

Your heart however rages like it’s a wild bucking bronco trying to break free.

The guys buy a round of drinks. Everyone laughs reminiscing about that one famous senior prank where the class managed to get two cows into the school.

The atmosphere is friendly, light. But your eyes constantly flicker nervously to Javi. You can’t stop staring at him, can’t stop thinking about him. Now here he is a Texas dream, or maybe your nightmare.

You turn back to take another sip and in that shift, your best friend turns to direct all her attention to David who moves to sit beside her.

But now Javier smoothly slides into the barstool next to you.

“Nice to see you outside the ranch.” His voice comes out smooth and rich.

You agree. But the air turns awkward, as if neither of you know how to tackle this new situation.

Suddenly heels clicking fast arrive. Standing to the side is a girl you recognize from your sister’s class that just graduated high school.

“Hi,” she smiles, staring at Javi with obvious hearts in her eyes.

He politely but cautiously greets her back.

“I was, um, wondering if you wanted to maybe dance with me?” She’s bold. You can at least appreciate that.

“My friends all dared me to ask you since it’s, ya know, you.” She gushes and giggles.

“Uh, appreciate the thought but I’ll have to pass, sorry.” He turns her down gently.

As if she finally realizes you even existed her eyes blink to you.

“Oh hey!” She recognizes you as an older sister to one of her classmates. And then for something else.

“Yeah didn’t you like, used to be a rodeo cowgirl or something and then something happened so now you’re not doing anything anymore?”

She’s being underlyingly mean. Her misleading chipper tone, vapid smile, are all soaked in venom meant to shake you or even scare Javi away from you.

But you’re used to it by now. You’re about to comment how she shouldn’t even be here.

Javier however speaks first and fast.

“Hey,” Javier’s voice jumps shockingly sharply, almost reprimanding. Your eyes go wide at how fast he reacts. He even glares at the girl.

Besides you, your best friend immediately turns around.

“Oh hey!” She greets the young newcomer. “Weren’t you that girl caught buying weed only for the cops to figure out you were actually buying oregano?”

Her cheerful tone makes you bust out a snort because yeah, she’s right.

The girl’s face falls absolutely mortified.

“Now get the fuck out of here.” Your dear friend finishes sweet but the undercurrent of her voice looms threatening. The disgraced girl rushes away before she can even reply.

You wheeze into your hand and fondly lean against your dearest sweet friend.

“If she or any of her little punk ass friends try anything again, I’ll shove my heel so far up their asses.” She reassures.

“Don’t worry,” Ricky now jumps in. “I’m definitely telling our bouncer those little shits managed to sneak in.”

Gratitude carves out an ocean in you and you’re thankful for those who understand.

David whistles appreciatively and your friend, with a reassuring squeeze to your shoulder, returns to her discussion with him.

You feel Javier’s eyes burning on you.

“Does shit like that happen often?” His concerned and low voice floats out among the music.

You shrug.

“Back when I first came back it did, but it's dying down.”

You were supposed to be a big rodeo star. You even had an official big name brand sponsorship lined up. But, after the accident, not returning to the rodeo painted you a failure in the eyes of the town.

Especially compared to its bright shining star you sit beside.

Suddenly a warmth slides over your hand resting on the bar. Javier squeezes your hand gently, a reassuring comfort.

“I’m sorry.” He mutters deeply sad. “S’fucking awful.”

You thank him, even make a dry joke about small town bullshit which earns you a small dry chuckle.

“The shit I got after Lorraine…” he sighs and now you find his hand doesn’t leave yours. You don’t want it to.

“I get it. Shit’s brutal.” He finishes, a steeled hardness lingering in his tone.

Now your hand squeezes his.

His eyes, gleaming tiger’s eyes gemstones, flicker up to you and you smile softly.

Javi’s hand feels so lovely. It's rough, a bit callous but cozy. Just like him.

“Hey!” Your best friend suddenly cheers. “Let’s dance!”

She interrupts the moment but you can’t blame her. A hesitant scrunched up reaction tugs at your face though.

“It’s a slow dance.” You waver.

“That’s the best kind! Come on!” She urges and you spot her hand already intertwining with the guy’s.

“You go,” you urge with a beaming grin. “I wanna finish my drink.”

“Aw, come on now bandita,” now Javi slides off his seat.

Standing up straight, he extends his hand out to you.

“You gotta at least get one dance in.” He smirks.

It’s just one dance and you don’t know if you’ll ever get another chance to dance with him. That thought alone outweighs the hesitation. Placing your hand in his, Javier leads you out to the dance floor.

Javi maintains a polite distance from you. Yet the faintest scent of his cologne floats off him, a siren’s song pure of temptation. His hand keeps yours in its protective hold while he gently guides you to the beat of the music.

Being this close to him clouds your focus in a tantalizing haze begging you to get lost in. But you can’t. You can’t even stare into his eyes. So your focus flickers out to the rest of the bar.

David and your best friend dance close, already getting cozy with each other. Then your eyes move to the door.

The bar’s bouncer sternly starts throwing the three girls out and the one you recognize stares at you with disgusted hatred.

You snort.

“What?” Javi mutters, his voice silky against the low music.

You nudge your head towards the bar’s entrance and Javi follows your gaze.

“Oh hey.” He comments, noticing the scene.

“Good riddance. Poor girl must be pissed seeing you dance with someone me though.” You mutter a bit gleeful at the thought.

“Wait, what?” Javi sounds insulted.

“Uh yeah,” you reply, confused. “I mean, it’s kinda funny. You’re Mr. hometown hero here with the town’s nobody.”

“No.” Javier snaps fast. “Anyone who says or believes that’s a pinché cabrón.”

They’re a fucking asshole and the way he speaks with a conviction refuses to allow any doubt to refute him.

“And besides…I’m not a hero.” That’s when Javi’s voice drops, transforming into a whisper tangled among the slow country ballad playing.

“I’m not that golden bullshit guy everyone thinks I am.” His voice contains a stinging rawness you recognize.

Now you’re the one snapping back at him.

“Yeah you are. You’re good, Javi.” You begin firm.

“You’re noble and kind. Brave.” The words flow from your heart and you don’t even stop them. “You’ve worked hard to help people. I’m sure there’s shit you regret and you might not think you’re good because of it, but you are.”

He stays silent. Only the tune of the slow jam settles between you and him. You’re worried you’ve maybe said something to upset him.

Then Javier exhales your name and it has never sounded so tender.

Your throat tightens and when you finally look at him, you’re greeted by a galaxy.

The lights of the bar dance in his dark road eyes that stare directly at you as if the rest of the bar has melted away. Javi’s hand gingerly against your back now slides down gently. In that same motion, he slowly begins drawing you to him.

You don’t resist and catch his eyes flickering to your lips.

A sudden clamoring collision erupts and startled, you clutch onto Javi.

The cause of the commotion is a man who tripped into some chairs. He effortlessly laughs it off. The group he’s with helps him up and you’re thankful it’s not a bar fight.

You sigh relaxed.

That’s when you notice Javier shifted to draw you closer to him. In an almost protective hold, he has you now close against his broad chest. His cologne smells divine, makes your mouth water.

Like a bolt of electricity striking you, you’re galvanized and scramble immediately out of his hold.

“Wait, bandita, what’s wrong? You okay?” He’s so concerned and you dare not look at him.

“Just need some air.” You reply moving away from Javi towards the door leading to the small patio outside.

Your best friend swiftly rushes to you.

“Hey, you okay?!”

You rapidly reassure her that you’re fine and just need air. You even joke about not being able to handle your drinks anymore.

“That fucker didn’t try anything, right?” She asks low and deadly.

You shake your head and squeeze her hand. It’s enough for her to let you leave. Your body operates on autopilot until you stumble into the night air.

It feels like you’re resurfacing. You move to lean against the railing and simply gather yourself.

You feel possessed again needing to kiss him.

And it’s not just that. You want all of him all the time now and it’s infesting you. You’re barely keeping your head above water or maybe you’re this far gone under the waves.

For a moment you think it might be drizzling again. Until you blink and realize the water against your eyes are tears threatening to spill.

You’re so afraid of how badly you want Javier, and how badly it might shatter right before your eyes.

Someone says your name cautiously.

Embarrassed, you turn towards the door.

Javi stands a few steps away from you. His handsome face crumbles instantly seeing you. Quickly he rushes to your side, as if on instinct wanting to help, until he stops.

“Bandita, are you okay!? Fuck… did I do this?” He stammers out worried.

“Did I overstep?” His voice is wrecked. He’s so apologetic already.

You shake your head trying to pathetically dab away the tears. Unable to look at Javier, your attention stays on the dark stretch of parking lot.

“I promise it’s not you. It’s me.” Maybe it will always just be you.

“Querida…”

Darling…he’s never called you that.

“Whatever it is, please let me help.” His voice pleads unbearably tender and you want to cry even more.

He really is so good, too good.

“I just…I just can’t take it...” you begin with a watery cough.

You finally look at him. The furrowed brows, his worried soaked eyes, concern paints him so young. You’re reminded of the young man you saw walking out of a bank all those years ago and how a piece of him stands before you now.

“I like you so much Javi.” Through the heartache, you finally admit it out loud. “Maybe even more than I wanna admit and I don't know if I can’t keep fighting it.”

His face scrunches up and his eyes rapidly scan over you.

“Fight it?” He mutters out. “Why fight it?”

Now you stare at him a bit confused. You have nothing to lose now. So you hold your heart out to him. You reveal it all…the fears and worries sprouting in your heart like uncomfortably cacti about how he deserves someone just as refined and established as him, that he'll eventually get bored of someone like you.

All your words come out hollow, especially thinking about how he can have anyone he wants.

Javier, suddenly in the middle of your ramble, interrupts, upset, snapping your name fiercely that any other words you want to say vanish.

“You’re the only one in this town who actually understands, who maybe even really fucking sees me.” He growls.

Your heart even jumps hearing how determined and raised his voice got.

“You…” Javi now chokes out and suddenly runs a hand over his face. Then his hands go to his hips. His eyes fall to the floor as if he’s taking a moment to gather himself.

“Fuck… you don’t even know what you do to me, how much you fucking mean to me.” Javier breathes and the words get caught in your ribs.

“Whenever you’re not around I can’t stand it. I just wanna be with you….all the damn time.” He coughs out as if he can’t even believe his words.

Those earth pool eyes of his flicker to you.

Under the watch of the clouded Texas deep night sky, it’s just you and him.

You don't know who moves first. Instead it feels like two magnets finally flinging together so fast the collision knocks you awake.

Because in a blink Javi’s hand holds face while his other yanks at your hips. Then he kisses you.

It’s all encompassing.

Immediately your hands scramble to claw at him, begging to get him as close as possible.

His mustache scrapes beautifully against your lips. You taste the beer lingering on his tongue and he’s divine. The wall of the bar suddenly hits your back.

Now you’re flush against him, fully pinned under all of Javier, and you moan. His tongue with hungered finesse licks into your mouth. One hand stays firmly holding your face while his other runs across your body trying to map you out.

His hips rut against yours and you go dizzy with aching raw need.

“Mi pretty bebita, so good to me.” He whispers out thick and heavy. You whine wanting him more, wanting him inside you every way possible. Everything feels molten.

Javi playfully bites your bottom lip and your knees almost buckle. Your mind simply chants for him.

A clash of teeth, a burning heat devours you while you chase every taste of Javier that he gives. It’s an unleashing of something raw and aching, as if finally you can breathe against him while something inside you whispers yes, yes you and I are here and you don’t want to ever leave.

A sudden droplet plops onto your head. You ignore it especially when your tongue swipes against Javi’s and he groans out the most heavenly noise.

A few more large obvious water drops come.

You and Javi freeze, halting mid make out like a paused VHS tape.

Then the rain arrives.

“Shit!” Javi coughs out immediately pulling away. He quickly shrugs off his blazer and drapes it over you, a makeshift umbrella.

Filled by the most buoyant bliss, you laugh.

Javier snorts, shaking his head but he must sense it too, all of it amongst the rain.

And it’s beautiful.

“I’m surprised you don’t wear this as much.” Javier comments as he picks up your Stetson cowboy hat.

He’s shirtless, only wearing his jeans. You’re treated to his bare broad shoulders and wonderfully sweet ass in his jeans. It’s an utterly devastating combo.

Sitting on your bed waiting to settle in for the night with him, you shrug.

You didn’t expect him to be so curious and constantly snooping around anytime he’s in your bedroom. Then again, you still can’t believe he’s even in your bedroom.

Sneaking away that the first weekend after the bar didn’t last long though.

Your grandma caught him a few Sunday mornings later trying to sneak out and she ran to you screaming excitedly when she could start planning the wedding. You still haven’t recovered from that.

Even with the blessings from both sides, including Chucho and your gramps, you still wanted to just enjoy being with Javi in these intimate carved out spaces.

His presence already is crystallizing here. His wallet and packs of nicotine gum clutter the night stand. His extra pair of sunglasses sit beside yours on the dresser. His faded worn Texas A&M University t-shirt is tossed by the bed and his boots are by the door. You treasure it all.

Javi, now standing in front of you, places the cowboy hat on top of your head.

The familiar presence of wearing it is like greeting an old friend. You bashfully grin at your handsome rancher. Javier’s eyes gloss over you, taking in the sight. His hand moves to tenderly hold your face.

“You look good, like a true damn cowgirl.” He mutters and your heart flutters against its cage.

“Know you can ride like one now too,” his voice dips with a magnetic undertone as his words hold the heavily sexual double meaning.

You playfully smack his shoulder and he smirks.

“I’m still surprised you don’t call me cowgirl instead of bandita.” You note gently.

“Do you mind that I call you that?” One of his eyebrows lifts up curiously.

No, you didn’t mind at all. You were just curious and you even tell him that.

Javi snorts and his thumb now strokes your cheek.

“The way Pop used to talk about you and how you’d race made you sound like some wild bandit trying to outrun outlaws or something.”

You snort now and your fondness for Chucho Peña triples.

“And then,” Javier continues. “When I met you, I knew I was fucked.”

Now your face scrunches up confused and you ask why. A small charming grin tugs his lips.

“Cause the minute I saw you glaring at me in the barn you stole every fucking inch of me.”

Javi’s thumb now moves to run over your lip and desire bubbles in you. You kiss his thumb, delicate and reverent.

“My pretty little bandit.” His voice is low, a fond rumble in his chest that you want to drown in as much as you can.

You think of all the awards you’ve won, the tournaments you’ve faced. Yet they all seem to fall so short to those words, to this man you so endlessly adore.

In your cowboy hat, you yank Javi close and kiss him. Quickly you and him both tumble into your bed sheets, melting against each other in pure bliss.

In the afterglow, you snatch up the cowboy hat again and now place it on Javi’s head. Your gruff rancher's face twists into a grumpy frown and you grin giddy.

“You look good, a classic Texas man.” You compliment him, almost mirroring the words he told you.

His face scrunches up more.

“Always thought I looked stupid wearing these.” He huffs taking off the Stetson.

“Everybody looks good in a cowboy hat.” You reply truthfully and place the hat back on him.

“Especially you.” You add letting your hand slide across his bare chest. The sight of him in the cowboy hat, your cowboy hat, flickers to life the simmering heat from earlier. He’s already so beautiful and now a cowboy hat on, shirtless, with the dimming post sex glow radiating from him, he’s personified sin.

“Cowboy hat doing it for ya, huh?” Javi’s little cocky smirk has you glaring playfully at him.

“Shut up.” You huff but then swiftly kiss him. Soon enough you become one again with the man taking root in your heart.

Early the next morning, when he thinks you’re asleep, Javier’s fingertips trace over your face with butterfly wing delicateness.

“So fuckin’ crazy about you, baby.” He whispers to your unknowing sleeping form. You feel your heart blossom, a morning bloom wanting to keep him tangled in your soul for as long as he’ll stay.

You think again of two lonely birds on the wire, maybe not so lonely anymore.

With a soft kiss goodbye against your forehead Javi heads out and you soak molten in his words.

You end up not seeing him for a few days. Over the phone he explains, annoyed, of having to run around trying to find a specific fence wire and how it’s kept him away.

Even with how much you miss him, it does allow you space.

Earlier this month, you decided on a new training schedule. Each week would alternate between practice at the Peña’s ranch and yours.

Currently practice is at your family’s ranch.

“Next time you talk to that boyfriend of yours, tell him to get tacos from that place he got us lunch from last time.” Your sister yells as she finishes up a few drills around the ring.

You roll your eyes. “He isn’t a food delivery service.”

She simply shrugs.

The day is winding down. Early evening approaches and the Texas sun starts to bathe everything in a golden glaze straight out of a George Strait song.

“You know…I’m happy for you.” As you and her start putting everything away for the day, your sister casually drops that line.

“About what?” You smirk.

“You and Javi.” She clarifies. Her face is messy with sweat but she beams bright. “You deserve someone like him.”

Your sister, always so kind, maybe too kind for a world this harsh sometimes.

“What? Someone who always manages to steal the last biscuit or flirts with grandma more and more everyday?” You tease and your little sister snickers.

“Well yeah. But what I mean is…you deserve someone who sees how great you are.”

Her words crash into you with a tidal wave of emotions. Her attention rests with her horse, getting in a few final brushes before she turns in for the day.

“I know you… think you’re some sort of failure or that you’re not good. But you are. You’re actually the fucking best.” She says so simply. “And I’m happy Javi sees it too.”

Tears clog your eyes and dry out your throat.

“You sound like a bad hallmark card.” You laugh watery but the gratitude flows out.

Your sister glares then throws the grooming brush at you. You laugh harder when she misses and once she’s out of the stable you playfully shove her.

“You heading back?” She notices your slow pace that hangs back.

You reassure her you’ll be home in a minute and just need a few minutes to yourself. With an understanding nod she walks back to the house.

Now alone you head to the very last stable and head to your ace. You miss your old companion and seeing this sweet creature nudge his muzzle against your hand conjures a sad nostalgic tug in your heart.

Grabbing the saddle, and untangling the reign, you head out to the ring.

You’ve been talking about your old rodeo days with Javi a lot recently. You ask him about Columbia as well. In the sacred soft space of pillow talk. you and him gently unravel more memories, more secrets to each other. It’s made you nostalgic, even a bit wistful.

Plus, you haven’t done this in a while. You frequently rode at a leisurely place along the trails by the river from time to time. But getting into the ring is still so sacred.

With your horse all set, you hoist yourself up and onto the saddle.

Just a few laps is all you do. You focus on the sound of the dirt under the hooves, the light breeze on your face, the feel of riding again.

Then, after gaining more confidence, you speed up.

It’s not even close to the speeds you used to hit, but it’s quick. You even make a lap around the ring going this speed.

One rotation, one good lap and you’re soaring.

It’s nothing. It’s not even an attempt to get back into the rhythm of racing. But it’s a ride and home in its own way.

You slow down, let the horse trot out of his groove to calm down. The entire time, your chest feels so light.

Your eyes glance out and then your heart drops.

Javi, with his flat out jaw dropped, stares at you as if you’ve spouted wings. You didn’t even hear him approach.

He breathes out your name.

Scrambling, a bit embarrassed, you quickly dismount, and after guiding the horse to the side you rush towards him.

You’re about to apologize for not noticing him when Javier ends up speaking first.

“You’re incredible.” He exhales in awe and it knocks the wind from you.

He must see whatever emotion colors your face because he repeats himself again firmer.

“You’re amazing, bandita.”

You weakly laugh thanking him.

“Does that mean-”

“Nah,” you gently cut him off and explain how you just enjoy a ride like that from time to time.

“It’s like just taking a casual drive type thing.” You shrug.

Suddenly Javi’s hand moves to rest on your arm leaning against the fence. He rubs so soft and comfortingly.

“Thank you,” he says gently. “For letting me know you.”

You want him to know every inch of you. The same way you want to know Javier in every way that you can. You want to carve out a home in your heart for him.

The hand that was on your arm moves to your cheek tilting your face towards his. He wears his classic aviator sunglasses you’ve grown fond of stealing from him.

He’s so gorgeous. It’s like the Texas sun was made to bask Javi in its glow. He’s a modern Helios, beautifully crafted with his deep earthy eyes and golden face.

“Proud of you, mi bandita.” He mutters with words soaked in adoration.

You swallow hard and let the truth sink into you.

“Thank you Javi… I’m proud of you too.” You earnestly tell him.

He snorts bashfully and you think you might be doomed to think about this man forever now, but it’s alright.

There’s something foreign in your chest growing so bright you feel as if you’ve swallowed a sun and maybe you have. Because Javier is bright, so unexpectedly warm.

A man crafted right out of the Texas golden magic hour.

And as Javi leans forward to kiss you so tenderly, you step forward into the sun, into his kaleidoscopic glow and it’s beautiful.

#hi hello howdy I’m so sorry this got so long but know Javi and I are baking you cowboy cookies as we speak #if you read thank you so much and know it really means the world to me #let’s rodeo fic series #rancher!javier Peña #Javier Peña x reader #javier pena x reader #javier peña x f!reader #javier pena fanfiction #narcos fanfiction #Javi P 🤎

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