#all i’ve been doing for the past week is painting and putting together furniture (damn you ikea) and unpacking boxes and cleaning

[neondiamond]

.

[s-brant]

Baby Names

(gif: @mishellejones) (SERIES MASTERLIST)

Summary: Y/N gets frustrated while putting the crib for her and JJ’s baby together and finds herself missing her dead brother more than ever.

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Fluff and minor angst.

A/N: Asks and ye shall receive, here’s a little blurb about what happens after Tokens! You don’t really have to read the other parts to enjoy this fic if you don’t want to, but I do recommend it for some backstory. This was slightly inspired by this fic by @cognacdelights, so go give her stuff a read! Let me know if you liked this. Have fun!

Y/N Routledge thought she got over her brother's death long ago.

Though you never truly "get over" losing a loved one, though there will always be a small part of you, however small, that aches for their presence again, she thought she moved past the tragedy to the best of her ability...until last week.

To say that the pregnancy was a surprise would be the understatement of the century. She and JJ were both on the same page about children when their relationship began, and that page was that neither of them wanted them yet. Sure, the idea of it in the future stirred their hearts with fond emotion, but considering that they had yet to graduate high school and barely scraped by on their own, they weren't jumping headfirst into that aspect of adulthood.

They were meticulous about safe sex. They couldn't afford another mouth to feed, she wasn't sure she could handle the emotional trauma of having an abortion, and, underneath it all, he had some reservations about being a father. It wasn't that he didn't envision a future with kids in their relationship, he did, but the topic of fatherhood always took him down a dark path within his mind.

So, she went on birth control once they started dating and they went along with no scares for the next six years as they graduated and started figuring out what the next step for their lives was going to be.

Y/N could get lost thinking about it, honestly, but she tries not to get too swept up in the minor mistake that led to this.

"You, my friend, need to stop moving around in there," she whispers down at her protruding belly with a hand cradling the heavy weight of it, "I'm trying to get your crib set up without JJ yelling at me for not asking for help, and if you don't stop kicking me, I'm not gonna get anything done."

She's sprawled out on the floor in the living room of the Chateau with her legs stretched comfortably in each direction while she hunches over to read the directions of the Ikea furniture. The sugarcoated description makes her want to hunt down the company CEO for sport, because for how "simple and easy!" the construction of it claims to be, she is at her wits end.

The last thing she needed after having her grief over John B's death reignited by their decision to name their kid after him last week was to stress herself out over something as stupid as this, but she won't quit. With how much JJ has been coddling her the further into the pregnancy she gets, she wanted to prove that she could do something for herself.

Whenever she brings in the groceries from the car and goes to lift the bag of dog kibble out of the trunk, he rushes up behind her back and scoops it out of the trunk before she dares to touch it. It always ends with her hollering after him that it's under twenty pounds, the upwards limit of the weight she's allowed to carry according to her doctor, but he refuses to hear any of it.

Inside of her, she feels a sharp sensation of something hitting her right in the ribs in response to her comment, and she groans in frustration. It's as if he did it because he knows she wants it to stop, the feisty little fucker.

"You're definitely your daddy's son, aren't you? It's already enough having one of him, the last thing I need is a JJ clone."

Their three-year-old Rottweiler rescue huffs a sigh from where he lays, frog-legging it, on the floor next to the unboxed crib pieces she can't put together to save her life. His drooping jowls produce a puddle of slobber on the her favorite carpet that is past the point of saving from his constant wear and tear. After a year of having him, she decided to stop trying to prevent him from ruining it. There’s no point.

She smiles at him as she leans forward to read through the directions for the billionth time, saying, "I actually think he'll be a lot like his uncle, but that's just me. If he isn't, I'll feel a little stupid over the name situation."

John Booker Routledge-Maybank.

Hell of a name if you ask her yourself, but for every internal struggle it reopened inside of her, she couldn't help but love it as soon as JJ casually proposed the idea on his way out of the door for work one morning.

Going on without John B has been a learning experience in every aspect. Any time she wanted to turn to him for advice or tell him something about the recent events in her life, she had to walk out back to their dying magnolia tree and sit under the shade to talk to the wind. Then, once the tree finally died and they were forced to cut it down, she took to sitting on its stump and doing it there.

It got easier as time went on, but she can't keep herself from wondering what it'd be like if he didn't die ever since she saw the results on the pregnancy test six months ago. Whenever she does something like going to her OBGYN appointments or, case in point, setting up the crib, she pictures him there.

She can see him here now, petting Bowie's shiny coat until he falls asleep with his head propped onto John B's outstretched legs. He'd be twenty-three years old by now with his life barely starting to blossom to its full potential, yet here they are. Correction, here she is, and he's off somewhere at the bottom of the ocean, already decomposed to the extent that not even his bones can be salvaged anymore.

Her chest sinks in another sigh, and she flips through page after page of the instructions with increasing aggression.

"This crib is so fucking—"

"What are you doing?"

The sound of her yelping in surprise at JJ's voice coming from the door is enough to make him laugh to himself, though his amusement is buried partway by what he's walking in on. He specifically asked her to wait for him to put the crib together, knowing damn well it wouldn't be the easy task she thought it was, but he should've known she'd do it anyway.

She looks over her shoulder with a mixture of guilt and frustration painting her features as she throws her hands up in the air and gestures vaguely to the unassembled crib. Her eyes are shining with the rapid onset of hormone-induced tears.

"I can't put this crib together 'cause the instructions aren't right, all the pieces are labeled wrong, your son won't stop kicking me, and I miss my brother so much right now," she spews the words with no pauses to breathe until the very end, when she stops short to suck down a breath as soon as she gets the last part out.

It leaves JJ standing at the entrance to the house with this stunned expression.

There's no amusement to be found anymore. Once she turned and flashed those wide, teary eyes that never fail to spark an ache in his heart at him, his tired smile vanished and his feet started moving before he could say anything to her.

The floorboards creak beneath his half-laced boots on his way across the room to her. It prompts Bowie to pop his head up from around the side of the coffee table to catch a peek of whoever it is that's approaching his emotionally distraught owner. Upon seeing JJ's familiar face, the dog relaxes back into his lounging position atop the carpet and tracks JJ’s movements until he's seated next to her.

"This is about John B?" he asks.

Her cheeks are flushed in embarrassment at her sudden outburst, and she can't bear to meet his gaze right now. Despite him being her closest friend and husband, she feels as small and vulnerable as she did six years ago when she first learned of her brother's death from Shoupe. Time might as well be shaped in the form of a never-ending circle for them, directing them back to their seventeen-year-old state of mind every time things turn sour.

Y/N finally lifts her hanging head to look over at him after another few seconds and thinks she might crumble at the look on his face. He hates watching her cry.

"I guess," she says through a sniffle, "It's about the crib too, but I've been thinking about it a lot more since we picked the name. Our baby’s gonna grow up never knowing who his uncle was..."

With that, JJ takes it as his cue to pull her closer.

He scoots up behind her and lets his chin rest on the curve bridging her neck and shoulder together as he twines his arms around her body. It's a closeness that's as natural as breathing for him, so natural that he can hardly remember the years before it became normal for them to take part in little moments of intimacy like this. The warmth of their bodies cohabitates in the blurred line distinguishing where she ends and he begins, and he feels her relax, sagging in his embrace in appreciation of his miraculous ability to make her feel better no matter how worked up she is.

One of his hands rests on the swell of her bump in an absentminded effort to calm him too. Even though he isn't consciously thinking of it, he knows that her distress must upset the baby too. The contact steadies her, keeps her grounded to the moment rather than allowing her to slip away into the current of her negative thoughts, and she clings to every word he has to say.

He says, "You and I both know that isn’t true. He's gonna grow up seeing all the pictures you have of John B and ask about him all the time. And we'll tell him all the stories"—there's a pause of contemplation as he recalls a few particularly non-PG memories of his best friend—"Well, maybe not all of them, but you know what I mean."

This draws a soft bout of laughter from deep within her chest that he feels with how her body shakes ever so slightly with it. It seems so wrong to laugh with tears in her eyes but she can't help it. Her emotions have been scattered in every direction since the pregnancy began, and it has only gotten worse the further along she gets.

"If you ever tell him about the kief incident, I'm never giving you a bl—"

His free hand smushes over her mouth before she can say the rest.

"Don't even think about finishing that sentence.”

It's said so frantically, it makes her erupt in laughter hard enough to tickle her abdomen muscles with the aching sensation of it. The vibration of it under his palm makes him drop his hand a second later with the need to hear the beautiful sound. After seeing her cry, it's a welcome shift in mood, even if it's at his expense.

Her head is thrown back on his shoulder, mouth parted into a smile with the gleeful giggling filling the room. His stomach churns with butterflies at the sight of her. Even after all these years, he has the same reaction to her laughter every time. It makes him smile to himself and watch her in quiet reverence. It makes him ache with the same inklings of longing he felt for the first time when he was much younger.

Her laughter begins to die down by the time she can draw enough breath in to murmur a soft, "Sorry, angel," to him and reach down to hold the hand he rests on her belly as consolation for her joke.

They remain this way for another few minutes, tangled up in each other's arms on the floor of the living room with Bowie snoring a few feet away, before he manages to convince her to let him be the one to set up the crib instead. It takes a good five minutes of playful back and forth before she concedes under the condition that he'll let her paint the nursery by herself when the time comes, and that's all it takes for her to abandon the task in favor of finding something to snack on in the fridge.

In her defense, the crib is actually quite difficult to put together.

JJ doesn't consider himself an expert handyman by any means, at least not with anything outside of his area of expertise as an electrician, but he likes to think he knows enough to put together a "no assembly required" Ikea crib without wanting to bang his face against the wall.

In the end, it gets finished by the two of them in the middle of the night over a box of cold leftover pizza from the previous day. It takes them two hours of struggling before they get it fully assembled and placed where they want it in the room that'll soon belong to their son.

He pretends not to notice her sneaking back in to tie John B's old bandana around the wooden railing before they go to bed.

Tag List: @gabiatthedisco, @fangirlvoice, @black-syren, @apparrio, @particularcth, @planetdemon, @idk-ijustworkhere, @krisphann, @astrydis, @k-k0129, @zarahsloves, and @stilesflannels.

[curlynerd]

Just Say It

Happy gift posting day for the @starrynightdeancas gift exchange! I had two assignees, so I'm posting two fics today! My 2nd gift recipient is @deanwinchesteradjacent! She requested canon-adjacent Destiel with fluff, action, and a happy ending. I hope you like it! <3

Word Count: 7.5K Rating: T Summary: A string of violent deaths at an otherwise charming B&B was all the excuse Dean needed to drag Cas down to Florida for some fun in the sun. Things had been awkward since Cas came back from the Empty and they could finally be together, but Dean was sure that a romantic getaway was the perfect thing to help Cas get out of the training wheels stage of Angel's-First-Romance and start acting like a real couple. Just as soon as they took care of a vengeful spirit. What could possibly go wrong? Notes: Post canon, fix-it fic, oneshot, love confessions, Dean is bad at feelings, case fic, beach fic.

Also read it on AO3!

“Alright, I’m heading out.”

“Did you pack deodorant?”

“Dean…”

“Toothpaste? Mouthwash?”

“...”

“Those fancy hair products? Cuz there’s just. So. Many--”

“Dean! I’ve lived my whole life on the road. I know how to pack a damn dufflebag!”

Dean smirked, unperturbed by Sam’s whining. “Yeah but Eileen is a classy lady. She’s not gonna put up with your usual road stank.”

Sam sighed in annoyance as he readjusted the bag on his shoulder. “I’m not the one who wears his underwear three days in a row, jerk.”

“Better leave that attitude at home, bitch,” Dean said cheerfully. “It’s your anniversary, after all.”

Sam’s mouth twitched into a shy grin despite his best efforts. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll be on my best behavior,” he said, letting Dean have one last bit of fun before he left. “You and Cas too. Don’t get into trouble.” He nodded in farewell before he climbed the stairs to the bunker door.

“Oh, and Sammy?”

Sam paused at the top of the stairs and turned around. Almost like he could sense what was coming, his eyebrow twitched in irritation. Dean hucked a box up to the landing, and Sam fumbled to catch it. Dean flashed a shit-eating grin as Sam read the Trojan label and fixed him with a scowl. “Make sure you wrap it before you tap it, Sammy.”

Sam rolled his eyes as he walked out the door.

Dean laughed to himself as he turned back to his laptop, scrolling through news articles looking for a hunt. He was still at it an hour later when Cas came shuffling into the room still in his pajamas, two cups of coffee in hand.

“Mornin’ Sunshine,” Dean crooned cheerfully. Cas’ hair was in wild disarray, and between that and his worn, brown sweatshirt and loose pajama bottoms, he looked more like a bear stumbling out of hibernation than a guy just waking up. “Sam already left.”

Cas set a mug down in front of Dean before slumping down into the chair beside him. “I hope he and Eileen have fun this week,” he mumbled as he hunched over his coffee.

Dean smiled at how adorable Cas looked, all grumpy and sleep-ruffled. He was still an angel...somewhat. He had Grace, if only a little. So close to mortality, Cas often needed mundane human things like sleep and food. He wasn’t particularly thrilled about it. In fact, he was so irritated about the whole thing that Dean hadn’t been able to work up the nerve to invite him to sleep in his room, instead of alone. Dean chewed on his lower lip. Maybe after this case, things would change.

“Are you looking up a case?” Cas asked, tilting toward Dean’s screen.

“Uh...yeah.” With forced casualness, Dean turned the laptop so Cas could read a headline from last year: “Gruesome Death at Bed and Breakfast Leaves Locals Worried.” “Over the past forty years, there’ve been six deaths at this B&B. All either heart attacks or a brain hemorrhage. All without a scratch on ‘em. Always a couple. Always on the same night: this Friday. That sure screams ‘ghost’ to me.”

“Key West?” Cas asked as he scanned the article. “Florida? That’s quite a drive.”

Dean shrugged. His fingers tapped against the tabletop. “It is, but hell, why not? Sam gets the week off with Eileen, why can’t we have a little vacation too?”

Cas narrowed his eyes. Suspicious. He was suspicious. Was a little time off really so bad? “You haven’t taken a vacation the entire time I’ve known you.”

“Yeah, well…” Dean struggled to come up with a good excuse. “That was, ya know. Before.”

“Before,” Cas repeated stiffly.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Before everything.” He gestured around his head. Before Cas told him he loved him and immediately died. Before Dean rescued him from The Empty. Before they wound up in this awkward, stilted Angel’s-First-Romance training wheels relationship Dean found them in.

That seemed to placate Cas. He nodded and took another sip of coffee. “The beach would be nice…”

Dean broke into a grin. “Better than nice! Toes in the sand, drinks with little umbrellas… That’s better than paradise.” He gave Cas’ shoulder a friendly pat. Then--because he could, couldn’t he?--Dean let his hand run along the broad expanse of Cas’ shoulder and gently cup the back of his neck.

This was okay, right? He’d held back on any sort of real PDA because of how uncomfortable Cas would act. And that was okay. He understood. Angels and intimacy...Well, angels just worked differently than humans. And it was all new to Cas! It took him over a decade to say he loved Dean. It would probably take awhile before he was ready to hold hands.

But this wasn’t very much, right? Just a light hand on the back of his neck. This was about as innocent as things got!

Except Cas went stiff under Dean, and Dean took the hint and pulled his hand away as he bit back a sigh. So much for that.

His eyes trailed back to his laptop. Hopefully this getaway would change things, help Cas loosen up and finally see that they could act even a little like a couple now. A romantic beach, warm sunshine, half-naked romps in the water, a cozy and only slightly haunted bed and breakfast…

What could go wrong?

----

Three days and one slightly terrifying highway over the ocean later, Dean and Cas pulled into a parking space for a charming bed and breakfast painted in a lovely pale--

“Lavender?” Dean balked at the decidedly dainty color of the siding. “I know they like their pastels here, but geez…”

“It’s just a paint color,” Cas said as he crossed around to the trunk and started unloading their bags. The duffle full of salt, shotguns, and various iron weapons clanked ominously. He shouldered it carefully so it wouldn’t make so much noise.

“This whole street is like friggin’ Candy Land.” Dean eyeballed the canary yellow house across the street suspiciously as they made their way to the front door.

The inside was clearly the result of a scandalous love affair between a Jimmy Buffet concert and a Hallmark store--All tacky tropical themed furniture and a dizzying array of porcelain figurines.

Dean grinned from ear to ear and elbowed Cas. At Cas’ inquisitive eyebrow, Dean nodded his head to a shelf full of long-haired, sad-eyed blonde angels. Cas rolled his eyes while Dean laughed to himself.

“Hello! Can I help you?” An older woman sat behind a small reception desk, smiling warmly at them in the glow of her ancient computer.

Dean put on his best people-pleasing smile. “Yes you can. Hi, I’m Dean, and this is my, uh…” Dean glanced over to Cas and his eyes crinkled in delight. “Cas. This is my boyfriend, Cas.” Just the word caused a giddy bubble of effervescence to float inside Dean’s chest. After all this time, they were really here. This was real.

Cas offered the receptionist a small, tight smile before turning his studious gaze to the figurines on the wall shelves. The woman furrowed her brow, so Dean charged forward with the conversation before Cas’ awkwardness put her off. If they were going to pry into the case here, they needed her to be friendly with them. “I booked a reservation for this weekend. It--Are you guys still open? It’s kinda quiet in here.” Dean glanced around the empty living space. There weren’t any other cars parked outside either.

The woman waved off his concerns. “Oh yes, it’s just the off season right now. Some weekends are like that.” She spoke a little too quickly as she clicked through her computer. Dean suspected all the news articles about bloody deaths had something to do with it. “Not hard to find your reservation. You’re our only guests tonight.” She grabbed two keys off a hook and held them out for Dean. “You’ll be in room 4, down at the end of the hallway upstairs. It’s the largest one. If you need extra towels or anything, let me know. I’m Susan.”

Sensing they were about to be dismissed, Dean swerved into a distraction. “You know, we’ve been on the road for ages. Do you have any coffee or anything like that? A little wakeup before we hit the beach?”

Susan pushed back from the desk. “Oh of course! I was about to get some for myself, actually. I’ll be right back.”

“Keep an eye out for anything suspicious, Cas,” Dean muttered as Susan disappeared down a hallway. “Anything out of place or really old. You know, haunted stuff.” Cas nodded, and Dean covertly pulled his EMF reader out of his jacket pocket and flicked it on. It was silent. They both made a pass of the room, pretending to look around.

“Here we are!” Susan said brightly, expertly holding three coffee mugs in her hands. Dean jumped a little and hastily put his device away before turning around. “I hope cream and sugar is okay.”

“Any caffeine is fine,” he assured her as he and Cas took their mugs. “So Susan, what is there to do around here? You know, other than what Yelp says. The insider’s scoop.” Dean winked as he took a sip of his coffee.

Susan smiled. “Well, if nightlife is your thing, there are some great spots within walking distance.”

Dean chuckled. “C’mon, Susan. Does this guy look like much of a dancer?” He grinned fondly at Cas as he draped his arm over his shoulders. It was ridiculous how much his stomach fluttered from the small action, but dammit, after all they’d been through to get here, Dean had earned a few butterflies. He squeezed Cas’ shoulder even though Cas didn’t really react. Dean was definitely going to have to clarify that the personal space rule didn’t apply anymore.

“Well, the restaurant down the street also does an excellent brunch,” Susan offered instead.

“Now that’s more our speed.” Maybe if the hunt went well they could actually stay the night, instead of getting the hell out of Dodge before the cops chased them down. Keep their salt and burn quiet and enjoy a nice night in. Dean tried not to get his hopes up for sharing a bed with Cas.

And he did mean sharing a bed. Things were moving so slowly between him and Cas he’d be thrilled just to spoon, nevermind anything else. Dean bit back a sigh as he swept over all of the knick-knacks and decorations, hoping for some sort of clue as to the identity of their ghost. “I’ve gotta say, I love the decor. Is all of this your collection?” Maybe a haunted object? Or a cursed one?

“Most of it.” A faint twinge of wistfulness colored Susan’s words as she looked over the porcelain figurines. “My Marcy liked to collect the angels, but that was years and years ago.”

On a high shelf was a large urn next to an oil painting of a young woman that immediately pinged Dean’s hunter’s instincts. “That’s a lovely painting over there,” he said, catching Cas’ eye meaningfully. Cas turned around to look too.

Susan’s face melted into a quiet, sad smile. “Yes, that’s my Marcy right there. A self-portrait. She was such a talented artist.”

Cas tilted his head. “She was your...wife?” he guessed.

Susan’s face crumpled. “No. No we were never…” She took a deep breath and continued in a steadier tone. “She was my business partner, but I loved her. Very much. And I knew she loved me too. So I suppose you could say we were almost together. Should have been together.” Her lower lip trembled.

“If you don’t mind my asking, what stopped you?” Dean felt bad for pressing her for information that was clearly upsetting, but people’s lives were at stake. Possibly Susan’s own.

Susan curled her hands around her mug, staring into the steaming coffee with a far off look in her eyes. “I was afraid. Of my own feelings. Of opening myself to getting hurt. So I...When Marcy needed me to be honest about how I felt I...I let her down. She got mad...We fought...She ran off. There was an accident, and...Well...” Susan took another deep breath. Her eyes were glassy with tears and heavy with regret. “Today is the anniversary of the day she died.”

“I’m so sorry for your loss,” Dean said, injecting even more sincerity into his words even though he expected as much. Marcy was the best lead so far. Was she attacking people on the anniversary of her death? She was obviously cremated, but perhaps there was something keeping her tied here?

“Not your fault,” she said with the heaviness of one who had heard those words hundreds of times. She shook her head. “You’re not the reason she--” Susan cut herself off and swallowed down her tears. Despite her best efforts, a single tear trailed down her cheek.

“It sounds like you loved her very much,” Cas said, his voice infused with genuine sympathy.

“She was my world. I loved her more than she’ll ever know...” Again Susan fell silent, this time lost in thought.

Then, with a deep, resettling breath, she wiped at her eyes with the edge of her finger and forced a cheerful expression. “But enough of that. You’re my guests. You don’t need to hear all of that! Do you need anything while you get settled in? More towels? Recommendations for restaurants?”

Dean shook his head, “Appreciate it ma’am, but we’ll probably just grab whatever’s convenient around here.”

“Well, would you like to eat here? Usually I don’t serve dinner for guests, but since it’s only the two of you, I can cook up something if you’d like. I honestly wouldn’t mind the company.”

Sensing another opportunity to interview Susan, Dean smiled his very best ‘comforting the bereaved’ smile. “We’d like that very much, Susan. Thank you for offering.” Then, carefully timed almost like an afterthought, he added, “Oh, and what’s the wifi password?”

Upstairs their room was somewhat small but airy. The walls were a crisp, breezy blue, the linens bright white. There was even a gauzy white canopy draped around the four-poster bed. Dean grinned. One bed. Surely that was cause for some optimism about tonight.

“I dunno about you, but I’m gonna sleep like a log tonight,” he said with the most casual tone he could muster as he grabbed the weapons bag off Cas’ shoulder and deposited it on the duvet. “What about you? Think you’ll need a couple z’s?” ‘Please say yes.’

Cas eyed the bed. Something strange flickered across his face. Something heavy, even sad. Dean immediately felt like a jackass for reminding Cas about his weak Grace. “I mean, who knows how you’ll feel tonight,” Dean added hastily. He started digging through his bag for his laptop. “Get some sea air in your lungs, and you might wake right up.”

Cas pursed his lips. “I suppose so,” he said, his voice carefully neutral. He turned away from Dean and started roaming the room, looking over the artwork on the walls and the little beachy decorations on the furniture. He came to a stop.

“This looks like Susan and Marcy,” he said, letting his fingers trail along the frame of a painting over the dresser.

“Yeah?” Dean looked up from his booting laptop. It was an oil painting like the one downstairs, with a young couple in bright dresses making each other laugh in front of a backdrop of a stormy gray ocean. One was undeniably a much younger Susan. Marcy looked the same as she did in the painting downstairs.

Cas frowned a little and pulled his hand back from the frame. He glanced around the ceiling and only relaxed when he saw an air-conditioning vent gently humming nearby. Dean shrugged it off and turned back to his laptop. He set right to work searching through the local newspaper archives and breaking into the coroner’s office servers. Finding their ghost was only a matter of time.

“Got it. Marcy Daniels. Died forty-three years ago tonight.” Dean flipped his laptop around so Cas could read the news article. “Hit by a car. Right outside this house. Died before she even got to the hospital.”

Cas squinted at the screen. The photo attached to the article looked just like the woman in the paintings. “And you think she’s the ghost?”

Dean shrugged. “Seems as good a guess as any. Violent death. Susan said they were fighting right before. Probably something happened between them that left Marcy pissed off enough to stay in the veil.”

Cas nodded. “We should ask her about it.”

“Nah, she’s not gonna let us grill her about her dead partner like that. We’ll strike up a conversation at dinner. That should give us enough time to figure out what’s keeping Marcy here before she attacks tonight.”

Cas deferred to Dean’s hunting experience. “Well then what should we do until then?”

Dean grinned from ear to ear. “What do you think we should do? To the beach!”

---

Dean shut the trunk of the Impala and straightened his back, lifting his face to the breeze blowing in from the sea. He breathed in deeply. “God, smell that salt air…” he said with a wistful smile. When he turned to Cas, the angel was looking at him with fondness, warmth making his blue eyes brighter. Dean’s smile grew, and he lifted up his sunglasses to flash Cas a playful wink. Cas quickly ducked his head and started walking.

Dean bit back a groan as he followed behind him with their beach bag. What was he doing wrong? He was trying to be gentle, to give Cas enough space to adjust to the idea that they were together now on his own. After all of the crap they’d been through together, after so many things keeping them apart, he understood why Cas was struggling. Hell, he’d been squashing down his feelings for so long, Cas probably didn’t know how to let himself have this happiness.

At least, that was what Dean kept telling himself. Deep down, though, he was afraid that Cas’ feelings were changing.

“There’s a good spot,” Dean said, jogging up behind Cas and forcing down his depressing thoughts before they could meet up with his self-loathing and really cause problems. He grabbed Cas’ arm and tugged him toward an unoccupied part of the sand. The weather was a little too temperamental this time of year to attract huge crowds, but there were still plenty of people out enjoying the sunshine.

Cas let himself be led, his flip-flops flapping awkwardly over the sand. Dean laughed a little, even though his footing wasn’t much better. When they’d walked far enough away from the boardwalk, Dean unceremoniously dropped their bag and dug out a large blanket to lay out.

“Perfect,” he declared as he tipped up his sunglasses to survey his work. He plopped down on the blanket and shucked off his shirt. A quick glance up let him catch the way Cas’ eyes widened for a fraction of a second before his expression smoothed over. Dean wiggled his eyebrows at Cas, but he didn’t see because he turned around like a friggin’ Victorian lady in order to pull off his own shirt before he sat down in front of Dean, facing the ocean. Dean’s gaze swept down the broad, muscular expanse of Cas’ back, and he could barely contain the heat in his eyes and in his grin.

Only then did Cas glance over his shoulder and catch Dean’s eye. Dean bit his lip suggestively, his grin widening, but Cas’ cheeks turned lightly pink and turned his head away. He rubbed at the back of his neck. Nervous, huh? Well that was alright. Dean could lighten the mood.

He held up the bottle of sunscreen. “Alright, let’s spackle your back.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary, Dean,” Cas said, not turning around. His voice sounded even more gruff than usual, which was certainly saying something.

“Nonsense!” Dean was already squirting a healthy dollop of sunscreen in his palm. “You can get sunburned, same as the rest of us.”

Cas sighed heavily. His shoulders twitched, tense, but he didn’t protest when Dean slapped his hand at the middle of his back.

Dean set to work rubbing the cream into Cas’ warm skin. “See? This is nice. It’s like a mini-massage.” He made sure to move slowly, almost caressing him. His stomach fluttered with the faintest whisper of excitement. This was the closest thing he’d gotten to action in months, after all. And Cas’ back was nice. Broad and firm and far more muscular than Dean would have guessed. His heart did a little tapdance at knowing that he was allowed to freely ogle now.

“I like seeing you out of the trenchcoat,” Dean said, now using both hands to stroke up and down Cas’ skin. Cas tensed again. “I mean, you look good under all those layers,” Dean said hastily, afraid that the reminder of his waning Grace was too painful. “When did you get so beefy?” Dean slid his hands up to Cas’ shoulders and then down his thick arms. He squeezed them playfully as he shifted closer, letting his knees bump against him.

He leaned in close so he could almost whisper, “Wish I could see it somewhere other than the beach.”

Cas’ back became hard as marble. He lowered his head. “That’s enough, Dean,” he said softly. His voice trembled with some barely contained emotion Dean didn’t understand.

Disappointment rose up Dean’s throat like bile. “Seriously? I’m almost done!”

Cas twisted around, his face pulled into a scowl. His cheeks were flushed. “Dean! I’m an angel! I don’t need this!”

Dean pulled back. “What? I can’t even put sunscreen on you now?” he demanded.

Cas didn’t have an answer to that. He only glared, his eyes flickering with something Dean couldn’t quite figure out. Pain? Longing? Regret?

Knowing Dean’s penchant for screwing things up all the time, it was almost certainly the latter.

Cas breathed out a long, frustrated breath and rose to his feet. “I’m...going for a walk,” he said. He folded his arms over his bare chest.

“Cas,” Dean pleaded. What had he done wrong? Why was Cas so mad?

Cas shook his head. “Please, Dean.” With one last glance filled with that strange, heartache-inducing emotion, Cas turned and started walking down the beach alone.

Dean stared after him as he left. “What the hell?” he said under his breath. The sting of rejection quietly throbbed in his chest as he turned his gaze to the ocean. What had he done to piss Cas off? Had he really crossed a boundary, or was something else wrong? Cas had been so weird since he’d been back. Shouldn’t he be happy? Hell, telling Dean he loved him was the happiest Cas had ever been, right? That was part of his deal with The Empty!

Did he regret it? Did he change his mind? Maybe Cas really didn’t want to have Dean. Not for real. Maybe that was why Cas never told him how he felt before. He had to have known Dean loved him long before his deal with The Empty came along. Maybe there was a reason Cas hadn’t said anything about it before.

Maybe Cas knew that Dean would screw things up if they got together. Maybe he was trying to pull away from Dean, make it easier to break things off when it all came crashing down.

Dean stewed in his thoughts, his expression dark as he watched the waves. He lost track of time until a pair of children came racing past him, screaming in delight and startling him out of his thoughts. He pulled at his phone to glance at the time. Cas had been gone over half an hour. Way too long. Dean looked down the beach, almost expecting to see Cas trudging back up the beach back to him, but he didn’t see any sign of him. But Cas couldn’t have left left. Dean had the car keys! Quietly cursing, Dean pulled out his phone and dialed Cas’ number.

...And heard a familiar ringtone coming out of their bag.

“Dammit, Cas!” Dean growled as he hung up. He stood up, but he still couldn’t see Cas. Had something happened? What if he’d gone in the water? What if he’d gotten pulled out to sea by a riptide? Despite knowing Cas didn’t even know how to swim, worry dripped ice cold down Dean’s spine, and before he knew it he was walking down the beach along the path Cas had taken.

“Cas!” he called out, but he didn’t see him. Dean started walking faster. He scanned the beach for a familiar dark head of hair and the bright orange swim trunks Dean had picked out for him. “CAS!” He was beginning to fear the worst.

“You lookin’ for someone?” a concerned voice called out. Dean whipped his head around to a small family sitting underneath an umbrella.

“Uh, yeah. Yeah, my buddy Cas.” Dean jogged over to them. “You see him walk by? Kinda beefy, kinda dorky. Dark hair, orange trunks, about yea high.” He held his palm flat about eye level.

The woman who spoke nodded. “Yeah, I think so. I saw him walking back toward town, though.” She pointed over her shoulder.

Dean furrowed his brow. Did Cas walk back on his own? Irritation flared in his chest as he forced a cordial smile and thanked the woman before jogging back the way he came. He didn’t see any sign of Cas back at their blanket either.

Dean scowled. Maybe he had walked back. Running off without a word was infuriatingly in-character for him. Dean cursed under his breath as he hastily packed up their things and started stomping up the beach toward the car.

What was even such a big deal? If Cas supposedly loved him so much, was rubbing his back that bad? Dean was trying to give him space, he really was, but the way Cas was acting, it was like he didn’t even like Dean, nevermind love him!

The thought clenched tight around Dean’s heart as he drove back to the bed and breakfast. Maybe he didn’t anymore. Maybe Cas was getting sick of him. Twelve years in each other’s lives, it was bound to happen eventually.

Maybe what angels considered love and what humans considered love was just different.

Dark thoughts still swirled in Dean’s head as he returned to the bed and breakfast and marched up the stairs.

“Dude, what the hell?!” Dean charged into their room, anger burning hot as his glare zeroed in on the angel sitting in a chair. “You can’t just go running off like that! You left your phone behind!”

Cas carefully closed the book he was reading. He was fully clothed again. “It’s not a long walk back here. I assumed you’d know where I’d gone.”

“I was worried sick about you! What if you went in the ocean and something happened?”

Cas narrowed his eyes. “I wouldn’t do that. You know I can’t swim.”

“You can’t just go stomping off whenever you get mad!”

Cas closed his eyes. “I’m not mad,” he said, though the growl in his voice suggested otherwise.

“Like hell you’re not!” Dean shot back. “So what is it? I can’t touch you now? It’s freakin’ sunscreen, Cas. Is it really that big of a deal?”

Cas’ eyes flew open. “Yes!” he said, deeply pained. “Dean, does it really matter so little to you that you’re okay with just ignoring it?”

Dean was brought up short. “Does what matter?”

“Me!” Cas plastered his hand over his chest. He almost looked like he could cry. “I told you how I felt and you insist on acting like nothing happened!”

Dean blinked. “What? That’s...that’s not true, Cas!”

“Dean! You didn’t say anything! Not once since you brought me back, have you said anything about the fact that I love you! And you may think that by ignoring it and trying to force things back the way they were before that you can lock up that Pandora’s Box again, but you can’t! I can’t. I can’t…”

Dean took a step forward, his expression darkening with confusion. “Cas, what’re you talking about?” He didn’t understand. Why did Cas look so hurt? So heartbroken? Cas loved him. Dean loved Cas. So why wasn’t he happy? What had Dean done wrong? “Cas, I--”

Cold mist curled up from Dean’s mouth.

They both went tense and still as they noticed just how cold the room had gotten. The lamp on the bedside table flickered.

“Shit,” Dean muttered under his breath. His eyes darted to the open dufflebag on their bed with all of their weapons.

He made a move for it, but a figure flickered into being in front of him. She was wearing a torn, bloody sundress. Her long, straw-colored hair was plastered to the half of her gaunt face where it was smashed in, blood staining it crimson. The ghost took a step toward Dean. Thick, dark blood dripped from her head but never reached the floor.

“Marcy,” Dean breathed. Guess she didn’t need to wait for nightfall after all.

“Coward,” the ghost menaced as she took another step closer. Dean carefully backed up. “Can’t even say it. Even when you’re hurting him. Coward!”

Dean’s eyes flickered to Cas, who was edging toward their weapons bag. He tried to make the movement quick, but the ghost noticed. With a vicious growl she flung out her hand and Cas went flying into the far wall.

“Don’t worry,” the ghost said to Cas, and the venom in her voice dropped into twisted sympathy. “I’ll take your pain away soon.”

Cas struggled to his feet as the ghost rounded on Dean again. Her outstretched hand aimed directly at Dean’s head, fingers curled into a wicked claw. But before she could touch him, Cas made another attempt at the duffle. She shrieked in fury and sent it spinning through the air toward the window. A single iron poker tumbled out of the open zipper as it flipped over and smashed against the glass, shattering it. The bag tumbled to the ground below.

Cas lurched for the poker. “Dean!” he called as he tossed it through the air, directly through the ghost. She howled and dissipated into smoke while Dean barely managed to close his fingers around the weapon. Cas and Dean stood back to back as they circled the room, Dean holding the iron poker at the ready.

“Salt,” Dean barked. “We need salt!” Except all of theirs was now two stories below. Dean silently cursed. “The kitchen! Go! I’m right behind you!”

Cas nodded and made for the door. The lights were flickering again. He and Dean narrowly made it into the hallway when their bedroom door slammed shut behind them. They raced for the stairs and nearly collided with Susan.

“Cas, Dean, what’s going on?” Her eyes were panicked, taking in the cut on Cas’ temple and the iron poker in Dean’s grip. Mist followed her words out of her mouth.

“Look out!” Dean reached for Susan, but he was flung backward by an invisible force. Marcy flickered into existence over him again. “Salt, Susan! We need salt!” he cried out before the ghost clamped its cold hand around his throat. Dean scrambled from his poker, but it had fallen just out of reach. His other hand grappled with Marcy’s, trying to pull it away.

He couldn’t see with the ghost pinning him down, but he was pretty sure he heard Susan’s footsteps racing away. Good. Even if she didn’t come back, at least she was somewhere safer. Black dots started to swim in Dean’s vision.

“Hey! Marcy!” A ceramic angel went flying through the air and smashed into a framed photo on the wall next to them, shattering the glass. Marcy snarled and whipped her head around. Her grip on Dean’s neck loosened a little, and Dean sucked in as many painful gasps as he could get.

“This is what you’re about, huh?” Cas goaded. He stood next to an accent table full of figurines, another ceramic angel in his hand, fat load of good that would do against a ghost. “Exacting revenge against shitty lovers?” Dean stretched his arm until his muscles strained. He could barely feel the length of the iron rod brush against his fingertips. If Cas could keep stalling for just a little longer... “I think anger has clouded your judgement.” Cas’ lips twisted into a bitter smirk. “You have no reason to attack Dean. Can’t you tell? He doesn’t love me.”

The statement caught Dean completely off-guard. His hand stilled as he gaped at Cas. “What?” he rasped around the ghostly hand on his throat. Didn’t love him!?

The ghost growled at Cas. She raised her arm as if to psychically toss him toward the stairway, but right at that moment, Susan barreled up the stairs, a blue canister of salt in her hand.

“I have the salt!” she said, and with panic and desperation in her eyes she blindly flung the open canister at Dean and the ghost. Salt flung in a wide arc and rained down on Marcy, who screamed and disappeared instantly.

Dean rolled onto his side, coughing weakly as he grabbed onto the iron poker and clutched it against his chest. Cas ran to him, only stopping to grab the canister of salt. He hastily drew a circle around them, draining the last of the salt on their protection ring. “Susan, get in the circle!” he commanded as he knelt beside Dean.

“You don’t think I love you?” Dean choked out between gasps for air. His head was spinning. Cas’ hand on his shoulder helped a lot, but when Dean asked his question Cas quickly yanked it away. “How could you think that?” he said, genuinely confused.

“What’s going on? Why did that...that thing look like my Marcy?!” Susan nearly flung herself into the circle with them. She clutched at her chest, casting her terrified gaze around the room.

“Her ghost,” Cas said, though he didn’t take his eyes off Dean. His brow furrowed. “Dean, you haven’t--”

“Ghost?!” Susan screeched. “Then what the hell are we doing standing here?!”

“Salt repels ghosts,” Cas replied with way more patience than Dean would have had. “She can’t come into the circle.”

“What’s going on?” Susan’s eyes went huge, her face going pale. “She...She killed those people last year, didn’t she? How do we stop her?”

“Usually burn her remains, if anything is left,” Cas said, “but she was cremated, wasn’t she? So something else is tethering her here. Perhaps a locket? Something she cherishes.”

Susan frowned, panicked eyes darting around in front of her as she mulled it over. “Her painting,” she said with a gasp. “The one in your room. She finished it right before our argument! Right before she ran out into the street and was hit by the car. It was precious to her. She put her everything into it, tried to use it to confess her love for me, and I...I was too much of a coward to say it back. That’s why we fought.”

Cas and Dean’s eyes met, and they both nodded. Dean grunted as he pushed himself to his feet, poker still clutched to his chest. “Susan, stay here. Whatever happens, don’t leave the circle. Cas, I’ll keep her busy. You burn the painting.”

As one unit Cas and Dean left the salt circle.

Immediately the hallway burst into chaos. Doors slammed shut everywhere. The knick-knacks and travel guides on the accent table went flying through the air. The lights flickered until their bulbs burst, leaving only the light of the window at the far end to help them see.

They ran.

“You don’t think I love you?” Dean demanded, because a deadly ghost hunt seemed as good a time as any to have this conversation. Some things were too damn important to wait for downtime.

“Because you don’t!” Cas snapped. He threw himself at the shut door of their room, but it was supernaturally sealed. He grunted and tried again. Marcy appeared at his side, a ghostly hand reaching for his chest, a snarl on her lips.

“Cas, of course I love you, you idiot!” Dean swung at Marcy, forcing her to disappear again. Cas slammed himself against the unmoving door. “How could you think I don’t?”

“Dean, I died--” Cas slammed into the door again. His eyes glowed faintly with his weakened Grace. “Telling you how I felt. And you said--” Another crash; the door cracked ominously. “Nothing about it since I’ve been back!”

Marcy flickered into being next to them again. Dean knocked her away with the poker.

“I thought you knew! I thought you didn’t love me and that’s why you never said anything!”

“I told you!” With one final crash, Cas burst through the door and into the room, Dean hot on his heels. They ran for the dresser. “I told you the one thing I wanted, I couldn’t have! That thing was you, Dean!” Cas yanked the painting off the wall and threw it on the ground, shattering its glass and exposing the paper.

Marcy screamed in fury and appeared in front of him. She flung him at the dresser just as Dean dispersed her with a forceful swing. He flipped the poker in his hand, readying himself to strike again while Cas scrambled to his feet, lighter freed from his pocket and held at the ready.

“Because of the Empty!” Dean insisted. Marcy’s form materialized again, and Dean raised his weapon as she approached. “You couldn’t have me because of the deal with the Empty!”

Cas fumbled with the lighter. “I can’t have you because. You. Don’t. Love me!” It finally lit. Cas threw it onto the painting, sending it up in flames.

Marcy howled in agony as her body sparked and burned. She raised her head skyward as if to escape from the rising flames, but in a flash of heat and bright orange light, she was gone, and Cas and Dean were left standing alone in the room.

They stared at each other in the sudden, violent silence. Cas’ face was a mask of frustration and pain.

“Dean, I’ve been back for months. Months. And you have said nothing about how you feel. Do not lie to me now because you feel sorry for me.” With one last heartbroken glare, Cas stomped out of the room, leaving Dean behind to stamp out the flaming remains of the painting.

Once Dean didn’t need to worry about burning the house down, he went looking for Cas. He found him outside, loading up their scattered weapons into the trunk of the Impala.

He looked shattered. His face was crumpled with pain, his eyes dull, deep furrows in his brow. It brought Dean up short. Guilt welled up so intense that Dean almost couldn’t say anything at all. Except, well, that had gotten him into this situation in the first place.

“I thought you knew,” Dean called across the distance between them. Cas stopped and turned to look at him. The bitterness in his eyes made Dean’s stomach churn. “I thought you knew,” he said again. He took a step toward Cas. “For years I thought you knew. But, you know, you’re an angel. I thought you didn’t...I thought you couldn’t…” He trailed off. Cas’ forehead was furrowed in confusion, but he was at least listening, so Dean swallowed down his discomfort and barreled forward. “I thought angels couldn’t fall in love. Except...then you died telling me you did. Telling me that the reason you couldn’t even tell me how you felt was because being happy would trigger your deal and…” He shrugged.

“You thought I was deliberately keeping us apart?”

“Because if you told me you felt the same, then we’d be together and you’d be happy and you’d die.”

The bitterness had faded from Cas’ eyes, replaced with something that Dean was loath to acknowledge looked a little bit like pity mixed with profound frustration. “So when I came back, you thought there wasn’t anything left to talk about?”

Dean scratched the back of his neck and took another step forward. “Yeah well…What else was there to say? You said you, you know, loved me. And I thought you knew that I, you know…” He trailed off.

“Dean.” Dean had never heard Cas sound so pained just saying his name. “You.” Cas scrubbed at his face. His mouth twitched as he struggled to find words for all the ways Dean had screwed up. Was continuing to screw up.

“The hoops that you jump through to avoid talking about your feelings astound me,” Cas finally said. He dropped his hand with a sigh of defeat, and Dean’s heart sank. This was it. The death rattles of a relationship that hadn’t even really started. Dean never had what he truly wanted, and he never would.

Dean ducked his head, unable to look Cas in the eye. “Right. Yeah. That’s me, alright.” He swallowed around the hard lump in his throat. The long drive back to Kansas was going to be awful.

“Say it,” Cas said softly. His words were a command, but when Dean looked up in surprise, his eyes were pleading. “Please,” he breathed, almost like he didn’t deserve to even ask, and something inside Dean cracked.

“I love you, Cas.” One step, two steps, he crossed the distance between them and threw his arms around Cas’ shoulders, clinging to him the way he wished he could have before the Empty took Cas away. “It’s you, Cas. It can only be you. It’s only been you for years. I promise.”

Cas’ next breath stuttered in his lungs. His arms wound tightly around Dean, desperate. “Dean,” he sighed, this time like a prayer.

“I’m right here, buddy.” Dean held him tightly, the way he should have when he first got Cas back from the Empty. The way Dean wanted to all these months when he thought...Well, when he was an idiot. “You can have me, you know. You already have me.”

Cas pulled back enough to look Dean in the eye. His eyes were glassy. Dean’s didn’t exactly feel dry either. ‘I wonder if I can kiss him,’ Dean thought, milliseconds before Cas did just that.

Cas’ lips were warm against his own, and Dean gasped softly as his hand wound through Cas’ thick hair to cradle the back of his head. His kiss was eager, if not clumsy, and Dean smiled a little as he let Cas take the lead anyway. When they finally pulled apart, Cas’ normally pale lips were flushed pink, and Dean’s soft smile morphed into a huge, affectionate grin.

“Hey,” Dean said, his voice surprisingly husky after a largely innocent kiss.

Cas smiled back. “Hello, Dean,” he said, and Dean couldn’t help it. He laughed. God, how he loved this angel.

“So whadya say, Cas?” Dean said when his laughter quieted. “Ready to get the hell outta Dodge?”

Cas’ hands slid down Dean’s back until they were resting on his hips. “Actually…” His gaze turned wistfully in the direction of the distant beach. “I had a different idea.”

---

“You sure this is okay, Cas?”

“Dean…”

“Cuz I mean, I want to respect your boundaries.”

“Dean!”

“And I totally understand if I’m crossing a line here.”

Cas twisted around and gave Dean and his closed bottle of sunscreen a baleful look. Dean couldn’t help but laugh. “If I get sunburned, you can get your own room tonight.”

“You’re probably not even going to sleep anyway,” Dean shot back.

“I’ll sleep just to spite you.” Cas scowled, but Dean could see the corners of his lips twitching playfully. With a rush of affection, Dean shifted so that Cas’ bare back was pressed against his chest and Dean could rest his chin on Cas’ shoulder. Cas went stiff against his body, but it only lasted a second before he practically melted into Dean’s hold. Dean wrapped his arms around him as he watched the waves.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” Dean said with a sigh.

“Yes,” Cas breathed, but he wasn’t looking at the sea.

Heat rushed to Dean’s cheeks. He cleared his throat and kept his gaze solidly on the ocean. “You’re such a sap,” he grumbled weakly.

“You’ll get used to it.” Dean could see Cas’ smirk in the corner of his eye. Dean tightened his embrace.

“I dunno if I ever will,” he said quietly, a soft smile on his lips as he finally got to hold his angel.

[givemethatgold]

Fix’er Upper Pt. 3

Pairing: Eventual Frankie Morales x F!Reader Warnings: Clumsy injury, more stupid fighting Length: 2.5k Notes: If these two dummies could have one (1) adult conversation they’d be in bed together by now. Instead, we get this! *waves around vaguely*

PART ONE, TWO

Money was tight. You had been trying to ignore the dwindling stack of cash, telling yourself that you didn’t actually need to fix the cracked drywall, replace the old oven, or fill in the missing patches of shingles. 

That ignorance had finally come to bite you in the butt. You were rudely woken at three a.m. to the clap of thunder and the pat-pat-pat of rain hitting the house. You loved storms, the excitement of the lighting, and how fresh the air smelled once the rain had passed. 

You rolled over onto your back so you could watch the lightning flashing between the cracks of your curtains. A tap on your forehead quickly destroyed the excitement you were feeling. The wet ‘splat’ was quickly followed by another, and another, and before you were able to scramble up and search for the closest thing resembling a bucket, it had turned into a steady stream.

“Fuuuuuuuck!”

The next morning, the sun rose and shed its light upon a beautiful scene. The leaves, now free from dust, were beginning to turn, the grass glimmered with raindrops, and the sky was clear. You, on the other hand, were a verifiable disaster. 

Hair unkempt, heavy bags under your eyes, and wearing the first items of clothing you could find in your scramble last night. Your exhaustion was so complete, it hadn’t even dawned on you to change or freshen up a bit before going out into the public eye. All you could focus on was getting to Hank’s Hardware and buying all the shingles you could get your hands on.

Once again, however, you were harshly reminded of your dwindling savings and just how expensive fixing up a house could be. The owner, Allan if you remembered correctly, had shown you the right size and style for your home’s roof and you nearly choked at the price.

“You know,” he had said gently, “we do have the option of a payment plan. I don’t let just anyone use it either. It’s for trusted customers. I have a good gut on who I can trust.”

“Really?” You asked, feeling a little pathetic while also knowing now was not the time to let pride ruin such a good thing. “And, um, what does your gut tell you about me?”

“Welllll,” he smiled, hooking his thumbs into his suspenders and leaning back a little to size you up. “You’re hard-working, feel like you have something to prove, won’t back down from a challenge, and are in way over your head with that damn old house.”

“Oh.”

“No offense, ma’am! Sometimes I forget myself and talk to strangers the same way I’d talk to my friends.” He patted your forearm gently then hooked it back into his suspenders, pretending he didn’t notice you jumping at the physical contact. “But it’s true. No denying you won’t be able to shingle all by yourself. I’d offer, but I’m in no shape to be climbing up roofs.”

“That’s very sweet of you, truly. But I’ll manage! I doubt I could afford a handyman, so it’ll be me and my stubborn self scrambling around up there.” You joked, but it fell a little flat since the both of you knew it was the truth.

“I’ve got an idea...” Hank trailed off, his gaze searching around by the till. “Maybe you two can help each other out?” He fiddled at the computer for a minute, then grabbed a flyer from the corkboard mounted behind the counter before handing you two pieces of paper. One was a receipt of what you owed him after this latest excursion and a detailed timeline of when small payments could be made. 

Glancing up at him, you gave him a watery smile and thanked him for being so kind. Allan waved you off and pointed to the second paper.

‘Help Wanted’ it read, ‘Morales Acres. Light physical labour, quiet environment, rate of pay dependent on quality of work.’

“So friendly and welcoming,” you murmured, sarcastically, under your breath. Not quietly enough though because Allan snorted out a laugh and agreed that the ad was worded very abruptly. However, he vetted for the owner of the farm and suggested you head over to see if he would be willing to trade labour for labour.

Or at the very least, you thought, pay you so you can afford a roofer.

Following the directions Allan had provided for you, you quickly found Morales Acres. Surprisingly, it was a very short distance from your own home, making you wonder if the owner had been one of the people to drop by during your first weeks here.

The driveway was a beautiful, winding drive. The view of the farm was obscured by thickets of trees on either side of the road but you managed to catch glimpses of a pond and a few bales of hay before rounding a bend and driving into the yard.

A small gasp left your lips at the sight. It was picturesque! Something out of a travel magazine, or on every city girl’s Pinterest board. The driveway came to an end in front of a statuesque barn painted in the classic red and white, stone walls cordoned off certain areas that, from where you sat, looked like they could be used to house sheep or hens. A few small sheds were lined up along the other edge of the yard but the main attraction was the neatly lined rows of apple trees all heavy with fruit.

Climbing out of the cab, you slowly made your way into the yard with your mouth hanging open dumbly. It was just so peaceful here and it was obvious that the owner cared deeply for the property. You were enchanted and fell immediately in love.

“You must be the help Allan called to say he was sending over,” a warm voice rang out.

Looking around for the source your gaze widened, then immediately hardened, when you caught sight of who was talking to you.

“You!”

“You?!”

To say it had been a smooth business agreement would be a total lie. You and Market Asshole, Frankie you reminded yourself to call him, had bickered back and forth for the better part of an hour before shaking hands. Surprisingly, you had both argued more for the other person’s benefit, something you had been mulling over since.

If this guy was such an ass, why was he also acting like his help with your renovations wouldn’t be worth as much as you picking apples? You knew your presence disturbed his peace, and that you weren’t as strong as he might have hoped his helper would be, and he still hadn’t trusted you with all the workings of his orchard. 

So, while you weren’t going to argue anymore, you knew you were getting the better end of the deal: you help him gather his harvest and get it safely stored in the barn, then he spends the same amount of hours helping you. While the weather during September was prone to drizzle, you had convinced him that a tarp thrown over the baldest patches of roof would be fine and that the apples couldn’t wait. 

He had grumpily conceded your point but had sworn that as soon as the last of the fruit was picked he’d be over to do a proper job of it. So continued the uneasy truce between the two of you for the past four weeks. The first week was the hardest as your hands, unaccustomed to work, blistered, and your muscles ached from sudden use. You had initially tried to pass the time by making conversation but you got the hint and stayed quiet once Frankie started choosing trees farther and farther from yours.

Slowly, however, the blisters healed and gave way to callouses. Your muscles became accustomed to the work and you were able to carry twice the amount as you had started off with. Your home could now boast electricity and running water everywhere it should be, and the pile of discarded furniture had been reduced to ash by a spectacular bonfire which Jacquie and her family had joined you in admiring.

Today started off as a normal day. You showed up for harvesting at the break of dawn, having discovered you much preferred the cool morning air over being up on a ladder with the midday sun beating down on you. The trees were obscured by a low fog that had yet to burn up, but you knew what section you needed to start on. 

Enjoying the way the fog enveloped you, making you feel like you were in a magical world, you began to hum and your steps took on a dreamy dance-like quality. You had never taken lessons or had even been allowed to make such a spectacle of yourself while living with Brad but now you felt free enough to spin, twirl, and glide. Overcome with the joy your freedom gave you, you began to belt out “These Are a Few of my Favourite Things”, The Sound of Music having been played on repeat when you were a child. 

Once you reached the ladder, you hoisted the basket onto your back and continued to sing whatever songs you could remember while you worked. A particularly boisterous rendition of “Do Re Mi” had you flinging your arm out wide and leaning back on the ladder for a dramatic finish.

The apples threw you off balance. 

With a screech, you fell backward, managing to twist yourself around to land awkwardly on your hands and knees instead of on the basket of apples strapped to your back. You seemed to have come away unscathed, with just scratched knees and a throbbing in one wrist. Thankfully it wasn’t your dominant hand.

“Whoa!” Frankie called out, catching sight of you on the ground with the ladder tipped on its side, “Everything okay? Are you okay?”

Coming to a skidding stop next to you, he grasped the basket and slipped it off your back with ease. 

You took a few deep breaths and nodded. “Fine! Fine, just bruised knees and ego...” you assured him.

“What were you thinking?!” He tore into you, “You could have broken your neck! Or ruined a whole barrel of apples! Then what would I do?! This job doesn’t come with health insurance for Christ's sakes!” Running his hands through his curly, brown hair he let out a huff of air and walked over to where your ladder lay on the ground.

“Un-be-fucking-lievable!” You called out, incredulously. While trying to get to your feet, to march over and wag your finger in his face, you put too much pressure on your injured wrist that caused pain to scream down your arm.

You managed to mask the cry of pain as a cry of frustration and got to your feet. Surreptitiously cradling your hand against your chest, you grabbed another basket and walked past Frankie to start climbing the ladder again. Looking at the ground so he wouldn’t see the tears of pain in your eyes, you mumbled, “I’ll be more careful, alright? I’m sorry.”

Stopping your ascent with a hand on your arm he stuttered out what might have been the beginning of an apology but he couldn’t quite seem to put the right words together so he just cleared his throat.

“Just...” he said in a much softer tone, “just be more careful. Okay? I can’t lose my best worker.” 

The lame joke made you smile despite yourself. 

“Employee of the month,” you replied in a dry tone, “hurrah.” 

You shared wry smiles while a silent apology passed between the two of you. His dark brown eyes held a warmth to them you had never noticed before. Their hue reminding you of every tree in the orchard from the early light to the sunset, golden flecks reminiscent of the sun. His face, weathered from so much time spent outdoors, was marked with laugh lines, worry lines, and a small scar gracing his left cheek. 

Your eyes wandered past the scar to note how long his scruffy facial hair had grown and how it had started to obscure those pleasantly pouty lips. 

Then, with a start, you realized you were staring at this infuriating man’s lips like a hormonal teenager. With an embarrassed squeak, you quickly scurried up the ladder, hooking your elbow around each rung to avoid any more pressure on your wrist.

To say Frankie was coping well with having someone around would be a gross overstatement. 

It’s not that he didn’t like the company or wanted to be alone. The problem was that he was starting to like her company too much, to care too much. And caring too much had been the root cause of all Frankie’s sorrows.

First, there had been his Dad, trying to impress the man who never even wanted kids. Then the force, always feeling like he needed to prove himself and desperate for praise. After that was his wife, ex-wife, and trying to be someone he wasn’t so she would stay interested and in love. The pressure created by caring about these people and the expectations they had for him drove him to abuse drugs. Then his friends came calling and Frankie went against his gut because they had cared so deeply about something and he had cared deeply for them.

His wife, his kid, his family, his job, his friends. He had cared more than they did and he had come away worse off. At least now he was clean and sober, and was very aware of the irony of him now making and selling an alcoholic drink.

No, it was best to stay alone. He loved too freely and put too much stock in being loved back and every. single. time. it hurt him.

So, he closed himself off from you. Initially, he didn’t think it was going to be an issue, especially considering how you two had met. But then he found himself smiling at your stories, idly leaning against a branch so he could watch your graceful moments. He hated watching you leave, knowing you were going home to that piece of shit house that he should really be fixing up for you.

He recognized the signs and nipped them in the bud; working farther away, replying to questions with the fewest possible words, focusing purely on work, and maintaining a professional relationship. It pained him to push you away but deep down he knew it was best for the both of you.

Which brings him back to this moment.

Frankie was too stunned to notice your awkward climb up the ladder. Standing there, dumbly, for another few seconds. Wondering, all the way back to the idling tractor, what the hell had just happened.

One minute he was just driving the tractor minding his own business and the next he was having a mild heart attack after seeing his only worker laying limp on the ground. Then, after arguing like usual, you had shared a...a moment and stared at his mouth almost long enough to tempt him to use it.

Part Four

If you’d like to be tagged please send an ask!

@rebelliouscat @pedro4ever @speakerforthedead0 @yespolkadotkitty @ilikechocolatemilkh @weirdowithnobeardo @pedro-pastel @disgruntledspacedad @a-skov @trash-dino-5000 @reader-s-cantina

[writtenjewels]

Escort part 5

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

Kaidan was glad that John was just as new to all this as him. They'd been going out for two weeks now and were both still learning how it all worked. Kaidan's favorite part was their nightly vid-calls where they chatted about their day. John never talked about his job unless Kaidan asked, and he really didn't want to ask. Especially the question that kept plaguing his mind: did you 'prepare' for anyone tonight?

They were starting to be on more even footing when it came to asking each other out. John's choices were always interesting. He took them to an art history museum where a VI gave them a guided tour. Next he brought them to a bookstore with the task of finding something they liked to read and giving it to the other. After that they went to an arcade where they spent far too many credits trying to win each other prizes from the claw machine.

Not surprisingly, John was good at dating once he settled into it. And day by day, Kaidan could feel his emotions for John grow a little deeper.

He was walking around, lost in his own thoughts, when he passed by a hobby shop. He went over to take a closer look. There were starter paint sets, sewing kits, advertisements for music lessons, various 3D puzzles, and a row of models. Kaidan remembered John saying something about a model collection. He hoped he wasn't about to buy John a double as he picked out one of the models.

Was thinking of you and bought you something. Will give it to you on our next date.

It was the middle of the day so he was a little surprised to get a reply so quickly.

I'm curious, and I want to see you. Tonight?

He agreed and John asked him where they should meet. This was becoming the standard for them, leaving each other a lot of choices. Kaidan could feel his heart start to pound and he took a breath to try calming down.

It's something for your place.

He waited anxiously for the reply. It felt like it took longer than the first one. Finally the green light went off and Kaidan punched open the message. Just as he expected: John was inviting him over. This shouldn't be a big deal. They'd been dating for two weeks now; he should at least see where John lived. But so far Kaidan had been avoiding it, like he was afraid he would stumble on evidence of one of John's clients.

Will be there at 1830 hours.

Kaidan put on an outfit similar to the one he wore when they went to the club. Fighting his nerves, he took a taxi to the address John gave him and headed up to the apartment. John answered the door after the first knock. Kaidan was caught completely by surprise seeing John not wearing his usual tight clothing. So this is you in casual clothes, Kaidan noted, eyes sweeping over the hoodie and worn trousers. John always looked great but this was Kaidan's favorite outfit instantly.

“I feel over-dressed,” Kaidan remarked.

“I can go change.”

“No, I like seeing you this way. You look good.” John gave him a smile. “Anyway,” Kaidan resumed, “I bought you this.” He held out the box.

“Wow, I don't have this one,” John gasped in delight. He leaned in to give Kaidan a grateful peck on the mouth. “Come in. I've got to find a good spot for it.”

Okay, here we go. Kaidan stepped over the threshold. The place was about the same size as Kaidan's place, though the furniture looked a lot nicer. He noted a few art pieces on the walls and, amusingly, Blasto movie posters. The living area and kitchen took up one room but there were three others. John headed to one of them and Kaidan followed. This turned out to be an office space with a desk and a wall dedicated to John's models. Most of them were spaceships but there were some land rovers and skycars as well.

“Is that the Mars rover?” Kaidan asked.

“Yep. Pretty cool, huh?”

“Space nerd,” Kaidan declared fondly. John chuckled and cleared a space for his new model. Kaidan took a polite look around. “And there's Aldrin,” he noted, walking over to the cage. The little hamster scurried out of its nest, lifting up on its hind paws to observe the newcomer. “He's so cute.”

“Don't get too close,” John warned teasingly. His hand lightly rested on Kaidan's hip. “I have him trained to claw intruders' eyes out.”

“Really?” Kaidan hoped his voice sounded calm. He tried not to make any sudden moves in case the shift caused John to remove his hand. Just to make sure, Kaidan rested his hand on top. “How did you train him to do that?”

“A lot of treats and very tiny practice dummies.” Kaidan laughed and leaned against John's body. He felt around until he found John's other hand and moved it so both were wrapped around Kaidan.

That fear of finding something from a client here was ridiculous. John told him that he never got personal with them, so why would he invite one into his apartment? It was just an excuse, something Kaidan used to try holding back what he was feeling toward John. He tilted his head back to rest it on John's shoulder. Warm lips pressed against his throat, starting at the jawline and going slowly down to his shoulder.

“John,” he sighed.

“Thank you for the gift,” John mumbled. His lips worked against the flesh, making Kaidan shiver. “Never really had someone get me a present before.” Kaidan hummed in answer and closed his eyes to enjoy John's attention. It felt so good.

“Couch?” he suggested in a husky voice. This time it was John who gave the answering hum. Kaidan linked their hands together and walked with John over to the living area. They had agreed to figure this part out together but so far hadn't done anything more heated than kisses on the neck.

They sat down and John stared at him with smoldering eyes, a hand resting on the back of Kaidan's neck. He leaned in and pressed his lips against John's throat. The man instantly tilted his head back for more.

“You really like this,” Kaidan observed.

“Yes. I, ah...” John's fingers pushed through Kaidan's hair. “Will you... stay... for dinner?”

“Mmn, sure. Where are we going?”

“N-no, I...” John took in a shaky breath, shuddering as Kaidan mouthed his Adam's apple. “We're.. staying in. I... I wanted to... make you something. You said you... like steak sandwiches...?”

“I do.” He felt both of John's hands in his hair now, like that grip was all that kept John from falling to pieces. Damn, he really liked attention to his neck. Kaidan moved a little lower to the exposed skin of John's collar. “You going to cook steak?”

“No.” Kaidan felt the constriction of John's throat when he swallowed. “Bought it already cooked.” In a way, Kaidan liked that more. He didn't feel like John was trying to impress him or sweep him away with a grand gesture. Just something simple and sweet.

“I'm not hungry right now,” Kaidan told him, lifting his head up to look at John. The man's face was flushed, his eyes glassy, his lips parted invitingly. He pushed away the thoughts of John's clients seeing him like this. Dwelling on past lovers wasn't fair. Kaidan kissed John, sliding his tongue inside that warm mouth. John's answering tongue was almost tentative.

“Kaidan,” the man breathed. “Shit.” His fingers gripped a little tighter in Kaidan's hair and he trembled. Kaidan could hear his heart pounding in his ears as he rested a hand on John's knee. Slowly he slid the hand up John's thigh. John groaned and shifted closer, settling his weight in Kaidan's lap. “I know,” John gasped out. “Slower. I'm trying.”

“It's okay.” Kaidan rested his hands on John's hips to keep the man from moving away. “I'm just surprised that a model is what does it for you.”

“Some day I'll find your weakness, too,” John warned with a grin.

“Steak sandwiches are a good start.” You, he thought, resting his hand on the back of John's head and pulling him forward for another kiss. It's you, John Shepard.

[dearest-bucky]

One kiss is all it takes (One Shot)

Bucky Barnes x Reader

Summary: Requested by @softcobain - Where reader who’s Bucky’s best friend ask him to teach her how to kiss bc she really wants to impress a guy she’s going on a date with? But Bucky is totally in love with her, at first he doesn’t want to but then he agrees.

Words: 3.8K

Warnings: angst, fluff, one first detailed kissing scene lol

A/n: Because tumblr is apparently dumb I can’t tag the sweetheart that requested this, but @softcobain I really hope you like this love! 💕 Guys I got goosebumps while writing this, I hope y’all like it too.

Feedback is greatly appreciated! xx

The door of her small apartment made a small squeaky noise as she pushed it open. She wasn’t all that surprised to find it open, her key once again useless. The only noises in the otherwise quiet apartment were coming from the TV that was left on, some detergent commercial playing in one random channel. She turned on the small lamp next to the couch that she usually used to read at night, and smiled as the figure that was sleeping on her small and uncomfortable couch was illuminated by the soft light.

She crouched down next to him and softly touched his hair, making him stir in his sleep. “Hey sleepyhead, what are you still doing here?”

He opened one eye and when he was met with her face, a small smile crept onto his lips. “Hey, you’re back. Thought I’d wait up for you but apparently I failed at that too.”

She chuckled at his words and patted his cheek lightly. “Don’t worry about it. I’m here now.”

Bucky offered her a shy smile and got up in a sitting position, making space for her to sit on the couch too. “So, how was it?” He asked after she sat next to him.

She remained silent for a moment, as if she was thinking hard about the answer, but there was a smile plastered on her lips and a dreamy look on her eyes that kind of told Bucky everything he wanted to know. The answer, despite it not being said, was shown, written in her every feature. She finally turned her head on the side to face him, and then replied. “It was great. He asked me out again on Friday.” Her smile never faltered, but as she looked at Bucky’s reaction her eyes narrowed a little in curiosity.

He nodded at her words and fixed his stare down, unable to look her in the eye anymore. He cleared his throat once and then without even looking at her again, got up from the couch. “That’s great, if you’re happy then I’m happy too. It’s better if I go back to my apartment now. Good night Y/n.” He didn’t even spare her another glance and left her apartment in a hurry, not even allowing her the time to wish him good night too. He slammed the door closed behind himself harder than he intended to and that made him wince, but he wasn’t about to go back and apologize  for that.

With short but quick steps he arrived at his door on the other side of the hall and when he entered his apartment, without even realizing, he slammed his door shut too. He knew he had no right to be mad at her for going out on a date with somebody else, but he simply couldn’t talk his broken heart down. He’d been head over heels with Y/n for years and now having to see her date someone that wasn’t him, it was damn painful.

How could he even begin to explain what he felt for Y/n? Truth is he didn’t even remember how it all started.

After the Avengers defeated Thanos and Steve went to the past to get his second chance in life, Bucky chose to not stay with the rest of the Avengers at the new Avengers’ compound. Instead, with the help of Sam he bought a small apartment in Brooklyn where he’d been living for the last four years.

Y/n moved in her apartment on the other side of the hall only a couple of months after Bucky. When she was moving her furniture in, Sam, just like the perfect wing man he is, managed to introduce Bucky and Y/n, claiming they’d be neighbors so they needed to know each other if one of them ever ran out of sugar or flour. Bucky had scowled at Sam in annoyance but Y/n had only giggled at the new Captain America’s words and shook Bucky’s hand. “He’s right.” She had told him. “You’ll never know when one could need the help of a superhero.”

He had blushed then, at her words, and a smile had replaced the previous scowl.

That day they had both helped her move in, carrying the heavy boxes and the furniture. After everything had been put inside her new apartment, Sam and Bucky excused themselves and wished her a good night, seeing it was dark outside already. She had thanked them both for their help and when they were on the hall, she called out to Bucky. “Don’t be a stranger.”

He had smiled at her and nodded his head.

Ever since that day they’d spend many more days together, hanging out at each other’s apartments, but mostly at Y/n’s because she, as Bucky put it, had the better couch, despite the fact that it was smaller than his, but he enjoyed sitting close to her and watching movies and eating chinese takeout  almost every night. Eventually those nights became an every night occurrence, and without even realizing, Y/n and Bucky had become best friends, helping each other with everything, relying to each other, taking care of each other whenever one was sick, mostly Y/n. She even managed to help him calm down after a nightmare when he had knocked on her door at 3 am sweating and crying in pain.

In the last four years they had become almost family to each other.

Despite her very friendly nature, Y/n was actually very shy when it came to romantic relations. So whatever feeling Bucky started developing for his neighbor/best friend, he buried deep inside his heart, not wanting to make her feel uncomfortable. Because he knew there was no way someone as perfect as her would even like back someone like him.

Now he had to stand by and watch someone else take her out on dates and make her happy, when that could’ve been him.

With a heavy heart Bucky laid down on his bed and closed his eyes, a long sigh escaping his parted lips.

Bucky didn’t see Y/n the entire upcoming week. She was busy with her work and he spent most of the days at the compound, training for the next mission.

Days had been passing slowly and he missed her so much every passing  minute, especially on the evenings when they’d be almost cuddled up next to each other on her couch and binge watching whatever Netflix series was on his “to-watch-list”. He wanted to knock on her door but he couldn’t find it in himself to do so. After all she had started seeing someone now so he didn’t know if she still wanted him to go over.

It was almost 6 pm on a Saturday when he heard the hesitant knocks on the wood of his door and he moved lazily through his apartment to answer it. He was surprised to find Y/n on the other side of it.

She was wearing a nice dress, perfect for the warm weather of May evening and even more perfect for her. She looked absolutely breathtaking, but the almost panicked expression written all over her face made him break out of his stupor sooner than he would’ve wanted.

“Hey, Y/n. What’s up?” He spoke a little awkwardly, not knowing how to act around her anymore. It seemed as if it had been an eternity since the last time he saw her. Usually when she came over, she never knocked and she would always greet Bucky with a hug or a kiss on the cheek, but that seemed like a long time ago, and somewhat an inappropriate thing to do now.

She greeted him with a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes and asked him if she could come in.

“Uhmm, yeah yeah, sure.” He said, a little confused, but moved on the side to let her inside his apartment and closed the door again.

He saw her move towards the living room, but she never sat down, standing awkwardly in the middle of the small space between the couch and his coffee table.

“Is everything alright Y/n?” He asked then, unable to bare the silence anymore.

She picked her head up and looked at him, a look Bucky couldn’t quite understand. “I need your help.” She finally spoke. Her voice was unsure, even a little shy when she spoke, but he heard her loud and clear.

“Sure, doll. What can I do for you?” Always the hero. Always trying to help. Always helping.

She remained silent for a moment, as if wanting to organize her thoughts well and then she finally started speaking again. “So you know I’ve been talking to this guy for the past month..” she began and Bucky noticed how she was picking up at the skin of her fingernails, a tick of nervousness he knew she had. He moved closer to her and placed his hands on hers, stopping her assault on the fragile skin that had started to bleed a little already.

“What about him? Is everything okay? Is he bothering you? Do I need to kick his ass?” His mind was running a million miles per minute, thinking of the worst case scenarios, but she only shook her head lightly in response.

“Everything is okay with him. He’s great. It’s just…” She hesitated a little before she continued again. “Last night we went out and at the end of the date he walked me home and when he was saying goodnight he leaned in and wanted to kiss me and I turned away so he ended up kissing me on the cheek.” She explained, blushing a little and Bucky was listening to her every word intently.

“Tonight we’re going out again, to the movies this time and this is the third date and I’m thinking we should kiss, right? But I don’t know.” She concluded and let go of his hands that were holding hers, moving to the couch and finally sitting.

Bucky followed her lead and sat too. “You don’t know what?” He asked. If she were unsure about this guy she shouldn’t feel obligated to kiss him. She didn’t owe him anything. She should know that.

But Y/n surprised him with the next words she spoke. “I don’t know how to kiss.” She said and a crimson red painted her cheeks after the words had left her mouth.

Bucky could only stare at her, a little shocked at the confession and that only made her feel more embarrassed than before. “Forget it, this was a stupid idea.”  She said when he took a moment too long to reply and she tried to get up from the couch, but Bucky finally came to his senses.

“No, please doll.” He spoke softly and she sat down again. “I’m sorry.” He continued. “You took me by surprise, that’s all. I mean, how is it possible that you don’t.. you know.. know? How to kiss?”

The entire situation was embarrassing and awkward and they both were wishing the ground would open and swallow them whole.

Y/n felt her cheeks aflame by the embarrassment she was feeling. She knew it was a crazy idea to come to Bucky about this, but he was her only friend.

Despite the fact that she was 26 years old she was an introvert and she didn’t have many friends. Except for Bucky who was her best friend, she had another childhood friend back in her hometown but she was too far to come and help Y/n with her situation.

Her entire life she had avoided people as much as possible, especially boys and men. She never had a boyfriend in her life and she never even kissed a boy before. That’s why she was in  Bucky’s apartment now, asking him for help.

“I just..” she stuttered a reply. “Never kissed someone, so I don’t know how..” Her words were spoken in an almost hushed whisper, still mortified from the situation at hand.

“Okay, so you need me to…?”

“To teach me how to kiss.” She said matter of factly but she regretted the words as soon as they left her mouth. They had sounded better in her head than they did when she said them out loud, but there was no way she could take them back now.

Bucky’s eyes widened at her request but he composed himself quickly. He was a highly trained assassin for God’s sake, he knew how to mask his  emotions, but apparently not around Y/n. “I can’t do that!” He finally exclaimed and he watched her face fall after those words. “I mean, it’s not fair to you.” He was quick to add and Y/n looked back up at him. “It’s your first kiss and it should be with someone you have feelings for. Not with me.”

“But Bucky…” A sound of protest left her lips. Those rosy and pillowy lips that he had wished so many times to kiss and that were now asking him to do so. “I’m going to be so embarrassed when he tries to kiss me again and I just stay there. It will be terrible if I just froze in the spot, you know.” She was trying to reason with him as much as she could. “Please? I kind of like this guy and I don’t wanna look stupid in front of him.”

“Doll. You could never look stupid.” He replied, still not saying anything about her request.

He wanted to give in and kiss her so much, but he was afraid he wouldn’t be able to stop once he started. His heart and his mind were in war at the moment.

“Please Buck?” She tried again. “You know I wouldn’t ask this of you if it wasn’t really important to me.” She pleaded and Bucky knew who won the battle inside of him. How could he refuse those lips that he had dreamed of for several years now? How could he refuse her pretty eyes, giving her that sad puppy dog look he absolutely adored? He simply couldn’t. That’s why he found himself slowly nodding his head in response.

“Okay, okay doll. I’ll help.” He said and she nodded back to him, a small smile forming on her lips. “Just one kiss to show you how it’s done.”

“Okay.” She replied and he let out a long breath at the sight of her looking so hopeful now, and beautiful, always.

They turned their bodies to face each other and Bucky cupped her cheek with his flesh hand. Ever so slowly he started closing the distance between their faces, until their noses were almost touching.

Y/n had closed her eyes and was waiting for him to place his lips on hers, but she could only feel his soft breath tickling her lips, but not touching them.

“Relax, doll.” She heard him say and her shoulders sagged a little, finally free from the tension she’d been holding in. “Just go with it and let it happen.”

She was ready to say something when she finally felt his lips touch hers, so softly she thought she must be dreaming it. With the same softness he started kissing her lips, slowly, gently, just like a breeze touching the leaves on the trees. He slowly coaxed her lips to part and she quickly complied, allowing him to deepen the kiss a little, feeling the kiss a little more. He was caressing her lips with his, happy to finally be able to do so, his flesh hand holding her cheek while the metal one moved to her hair, carding through her silky locks.

Too soon for his liking she ended the kiss, but she didn’t back away from him. Her eyes were hooded and her lips still parted when she whispered his name. “Buck..”

It was all he needed to delve in again for another kiss, this one more passionate. He couldn’t hold back anymore, coaxing her mouth open with his tongue, kissing her lips with a passion that was about to burn him entirely. He had been holding back for too long.

The hand in her hair gripped the locks tightly in between the fingers and he felt her let out a small moan against his mouth at the action, which only spurred him to kiss her more. Tongues hugging each other and teeth clashing with each other, biting and kissing and licking lips, starved for each other.

Her hands had found home in his shirt, bunching the material in her fists as she reciprocated his kiss with everything she had.

They had been so lost in each other, not even considering about stopping, until the phone in her pocket ringed and she whined lowly in Bucky’s mouth in annoyance.

“Forget about it.” He spoke between kisses but the device continued ringing until they were forced to part away from each other. Y/n had an apologetic look in her eyes as she fished the phone out of her pocket and she visibly winced when he saw the name on the screen.

She waited a moment until she fixed her breath before answering. “Hi, Andrew.” She spoke, not looking at Bucky anymore. “Yes, I’m ready. I’ll be down in 5 minutes. Okay.” She hung up the phone and finally looked at Bucky again.

He had an unreadable expression in his face while he was still trying to catch his breath from the mind-blowing kiss they just shared.

“I’m sorry. My date is here, I have to go.” Y/n said and waited for Bucky to say something, anything, but he just nodded his head and got up first from the couch, moving to the front door and opening it for her.

She got up too and walked out of the apartment, unable to say another word to him. When she finally reached the door of her own apartment and was entering it, Bucky finally decided to break the silence.

“You’re a quick learner Y/n. Kiss him like that and he’ll be yours forever.” She wanted to laugh at his words, but she just turned her head back and smiled sadly at him.

“Thanks Buck.” She said before he closed the door and entered his apartment again.

This is it, he thought as he sat back on his couch. The same couch where less than 5 minutes ago he was kissing the woman he loved. He should’ve stopped her. He should’ve said something. Asked her not to go on that stupid date with stupid Andrew. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. Because he was a coward.

Besides, if Y/n felt something for him, after that kiss she sure would’ve said something too. But she didn’t. She just got up and left to go on her date with another man, leaving Bucky behind with swollen lips and a broken heart.

It was less than three hours later that she finally came back. Bucky heard the keys jingle out in the hall and he knew she was back. She was probably coming back home with her date, he thought, but he was shocked to see her open his door and enter his apartment instead.

She seemed hesitant as she walked inside his place, finding Bucky slouched on the couch, a half finished bottle of whiskey in his hand.

“Bucky?” She called his name cautiously and he picked up his head to look at her. The same dress from before, except this time she was wearing a denim jacket over it too. He stared at her for a while, simply admiring her beauty, cursing himself for not being enough for her.

“Are you drunk?” The question left her lips without thinking. She knew he couldn’t get drunk, but when she saw him like that it was the first thing that came to mind.

“You know I can’t get drunk doll.” His reply was court and composed. “How did it go? Where’s your date?” He then asked her, despite the fact that he had no interest in knowing the answer to either of those questions.

She moved to sit on the couch next to him, the same spot he had stolen her breath away with one kiss a couple of hours ago, and she couldn’t think of nothing else except for that kiss. “It was okay.” She spoke mechanically, staring at his face. In her mind she was still kissing him.

“Did you kiss him?” Another question he didn’t want to know the answer of but he couldn’t help but ask it. Her only reply was a nod, but it was enough for Bucky to understand what she meant.

He slouched his head, dejected, broken, not wanting to be near her anymore. He had lost her.

“Yes, I kissed him.” She spoke a second later and Bucky wanted to tell her he understood that from her nod. “But I realized his weren’t the lips I wanted to kiss me, the lips I wanted to kiss.” She added a little breathlessly.

Bucky fixed his eyes on her, this time waiting with curiosity for her to continue. That she did. “I never wanted to go to that date after the most amazing kiss of my life, but I didn’t want to be rude to Andrew, so I thought I’d give him a chance, because he was a really nice guy.” She let out a small breath before she continued to speak again, Bucky patiently and curiously listening to her. “The entire time we were out I was still thinking about a certain set of lips that managed to set me on fire. And I thought to myself, it’s just because it was my first kiss. I’m sure if I kiss Andrew it will be even better, because I like Andrew. So I kissed him, but there was nothing. I was still searching for a different kiss in him. I was still asking to feel another man’s lips on mine.”

The bottle of alcohol he’d been holding in his hands, he placed it carefully on the coffee table before turning his body to the side to fully face her. “Doll, what are you saying?”

She let out a small sigh before answering, looking him dead in the eye. “I’m saying I don’t want to kiss anyone else beside you.” She confessed and it seemed that the world came to a stop.

He moved to get closer to her, this time both of his hands cupping her cheeks, inching their faces so close to each other once again. “Are you sure?” There was a slight tremble in his voice when he asked the question, but there was none in hers as she answered “Absolutely.” before locking her lips to his and kissing him like there was no tomorrow.

Their mouths continued the exploration and their hands found homes in each other’s bodies.

Bucky was so happy he could die. He kept kissing her like his life depended on it and between kisses he managed to speak. “Good, because I’m planning to kiss you for the rest of my life.”

[octalove]

VII: By Invitation Only

(Batgirl/Red Hood)

Description: Reader and Jason go undercover in a Mafia den. Part one, two, three, four, five, and six.

My mind buzzed with the sights and sounds of Little Italy. Boots scuffing sidewalk, and the persistent hum of the moving parts within the heart of the city. Quiet, serious conversations mumbled low between men of business, and enthused gossip among thick-accented women at every café and park. The ever-present stream of conversation in the townhouses and shops was exciting. I fell in seamlessly to the strange mix of wealth among poverty, the stringent immigrant culture surpassing both.

The mission itself was straightforward- the kind of business I actually didn’t expect the Red Hood to bother with himself. He got some info from one of his contacts, Giuseppe Bianchi, whose job was to, according to Jason, “sing like a fuckin’ canary”. Bianchi informed him a week ago that one Adriano Cliffs was trying to strike a deal between two mafia families under Red Hood’s control. It was in the realm of real estate; ‘property’ investments that were actually investments into the nefarious affairs that would be taking place on said properties. According to Bianchi, moving chemicals. Red Hood didn’t care about chemicals; it was part of drug trade or domestic biowarfare or what have you, but it was the principle of them moving under his nose. Trying to grub up some deals he wasn’t a part of.

“With the mafia,” He said. “You give ‘em an inch, they take the whole fuckin’ county.” Thus, our job was to go to a dinner party, unassuming guests, and try to figure out who else was involved, so Red Hood could later pay them a visit.

I didn’t ask if he’d kill them.

I had the invitations in my clutch; beautiful little parchment cards with gold lettering. Thank you, Bianchi. There was a stark contrast between going on a mission in my Batgirl suit, and going on one in a green silk dress. I had no trouble dressing the part of the socialite- and apparently Jason didn’t either. He wore a red satin dress shirt, unbuttoned to feature a plunging neckline, paired with a black blazer that had an asymmetric stand collar. Frankly, I was impressed. It looked better than the suits Bruce used to put him in.

The location of the party was a quaint little townhouse nestled in upper Luskan Square. The building was all cream paint and red brick, with pretty green vines cascading from window planters. I could hear music from inside; raspy strings and jaunty horns in a dixieland, swinging tempo.

The two mafia families were Pellegrino and D’amici; two bloodlines that were previously in a feud so contentious that 1/4 of Gotham City Morgue was full of its casualties at any given time. All that until around four months ago when Kane Pellegrino married Penelope D’amici like something straight out of Romeo and Juliet, but with more guns, cocaine and happy endings.

Jason leaned over to me as we approached, whispering lowly in my ear, “The matriarch- Olivier D’amici- she’s a touch odd. Paranoid. Just keep her busy durin’ the party, and I’ll do the rest. Cliffs should be here, too.” I nodded, and flashed a blue-ribbon smile at the doorman.

“Invitations?” He asked. I gave him the cards, and after a brief inspection, he nodded. We entered the foyer, welcomed by the smell of warm food and laughter. The living room was lit by an elegant and tasteful chandelier. It had a more antique and eclectic charm than the manor’s modern refine. Able to attract less attention if we split up, Jason vanished into dining room while I stayed in the living area, mumbling the occasional polite “excuse me” as I tried to make it seem as though I were a frequent guest of mafia dens. I looked around for a woman matching Olivier D’amici’s description- old, blonde, haggish. I silently kicked myself for not asking Jason to be more specific, because as it turns out, old, blonde and haggish was the memo for tonight’s event.

“Oof-“ I smacked right into what felt like a brick wall in a Versace suit. At least, I was right about the suit. I looked up to see a man of about forty peering down at me. His hair was a rusted gold, and he sported magnificently manicured facial hair- it made him appear very leonine.

“My apologies, dear.”

“Oh, it was my fault. I should be the one apologizing.” I said, suddenly nervous with the idea of being roped into a conversation. I was a fighter, not a liar. He chuckled, took a drink of his undisturbed wine.

“That’s sweet of you. It’s refreshing to find someone around here that isn’t too stubborn for their own good.” He said. “You aren’t from one of the families, are you? I don’t know that I’ve seen you around before.”

“I’m a friend of Penelope’s.” I quickly supplied the lie. Something like surprise flashed in his blue eyes, before his face steeled back agreeably.

“I see.”

“I was actually just looking for her. You wouldn’t happen to know where...?” I trailed off as he nodded his head, gesturing to the opposite corner, where a beautiful olive-skinned brunette appeared to be object of adoration in a small circle of people. I’d never actually seen her before- anyone who entered to living room would’ve notice her immediately.

“Oh!” I laughed. “I don’t know how I missed her! Please, excuse me.”

I took my time inching through the crowd, stalling. But the man didn’t take his gaze off of me until I reached Penelope D’amici, and her pool of admirers. Damn. He was going to keep watching until I talked to her. It would be utterly obvious it was an introduction and not an anticipated reunion. I took a deep breath and dug in my heels.

If you’re going to lie, I could hear Bruce’s voice in my mind. Dedicate yourself to it.

“Penelope!” I called. She turned, planting her stunning, doey brown eyes on me. I pressed a couple friendly kisses to her cheeks.

“Hello!” She said, clearly inured in the art of greeting. I stole a glance to the man, who had moved along just as Penelope gave me a politely curious look.

“Have we- um,” She looked so apologetic, I almost felt bad.

“Louise Casteñes?” I said encouragingly, giving her my fake name. “We met at the wedding.” Penelope’s face went a shade of pink, and she gave me a bashful laugh.

“Oh- the wedding was quite the evening, I’m really sorry if I forgot. You must think I’m so rude.”

“Oh, it was months ago, no need to feel bad.” I offered.

“I saw you talking to Mr. Cliffs. Are you two familiar?” I blinked. Adriano Cliffs. The man trying to sabotage Red Hood- and now was suspicious of me within fifteen minutes of the party. Good fucking going.

“Not really, I just accidentally ran into him. I’m lucky he didn’t spill his wine.” I replied. Penelope laughed, the sound like wind chimes.

“If you asked my grandmother,“ She said. “She’d say he’d deserve it.”

“Olivier, right? Your grandmother?” Penelope nodded.

“Did you meet her at the wedding as well?”

“I didn’t get the chance, I’m afraid.”

Her face lit up and she looped her arm in mine. Together we waltzed through the bodies and expensive antique furniture into the dining room. Jason was nowhere to be seen; he must have begun his hunt for information.

“Oh, you have to meet her! She’s the host.” Once away from the crowd, she leaned close in cospiracy, and added. “And I need an excuse to get away from those people. Looks like you’re my savior tonight.” She winked, and I laughed as she pulled me into a small, secluded reading room.

Olivier D’amici was- well- old, blonde, and haggish. She had pale skin like worn leather and powdery makeup, but her fashionable ensemble of emerald green silk and sapphire jewelry was stylish and unconventionally attractive. She was like a peacock personified. She was indeed a touch odd, and more than a touch paranoid- though not of me. After thirty minutes cradled in scandalous conversation about everything from the horderves to Kane Pellegrino’s bedroom habits, I learned that Olivier stuck her poignantly upturned nose away from the likes of Adriano Cliffs and his slimy business deals. She made no mention of Red Hood, but complained in great detail that real estate competition between the Pellegrinos and D’amicis was a problem solved by the marriage and that was that. Cliffs had been pestering her for months, but she wouldn’t sign a thing. When thirty minutes turned into an hour, I finally caught Jason’s face amidst the party. I hadn’t expected the following relief that washed over me as I excused myself.

We reconvened, settling on a chaise in the lounge.

“I got everything I need.” He said simply, with no further indulgence as to what he’d been up to for the past two and a half hours. I lowered my voice as I updated him on my end.

“Olivier doesn’t want to work with Cliffs- she thinks he wants to break up the families again. Penelope’s marriage was bad for his business.”

Jason nodded thoughtfully. “Good work, little bird.”

“She’s nice.” I added.

“Hm?”

“Penelope. She’s nice. And innocent.”

A beat passed before Jason sighed lightly, and leaned close, eyes moving across the crowd.

“You see that woman over there?” I followed his gaze to a pudgy, but frail woman in a wheelchair who had to be in her late eighties. Her purple blouse was adorned with a matching silk bow on the neckline, as she smiled as she cupped the face of a young boy. A grandchild, perhaps.

“Pepper de LeShapelle.” Jason’s lips grazed my ear for the closeness of them. “If the D’amicis enlist the help of some third party goons- guys just tryin’ to whip up some extra cash, feed their families- and those guys wind up in Finger River afterward, de LeShapelle signed the order. She pays the legal team, too. Been doing it since the eighties.” My gaze fell away from her. “Nobody’s innocent here, dollface. If Penelope is now- which I doubt- she won’t be in a couple years. Maybe she won’t gun anyone down, but she’ll sure as hell be signing the orders for somebody else to do it. That’s D’amici tradition.” I didn’t respond, letting my silence speak for itself. I still couldn’t get the picture of Red Hood pointing a gun at Penelope out of my head.

“Andre! Come, come.” A voice interrupted my thoughts. Jason turned and gave a charming smile to a man with a thick accent in a monochrome black suit. “Pardon, my dear, but I must steal your companion for a moment.” He addressed me. I smiled agreeably.

“He’s all yours.”

Jason- Andre, as it were- left in a blur of suits and pocket watches, and I wandered around the townhouse for a while, busying myself with scones and inspecting baby pictures until ten minutes passed, and the air began to dizzy me.

Nights in Gotham were always pretty; the shadows filled all the cracks and made the flaws too dark to see. In Little Italy, the view from the balcony was particularly breathtaking, with colors like oil paints against a dusk canvas. Stars hung low in the fading light, competing with the twinkling lights of the city below. I could see a ferry steaming along in Finger River. The shade of blue made me realize how the chaos had worn on me. Stepping onto the terrace was a cool and much-needed repose.

After a while, footsteps sounded behind me. They were heavy and relaxed; lazy strides that could only be Jason’s. He was intimidating in his armor, lurching into a fight with fistfuls of firepower and that daunting stance he always took. But somehow, he was more intimidating here, out of his element, with wine and music and satin blouses, affluent society moving around him like water in a stream. He was uncharacteristically poised to pretend. In a fight, I could see the anger, the strain, the stubborn willfulness in the way he trusted completely the momentum of his own body. He was a great combatant, but I knew his moves. I always knew what he wanted. Here, even though I could see his face, I couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Everyone was his enemy, everyone was his friend. He could smile at a mafia goon and scowl at servant, and feel the exact opposite way. I felt like he was always lying.

Jason sauntered over and leaned against the Romanesque stone railing. He smelled like cologne and wine, and in fact tipped his glass to his lips for a sip.

“Hope it wasn’t too overwhelmin’.” He muttered, eyes falling on the city. He looked apologetic- but perhaps it was the lighting.

“No, it’s fine. I just needed some air.”

Something like glass breaking sounded from inside, followed by a chorus of laughter. He glanced back, amusement dancing on his lips. I wondered if he’d rather be back there; he did so seem to love the fray.

I ran a finger across a crack in the railing. Dick would have loved to know I’d attended a party with the upper echelon of mafia society. I thought I’d remembered a stupid story about his escapades with congressman’s daughter at the G.C. Opera House.

“What’s wrong?” Jason’s low voice broke through my thoughts, and I looked at him, surprised at the expression of interest he wore. I hesitated, shifting my weight as I stalled. Of course I didn’t want to tell him I’d been thinking of Dick.

“It’s stupid.” A beat.

“Yeah? Tell me anyway.” He said, with some finality. Again, I paused.

“Go on, little bird.” He said, drawing almost imperceptibly nearer, dipping his head close, drawing a line between ourselves and the mansionful of strangers. “Tell me.”

I was agonizingly aware of the modest inches between us. “My moms… they loved to travel. Everywhere they went, they always did something- something memorable. They were the life of the party, everywhere. They had a lot of stories.”

He didn’t say anything. It made me nervous, so I kept going to fill the silence.

“They probably came to Little Italy a lot. Probably before I was born. Ma used to tease me, because I never did anything. Or went anywhere. I just studied and… stayed home.”

More silence. I didn’t even want to look at him. He was the Red fucking Hood and I was telling him about my dead moms like he was alcoholics anonymous.

“I can’t help but feel like… I don’t know. I guess I wasn’t disappointing them, really. But I keep thinking how happy and proud they’d be now if they… if I could tell them all the stories I have now.” I concluded, watching cars with golden yellow headlights file like ants down the cobblestone streets.

“Huh.”

I blinked- not really sure what I was expecting out of him. Emotional intelligence-wise, he did die when he was a 15 year old boy. I never really yearned for him to offer me solace; but the way he just looked at me and listened made me feel like I could say anything.

I looked over at him, and he flashed me a toothy, wolfish grin and sipped his wine.

“So, if they were here, what tales would you tell em, darlin’?” He asked, eyeing me with some unreadable plan formulating in his head.

“I… well, I don’t know. I guess I don’t have anything that impressive yet. I’m spending my first ever mafia party on a balcony.”

“Easily remedied. Come on, I’ll get ya another glass.” He stood.

“Well, I‘ve never drank wine either.”

He looked at me with genuine surprise. “Ever?”

I shrugged. He settled back against the railing. “Do you want to?”

“I don’t know…” I hesitated. I’d had beer before, and burning liquor in the dark quells of some distant classmate’s basement party. But that, I could barely remember. I added quietly, “It smells bad.” He laughed his uncanny, jagged laugh.

“Yeah?” He gave me a vexatious look. “How ‘bout just a taste?” I glanced at the empty glass hanging in his fingers.

“Too bad you drank it all.” I said teasingly.

“I said a taste, not a sip.”

He drew closer. Leaning on the railing like we were, it was easy to forget my height reached only his chest. Before I could give any forethought to what any of this would mean for me, his calloused fingers were tilting my chin upward, tipping my face toward his. I could feel the warmth of his body and breath- it made the night seem colder, though I knew it was tepid at worst. His lips were soft and considerate when they met mine, gently adding pressure. It was a feather-light, brief thing. What startled me more than the kiss itself was the gentleness of it.

When he pulled away, I breathed, realizing I’d forgotten to. I blinked as he let go of my chin, a small grin playing at his lips as he surveyed my reaction. Realizing he wasn’t going to kiss me again himself, I leaned in this time, butterflies fluttering in my stomach as I did. Jason kissed me back, more enthusiastically this time. His tongue danced against my lips until I parted them, whereupon he slipped it past my teeth. The intimacy cradled me like a blurry dream- I hadn’t at all been expecting to be here with him, tonight, like this; and yet here I was, and not wishing to be anywhere else. Jason was with me- tall, strong, gorgeous Jason Todd- choosing me over all the rich and beautiful people of Little Italy beyond the stained glass french doors of the terrace. Choosing me over the criminals and vagrants he had the power to puppeteer for any purpose he so chose. The way his mouth and tongue felt was dizzying. And he was right; I could taste the wine. Fruity and tangy, with a more earnest, earthy bitterness just below the surface. When my breath hitched, asking for air, he pulled away. After a deep sigh, I leaned into him, letting his arms encircle me, laying my head against the fabric of his shirt.

Our mission was over. We could’ve left any time. But there, then, I couldn’t even associate with the idea of pulling away from him.

[daebakinc]

Hero Among Thorns - Pt 5

Pairing: Hyunwoo x Reader Genre: Undercover Detective AU, Action, Romance Word Count: 2.5K Summary: When a mistaken connection results in your kidnapping by one of the city’s most notorious gangs, the undercover detective Hyunwoo has no choice but to rescue and protect you, and, most dangerously of all, fall in love with you. Warning: Mentions of violence and blood. Parts:  1, 2, 3, 4 

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Even the most hobbit-like homebody has their limits. You really thought your tolerance for staying inside the apartment with no job and no bills to worry about would be high. You really did.

Hyunwoo stayed with you for a few days, then handed over the majority of his babysitting duty to a rotation of his team members, minus Minhyuk. He’s still avoiding you.

In contrast, the others have ensured you want for almost nothing. Kihyun and Hyungwon delivered what they could of your apartment, moving furniture and other items into a spare room at their shop. Those they couldn’t salvage, they replaced. Jooheon and Hoseok never seem to run out of stories of their team’s adventures and misadventures alike. Changkyun has procured a digital copy of any and every movie and television show you ask for to fill your days. When you asked if they were all legal, he’d only winked.

Despite your wheel of protectors, every night, Hyunwoo returns. Some nights, it’s so late he has to wake you up from the couch so you can go to bed. You do try to stay awake, but it doesn’t always work. As much as you like the other members of his team, it’s your time with Hyunwoo that you look forward to the most. If you spent time thinking about how much you anticipated his return, you might be embarrassed.

At first, you’d awkwardly moved around each other like two newly-assigned dance partners. Overly polite, careful of each other’s space. Eventually, you felt each other out and fell into a routine that fits the two of you. He makes dinner with your help or brings takeout, which the two of you eat while only talking to comment on some aspect of the food, sometimes followed by a movie that Hyunwoo usually sleeps through half of, before heading to your own bedrooms. Hyunwoo drops little details about his days that he spends away from you, but never too much. He tells you most of it is too boring to bother with.

That hurt a little at first, but you always remind yourself of your situation. You’re his charge, his witness. Not his girlfriend or confidant. You like to think you’re becoming friends at least. Never mind that you harbor the secret fantasy of becoming more.

Maybe that internal conflict helped contribute to the fact that it only takes two weeks before you get stir crazy. Two weeks, three days, and only God knows how many hours, minutes and seconds. You now catch yourself staring out the window, heart sour apple green with envy at the people walking down the street. Getting to do normal things like shop at whatever stores they please, feel the wind and sun whenever they want, see something other than the same gray walls and window view.

If you were in the basement of the apartment building, you’d be seriously considering pulling a Count of Monte Cristo and dig your way out with nothing more than a spoon. Or tie your bed-sheets together and rappel down the side of the building. Though both the crawling and rappelling would be hard with one arm out of commission…

“Whatcha thinking about?”

Hoseok’s voice startles you, but this time, you don’t fall off the window seat. For such a big man, he can move as quietly as a cat when he wants. Very, very slowly, you’re getting use to that.

“Can you rappel down a building with one arm?” you ask, not taking your eyes from the window.

“Technically, but I wouldn’t recommend it. One slip and you’re a pancake on the pavement if your rigging isn’t properly set up. And that’s if one arm can handle your whole body weight with gravity pulling on it,” he answers candidly. He sits on the opposite side of the window sill. “Why?”

“I don’t mean to sound ungrateful,” you sigh, “but I’m sick of this apartment. I want fresh air.”

“Open the window then.”

By now, you know when he’s teasing and sure enough, when you look at him, that smile is on his face. You push his foot off the sill with yours. “You know what I mean. I want outside. Isn’t keeping someone in a single space for an extended amount of time a form of torture?”

He gasps dramatically, a hand over his heart. “My presence is torture?” When he grins at your giggle, you know that was his whole point.

“You know what I mean. If I have to look at these same walls for any longer … I feel like I’m going to go crazy.”

“In my defense, I did try to convince Hyunwoo we should paint the place. Make it more homey. I suggested blue, but –”

“Hoseok.”

“I know. I don’t think I could do it myself,” he admits with a sigh. Solemnly, he adds, “We’re just trying to keep you safe. Yew has been quiet since your kidnapping. That could mean he’s decided his threat worked or he’s planning something worse.”

“I know. I appreciate it, but wouldn’t Yew think it’s weird that Hyunwoo’s not letting me go anywhere? Like even if I’m a kept-woman or baby-mama or whatever gangsters are supposed to have.”

“A kept-woman?” Hoseok bursts out laughing. He puts his foot back up. “How old are you, grandma? Who says that anymore?”

“You know what I mean. That’s why I added ‘baby-mama’,” Childishly, you stick out your tongue at him. “I’ve been on an old Hollywood binge lately.”

“Still,” he says, wiping the tears that had leaked from the corner of his eyes. “Look, you kind of have a point. I don’t think Yew is going to try to get to you again as long as he believes you’re with Hyunwoo and not a witness. I’ll can talk to Hyunwoo.”

“Really?”

Hoseok holds up his hands at your ecstatic expression. “I’m not promising anything. Like I said, keeping you alive is the biggest priority next to bringing Yew down. Hyunwoo is the ultimate authority in that regard. He makes the final decisions.”

“I’ll take anything, Hoseok. Even just a walk around the block or the roof.”

A few days later, Hyunwoo doesn’t leave directly after breakfast like usual. Instead, after he rinses your cereal bowls, he stays in the kitchen.

Glancing at your arm, he asks, “Would you like to go out?”

Go out? The water you were drinking rebels, shooting down your windpipe. You splutter and cough, trying to get a hold of yourself. That’s a little difficult with Hyunwoo pounding on your back a little too hard to be really helpful. Did he really say 'do you want to go out?’ With him?

Finally gaining control, your voice hoarse, you repeat his question, “Go out?”

Hyunwoo backs away, still eyeing you worriedly. “Yes. It’d just be to the shop and back, but Hoseok said you needed to get out of the apartment. Something about the Geneva Convention.”

“Yes!” Any regret at your misinterpretation is forgotten at the prospect of breathing new air and returning in some capacity to the outside world. You have an excuse to wear real clothes, see real people! “Hell yes!”

You jump out of the chair, tripping in your hurry to get dressed. Hyunwoo steps in, saving you from falling flat on your face. Naturally, your good arm hooks itself around his waist.

He’s so warm. And solid, too. And smells like heaven on steroids. Even better than those fuzzy memories of yours. You feel your own body heat in response to the contact.

God, when did you get this easy?

“Are you okay?” Hyunwoo asks.

His words break the spell and you realize he’s stiff against you. Damn it, he’s probably thinking he never signed up to have some wounded, touch-starved woman clinging to him like a stoned koala.

In an effort to lessen the awkwardness, you turn the accidental embrace into a hug, immediately releasing him. “Yeah! I’m just really excited about going outside!” Without waiting for a response, you run out of the room.

Shimmying out of your pajamas and into a skirt is easy. Then comes the shirt. Jooheon had let you start moving your shoulder a few days ago, but you still have to be careful. With one hand, you manage to wriggle out of your tank top. You chose a clean one, but not before casting a longing look at a shirt with sleeves. Your choice proves wise though. Even lifting your arm to slide it through the top’s armhole makes the healing muscles scream at the stretch. They continue to ache as you readjust the shirt, but you ignore them. The intoxication of freedom, no matter how limited, mutes the pain.

You run back into the living room. “Ready!”

Hyunwoo nods and grabs his car keys. He opens the door for you, but catches your arm as you move past him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Why?” you ask, puzzled. You may not have bothered with makeup, but you haven’t since you got here. Hyunwoo’s only seen it running down your face with tears.

“You’re sweating.” He points to your forehead.

You wipe at it, instinctively using your injured arm. The pain is instant. Hoping Hyunwoo didn’t notice your wince, you shrug it off. “Getting the shirt on was more work than I thought, I guess. I’m fine.”

He looks like he wants to say something. However, he doesn’t stop you again as you walk out. Hyunwoo takes the lead down the stairs after locking the door. As you follow him down the stairwell, he says, “We’re just going to the shop, staying a few hours, then coming back. Yew’s been too quiet for me to trust any side stops. When we’re outside, stay right beside me.”

“That’s fine,” you instantly reply.

You don’t meet another soul on the stairs and the lobby is similarly abandoned. It’s not surprising given the hour though. Those who work are long gone and just as far from returning home.

At the door, Hyunwoo pauses. You assume it’s to scan the street before exiting. Instead, he turns back to you. “Yew has at least one person watching this place. We want him to keep thinking you’re my girlfriend. That will keep you safe.”

“Okay.” You’re not quite sure where he’s going with this.

A hint of pink sprouts on Hyunwoo’s cheeks. He smiles, but it’s a different smile than you’ve seen before. It’s apologetic, with a hint of embarrassment.

“We’re going to need to make it believable. So, if you agree, I think we should engage in displays of physical affection.”

You can hear the echo of your jaw hitting the floor. “What?”

“Nothing you don’t consent to,” Hyunwoo rushes to reassure you. “All professional. Just physical touch on arms, waist, and hands.

“All that and no kissing?” you blurt out. Instant regret slams into you. “I mean, wouldn’t it be weird if we didn’t?”

Luckily, Hyunwoo laughs. He shifts his weight. “Yeah, I guess… Kisses on the head, forehead and cheeks should be okay. Right?”

Your eyes fall to Hyunwoo’s lips. You can’t help but feel robbed of the opportunity to kiss him there. Before you fell punch-drunk into your fantasies, you stop yourself. You need to look at this as some kind of weird, elaborate, dance-less ballet. Hyunwoo is your dance partner, not a boyfriend. This is a professional relationship, one your life actually depends on. You can’t fuck this up.

“Right,” you say.

“Good.” With one hand, Hyunwoo pushes open the glass door of the building. The other reaches out to you, palm open and ready.

With a fortifying breath, you take it.

That breath turns out to be about as useless as gulping for air in outer space without a helmet. As you step through the door, Hyunwoo pulls you into his side, his arm encircling your shoulder. From shoulder to hip, you’re glued against him.

You feel his lips graze against the top of your head. The touch is so light you almost think you imagined it. But then Hyunwoo whispers into your hair, “Ready?”

Heart thudding wildly, you look up at him. The smile on his face is full of affection. It’s so natural, you almost believe it yourself. You can only nod and smile, belatedly remembering you have a part to play too. Dazed, you let him guide you down the steps and down the sidewalk.

Hyunwoo stops halfway down the block. He keeps his arm around you like a shield the whole time. If the air hadn’t held a crispness, you would have definitely overheated. The chirp of a car unlocking and Hyunwoo easing away from you to open the door is enough to bring you back to reality. When you actually look at the car, you immediately wonder if you’re hallucinating.

Even to someone who isn’t a car enthusiast, the car breathes class. It lacks the bulk of most modern cars, instead celebrating sleekness from its slim, rectangular nose to mirror-image tail. Yet like its driver, you know beneath all that jet black metal is pure muscle. From the outside, the only hint of this is the silver head of a supercharger sitting on the hood.

The parallel is so perfect, you can’t help but laugh.

Hyunwoo backs away from you, startled.

“Dude, you’ve got to be kidding me. This is your car? This one?”

Hyunwoo looks at the car with its open door, then back to you. “Yes. Why?” he asks when you start laughing all over again.

“It’s a 1970 Dodge Charger R/T.”

Surprise is evident on Hyunwoo’s face. “Yeah. You know cars?”

“Not at all, but holy crap.” You slide into the front seat. Hyunwoo closes it behind you and circles the car to get in as well. “You don’t see why this is funny?”

“No. It’s a good car. Put your seat belt on.” He waits until you do so, then pulls away from the curb and into the street, but you can’t let it go.

“An undercover agent posing as the head of a mechanic shop that also deals with 'stolen’ cars and drives a black 1970 Dodge Charger R/T that’s been modified?” You watch his face, leaning forward so your seat belt presses into your chest. “Doesn’t sound familiar at all?”

Hyunwoo shakes his head.

“This is the exact model car driven by Vin Diesel as Dominic Toretto in The Fast and the Furious!”

“Never seen it.”

“Shut the damn front door. You’ve never seen The Fast and the Furious? Not one?”

“There’s more than one?”

At first, not a sound comes out of your mouth, too frozen in disbelief. You’re about to launch into a full geek rant when you notice a slight curve to the corner of Hyunwoo’s mouth. He’s not looking at you, his gaze purely on the road, but it’s there.

“You’re teasing me, aren’t you?” you say slowly.

A smile fully cracks through, broken by a low laugh that fills the car. “Of course I have. Minhyuk was obsessed with them. He made the entire team watch all of them one night after we got this assignment. I did own this car before I watched them though. It’s a good car.”

“You made it through the entire series in one sitting?” You whistle appreciatively.

“I saw the first one, but after that, they’re fuzzy,” Hyunwoo confesses. “I fell asleep.”

“Can’t blame you.” You shrug. “They’re like 16 hours altogether.”

Your bodyguard-slash-roommate nods, making a small sound in agreement.

Quiet settles between you after that. Where once it would have been tense or clumsy for you, it feels right. Comfortable. You don’t feel any need to fill the empty space in between the street noise and the engine’s sleek purr. Instead, you lean back against the leather seat and watch Hyunwoo with slight side glances.

You’re learning to read Hyunwoo’s silences. Sometimes, they can be just as articulate as if he had spoken with words.

His shoulders are relaxed beneath his dark jean jacket and his hands hold the steering wheel with the easy confidence of someone who knows they can handle the horsepower. Despite the mellowness of his body, Hyunwoo’s eyes keep a careful watch on the passing streets. They flicker left to right, then straight, then back again. Car, bus, and pedestrian get a quick threat assessment before being dismissed. He’s not very worried about an attack, but he’s not being stupid about it either.

Hyunwoo turns his head to turn down a street, facing you for a brief second. You notice suddenly that mouthed lyrics flow steadily from his lips right in time with the radio. The song is some oldie, the singer belting about freedom and fast cars. You wonder what his singing voice sounds like…

Out of nowhere, Hyunwoo says, “You should thank Minhyuk.”

“Minhyuk? Why?” you ask cautiously. Based on your last and only parting, you’re doubtful he’d give you the few seconds saying 'thank you’ would take. He’s the very last of the team you’d expect to be your advocate.

“He’s the one who finally convinced me to let you come with us.”

“Not Hoseok?”

He shakes his head. “Minhyuk,” he says with finality.

“Why?”

“Ask him yourself.”

Hyunwoo turns onto the curb and honks the horn three times. You glance out the window. The building is plain, gray concrete, a number of cracks showing its age like fine wrinkles. There’s a line of windows high in the front wall, but no sign to speak off. Nothing other than the two long, dulled and dented silver garage doors to indicate this is anything other than a warehouse.

One of the doors slides open. Hyunwoo pulls inside, the door closing just behind the car’s tail.

He only has time to turn off the car and slide the key from the ignition when Minhyuk appears at his window.

“We’ve got a problem,” he says, glancing at you.

[thebluenoteblog]

A Mother’s Love

*Requested*

Summary: When you and Colton get into an argument over some furniture for the nursery, some words are said that can’t be taken back.

Player: Colton Parayko

Word Count: 2.6k

You leaned back against the couch, with a pile of old books spread out in front of you. You were halfway torn between admiring them and wondering how you were going to get up off the floor when you inevitably had to pee. In your mind, that registered as a problem for future you, albeit a very near future you, but future you nonetheless.

You leaned forward and picked up a large yellow book. It was your favorite when you were a little girl. Your father used to read you bedtime stories out of it when he made it home in time, and you would get so excited every time he pulled out this exact book.

You’d been so excited when your mother showed up on your front porch with a laundry basket full of your childhood books. You’d grown up loving the pictures and the words and you wanted the little girl growing inside of you to have that same experience. The idea that she would be inspired by the same pages that inspired you brought tears to your eyes. You blamed the hormones.

You blinked them back when you heard a key turn in the lock of the front door soon followed by it pushing open. You looked up to meet Colton’s eyes. You smiled at him, “Look what my mom found,” You said. “She saved them all these years for my kids. Now here we are.”

Your boyfriend of two years scanned his eyes over the piles of books spread out across the floor. “That’s really cool babe.” He said, then he turned to head into the kitchen, “But where are you going to put them?”

You furrowed your eyebrows at his back as he disappeared around the corner. “What do you mean? I’ll put them on the bookshelf you ordered for the nursery. It should be ready any day now, right?” He didn’t say anything, but you could hear the sound of bottles moving around in the refrigerator. “You ordered the bookshelf, right Colton?”

He reappeared in the entryway of the living room with a Gatorade in his hand and leaned against the doorframe. “I guess I forgot. I’ve been really busy.”

You attempted to push yourself up off the floor, really not appreciating the power dynamic you were about to create by arguing with a six-foot six man while sitting on the floor. He rushed over to you, placed his bottle on the coffee table and bent over to help you up. He slid his hands under your arms and essentially lifted you to your feet and while you didn’t need that much help, the thought was appreciated.

The lack of thought behind him forgetting to order the one thing you’d asked him to order for your daughter’s nursery, however, that was not appreciated. Even on your feet, you were over a foot shorter than Colton, but damn if you didn’t know that there was something to be said about a pissed off pregnant woman giving you the look of death. “You’ve been busy?” You asked him, “If you’re too busy to order a bookshelf, how are you going to be a dad?”

There were those hormones again. Irrational? Maybe a little. Was there a damn thing you could do to stop yourself? No.

He blinked at you a few times, like he was running your words through his brain. First, he looked hurt, then he looked angry. “Are you saying that I’m going to be a bad dad?”

There was two years’ worth of resentment that you didn’t even know existed bottled up in your voice when you snapped back, “I’m saying that hockey is always going to come first for you. The game, the team, then your family. We get whatever scraps are left over. That’s why you forgot about the bookshelf. It isn’t the first time you’ve forgotten something important and it won’t be the last.”

“Damn it, (Y/N).” He said, taking a step closer to you. You were about as close as your twenty-five-week belly would allow you to be, “You knew what my life was like when you met me.”

“Yeah, I guess I thought you would make your baby a little more of a priority,” You said, hands on your hips and head held high. You had decided the moment you found out you were having a girl that you would be the best role model you could be. You would be the woman you needed when you were a girl. That meant standing your ground, even when it hurt. That meant making sure her dad knew that she should be his priority.

Colton’s next words came without hesitation, leaving his mouth so quickly that there was no chance he’d had time to think about them before he had said them. “I didn’t even want this baby!”

You could have heard a pin drop in the resounding silence that followed his comment. You placed your hand over your belly, over your daughter, who you already knew you would do anything in the world to protect, and you backed a step away from him. Then another. You shook your head as tears sprang to your eyes.

He reached out a hand for you, “(Y/N)-,”

“Shut up.” You said, continuing to shake your head as though if you shook it hard enough you could shake the past minute out of your head. “Just shut up.”

He pressed his lips together but didn’t drop his hand, tentatively reaching out to place it on your arm which was crossed protectively over your belly. You jerked away from him and looked up at him with horrified eyes. He opened his mouth, presumably to say something along the lines of, I didn’t mean it, or I swear I want her now. The thing was, it didn’t matter. He did mean it. His words had been to quick, to harsh and if he wanted her now, he never would have said it.

You turned, stepping around all the books and headed up the stairs. He followed closely at your heal. “(Y/N), please stop.” He begged as you made it to the top of the stairs. You passed the nursery and slammed the door closed, as the thundering sound reverberated through the house Colton flinched. “Please listen to me.”

You made it to the master bedroom and when he attempted to follow you through the door, he was met with the second thundering slam of the night. This time right in his face. It was closely followed by the sound of a lock turning. He tried the handle a few times and then pounded on the door three times before allowing his head to fall against it. He slid to the floor and groaned. “(Y/N), please let me in. I’m sorry. I’m an asshole. I feel horrible. Please let me see you.”

On the other side of the door, you did your best to tune him out as you shoved clothes into your duffel bag. You grabbed your laptop off the bedside table where you’d left it the night before and put it on the top, threw in a few chargers, zipped up the bag then threw open the door.

Colton tumbled over but caught himself halfway to the floor, then quickly climbed to his feet. His eyes immediately landed on the bag on your shoulder. They widened and his face turned pink. “Where are you going?” He asked, his hands twitching at his sides like he was contemplating trying to stop you but thought better of it.

“I don’t know.” You answered, “Why do you care. It solves your problems, doesn’t it?” You asked, readjusting the bag on your shoulder and his eyes shifted to it, staring like he couldn’t decide if he should carry it for you or not.

“That isn’t fair and you know it.” He said and his voice was choked. He was right. It wasn’t fair. And you didn’t want to leave. Not when he was a day into a week and a half long home stretch. You didn’t want to give up that time with him. You didn’t want to give up the time that he had off between practices or falling asleep in bed with him at night and waking up next to him in the morning.

But you weren’t doing this for you. You were doing this for your daughter who deserved to have a father who understood how valuable she was. If he wanted to screw you over until kingdom come, so be it. But it would be a cold day in hell before you let him make your daughter feel like she wasn’t wanted.

“Goodbye Colton,” You said softly, no anger left in your voice as you turned and headed down the stairs.

He stood frozen in place for a second, attempting to process what had just happened. Did you leave him for good? Were you ever coming back? He regained use of his limbs and chased you down (which wasn’t very difficult given you were at the stage in your pregnancy where walking was gradually becoming a chore). He ran in front of you and you paused to keep from running into him. You craned your neck to look at his face, “Yes?” You asked.

“Are-,” He swallowed and cleared his throat, squeezed his eyes shut, then opened them and tried again, “Do you plan on coming home?”

You gave him a small smile, a bit of reassurance because no matter how furious you were with him in the moment, you loved him. You loved him more than you thought you knew how to love anything or anyone in the world until you heard your daughter’s heartbeat for the first time. “Of course, I’ll come home. You can’t get rid of me that easily.”

Then you stepped around him and within a minute he was watching your car disappear down the street.

****

He ordered the damn bookshelf. One of the custom-built ones from a mom and pop shop, just like you wanted. He paid extra for them to get it done as soon as they could. He would have sucked the old man’s dick if it meant you came home to that god damned bookshelf in the nursery where it belonged.

He finished painting the walls, because he’d been failing there too. You’d gone out and bought the paint a month ago and he’d only painted half a wall. You brought it up a few times, but it was always the same answer, “I’ll get to it soon.”

He put together the crib you’d ordered, and the changing table. He hung pictures and shelves on the wall. The room still didn’t look complete, so he went out and bought a rocking chair and fit it into the corner of the room.

Finally, the bookshelf was delivered. It was mounted to the wall to make it baby safe, and then he filled it with all of your books that he had yet to pick up off the living room floor.

When he finally finished the nursery, five days had passed. He hadn’t slept worth a damn. He’d played the last two games like shit and gotten the biggest ass chewing of his career from Chief over it.

It wasn’t like he could tell anyone why he was playing like garbage and half asleep at the rink at practice every day. Instead he just took it, went home and prayed that you were waiting for him when he got there. For five days you weren’t.

Then on the sixth day, he pulled into the garage so out of it that he didn’t even notice the car parked beside him until he got out, stood up and turned. His heart skipped, and he’d never made it so quickly from the garage into the house in his life. “(Y/N)?” He called out as he closed the door behind him.

“I’m on the couch,” You called back.

He was in the living room in a half a second, sitting down on the couch beside you and pulling you into his arms. “God, I missed you.” He said.

“I missed you too,” you said, wrapping your arms around him.

He pulled back and placed his hands on your face. “I am so sorry, (Y/N). I-… what you said hurt me. It hurt a lot and I was afraid you were right. It scared me.”

“Colton…”

“No. You have to listen to me. I do want this baby. I love her just as much as you do and I’ll be a great dad. Sometimes hockey will have to come first because that’s the way it is and that fucking sucks, but when she needs me I will always be there, and she will always know that.”

You smiled at him, “All I want is for her to know that her parents would do anything in the world for her.”

“I promise she’ll have that,” he said. He rose to his feet and held out his hands to help her stand. “Come here, I want to show you something.”

You took his hands and he helped you stand, then held on to one of them all the way up the stairs as he guided you the nursery door. It appeared to still be closed from when you had slammed it the night you left. He walked in front of you so that he was blocking the door and said, “Close your eyes.”

You gave him a confused side eye, but then did as he said. You closed them and heard the door open, then he was behind you with his hands on your waist guiding you into the room. “Okay, open.”

You did as he instructed and instantly tears sprang to your eyes, because, well… hormones. You covered your mouth with your hand and scanned the room. The walls we no longer white, they were a pale shade of pink. The crib was put together, there was a rug on the floor, a rocking chair in the corner, and a changing table and a dresser against the wall. The closet was open, and you could see all of the onesies that had previously been sitting in a laundry basket were now hanging up.

The best part? The bookshelf. How he’d gotten it made so quickly you didn’t know, but it was there and full of your books and a few new ones. He saw you eying the bookshelf and he said, “I bought some more books. The shelf looked a little empty and those are some I remember having when I was a kid.”

You turned to face him, “When… when did you have time to do all of this?”

He laughed a little, more of a sad, self-deprecating laugh than an amused one, “I haven’t been sleeping much.”

“Well that explains a lot,” you said as you turned and walked to the crib and ran your hand over the sheet.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” He asked, his placing a hand on his hip, then he shook his head, “Never mind, I know what it means. Please don’t say it.”

You looked up at him and smiled, “This is amazing, babe.”

He took a few tentative steps towards you, “Does this mean I’m forgiven?”

You closed the distance, as much of it as you could with your belly in the way and placed your hands on his face. You pulled him down for a kiss as you rose up on your toes. When you broke apart you said, “I could never stay mad at you.”

[bangtan-madi]

All Of Our Lifetimes — Three: Samothrace

Pairing — Taehyung x Reader

Tags — boyfriend!Taehyung, husband!Taehyung reincarnation au, lovers to strangers and to lovers again, established relationship, implied soulmate au

Genre — fluff, angst, crime (ish)

Word Count — 2.5k

Summary — Does love ever truly end, or does it simply take another form in a new life? The cycle is like clockwork: your lives end and you’re reborn again. You’ve lived it over and over. Each cycle, one of you loses your memories and is tragically unaware until the other finds and awakens their lover. After all these eons, all these lifetimes, is it possible to find each other again—even when neither of you awakens with your memories? 

Part — 3 / 15

Warnings — language, mentions of murder (no description)

Previous — Next

On your way to breakfast the next morning, you get the call from Director Hyeon. What she tells you in the next few seconds nearly causes you to drop your phone and shout for joy, right in the middle of the sidewalk.

"We're offering you the job, [Y/n]. You're the most qualified and capable, by far. Everyone in the leadership has agreed that we can trust our boys to you. If you're interested...the position is yours."

Without giving your lungs a second to catch up with your erratic, excited breathing, you're exclaiming a vibrant, "Yes! Yes, I am very interested."

The details are finalized over the following week, which gives you just enough time to fly back home and pack up your belongings to ship overseas. Milo is a huge help, despite the fact that she's so jealous. While she has several interviews scheduled via telephone or Skype over the next few weeks, it will be a month or possibly more before she will join you in Seoul.

"I'm so jealous!" she tells you over and over. "So happy for you...but damn! I'm the one in the BTS army over here!"

"I'll see if I can snag you an autograph or something," you reply, half-joking.

Milo looks at you like you hold the world in your hands. "I would fucking marry you if you did."

"You'd marry me anyway."

At that, Milo merely flashes a wink and giggles to herself.

After your clothes and transportable belongings are packed and shipped overseas to your new apartment, the two of you drive to the airport in unusual silence, only a few items in your overhead luggage. It's not uncomfortable, but along the way, you both realize that this will be the last time you'll see each other for at least a month. 

Milo has been your best friend since middle school, and you've lived together since college. To be without her for that long, after all you've been through together, it's hitting you hard as the airport draws near. You reach for her hand over the armrest, lacing your fingers through hers.

"You're not gonna go run off and find some boy that keeps you in America, right?" you ask in a semi-joking tone.

Milo tilts her head as she stares at you from the passenger's side. "Only if you don't find a cute K-pop boy to fall in love with and forget all about me."

You make a faux gagging sound, drawing a smirk from your best friend. "Not a chance."

"Then don't test me, [Y/n]. I'll get a job and be with you in Seoul before we know it. A month isn't too long, and then we can be roomies again!"

Your hand tightens as you flash a genuine smile. "Wouldn't change it for the world."

You remain attached to each other until you get to the security check-in. Turning to Milo, you pull her into a tight embrace, one that she whole-heartedly returns. 

"Don't make me wait too long, okay?"

"'Course not," she chimes back, trying to keep her voice it's usual happy-go-lucky. "We're Siamese twins, you and me. Not gonna separate us!"

You say your temporary goodbyes—the only reason you don't break down being that you constantly remind yourself that it is only temporary—and depart for the security line. Passport in one hand, the other waving back to Milo, you hold tight to the shred of the past while running headfirst into your future.

One thing is for certain: things are going to change.

The first few days as a permanent resident of Seoul are spent settling into your new job and new apartment. And, as per usual in a major life change, there are things that go wrong that you couldn't have anticipated. You get lost on your way to work on your first day and end up being a few minutes late, one of your packages of clothing has not shown up yet despite everything else has arrived, and the office space at Big Hit evidently used to be occupied by someone who never cleared out their shitstorm of a file cabinet.

Needless to say, by the time the weekend arrives, you want to do nothing more than relax and recuperate and do something other than stare between two monitors. If you have to translate another word from Hangul into the English alphabet, you're going to chuck something out the window.

But, understandably, your apartment isn't in the best shape. Boxes are half-way unpacked, and plenty of furniture still needs to be bought. What has been unpacked is haphazardly tosses on any clean surface you can find. It's not exactly a den of peace and serenity, and probably not the ideal place to relax.

So, after doing some online shopping for said furniture and organizing as best you can, you decide to take the rest of the Saturday afternoon and do something you genuinely want to do. An idea pops into your head, and you grab your coat from the counter as you head for the door.

You never finished your tour of the Seoul Museum of Art, knowing for a fact that you haven't gotten to the architecture wing or portrait gallery. You feel your heart longing to go back and explore the remaining spots of the building, knowing in your soul that you need to be there.

What better time than the present?

You find your way easily, enjoying the brisk air that catches your skin and under your coat. The seasons are changing, shades of winter like white and grey settling into post-New Year's hues of mocha and beige. The city smells like green tea and feels like an ever-changing living organism.

Something tells you that more than just the seasons will be changing this year. 

Enter the museum, you find your way back towards the gallery where you left off. After the conversation with the stranger from yesterday, you were a bit too weirded out to really enjoy any of the other exhibits. Wandering for another hour, you hardly remember any of it. The story he told, the bloody fingerprint at the corner of "Vase with Honesty," it was all a bit too eerie for your liking.

But something in the back of your mind keeps prodding at you, and you desperately wish who that man was so that you could ask him more questions. How did he know about the murder? Why was he as drawn to the painting as you were? Why did he leave so abruptly?

All these questions circulate your mind as you round the corner, passing by the Van Gogh exhibit to your right. Just as you pass out of the entrance, you stop mid-step and turn on your heel, peaking back into the open space. 

Standing in front of "Vase with Honesty," the stranger from yesterday wears the beige hoodie and a white facemask. You might've missed him if it weren't for the way his eyes followed you from the entrance to the exit of the temporary exhibit, dark eyes dusted by curly hair. You think it unusual to recognize a stranger just from a few minutes of interaction, but your life has been anything but usual the past two weeks.

Instead, you offer a tiny smile and wave, stepping out of the arched entrance and towards the man. "Hi...again."

His eyes avert yours, shifting to the wall behind you, the paintings, the ceiling. Anywhere but at you. "Hi."

"Seems like we keep running into each other, hm?" you offer in a friendly tone. "Come back to see 'Vase with Honesty'?"

The stranger nods. "I'm a...big fan. Van Gogh's art is comforting. I've never known why."

His confession causes a genuine smile to spread across your face. "That's what art's for, silly. Van Gogh was a tortured soul, but I think he'd be happy to know that his life's work gives comfort to people, even..." You glance at the description card in front of the piece, searching for the date. "Even 136 years later."

His brown eyes flicker to yours again for a brief moment, and it's long enough for you to nod your head towards the expansive hallway. "Wanna walk with me? I got a few rooms in the museum yesterday, but not much more than that. Always nice to explore with others, don't you think?"

The shy man nods once and joins your side as you turn towards the interior, keeping a couple of feet between you. 

As you make your way to other wings, you and the stranger make small talk to pass the time. Well, you do most of the talking. You're not sure if this person doesn't trust you or if he's just catatonically shy, but he's refused to lower his hood or raise his head enough for you to get a good look at his face. His features are still obscured by his clothing and hair, but his voice is soothing the few times he does reply. His presence is calming. Something about the man puts you instantly at ease, and you find yourself being more friendly than you might be to any other stranger.

"Is Korean your first language?" he inquires, as you step into the empty room full of 20th-century modern art.

You shake your head, a slightly embarrassed heat rising in your cheeks. "That obvious, huh? I mean, I know I don't look Korean, but I was hoping I was passing all right."

He stops in front of a work by Georgia O'Keefe. "Not that obvious. I just heard a bit of an American lilt in a few of your words just now. You're very good."

"Oh...then, thanks."

"Why are you in Seoul, then? Visiting?"

"Working," you respond, moving to the other side of the room to view the other works of modern art. "I got a job in Yongsan. I just started this week."

The stranger's head perks up at your response, turning his face slightly towards yours. "How's that going?"

You shrug, making a non-committal noise. "I mean, it's a great job, don't get me wrong. It's just a lot. I moved away from America, from my long-time best friend and roommate, from everything I'd ever known for this job. And it's been a long first week full of things I didn't realize I was going to have to handle."

You shove your hands into your jacket pockets as the two of you turn to leave the room, enter back into the stark white hallway, and turn towards the next expansive opening.

"I shouldn't be complaining," you laugh. "The job is so much more than I could ask for, and I haven't even met a few of the people I'm supposed to work with. One of which I know I have a ton of questions for..." You shake your head. "I've have had this...let's call it a gut feeling, for a long time now. Go to Seoul. Go to South Korea. I knew my fate would bring me here one day, just didn't realize life would be so..."

"Hard?"

You turn towards your companion with an understanding sigh. "Yeah, hard."

A few moments of silence pass, and just as you're about to ask him about the bloody fingerprint and how he knew about the artist being murdered, you feel a chill run down your spine at the sight of the object in the room to your left. Not a chill from the cold or from nerves, this is a chill of familiarity. You turn your head slowly towards the object of your subconscious horror. 

"Winged Victory of Samothrace," or a copy of the one in the Louve, stands high and mighty, the lone object in the fluorescent-lit room.

"What is it?" the stranger asks, voice low and muffled by his mask.

You stare at the statue, unmoving for a full thirty seconds. "I—Does that statue look familiar to you at all?"

There's hesitation in his response, though you can't see his face. "I—I've seen it in Paris. That must be it."

You shake your head, clenching your trembling fists at your sides. "I've never been to Paris. I've never seen it before, not in person."

The stranger reaches out towards you, asking, "Are you okay? You're trembling."

In an attempt to clear your head, you drag your gaze away from Winged Victory and turn back towards the hallway. Visions from your nightmare force their way into your mind, but you shove them out, trying your hardest to keep them at bay as you walk ahead of your confused companion.

"Just a coincidence," you whisper to yourself. "Just a coin—"

Your sentence falls flat as you raise your gaze from the marble floors to the open space ahead. The chill returns, and your knees feel even weaker than before.

Pillars stretch up, cradling a spectacular glass ceiling, surrounding a spherical water fountain.

Your heartbeat races, and your throat closes up. The door you'd tried to lock in your brain crashes open, releasing all the terrible things your brain keeps replaying over and over and over. Doesn't matter if it's day or night, these visions never end.

An artist murdered. Two lovers on the run. A mad-man with a thirst for blood. 

And the death of you both in that very water fountain.

You stumble back, bumping into the stranger as you do. His eyes are wide and locked on the fountain, but you're too panicked to stop and investigate further. Every fiber of your being is telling you to run. To run as fast and as far as you can. 

Without explanation and without fail, you let your fear take you the mile's distance from that spherical fountain to the nearest metro station.

If you could physically go any faster or longer, you're sure in your heart that you would still be running.

[deathsteel]

30 day fanfic challenge

Prompt #13 -Regret

“Fuck”, Dean muttered, scrubbing at the dark ink curving over his collarbone with a washcloth. 

It hurt like a bitch, the skin red and inflamed and raw like he was scrubbing over a sunburn. But, damnit, Dean was NOT going to keep looking at the name of his ex-fucking-girlfriend tattooed right over his heart like some damn fool. 

Last night was supposed to be their 5 year anniversary, but instead Dean had gotten drunk alone at the divest dive bar to ever exist while looking at pictures of Lisa on her honeymoon on Instagram. They’d gone on to Jamaica, how lame. Dean would have taken her to see the Northern lights, kissed her in a forest, and climbed to the top of a mountain to declare to the world how much he loved her. In his hungover state, Dean spitefully hoped that Lisa and Benny got rained on the whole time they were there. 

So yea, Dean was out a best friend and a girlfriend all in one fateful night two years ago. He didn’t even really know why he hadn’t unfollowed the two of them on Instagram yet. Sam said it was because he liked to torture himeself, but Dean had just thought of it as him playing the long game until Lisa was single again. He’d had the tattoo for two and a half years and it served as a constant, daily reminder of how shitty one Dean Winchester was at relationships. 

“You should get that covered up,” his roommate Garth said, leaning nonchalantly in the doorway of the bathroom. 

Dean just groaned at the other man who looked annoyingly well-rested and continued to rub at the curling script even though he knew it wouldn’t make a lick of difference. He tried to avoid his own gaze in the mirror because he knew he looked like death warmed over and eventually just tossed the washcloth in the sink with a growl of frustration. 

“Really, man,” Garth continued, cheerful as ever even though Dean had brusquely pushed past him on the way out of the bathroom. “The guy that does all of my work, he’s great. He specializes in cover ups too! He did this trailing flower thing on Bess’s side to cover up the scar from her accident. It's pretty awesome.” 

Dean knew which of his girlfriend’s tattoos that Garth was talking about. Bess had worn a bikini last summer for the first time that Dean had known her and he’d seen the ink flowing gracefully down her ribcage. It had been lifelike and beautiful, dandelions both in bloom and as the white-tufted seeds clinging to delicate stems; waiting to turn into wishes. He hadn’t even noticed that Bess had a scar that the tattoo was covering up, but that was probably the point. 

He stormed towards his bedroom, mulling over the thought of going under the needle to cover up Lisa’s name on his skin. 

How much longer could he kid himself? Was it even healthy to continue to hope that he and Lisa would get back together? She was fucking married at this point, to Benny of all people! Benny was a good dude, the best dude. And Dean was scum for selfishly wanting them to split up. 

The little voice in Dean’s head that sounded an awful lot like Sam whispered that it was time to let go. 

“Garth!” Dean hollered, pulling a grey t-shirt roughly over his head and reaching for his discarded jeans from the night before. “You got the name of this tattoo guy?!”

~~

Ethereal Ink was in the up and coming part of town that all the locals snidely called ‘gentrified’. It was located in a refurbished furniture manufacturing plant that had one been the town’s pride and joy in the 60s and 70s, but it had since been updated and broken up into smaller subsections that housed the tattoo shop, a smoothie bar, and a hot yoga studio respectively. Dean grimaced at the sign for the empty space next to the tattoo shop that declared ‘Artisanal Cheese Shoppe Coming Soon!’ as he walked into the parlor before dropping his jaw open as he started at the flash adorning the walls around him. 

It was unlike any tattoo shop he had seen before, which granted he had only seen the one when he had initially gotten the ‘Lisa’ tattoo and it had been much seedier than the shop he stood in now. One of the walls of the shop was painted with a sweeping solar system, glowing in hyperrealistic color and scale, the stars and constellations radiating vibrantly against the starkly painted navy hue of the wall itself. A second wall was swathed in plaques and trophies, proudly displayed showing the triumphs and accolades of the shop’s employees. 

The remaining two walls showcased lovingly framed flash art and pictures, but it didn’t look like the kind that someone could just pick off the wall and request to have put on their bodies. No, the placement of it looked purposeful. Arranged artistically and clustered into themes, the art seemed to capture the personalities of the people who drew them. 

Dean noticed that the artists Anna seemed to prefer portrait art of people and pets, keeping mostly to a black and white color scheme. Hannah, on the other hand, used bright colors and worked in a style that reminded Dean of old sailor tattoos. Billie seemed to favor a tribal, geometric style, and Jess appeared to be the shop’s resident piecer since her cluster was artfully taken photo close-ups of healed piercings. But the last group of artwork, infuriatingly unsigned, seemed to be a marriage of realism and storybook illustrations. There was something arrestingly lifelike in the drawing of a fox posed among vibrantly pink wildflowers and playful in the drawing of a rocketship taking flight. Dean liked all of the artwork, but these caught his attention, these made his hands itch to reach out and touch. 

“You my two o’clock consult?” A femenine voice asked causing Dean to spin around and face the counter that separated the awards from the rest of the store. A dark skinned woman with riotously curly hair and tattooed arms revealed by her black tank top leaned comfortably on her arms against the glass top of the counter. 

"Yea," Dean replied, putting on a charming smile. "You Cas?"

“No,” the woman said flatly, unfolding her arms to reveal twisting dark tribal tattoos going up the inside until they disappeared under her top. “I’m Billie. Cas is sick and I’m the next best at cover ups.”

Dean tried not to be disappointed, Cas must be who the unsigned artwork belonged too and it was much more intriguing than the stark tribal pieces the woman seemed to favor.

It must have shown on his face though, “You can reschedule with him in about a week or so,” Billie offered. “He has the flu, so he shouldn’t be out longer than that. But Cas said you sounded pretty eager to get this done in your email so he asked me to see you.”

 “Cool, well.” Dean floundered, not wanting to appear ungrateful because really, he wanted this fucking name off of his body like yesterday. “Uh...where do we start?”

“Come back to my office and show me what I’m working with,” Billie said, gesturing to the hallway that led behind the counter and deeper into the store before heading that way herself. 

Dean followed quickly and was led into a doorless office that contained a padded, reclining tattooing chair, a very large tool chest that was covered in stickers, and even more art featuring tribal tattoos on the walls. 

“So where is this no doubt beautiful work that you want to get covered up?” Billie asked blandly, taking a seat on a small rolling stool that had been tucked into the corner. 

“On my chest,” Dean answered, perching on the tattoo chair before he hooked a finger in the collar of his shirt and tugged it down to reveal the inked skin in question. “It’s just the name of an ex and well…”

“Hey, no shame,” Billie said, leaning forward to study the ink. “We all do dumb stuff for love, right?”

Dean shrugged and let out a puff of air through his nose in amusement. It was nice not to be made to feel like a tool for getting a dumb tattoo.

“Can’t say I’ve ever gotten a person’s name put on me though…”Billie mused, pulling out her cell from her back pocket. “Mind if I take a few reference pictures? So I can make sure my sketch actually covers the old ink?”

“Sure,” Dean replied, feeling like a moron again. He should’ve never gotten this tattoo, even Lisa had thought it was dumb when he’d shown her.

“Can you take your shirt off for me?” 

“Um...yea?” Dean said hesitantly, reaching back to pull the shirt over his head. 

“Don’t be shy,” Billie replied, her phone audibly clicking as she snapped a few pictures of Dean’s newly revealed torso and shoulders. “This way I’ll know how much room I have to work with. Plus you’re not my type.” 

“Oh,” Dean laughed nervously. “Not enough muscles?”

“Not enough tits,” Billie replied with a smirk, winking at him before snapping another picture and sliding her phone away. “But I’m sure there are lots of people who would appreciate your physique just the way it is. You can put your shirt back on now.”

Dean smiled to himself as he did just that; he had never been one to turn down a compliment from anyone, even if they weren’t interested in more than just admiring for aesthetic reasons. 

“So what are you thinking as far as design?” Billie asked, taking her seat back on her stool. 

“Well…” Dean started before hitting a proverbial brick wall. He really hadn’t thought beyond just wiping Lisa’s name off of his body. “I’m open to suggestions?”

Billie just raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you alway this impulsive when it comes to putting something permanent on your body?” 

Dean just waved his hands in a helpless gesture and put on what he hoped was a charming smile. Based on Billie’s expression it didn’t really work as well as it typically did. 

“Which art did you like the best out there?” Billie asked, smiling when Dean froze like a deer in headlights. “I saw you looking at Cas’s stuff? You like those flowers and nature things?” 

“Yea, but uh...yours are really great too,” Dean offered trying to backpedal his way out of inadvertently insulting his tattoo artist. 

Billie just waved away Dean’s compliment with a grin, “I know my stuff is not everyone’s cup of tea. I can see the appeal in the Cas’s pretty stuff.”

Dean wanted to protest that the prettiness of the other artist’s work had very little to do with why he liked it, but honestly it was pretty and Dean was comfortable enough with his masculinity to admit that he liked flowers sometimes. Especially after all of that therapy he did after his and Lisa’s breakup. 

“Listen,” Billie continued, entirely unaware of Dean’s inner monologue. “This is just a consult, we’re not getting married. If you like the flowers, I can forward these pics onto Cas and he can work something up for you.”

Dean gnawed on his lip for a second, ultimately deciding that another week or two with Lisa’s name on his body didn’t mean anything. Maybe he could just cover it up with some bandages or something. He nodded in agreement and moved to get to his feet. 

“That settles it then,” Billie said, getting to her feet and leading Dean back towards the front of the shop. “But, let me get your contact info so Cas can reach out once he’s back to schedule with you.”

“No prob,” Dean replied, jotting down his cell number and email address for Billie before giving her a little salute and bidding farewell. 

~~

 The first text came the next afternoon. 

“What is your favorite color?” Unknown Number 1:47pm

Dean stared at his phone incredulously for a minute before shrugging and typing in ‘Red’ and hitting send. 

It had been a slow day at work, maybe this was one of those call/text your number neighbor things going around again. 

“What is your star sign?” Unknown Number 3:20pm

‘Aquarius,’ Dean replied, feeling bold. ‘What’s urs?’

‘Leo,’ Unknown Number replied a few minutes later, followed quickly by, ‘Favorite flower?’

Dean smirked to himself as he thumbed out a reply, ‘Chocolate sunflower.’ 

‘Opportunity’ Unknown Number 3:42pm

‘Huh?’ Dean replied back. 

‘Chocolate sunflowers symbolize opportunity,’ Unknown Number answered. ‘I like proteas, myself.’

A quick google search taught Dean that proteas symbolized change and hope; he decided to share this newfound knowledge with his mystery text buddy. 

He earned a photo in return. It was just a picture of a blooming flower, one which Dean now knew to be a protea, inked onto a forearm that was corded in sinewy muscle and ended in a long-fingered masculine hand. Dean noted the ink smudges on the tips of the index and thumb, the fine, dark hairs dusting the skin around the tattoo, and the freckle on the edge of the palm of the hand. 

‘I was thinking of a bouquet,’ Unknown Number shared. ‘Something big to cover up that name on your chest. I’ll send some sketches along shortly.’

Dean swallowed hard, realizing that he had been flirting with his tattoo artist via text. His apparently inked and muscled and weirdly nerdy tattoo artist.

 If asked he would deny stalking the tattoo shop’s instagram until the day he died, but it was in a picture simply captioned ‘#flowerboy’ that Dean managed to find a picture of the elusive Cas. The Cas who would be covering up the name of Dean’s ex-girlfriend. The Cas who had probably seen shirtless pictures of Dean courtesy of Billie. The Cas who was practically the walking embodiment of all of Dean’s wet dreams that featured a male counterpart. 

He groaned into a pillow for a little bit, questioning all of his life choices, before beginning to feel better. Dean had a lot of regrets, but bailing on this tattoo would not be one of them. This could be an opportunity for something. A change that he needed. Hope for something more with a cute guy who had the swoonest arms that Dean had seen in a long time. 

And yea, he did swoon. Just a little. 

[thetiredbiwrites]

Fabulous, Darling

Requested by @megaduppi​ “Hiya lovely! I was wondering if I could request a Seb x reader where they are stuck together in Sebs apartment because of quarantine and they start doing random things like Seb giving in to the reader and letting her do his make up and him looking completely fabulous? It can be funny and fluffy I am honestly craving it”

A/N: Thank you for the request 💖💖 hope you don’t mind, but I’m not entirely comfortable writing for the actors, nothing against anyone who does. So I made this a Bucky x Reader instead and they’re stuck in their shared apartment. It’s more fluffy than funny.

A/N2: I don’t know a lot about make-up. I can do basic (what is contouring?😂). So it’s pretty vague about what make-up she does and more from Bucky pov

5 weeks. 5 weeks you had been stuck in your apartment.

You were proud of your home. How you’d decorated, the layout and colours- the way you made it your own. But seeing the same crap everyday, the same rooms and nothing else, God, you were sick of it.

The urge to redecorate grew every day. The online shopping and endless scrolling through pinterest in boredom didn’t help.

The first week had been productive, making you feel good and enjoy the time. Time to spend with Bucky and doing everything you put off or didn’t have time for because of work. The two of you had tided and cleaned every room, sorted through all your clothes and shoes and reorganised the kitchen cupboards.

Now there’s nothing left to do.

Meaning whenever you thought of something to do, or came across ideas on various social medias or online shopping, you did it.

Bucky rarely said no to you and he certainly didn’t start now. He was just as bored and desperate for something to do.

This meant that when you asked for his special pancakes at midnight, he made the damn pancakes. You both sat together in your pjs watching Brooklyn Nine-Nine and eating a stack of pancakes covered in syrup and toppings until 2 in the morning.

When you gave into the urge and decided to rearrange the living room, he just smiled and went along with it. Helping you move every piece of furniture and arranging all your photos and nick-nacks. A heated debate about how to order the DVDs broke out.

You won.

He had insisted the two of you stay fit, keep exercising, every day. Especially with all the snacking and pancakes you both ate. So when you declared a Just Dance competition, he danced like he never had before.

Ok, so making the prize sex-related definitely aided his decision and pushed him to beat you.

But even he had to admit, after 5 weeks, sex wasn’t that exciting and most of the time, neither of you were particularly in the mood.

Which is how you ended up feeling like grandparents one day, doing a 1500 piece jigsaw while soft music played in the background.

“Uugh, these pieces are all the same colour!”

“You just have to be patient. We’ll get there.”

“I have been patient, Bucky. I’ve been patient for 5 hours and we’re not even half done. Don’t laugh at me.”

Bucky finished the puzzle as you gave up and baked cookies instead.

More than once, Bucky somehow found himself sitting on the floor with you on the sofa behind him, doing his hair.

You practiced different kind of plaits and other basic styles to trying out more intricate styles. Although you did resist buying flowers and bows to put in his hair.

The day you curled his hair had left you in a fit of laughter until you couldn’t breathe. Plaiting his hair did leave it wavy, which, depending on the type, looked pretty good. But he could still tie it back into a low bun when that happened.

Bucky, however, wasn’t amused. Especially after you took a photo and sent it to the group chat. Bucky had immediately showered, letting his hair go back to normal after that one.

The last couple of days, you had a new idea. One Bucky didn’t agree with.

He drew the line at you doing full make up on him.

It’s not that he thought men shouldn’t wear make-up. You had painted his nails a few days ago and he approved of the sparkly red. He had kept them that way, even when he did the weekly shop.

No-one had commented but at a time like this, who was going to care about a man’s painted nails. But even when it’s normal he wouldn’t have taken it off.

Well, if Sam wasn’t around anyway. He wouldn’t be caught dead with painted nails, especially sparkly red ones, around Sam.

Sam wasn’t against men wearing make-up either. Hell, if Steve or Tony, or any of the guys really, showed up with nails painted, he’d compliment them. Probably in a jokey manner, but compliment none the less.

Bucky, though, would never hear the end of it. It’s just how their relationship went.

He’d do the same back. Bucky could pretend he wouldn’t. But he would.

By day three, Bucky felt his resolve crumbling. He tried thinking of reasons why he didn’t want to do it but couldn’t actually think of any. But the thought of wearing make-up didn’t agree with him.

But those big y/e/c eyes staring up at him and the pout on your lips, akin to that of Puss-in-Boots, was making it hard to say no. Especially when he didn’t have any reasons against it.

He made it through the morning but by 2pm he found himself yet again sat on the living room floor, legs crossed. His fingers tapping against his legs as he contemplates running until you give up on the idea. But where the hell is he going to go? There’s only so long he could stay locked in their only bathroom.

This time you were also sat on the floor, legs crossed and facing him. You were aware of Bucky’s nervousness but you knew, well, you were 95% sure that once it was done, Bucky would realise it’s fine. If he didn’t, he can take it off straight away. It was just the two of you so it shouldn’t be a problem.

You knew his limits. This meant you’d lightly push him into letting you do this, but if he really didn’t agree, if it ended badly, you wouldn’t sent a photo to the group. You wouldn’t even take one. The two of you knew each other well enough to know these limits in various situations and not cross them.

For now, you had collected everything you needed from the bedroom and started laying it out on the floor. You faced the mirror away from Bucky so he couldn’t look until you had finished.

Bucky’s eyes flicked across the products as you laid them out. Noting all the liquids and powders, brushes, some foam egg thing, and… is that a pencil?

“How much stuff do you need? That’s a lot of products. Why are there so many brushes? I know make-up is like art but I thought you were just doing something basic and simple, y/n? Y/N, please, don’t make me do this.”

Bucky’s complaining stayed in his head as he looked up at your bright eyes and kind smile, his mouth closing as the words died, forming a pout instead.

“While you do look so adorable,” you lightly grabbed his chin in one hand, smushing his lips together. “Quit you pouting. It’s gonna be fine.”

Bucky’s eyebrow raised, biting the inside of his lip, his eyes flicked between everything on the floor and your face.

“Bucky, baby. You got nothing to be nervous about. Besides, it’s not like anyone is going to see or know.”

Bucky slightly nodded his head to the side, grunting in agreement but clearly still unsure.

“Specifically Sam, he doesn’t have to know anything. You’re on your own with him. I mean, if anyone else dared to say anything, I would tell them to grow up. It’s 2020. If a guy wants to wear make-up, let him wear the damn make-up. Many of them are better than me, although let’s be honest that’s not too hard, and it’s makes me jealous. Who taught you?! Can you teach me? They look amazing.”

Once Bucky cracked a grin, huffing a laugh, you clapped your hands and picked up the first product. You had rooted through your stock to find foundations that were the closest to his skin tone and found some you had kept after your friend had stayed a few months back.

“Let’s get started” you wiggled your eyebrows and Bucky felt himself relax. Not entirely, but enough to sit still and let you work.

Bucky wished some of his girlfriend’s excitement and enthusiasm would pass to him. As you added more and more to his face, he felt his nerves increasing again.

The feeling of your hand softly resting against his skin, from his neck to his face, as your other gently moved brushes and product across his face was, admittedly, a great feeling. You relaxed him and the touches were light and soothing.

Yet his heart still beat a little too quickly and his head continued overthinking.

He felt guilty for being so worried. He’s watched you do your own and your friend’s make-up many times over the last few years. But he still couldn’t help the image of a clown or a kid who got into mummy’s make-up from being projected in his head.

As you asked him to close his eyes, he tried to think of something else and his mind ran with the image of a little kid covered in make-up. Except it was your kid who had gotten their little hands on all these products.

He could hear your laughter as you came upon the scene. The way your kid would smile, wide and toothy, like their mothers, as you took a photo. Bucky could see you cleaning the little one up before teaching them how to do it properly.

Bucky’s mind couldn’t stray from this path and as he heard you humming a song he didn’t know, another picture developed.

On your face was a beaming smile, love pouring from your eyes and a soft glow surrounding you from the sun through the window as you softly sang to the small bundle in your arms. A little hand reaching out from the material as Bucky approached and wrapping around his finger.

Bucky saw himself chasing after your young son, smiling at the loud and carefree laughter leaving the little boy as he caught him and subjected him to tickles.

Learning all those hairstyles you subjected him to this past month so he could do them for your daughter. Her hair like his but eyes like yours, shining bright and paired with a smile when he’d finish. Her little arms wrapping around his neck and hugging as tight as her little body could.

Bucky focused back on the present when he heard you sigh. Realisation flashing across your face as you shot up and ran towards the bedroom.

“Don’t look!” you yelled across rooms and his hand retreated, holding it close to his chest like he’d touched fire and abandoning the mirror sat inches from him.

The mischievous grin on your face paired with the glint in your eyes had Bucky worrying again. Noting your hands behind your back, hiding something from his view, had his heart rate picking up. Again.

His eyes reluctantly closed when you asked and he tried not to flinch as you touched his face, giggling as you did.

“Ok, all done. You can look now.” You announced, holding up the mirror.

This time it was your heart racing, becoming restless the longer the silence stretched. Bucky’s eyes glued to his reflection, wide eyed and jaw dropped, his entire body frozen.

You began to worry you had pushed him too far.

“You hate it. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have made you-“ “No, no,” he cut you off, large hand resting over yours as he finally took his eyes off his reflection. “No, I don’t hate it, actually. You know, I really like this colour.”

A smile spread across your face, huffing a laugh as Bucky batted his eyes, referring to his eyeshadow.

He looked back at the mirror, moving his head to inspect different angles.

“Glitter’s a bit much though, don’t you think?”

“Nope. You look fabulous, darling!” Bucky laughing at your over-the-top British accent.

“Am I pretty?”

“Oh, baby, you are the prettiest.”

“Well then, I guess I better share.”

You only caught a glimpse of the devious smile before your boyfriend launched at you, knocking you on your back.

Laughter bounced off the walls as Bucky pinned you down and rubbed his beard all over you, covering you in red glitter (matching his nails, of course).

“No, wait stop! I wanted to take a photo first!”

---------

A/N: I have an instagram (@/elberex). I was thinking of posting sneak peaks on there? 🤔🤔

[okaynicolette]

Lunch Between Friends - Liam x Jacob

Jacob pulled up to the lunch restaurant, unsure if he had the right place or not. It seemed rather crowded and also rather pink. After he found parking, which was not an easy task due to the Saturday brunch crowd of locals and tourists alike, he checked his messages from Liam again. Yep, this was indeed the right place. Jacob sighed, why couldn’t Liam be happy with just meeting up at a more adult restaurant, rather than something he read about in some food blog, he thought rather discontentedly. Walking to the front of the restaurant, which had bright pink umbrellas shading the sidewalk tables, he saw Liam leaning up against the gold and black painted wall (which was no doubt intended to be a tourist photo op). Jacob gave a light wave to his friend as he walked up, hoping that Liam was actually looking at him behind the dark aviator sunglasses he donned.

Liam arrived early to put his name down, knowing that this restaurant would be crowded at this time of day. It was a popular brunch and burger spot in Venice Beach and it was constantly full of trendy LA millennials– so of course, Liam loved it. Though it was a Saturday, he couldn’t help but check his work email while he waited for Jacob to arrive. He didn’t become one of the most sought after CFPs at his firm by taking weekends off, after all. Just as he sent one final email, he looked up and noticed Jacob walking towards him. Liam gave a head nod of greetings and said, “I put our name in with the host about 20 minutes ago, should be any time now.”

Jacob was thankful that Liam arrived early to put their name in– neither of them were very patient people, but Liam tended to be the more proactive one. Jacob would likely just suffer and complain. The two of them were roommates at USC for the last two years of school, so they knew each other very well. Nowadays, they tried to hang out as often as they could, but things got difficult since Jacob got his girlfriend pregnant right after his graduation. Liam was finishing school then climbing the corporate ladder at his job, while Jacob was learning how to be a father. Liam did his best to be a good uncle though, and Jacob was glad for that as an only child himself– his son, Isaiah, loved his Uncle Liam. From the time Isaiah was born until he was around six, Jacob and Isaiah’s mom, Aidy, lived together and had a fairly normal life. That was until about a year ago. Out of the blue, Aidy decided that she was disappointed she missed out on so much of her life and needed to “experience more”, which was apparently code for “sleep with other people”. They did their best, tried counseling for a few months, but eventually decided to go their separate ways. Jacob originally thought it would be easy because they weren’t married, but they both wanted full custody of Isaiah. The custody battle dragged on for months, when finally, in January, the court decided that they would have joint custody, with Isaiah going back and forth every two weeks. Jacob wasn’t taking it very well, though he tried to put on a good face for his son. He was grateful when Liam called to invite him on a spur of the moment trip, because it felt a little bit like old times.

Moments later, the host called to seat them and they headed into the restaurant. The inside carried the same millennial aesthetic as the outside with mismatched colorful vintage furniture and gold mirrors and picture frames lining the walls.  Jacob found quiet solace in the fact that Liam had good taste in food, which meant this whole Instagram-trap might be worth it. Once they were seated, Liam asked, “So did you book your flights?” He rarely beat around the bush, especially when he was nervous or eager. Something in his tone told Jacob that it was a bit of both.

“Yeah, I got them for the dates you told me and let Aidy know– not that she cared very much since it doesn’t affect her or Isaiah,” Jacob replied, unintentionally sounding bitter at the end of the statement. He was bitter, but he didn’t like showing it, even if it was just to Liam. “So, are we wedding crashing?” He asked before picking up the menu to try and find a decent lunch.

Liam laughed, idly skimming the offerings, even though he had already checked and double checked the menu before even deciding that this was the place they would be eating at. “I don’t know yet. I told you, it’s going to be a surprise for Nik– she doesn’t know I’m coming at all,” he replied, with a facade of excitement. Inside, he was beginning to worry about whether or not this was a good idea. Hoping that Jacob would have good advice, he asked, “Do you think I should tell her? I mean, I’m trying to be romantic and all that.”

Jacob was trying to read through the very long burger menu and make a decision about lunch, but everything sounded amazing since he accidentally skipped breakfast. “I mean if you want to be romantic, then showing up to surprise her at her best friend’s wedding is definitely that. It sounds like a fucking rom-com, for god’s sake,” he said, barely looking up. In all honesty, Jacob felt like the last person who should be giving advice on that sort of thing. He had been with one woman seriously for the last seven years and she had all but shattered his heart.

Liam sighed, setting down his menu. It was rare for him to let his guard down, but Jacob had seen him at his worst, so there was no image to uphold. “My friend from work, Riley, said that Maids of Honor usually have a lot of responsibilities. Do you think I’ll just be distracting her? Oh, and also the bride thinks I’m a dick, so that’s not great either,” he said, rather frustratedly.

Jacob decided on his food and set down his menu to face his friend. “Well I don’t know very much about weddings,” he began, again subtly playing the sad-heartbroken card, “but, like I said– it sounds like a rom-com. I’m sure she’ll appreciate the grand gesture and it’ll be fine. Also, you didn’t tell me Nikki’s best friend doesn’t like you!” He laughed a little bit, giving Liam a hard time. His attitude did rub people the wrong way sometimes, but that usually just meant they hadn’t taken the time to get to know him well.

Liam rolled his eyes as the waitress arrived to take their orders. Once she took their menus and left, he began, “She thinks I’m too showy or something. I get it, but like– she hated me from the jump, so what am I supposed to do?” He shrugged.

Jacob smirked, “Lease a Subaru, move to Arcadia, and become a high school guidance counselor, obviously.” The sarcastic response elicited a genuine laugh from both men. “Kidding, but who knows– This trip might show her friend that you’re serious about the relationship and she’ll get off your back,” he nodded, optimistically as the waitress dropped off their drinks.

“Damn, I never even thought of that,” said Liam pensively, realizing that Jacob had made a very good point. He was now somewhat reassured in his plan to go on the trip. “So how are you doing, man? I know these past few months have been shit,” he said somberly, genuinely feeling for his friend. Though Liam didn’t have any desires to be a father in the near future, he did love Isaiah like a real nephew, and was really disappointed to see how things turned out. He had even helped Jacob get a lawyer through his parents, but it was no use.

Jacob raised his eyebrows and sighed before responding. “It’s fucking lonely, dude. Like how do people our age even meet other people? I’ve gone out a few times with people from work, but bars and clubs… I’m just so not used to that scene anymore,” he shook his head and took a sip of his drink.

“Have you tried dating apps?” Liam asked, unsure of what to say to his grieving friend. Emotions weren’t his strong suit, but he was trying his best.

“If one more person asks me that, I think I’ll explode on the spot.” Liam said sharply. Just that morning, his mother had asked the same thing over the phone. Apparently it was time for him to get back out there again, or something.

Liam raised his hands up in mock defeat. “Alright, so no dating apps,” he resigned. “Well, weddings are a great place to meet people. Who knows– maybe we do score some invites and you meet someone there!” He said, trying to cheer his friend up. Just then, the waitress brought by their meals and topped up their drinks. “And if you don’t meet anyone, then I can always take you out. If you want to, that is,” he nodded, unfolding his napkin and setting it on his lap.

“I don’t feel a particular need to meet anyone, has anyone ever considered that?” Jacob muttered, following Liam’s lead and placing his napkin on his lap.

“You just said you were lonely, J. Even if it’s just a friend you meet, that would help! I know you have me, but it would be nice to have other people you can lean on right now and whenever, you know?” Liam explained before beginning to eat.

“I have friends!” Jacob said incredulously. “I have… Aidy?” He offered sheepishly, realizing that his social circle had been pretty nonexistent these days.

“Your baby-mama who you just got out of a five-month-long custody battle with? That’s your other friend? You might need this trip more than me, dude.” He chuckled and shook his head as he took another bite.

“Ew, God. Don’t call her that.” Jacob rolled his eyes, “But fine. I guess I do need to get out more. This trip will be good for that. And even if Nikki is super busy, the two of us can still go out and stuff, right?”

“Yeah, of course! It’ll be like a revival of the good old days– an Apartment 121 Renaissance!” Liam said excitedly, lifting his glass as if making a toast. Jacob laughed and lifted his glass to touch his friend’s. Their glasses clinked and Jacob felt slightly less hopeless than he had while he was driving in.

[dancing-the-hellfire-rumba]

Dear Hannah,

Pairing: technically Destiel, but that’s not what this is about Word Count: 4.9k (wow wtf) Warnings: mentions of self-harm, cancer, shitty father John (as per usual), angst and angst and father-daughter love and angst. Summary: When Dean, strapped to a bed, coughing up a storm, catches sight of his newly-adopted baby girl, he decides that, if he is to leave this world, he has to leave something behind for his favorite person. So he writes a booklet, trying to tell her all the things he would’ve if he was alive. Author’s note: This was originally done for @welldonebeca​ ‘s 2019 Song Challenge but I fucked up thinking the deadline was the 31st of October instead of the 15th. Whatever the case, my prompt was movement, by Hozier, which I interpreted as Dean being fascinated by his daughter enough that he’s inspired to write a letter book to her. Of course this wouldn’t be the entire thing, but I had to keep it under wraps.

Feedback is always welcome! No beta, all mistakes are my own.

~~~~

Hannah,

Christ, it’s the third time I’m starting this. The truth is, I’m coming up with blanks as to how to actually start. This has got to be the best I’ve got.

I’ll tell you the moral of this story, my story,  from the get-go. Life’s a fucking bitch, okay? I want you to know that from now. I’d try to hold back on my swearing, but I want you to know me as the person I am, the person I’ve always been. I know what having an absent, terrible father’s like, as you’ll soon see, and I don’t want that for you. I wish I could tell you all this up close, give you advice, tell you all my crazy-ass stories as the dumbass of the teenager I was, and all the shenanigans your uncle (wow, Sam really is a friggin’ uncle!), by a campfire, while you drink your first beer.

Sadly, my odds aren’t looking so great, honey. So this is all I got. I know it’ll never be enough but something is better than nothing.

Enough with the chick flick introduction, though. Let’s start.

The pen’s heavy in his hand, and it’s equal parts the mental heaviness, the weight of the task, as it is his fatigue. Dean’s really just started this. He can’t believe it. The heaviness of uncertainty, of whether or not he’ll get enough time to finish it settles on his chest like an anvil. There’s a solid chance he doesn’t make it before his time comes.

Hannah’s sitting right there, carelessly looking at the plastic, grinning stars above her crib. She’s so innocent, skin creamy, chocolaty and bright, a young, fearsome woman that’s gonna turn out to be so incredible, he’s certain. A small baby who’s soon to walk.

Dean already knows, this kid is destined for great things.

She’s gonna grow up, past the tutus and the miniature racing-car collections, she’s gonna have a movie she’ll play on repeat for ever and ever, with a song that he’ll learn by heart after having heard it so many times. She’s gonna go to high school and she’ll be bullied but she’ll learn to kick some serious ass. She’ll develop interests, she’ll have mediocre grades but a fiery passion and a love for anything alive.

She’ll, then, go to college. She’ll fall in love, with people and life itself. She’ll do what she loves most and she’ll be so damn good at it, she’ll excel.

And Dean… Dean will be nowhere near her to see all of it.

The bitterness… it makes his eyebrows stitch together, his lip curl in clear frustration and sadness. After everything he’s been through, finally finding the person he loves most and creating a full-ass apple pie life, and it’s all gonna be gone as soon as it started. Because, as he told his favorite Hannah, life’s a fucking bitch, and there’s no denying it.

As he lays there in his bed, pale as a sheet, watching her giggle for a while, reaching for the stars, soon yawning, small eyelids shutting softly and rocking just slightly, he… he falls in love with her. This tiny, tiny happy-beyond-words creature that could ask anything of him, and he’d do it, god damn it. He really would.

A giant bubble grows in his chest, a bubble that makes him feel like he’ll protect her at absolute all costs. He’ll grab the moon and fucking move it if that’s what she needs. And all she has to do is yawn and fall asleep.

A tear appears in the corner of his eye, lingering and falling down his ashy cheek. He can’t believe he brought this bright ray of sunshine to this world, and he’s about to make her live with an absent father. That he won’t get any memories with her at all. It’s torture. All of it.

He doesn’t know what else to do, so he grabs his pen with more determination. If he’s to leave her with something, it’ll be a part of him and that is that.

~~~~~

I was born on January 24th, 1979, the first son of a, dare I say, colossally unlucky family. Your uncle, Sam, my brother, is four years younger and will ALWAYS be a wimp, don’t let the height fool you. He always had terrible, shaggy hair and was always the sharpest tool in the box. Hell, the boy went to freaking LAW SCHOOL of all places! That’s kinda crazy!

My parents, your grandparents, were Mary and John.

Mary was a sweet, incredible, fearsome blonde woman, kindest of them all. She’d cut the crusts off my toast, sing Hey, Jude to me before bed and tell me angels were watching over me. (While we’re on the topic of the Beatles, make a note to listen to them. “Hey, Jude” must be your first song, but beyond the classics [Let it Be, Hard Day’s Night, I Saw Her Standing There, I Wanna Hold your hand etc] I hope “Lucy in the Sky With Diamonds” will hold a special spot in your heart, much like me.)

So, Mary. Sweet Mary. She was a real badass, you know. This one time, Sammy was hungry, so I decided to make, get this, French fries. I think I was seven. She caught me getting ready to pour oil in a very hot pan. When I say she swooped in, I mean it, quite literally. I think she saved me a hand that day.

Now, about John…You’ll have to forgive the mess that I’m about to make with this, but John was a fucking sorry excuse of a father, alright? He got piss-drunk every night after Mom died, and naturally, Sam and I were the punching bags, sometimes literally. The best nights were the ones he wasn’t home.

For years, the house was silent. Sam and I tried to keep everything clean, stock up on canned food, because at times we would only have ten bucks to hold us for over two weeks. I took him to school, fed him, made sure he studied –not that I really had to- and kept John of his hair. At sixteen I picked up a shift at Bobby Singer’s garage, a man that, at this point, deserves the Dad title significantly more than John.

Whenever Sammy was sick, it was my fault. Was anyone loud? Dean’s fault. House dirty? Dean’s fault. Did we wake him up? …Let’s just say we learned not to do that.

I tried to put myself before Sam, did anything I could to protect him. There were times when that wasn’t even enough.

I dropped out of high school at seventeen. The second I saved up enough money, I rented a hole of an apartment at the other side of town, in an attempt to help Sam have a normal life, and we hauled ass out of there.

Before I tell you about our shitty apartment, let me tell you about the highlights of my high school career. Starting off with me “unintentionally” kicking a ball at my least favorite teacher’s face (and hitting him) ((Don’t take your father’s example, kid, violence isn’t the answer.)) (Did feel pretty good at the time though), making out with Jenny in the Janitor’s closet and with Arthur at the locker rooms afterhours (I don’t know what age you’re reading this at, but I sure hope it’s over 16). Also, that one time I pulled a prank at my friend, Cole. I spray painted his entire locker. He didn’t like me very much, to be honest…

~~~~~

An important story I feel inclined to share with you, would be the fact that I was once a bully.

Kids are just mean, but also, I couldn’t understand that troubles at home, traumatic pasts and anger are not to be taken out on other people who are not at fault. Instead of finding a healthy way to deal with everything that was happening at home, I decided that every happy person that was weak enough to meddle with, didn’t deserve any happiness.

I picked on a couple of people, but I think the one I will always regret will be Kevin Tran.

Kevin was a freshman when I was in junior year. He was in the Math club, the Science club and the Robotics club. He had maybe two friends, he was skinny, short, shy as hell, he drowned himself in oversized clothes and always carried a neon green book bag around, that worked on me like red cloth to a bull.

Every time I spotted the bag in the hallway, the drill would start. Shoving the poor kid against the locker, calling him names and laughing at his face for no apparent reason. I’d steal his calculators when I found out he had chemistry tests, spray paint the door of his locker and cause rib bruises from my shoving him against walls and furniture.

I soon find out Kevin was severely depressed. In fact, I saw him in the back of the school, where I’d usually go out to smoke because I thought it was cool (it’s not, it makes you light headed, unfocused and struggle to breathe. Just an all-around terrible experience, but this is just a side-note.)

It was a Friday after school. I didn’t wanna go straight home and Sam still had one more period, so I decided to go smoke and listen to some music in the back of the school building. And that’s where I found him.

I don’t know into how much detail I should go here, but Kevin was harming himself. With a small pocket knife, he sat on an old basket and made incisions on his arms, tears running down his face like a faucet. My God, Hannah, I’ve never felt like a bigger piece of shit in my life, because I knew, and I knew very well, that at least part of those incisions were caused by me.

I called out to him, and the look on his face, as he scrambled away from me, made me feel so much worse. I was the scum of the earth at that moment. I was the biggest asshole on the planet.

My initial reaction, I’ll admit, was pretty harsh. I grabbed the pocket knife out of his hands and threw it as far as possible in the grass. I grabbed a small first aid kit I had in my bag (in case anything happens to Sam), made him sit down by force and bandaged him up. He’d been reduced to sniffles by the time I was done.

Somewhere in between, I remember, he asked me why I was doing this. I didn’t answer.

Eventually, when I was done, I sat on the ground in front of him, ripping blades of grass from the ground. I apologized. Something along the lines of “I didn’t know, not that that’s an excuse. What I’m going through is not an excuse, but I hope it makes you understand that it was nothing to do with you. I’ll stop. I’m sorry. Don’t do this to yourself, man.”

That evening, Kevin was one of the very first people who found out about John. His own dad had passed away, and things at home were rough with his mom. That, along with the whole depression thing… it wasn’t a good combo.

After a solid two hours of talking with him, making amends, apologizing profusely and getting my apology accepted (which I absolutely didn’t deserve by the way,) we made it back out front.

From then on, I stopped picking on anyone. Kevin and I actually became really good friends, though we drifted apart eventually. I think he works in Google now.

This is really important. I want you to pay attention and take heed of my words. There are a couple lessons in this story.

One, be kind. Always  be kind. To everyone. It doesn’t matter if they’re going through a rough time or not, the same way it didn’t matter that Kevin’s father was dead. You don’t know the other person. There’s never a reason to not be kind, if the person has done nothing to you. A smile can make somebody’s day, a compliment can go a long way, and being open and honest and kind will make people who are looking for help find you, it will make other’s lives better, and if you’ve helped even a single person, your life has been successful.

Two, never, and I mean never take your emotional pain out on yourself, or others. There are healthy ways to deal with ugly emotions. There are people who can help. Find a new hobby, as silly as it sounds. Start doing something creative, something that draws your attention elsewhere, like art of any kind, or, in my case, fixing cars. Something to keep you busy. If you’re in trouble, emotional or otherwise, there are people who love and support you, who will do their mightiest to be by your side, and if those aren’t your friends, they’re definitely your family.

Bottling up emotions, or dealing with them in horrible, unhealthy ways has been my go-to. Don’t be like me. Express yourself in different ways, and don’t keep your feelings shoved under the carpet, because it will, absolutely, unceremoniously explode, and you’ll take people down with you. And that’s when you’ll feel like the worst person in the world. The guilt, the residue of said ugly feelings isn’t worth it. Trust me.

If you make mistakes, if you hurt people who don’t deserve it, learn from it, grow, be better. Do not sink into yourself , don’t hate yourself. Apologize, make amends and move on, try to never do the same thing. It’s okay. We’re all human. The only thing that matters is that you try to be better.

No matter what, remember that I will always love you.              

~~~~

So. Our apartment back in Kansas was, as I told you, a real dump. It had a tiny-ass kitchen with a miniature stove, two mattresses that were creaky and lumpy and were left there by the previous owners, as well as the TINIEST bathroom you’ve ever seen. It didn’t have shower walls, it had a shower head and a drain on the floor and was not in any way separated from the toilet. The walls of the place were peeling, the floor was tiled and cracked in a bunch of places and the humidity must’ve been over 80%.

I fucking loved that place.

On our third day there, I borrowed some spray paints from Cole, carried them in a cardboard box up the claustrophobic, green stairs, and opened the door in absolute triumph. That day, Sam and I opened the two windows, scratched the paint off the walls with two spatulas and went WILD. It must’ve been the only day Sam didn’t study.

Actually, no, now that I think about it, there was another time, when little ol’ ten-year-old Sam fell off a ledge and freakin’ broke his arm. I dumped him on Cole’s bike and pedaled to the hospital like a maniac. That was the first day he didn’t study.

Anyways, that apartment wall made our crappy little living situation a home. Our own sanctuary. We finally got agency over our lives, from staying up late, to choosing which type of dish soap we’d use because it smelled better and didn’t remind us of the terror chores once were. Eventually, we got soft blankets, books, board games, decorations… Finally, after 18 years, we’d started our lives.

I think one of my favorite memories would be coming home from my first date with a guy. I was just 18 and Benny, the dude, kissed me before I left, his fists clutching at my flannel. I was driving home with a giant, dopey-ass smile, stretching from one ear straight to the other. That same night, with new-found confidence, I told Sammy to drop his book, bought ourselves some beers and snacks, and drove to my favorite clearing.

There, right under the stars, with Sammy trying out his first beer, I told him I’m bisexual, and the cute bastard hugged me and told me he loved me no matter what. That same night, he thanked me for everything I did for him while living with John. We talked until the sun was rising.

I’ll tell you this right now, kid, in case you haven’t gotten it yet. I love Sam. Love him to bits. I raised that kid all on my own and will do anything to protect him. I know he cares for me, I know it kills him to see me like this, in a bed, pale, miserable and coughing every three seconds. I just want you to know, honey, that whatever you need, anything at all that, for some reason, you don’t want to tell Dad, you go to Sam, okay? You can trust him to be supportive, loyal, to be there for you when no one else is and to love you like you’re his own daughter and best friend. I promise you, he will always, always be there when I’m not.

That night made us grow so much closer. The lesson here, I’d say, is be bold and confident in what you believe in and who you are. Be your own, unique self, be brave, and love whoever you choose to fully and with your whole heart, without shame, ever. If you are yourself, I promise, you’ll find the people that love you for you, not the person you’re pretending to be. You’ll inspire other to be themselves.

A good example of this would be my best friend, Charlie. When I came out, I was armed to the teeth to deal with whoever wanted to bully me for that part of me. To tell you the truth, my school coming out was a mishap. It takes nothing but a risky make-out session in the janitor’s closet and nosey students that rip doors open far too violently. Nevertheless, I was literally out of the closet, fists up. And that’s exactly when I met Charlie.

With her comic book stories and her books, her bubbly personality and bright smile, she wiggled her way into our lives and permanently stayed there. She was a freshman when I was a senior, but she seemed to find sanctuary by my side, as I did by hers. She was just one of those people who clicked, you know? Far too mature and interesting for her age, with an obsession with computers, even back when they were barely even a thing.

She now lives with her long-term girlfriend, Gilda, who owns the best bakery in the state. Ask for the apple pie, you will not be disappointed.

Charlie demanded of me to tell you, first off, to watch Marvel and screw DC right to hell (with which I have to agree, though Batman still remains one of the coolest Superheroes of my childhood (and Joker, the coolest villain)). She also told me that, if you read this, go ask her for her comics, She’d love to let you borrow them and she’s certain you’ll love them. Second off, she asked of me to tell you the Impala story…

It’s not as grand as she makes it out to be, honestly. However this is the part where you’ll learn all about the one and only Bobby Singer.

Bobby was my boss, an old friend of dad’s John’s and the first person who ever saw the bruises under my sleeves. He gave me a job, a family, and later on… a car.

Bobby owns a scrapyard. He taught me everything I know about cars, including driving, and for my seventeenth birthday, he brought a dusty, beat-up car in my workspace. The hood was bent, the seats were torn, and the engine needed immediate replacing. The customer never paid the price for the compartments the garage had paid, so under store policy, the car was ours.

Hannah, I can’t exactly describe to you how long it took me to repair that car. Buying the spare parts and assembling them would’ve probably taken less time. I built her from the ground up, it took me almost a month and a half of daily, eight-to-six work, but I made it. I fixed her up. She was in prime condition, and I had completely fallen in love with her.

I finished working on her early January, dreading the moment I would see her drive away. Bobby had seen all the effort, by then I’d worked at his place for over a year. So, on the day of my birthday, I opened my locker to put on my jumpsuit, when I saw a box placed on my neatly folded clothes. I’m sure you’ve guessed it by now. Yes. It was the keys to my dream car. A beautiful, sleek, black 1967 Chevrolet Impala, the one I had brought back to life. And it was all mine.

I don’t think I’ve hugged Bobby any tighter since then. Hell, I don’t think I’ve hugged him period.

That car… That car is probably the most stable thing in my life, apart from Sam, obviously. I’ve cried in that car, I’ve escaped from my terrible past, I’ve laughed, I’ve had my first time, I’ve been through breakups and I’ve spent my best days with it. I cherish it more than any other item I know. It’s not even an item, it’s my baby. I love it almost as much as I love you.

I met your dad, and kissed him for the first time in that car.

It’s actually a pretty fucking hilarious story. Cas was on a date with this guy who was completely disgusting and creepy as hell, so in true  movie fashion he decided to, get this, jump out the bathroom window and escape.

Yeah.

So just as he was running out of the bar, the guy must’ve caught wind of him or something, because he stepped outside in order to find Cas. What did your dad decide to do, I hear you ask? He ducked behind a car in the parking lot, opened the first unlocked door he found, and jumped in.

Spoiler alert. It was my car.

I was sitting in the front seat, fighting with Sam through text when the door opened. It was highly comical, watching this guy duck behind the bench seat, mumbling “oh God, oh God, oh God, please don’t see me, oh God.” I cleared my throat.

“Oh, I see you, buddy.” That’s the first thing I told him. The look on his face and the genuine yelp, made me laugh a full belly laugh, and completely forget about my fight with Sam. He apologized profusely, explained panicked what had happened and begged me to stay in my car just for a couple minutes so the guy can lose him.

Long story short, we ended up going out ourselves. I don’t know how to explain it… we just clicked immediately. Like, there was a connection. Him and his big words, his baby blue eyes, his steady, deep and rough voice… I knew right away that all I wanted was to spend time with him, learn everything he was willing to share with me.

I’m so glad to have met your Dad. He was, is and always will be one of the best, kindest, most humble and genuine people on the planet. He sees the world from such a beautiful point of view that contradicts my eternal realism (he enjoys calling me pessimistic.) He’s a genuinely great person, and I can’t wait for you to figure so out yourself, if you haven’t already.

Of course, it wasn’t all fine and dandy. Meeting his parents was hellish. Let’s just say, Chuck and Naomi aren’t… the best people. They tried really, really hard to stop us from seeing each other, and eventually, they completely disowned Cas. He doesn’t like to talk about them much. His brother, Gabriel is an asshole, but a loveable one, while his other brother, Michael, you probably don’t know about. And you shouldn’t. Let’s just leave it at that. If Cas wants to share that story with you, he’ll do it at his own time.

I’m sure there’s a lesson to be learned here. Something about, when finding your person, to keep them, fight for them, don’t stop loving them because everyone else is telling you (unless of course that person is toxic). But I don’t think I can give you solid love advice through a dumb book. Every relationship is different, and your Dad’s better at this than me anyways.

--

I don’t know exactly how long this thing is, by this point, but I’ve almost finished the pages of this booklet. I was really, really worried I wouldn’t finish it in time, but here we are. However many thousand words later, and I’m clueless as to how to wrap this up.

My life isn’t over yet, however it looks like it soon will be. I will confess to you, I’m scared, but most of all I’m angry. I’m angry at the world, at life and fate, if that’s even a thing, at God even. I’ve fought my whole life for peace and quiet, and right when I have found it, it’s being ripped from under my feet. Cancer fucking sucks.

No matter, my chin is up, and so are my fists. Winchesters don’t give up easy. I will fight this until my last breath, even if the chance of watching you grow up and being able to tell you everything I’ve written face-to-face, is nothing but a sliver. After all, impossible odds were always my favorite.

Sweetheart… I don’t know what to say. This might be the only thing you have left of me for the rest of your life, and it tears me up inside. Of course, I will not be able to write thirty five years of experience in a small book such as this, but this is a part of me, memories you can keep all to yourself. Ask Dad or Sam about any of it, I’m sure they’ll fill some gaps, tell you things I haven’t written.

I don’t want you to cry much, even though I’m not sure you will at all, given the fact that you’ve never met me. Either way, whether you feel or think anything of me or not, I want you to know that I love you so much. I’ve only known you for a couple of months, and, already, you’re the brightest ray of sunshine in my life.

I promise I will be by your side no matter what happens, through every milestone and hardship, I will love you from wherever I am.

Honey, please stay true to yourself. Never give up, no matter what curveballs life throws at you. There’s always reason to keep going, even if you can’t see it. Always keep fighting, ‘till your last breath, ‘cause you’re a Winchester and you’ve absolutely got this.

If there is something I want you to remember from the scribbly mess I’ve made, it’s this:

I love you. I’m proud of you. I believe in you.

Go get ‘em, tiger.

 Bonus:

Tears streaming down velvety soft cheeks, dainty fingers gripping the book tightly, like her life depends on it, Hannah stares at the ceiling and groans at the mess she is. It’s the second time she read that last bit, and just as she thought she’d gotten over it, here she is, crying just as hard as the first.

She gets off her bed, pulling on her sweater sleeves. Feet in slippers, she makes her way down the corridor, knocking on the door, and opening when she gets an answer. Her fingers grip the doorknob, the other clutching the book, and she stares at the bed, watching as green eyes look up from his laptop.

“Why did you give this to me, you ass, you’re not dead,” she sobs, and Dean pushes his laptop to the side, arms opening wide to invite her in them.

“Aw honey,” he coos, a gentle, loving smile on his face. Hannah climbs on the bed and slides to his side, curling up in his arms. “It’s okay.” Fingers stroking her hair gently, as sobs wrack through the poor girl’s body. Dean almost feels bad.

Just then, Cas appears in the doorway, having heard Hannah’s cries. He sees the booklet clutched in her arms, her face buried in Dean’s neck, hidden behind her spring-curly hair. He makes eye contact with his husband, a knowing half-smile on his lips, as he leans on the doorway.

“I love you,” Hannah says, nose stuffed and running. “Thank you for not giving up on a relationship with me, even when you didn’t think you’ll survive.” Tears wet Dean’s eyes, as he presses a kiss on the crown of her head.

“I love you too.”

[cesabutterflywrites]

The Duke of the Bay: Part 6

[Spotify Playlist] [Youtube Playlist]

First Part, Ao3 Link, Next Part 

Story Warnings: Guns, threats, alcohol, homosexual slang used pejoratively and positively, internalized homophobia, ask me to add any if need be

Chapter Warnings: none different than the story warnings that I can think of

Chapter Word Count:   5683

Summary: Patton O’Hearty was a great detective. Most people didn’t take him for one at first glance, especially when he dressed casual. He was abnormally chipper; he thought everything was the cat’s pajamas. He had a smile for everyone he met. He was always tipping his hat at the dames and gents when he walked the streets of the Bay Area.

The only person he could never catch was the leader of the planted mob in Emeryville, nicknamed The Duke. The Duke was good at hiding his dealings and joints well, and he rarely had a snitch in his ranks. The few who tried, well, somehow they disappeared before they could give the police any substantial information. He was well hidden, but popular among the residents of the town. People talked boldly of his rambunctious parties, never revealing the locations though. He was hard to catch, to say the least.

So what happens, when instead, the detective is the one that’s caught?

-

Alice hadn’t meant to fall asleep when she had got to her room in Logan’s home, but could one really blame her? She thought she knew what a life on the run entailed when she had been forced to leave her parents at thirteen years old. Well, she learned her lesson after this. No more running for her. No more shady deals, no more hiding, no more selling pieces of her that shouldn’t be sold. This latest day had scared her straight.

 Well, maybe not completely straight. 

 She nuzzled into the soft pillow she was holding as she slowly woke up. She felt the smudged, caked texture of old makeup that she fell asleep rub along the pillowcase. That was enough to remind her to try not to stain her host’s pillows. 

 She rolled onto her back then opened her eyes. It was sunset, so she gathered that she hadn’t been asleep for longer than a few hours. She didn’t feel well rested enough to wake up bright eyed and bushy tailed, but her hunger for something to eat gnawed at her stomach harsh enough to finally push her out of bed. 

 She groaned as she sat up. She looked around the room she was in with bleary eyes. She was a bit more awake, once she was sitting up, to fully notice the details in the orange and pink setting sunlight coming in through the white curtains. 

 The room was a contrast to the brightness of the downstairs. The walls were painted a near navy blue, and the furniture was made of some dark wood that she couldn’t recognize. There were two paintings on the walls. Both smaller than the lighthouse in the main living room. 

The first was next to the door above the dark clothes dresser; a beautiful portrait of a beach in the night. The moon was full as it shone across the small waves that crashed into nearly glowing sand. It was oddly inspiring; invoking an emotion that Alice hadn’t felt since she was a small girl in Mississippi. That feeling one would get as a child when learning about the moon while it shone bright and full in the sky. It brought her back to her short lived youth, even though she had only been to the beach in the daytime.

 The second was of a bay, though not the San Francisco Bay. This one was painted from the view of a cliff looking down at a crescent shaped beach. There were a few grey clouds in the sky that reflected the moonlight; though not nearly as bright as in the first painting. It was impressive, and if Alice lived through this she’d have to ask Logan who the brilliant painter was, these works were amazing.

 She decided to climb out of bed. There was no use admiring a room when she was hungry. She was still in her dress that she had been wearing since she arrived, so there wasn’t much to be done other than wash her face to take the smudged makeup off  in the bathroom across the hall. She took her small pack of toiletries with her as she washed up. 

 After making sure she looked, well, not entirely better, but at least less disastrous as before, she made the trek down the stairs to see if there was anything in the kitchen that she could put together quickly. She was so focused on her growing appetite that she didn’t notice that there was company. 

 When she made it to the bottom of the steps she yelped when a man’s voice spoke from the living room. 

 “Oh, you’re finally awake.” He didn’t sound malicious, but he wasn’t either of the detectives. The voice was husky, deep, and definitely not familiar.

 She didn’t have any weapon but her fists, so she clenched her right fist as she turned into the room to see who had spoken to her. She wasn’t willing to go out without a fight. 

 Brown eyes met blue ones when she saw him. He looked familiar enough that he wasn’t a stranger, but stranger enough to not be considered a friend. His black hair was unkempt; it fell in his eyes, though he made no move to brush them aside. He wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t grimacing either. He was smirking at her- clearly amused by her suspicion. He was wearing a plain white long sleeve with black suspenders attached to dark trousers. His arms were crossed over his chest in nonchalance. His skin was a darker shade of olive, so maybe Italian.

 Italian? Alice immediately put her defenses up higher. Her face set in stone as she lifted her chin a tad to show that she wouldn’t bow down or surrender without a fight. She was a force to be reckoned with despite her femininity. Many men found it adorable-until they were met with clawed faces, black eyes, and broken noses. 

 “What’s it to you?” She asked, not meaning for her Mississippian twang to come on as strong. Usually it was subtle unless she was tired-which in this moment she was. 

 The stranger chuckled, seeming un-phased by her defensive stance. “Clearly,” he winked at her as he spoke in a deep voice, “Logan was blowing smoke ‘boutcha needing a guard. A tough dame like you doesn’t seem to need protection.” 

 Alice frowned. “Logan?” Damn her voice-betraying her as it wavered. She tilted her head. “Logan sent a guard?” she muttered, questioning herself more than the man across the room.

 “Yeah, I was surprised too,” the stranger chuckled, “I apologize for my lack of manners.” He stood up from the seat and walked slowly to Alice. He reached his hand out for a shake. “I’m Virgil, and you are…?”

 She eyed the outstretched hand warily. The majority of her was distrustful, but if Logan had sent a guard, it would be rude to decline the offer. Especially since it was better safe than sorry. 

 Well, she wasn’t one for manners anyways. 

 She crossed her arms. Her eyes squinted at how relaxed the stranger was acting about the whole thing-as if it were a joke she wasn’t in on-though there was a tiny bit of tension in his shoulders that she noticed. That told her some part of him was on edge as well.

 “I’m Alice,” she introduced herself with a cold tone. Her voice was tight as she glanced quickly around the room. “Where’s Logan?” 

 “I’m right here, Alice.” The detective’s calming voice spoke up softly behind her. It wasn’t enough to startle her. What was startling was how quickly she relaxed; she felt safer as soon as he was in the room. She felt her shoulders relax-she hadn’t realized they had been so tense. 

 Logan walked past her to stand next to her and Virgil. “Alice, Patton and I had to go together to go confront the captain.” 

 She tensed, the tone didn’t make it seem like the confrontation went well. She caught the glance he shared with Virgil. She took a deep breath before asking, “Where’s Patton?” 

 Logan avoided her gaze. “I wouldn’t know, I’ve been suspended for two weeks for insubordination. I had to leave before he did.” He grit his teeth in frustration. Alice thought she caught an undertone of emotional vulnerability while he continued, “I didn’t get a full confirmation that the captain is in league with the Duke, but the way he berated me for suggesting a plant at all was suspicious enough. Though I suppose I didn’t help when-” 

 Virgil put a hand on his shoulder. His expression was soft as he shared a fond look with the detective. Alice kept herself from raising an eyebrow at the way Logan gave a minuscule smile of gratitude to the taller man. Maybe she had been correct in her assumption about him from the night of the party after all. She swallowed a smile at the thought of being right about which way the young detective swung. She almost didn’t hear the rest of the conversation.

 “Logan, what’s done is done. You made a calculated decision that took the heat off of your partner,” Virgil rubbed his hand-a little too affectionately to be just friendly-in circles on Logan’s back. “You did the right thing, even if I’ll get a bit of heat from my cousin.” 

 Alice definitely raised her eyebrow then. “Uh, clearly I missed something juicy,” she paused as her stomach clenched as a reminder to eat. She put on an apologetic smile, “How ‘bout we catch up over dinner. Is there anything available or do I need to cook?” 

 Logan shook his head while sparing a grin. “No, I have dinner already prepared in the dining room. I had actually come here to gather you for the meal in the first place.” 

 Alice winked at the two men before she walked off. “Alright, boys, let’s get a wiggle on so I can get caught up in all the news.” 

 The party of three walked to the dining room in tense quiet. Though Alice noticed the tension wasn’t malicious. It was more...delicious. She watched the two men accompanying her share a few too many glances and grins. She smiled to herself briefly, excited to tell Lola about everything, especially about her theory that their dance partners were surely not straight. The thought of gossiping with her girl was enough to put a bit of pep in her step. 

 She wasn’t offended that Logan never came clean about it. There were still times she had to let go of her girlfriend’s hand no matter no matter how desperately she wanted to hold on. The world wasn’t ready. They weren’t exactly living in Harlem. 

 Watching the boys avoid the subject was hilarious. If there weren’t more pressing matters at hand, she’d press them about the matter of why they weren’t holding hands. She bit back a giggle.

 Dinner was a spread of baked chicken with russet potatoes and carrots glazed with honey. It looked expensive, and delicious. The smell that wafted into Alice’s nose was so heavenly that she couldn’t control herself lunging forward into the nearest chair. She almost stumbled, but thankfully Virgil had been close enough to catch her by the elbow. 

 She muttered a thanks as she took her seat. The dining set was beautiful. All of it matched with a polished white ceramic decorated with baby blue tulips above light green stems. The edges were trimmed with gold. Alice added another question to her mental list-where did Logan find a way to afford all of this? 

 Logan was extremely kind enough to serve them. That baffled Alice even more. Why would someone as well off as him do the work of serving his guests? For the first time Alice noticed a distinct lack of servants. Meaning that Logan was not just serving them-he must have cooked the meal himself. 

 Oh, yes, he definitely wasn’t due for a wife anytime soon. 

 Once they were served, Logan asked for Alice to lead them in prayer. She felt a lump rise in her throat. It had been so long since her last homemade meal. It had been even longer since she had to lead in prayer. She closed her eyes to keep the tears from flowing at the large reminder that she was in a safe place.

 “Our Father, who art in heaven,

Hallowed be thy name

Thy kingdom come, thy will be done 

In Earth as it is in heaven

Give us, this day, our daily bread

And forgive us our trespasses

As we forgive those who trespass against us

And lead us not into temptation 

But deliver us from evil 

For thine is the Kingdom, the power, and glory forever

Amen”

 “Amen,” the men echoed. If either noticed a tear or two drop from Alice’s eyes, they didn’t show it. 

 The trio spent the first few minutes eating before talking business. The chicken was divine. It was still juicy despite being baked. The honey glaze complimented the sweetness of the carrots while also blending with the savory flavor of the potatoes. In simple terms, the dinner was delicious. Alice resisted the urge to immediately reach for seconds. 

 It seemed no one wanted to bring up the difficult conversation first. She resigned herself to being the mature one in the moment, choosing to be bold and brash. 

 “So what the hell happened while I was asleep?” Her chin jutted out a tad forward in response to Logan’s admonishing look towards her language. 

 Virgil shrugged. “I had Mr. Doris at my home when Logan called to have me come over to make sure you were safe.” 

 She rolled her eyes towards Logan. “So,” she started sarcastically, “You and Patton didn’t want babysitting duty?” 

 “I-no,” Logan sputtered, “We both needed to go in to avoid suspicion.” 

 “Look how that turned out,” Virgil muttered. When the two looked his way, he muttered something unintelligible and bit forcefully into another bite of chicken. 

 “As I was saying,” Logan stated. Alice noticed the blush and small upturn playing at the corners of his mouth. “We went together. The captain...he was in a horrible mood. He grew overly aggressive when I suggested that there may be a plant, and when I pressed he put me on suspension. Especially since I told him I had evidence by-” he glanced at Virgil, who nodded encouragingly, “I told him that I had a member of the Duke’s gang visit me last night.” 

 The hairs on the back of Alice’s neck raised ever so slightly as she fixed her eyes on Virgil. She gripped her fork tightly to be ready to aim for his eyes if he made a wrong move. The man, Virgil, noticed and seemed to not care that she was staring at him. 

 “Relax, kid, I’m not very interested in family business.” His voice made it sound like he was brushing her off, but his body language was tense again. So it was clear that they both didn’t trust each other. Good.

 Alice chewed on her potato while she processed the information. She decided to temporarily table her distrust of Virgil for the sake of the question she really wanted answered. 

 “So, where’s Detective Patton?” she asked. Her voice betrayed her by cracking on the sweet Irishman’s name. She would hate herself forever if the kind man got himself hurt on her account. 

 The two men shared another, more concerned, glance. “I’m…” Logan’s voice sounded troubled as it dropped half an octave, “I’m not entirely sure. I left before he did, like I said, but he didn’t follow me back. I’m not entirely sure where to go from here without him.” 

 Alice’s stomach clenched with fear. Suddenly her appetite was gone. She looked at Virgil without really seeing him. “What do you know about all of this?” she whispered. 

 Virgil avoided her gaze. Alice’s anger rose with the force of ten hurricanes. “What do you know?!” she bellowed. Her voice echoed in the dining room. She slammed her fist on the table, causing the silverware to wiggle. 

 She reached for her fork and threatened Virgil by pointing it at him, but Logan nipped her rage in the bud. 

 “Calm down, Alice,” Logan pleaded softly. “I know you’re upset, but there’s no need for anger.” 

 She snapped her head to look back to Logan. A biting remark was on the tip of her tongue. However she held it back as she saw raw fear in Logan’s face. Gone was his calculated, even, cold expression. In its place was the glaring, frozen, unbalanced nature of fear. 

 She settled in a tiny bit. She kept her eyes on Logan as Virgil cleared his throat and explained his side of things. 

 “Well, to start, I should preface by saying I rarely talk to my cousin unless he needs me for  something. I comply because he’s family-but in terms of the business I couldn’t really give a-” he corrected himself at a glare from Logan, “I don’t care. All I care about is being left alone. The most I’ll do is occasionally attend a party. Yet last month I got a call from him telling me to tail Logan for him. Make sure he didn’t give away anything crucial or dig further.” 

 Alice let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She relaxed her shoulders and let herself settle into the chair while Virgil kept speaking. 

 “This morning Mr. Doris,”-Alice cringed at the memory of the scar faced man gripping her wrists- “came by to tell me he failed in catching you. He also mentioned that uh,” Virgil blushed. His tone was embarrassed, and he scratched the back of his neck. “That Patton was getting busy with the Duke.” 

 Alice would have spat out her drink if she had been taking a sip. Logan, she knew for sure, dropped pins. She could tell from a mile away that the younger detective was not into women. However, Patton? The man who seemed to latch onto her and pry and try to protect? Patton, a pansy? 

 That evidently was not the part of the sentence she should have latched onto. 

 “Well, Mr. Doris doesn’t seem to be the most reliable informant,” Logan observed dryly. 

 There was a brief moment of silence before Alice asked, “How do we know you are reliable?” 

 Virgil nodded solemnly. “I get your hesitation, I do, but I’m being honest when I say I don’t care about the family business.” He absently rubbed his shoulder. “I think nearly dying in a trench puts things into perspective, don’t you?” 

 Alice’s mouth dropped open. There was no way someone this young looking had been in the war. Unless he shipped in right at the end. 

 She hardly remembered what it was like; having the men at war. The world being thrown into utter chaos. It was a hard time for everyone. Luckily she had only been a toddler when the war ended. She felt the urge to hug Virgil close; but she didn’t on the suspicion that he wouldn’t appreciate it. 

 “I’d rather we use our resources to help the community instead of hurting it,” Virgil whispered loud enough for them to hear. His eyes were downcast towards the table, and his hand still gripped his shoulder. “My cousin has good intentions, I’m sure, but Mr. Doris uses his access to grip this town so hard he’ll end up choking it.” 

 Logan and Alice shared a glance, both thinking the same thing. The Duke, leader of one of the most notorious gangs in the Bay Area, having good intentions?

 “What do you mean, about your cousin having good intentions?” Logan asked cautiously. 

 Virgil snorted. “You kidding? All he wants is to show people a good time.” 

 “I see,” Logan murmured. “Well, that is good information that you’ve shared with us, Virgil. I appreciate you.” 

 Alice bit back a giggle at the fact Logan had said ‘appreciate you’ instead of ‘appreciate it’. She couldn’t wait to get Logan alone to grill him about him and Virgil, and she also couldn’t wait to dish it all out to Lola next time they spoke. 

 She picked up her fork and pointed it at Virgil, though not as threatening as before. “Okay, Sinister Sam, I’m trusting you, but if you betray us,” she pointed her fork for emphasis, “I’m not above murder like a certain detective in the room.” They all knew the threat was more of a joke. 

 Virgil threw up his hands with a smirk, “Good thing I have no intention of betraying that trust, Alice.” 

 “Glad we all agree,” Logan interrupted with annoyance in his tone. “Now, back to a more pressing matter-where is Patton?” 

 ------

 Patton didn’t feel like driving back to Logan’s and facing that fiasco, so instead he chose to walk around the town, which was mostly new warehouses and car factories. He walked along the road and watched as the men got off of work for the day. He saw groups of friends laughing together-completely unaware at the forces of good and evil fighting with their lives in the middle of it all. 

 That may have been too dramatic, but was it not the same as the fight between the devils in hell and the angels in heaven? Patton thought himself a morally upstanding man. Everything he stood for was good. He did his job with a smile on his face and faith in his heart. Everyone he came into contact with-he made them smile. He worked his honest way into the police force despite his heritage, just like his captain.

 The thought of his captain felt like a punch to the gut. Roman’s haggard face after sending Logan home was burned into Patton’s mind. He looked so helpless. Obviously Roman was under great stress. So of course if he got an offer to make his job easier he’d take it. Patton felt guilt over building him into a villain so quickly. Roman wasn’t bad, he was just stuck between a rock and a hard place.

 The sun was setting on the bay as Patton turned his way around to the park in between the warehouses and residential area. He watched the children play before suppertime. How he felt for Roman’s wife, Mrs. Rosalie de Rossi. If it turned out to be true-which at this point Patton was sure-then she would raise his son alone. A boy or girl would grow up without a father if Patton did his job the right way. 

 Would he sacrifice his best friend’s child for the sake of capturing one man? Would he take Roman in cuffs as he heard the first cry of his newborn child? Was this truly about stopping the crime in the town, or about Patton getting a pat on the back for capturing the leader of the crime? Was Patton willing to suffer his friend watching his child grow up behind bars? 

 Once upon a time the answer was simple. If it were a month ago he would have answered with a vehement ‘yes’, no matter why. Now things were twisted. Everything was knotted together where it was no longer a simple matter of good and evil; right and wrong were a mass of yarns tangled together. The world was covered in a gray haze that threw Patton for a loop as he tried to make some sense of it. 

 “It’s not so simple anymore,” he mumbled to himself.

 The detective sat on a bench facing the bay, which was within eyesight from the incline where he sat. He admired the beauty of the way the orange and pink clouds glimmered on the waves. Crashing to the shore, knowing where they were going. Eroding the rock into sand; the waves knew what they did. They were driven by the moon herself. The white foam born of the impact would fizzle as the only evidence that any destruction was being made. 

 Patton pondered once more about how far he was willing to go to put the Duke behind bars. The man was clearly a source of stress for Roman. Was there a way to spare the captain? Perhaps getting to the criminal through another source was key. Maybe he could make it so Roman would be spared in the storm that was brewing in preparation of the battle between the good detective and the sinful mobster. 

 He smiled at the thought of Roman being able to watch his son or daughter play at this park. Roman would swing his toddler on the swing set and chase a short child with black hair and brown eyes. Roman would be happy. He’d be free of the worries of a criminal operation. Patton would be the one to give that to him. 

  Patton was good with children. He could see himself there too, celebrating with his friends a birthday or summer’s day. When he first learned of Mrs. de Rossi’s pregnancy he had briefly wished that he would find a woman to settle down with to have children of his own. 

 Yes, there was that question again. Patton was thirty two years old. He had never looked at a woman with lust before. Before he met the Duke he thought it to be a great achievement that put him above his peers. Now, though, it had been brought into question. What was his romantic orientation? Could he actually see himself having a wife? Having children?

 Truth be told, if he were to be completely honest with himself, he didn’t hold any attraction to women. The terrifying idea of the alternative made his arms raise  goosebumps; tingling his senses. He felt his cheeks flush from more than the biting sea air. His lips vibrated softly as if ready once more for a forbidden kiss of forbidden fruit. As he watched the sun set he felt something open up in his soul in revelation. Beautiful, fearful, attractive revelation. 

 If the Duke weren’t a scoundrel, and if the world and God saw it fit, he would chase the rotten man a different way. 

 There was something about the two of them. A horror Patton couldn’t look away from. The Duke was an affront to God Himself. He could be the Devil incarnate; present to tempt Patton into committing unthinkable sins. It was so hard for the detective to delude himself any longer that he was immune to the allure. The call of danger. The tempting taste of the pomegranate that would doom him to falling to the underworld of the Duke’s domain was, in fact, an actual temptation for Patton. 

 He watched the bay waters move to give him answers. He thought of kissing the man. The kiss that had been so easy it had to be for more reasons than to seduce for evidence and information. He remembered with perfect clarity how much he had enjoyed himself with the Duke more than any woman he had kissed, those dames being few and far between. The gangster was an enigma. He was dangerous and chaotic and warm and so many things that seduced Patton. 

 What would the detective sacrifice to catch the Duke and kiss him once more? 

 He felt someone sit next to him. It was as if his thoughts had summoned the one man he wasn’t ready to see.

 “So, how is playing ‘good cop’ goin’ for ya?” the Duke asked cheerfully. 

 “I’m wondering to myself what I’m going to do with you, Duke.” Patton was shocked at the honest answer he gave. 

 A hint of red crossed the Duke’s cheeks before he recovered. “Hopefully devilishly delicious things.” 

 “In your wildest dreams,” Patton muttered. He was drained of energy. His fingers twitched for the cuffs in his pocket. He looked around to see that no other gang members were nearby. They were completely alone; the children had even gone home for supper.

 The Duke was open for capture, and Patton was hesitating yet again. 

 “Seriously, though, here I am open for capture and you’re hesitating,” the Duke observed. The echo of Patton’s thoughts made him shiver. It meant nothing, but it said everything.

 “Are you turning yourself in?” Patton asked sarcastically. “Or are you here on a personal call?” 

 The Duke’s lips curled into a smile. Patton’s heart fluttered at the sight. This smile wasn’t malicious. It wasn’t cruel or conniving. The Duke’s smile was warmth from a stormy night. A dip into cool water on a hot autumn day. With that smile, they were just two men-two people-in the midst of falling in, what would be seen by others, attraction. 

 He found himself leaning closer to hear what the Duke was saying despite the man not changing volume. His face felt numb as the breeze picked up. The Duke’s slicked back hair let loose a strand. 

 “I’m here because you have something of mine. A certain doll who owes me a pretty hefty fee.” The Duke leaned in close enough their noses were touching. 

 They were magnets. They were the opposite poles of the earth. 

 “Hm, I’m not telling you where Alice is, dear Duke,” Patton murmured as if he were in a trance. In some form, he was. 

 Fire flew through Patton’s veins so quickly. The words were losing their meanings in the tones. Their voice inflections were having an entirely different conversation at hand. Patton shuddered at the memories of being nearly pinned underneath the night before, no longer angry but enticed. 

 “Well, that’s a loss on my end then, dear detective.” whispered the Duke. “Guess we’re both at a stalemate.” 

 Ah, yes. The stalemate the forces of nature brewed between them. The laws of the world were putting a thorn bush between them to make their journey even harder as enemies than as friends. 

 “Indeed.” Patton agreed dreamily as he surrendered.

 They both came in for another kiss, be it softer than their previously passionate adjointments. The kiss was a sunset-an end to Patton stepping around the truth of his feelings, an end to answering hard questions with simple answers, and an end to pursuing his enemy at the cost of his friends’ livelihoods.

 His friends...Roman, Logan, Alice. 

 Alice. 

 Alice! 

 He pulled away and stood suddenly as if his body burned from touching an open flame. “No, no! You’re not blinding me this time, Duke!” he shouted. 

 Before he could reach for his cuffs the Duke had started running. His maniacal laughter trailing behind him. Patton raced to keep up once he realized what was happening. The moment in paradise melted away like a dream. The chase was back on.

 Not this time you damn fool. 

 They ran through the alleyways in between the deserted warehouses. The streets were darker. The sun was setting rapidly as the chase had continued. They wound around the large lots. They skirted the borders where other officers on the beat would notice. Somehow the mobster knew exactly where they were, too. The Duke was playing with him. He was torturous and wonderful and damn good at getting under Patton’s skin. He knew this had become so personal for Patton he wouldn’t risk calling for backup if it meant losing the trail. 

 A part of Patton detached and played their kisses over and over again. That piece of him wanted to tackle the man to the ground. Pin the gangster underneath him and succumb to the feral nature being brought out. He wanted to hunt the man down and ravish his soul to the point they would be on fire. He pumped his legs harder to keep up, not knowing what the outcome would be if he caught his target. 

  Patton’s legs were in a flaming pain as he watched the Duke cross a street. He ran out when a car suddenly squealed to a stop in front of him to block him from chasing farther.

 “No, no, no!” Patton yelled. He watched the Duke start to climb over the fence down away from him. 

 The criminal looked back towards him before hopping down the other side. He was shrouded in shadows. He resembled a crouched cat before it bolted. His eyes nearly glowed in the diminishing light. Then, in a blink of an eye, he was gone. 

 Patton slammed his fist on the hood of the car in front of him. He marched up to the driver’s seat only to be stopped by the sight of Alice, Logan, and the gang member who had been on Logan’s tail for the past month. 

 The very gang member who was in the driver’s seat of his partner’s car. The gang member that, for all Patton knew, was in cahoots with Logan. He was the subject that got Logan off the beat. He was somehow involved in all this and for once Patton didn’t want to ask how. 

 Hyped on his adrenaline and chaotic instincts, Patton reached for the gun on his belt when Logan hopped out of the other side and shouted, “Patton, no!” 

 Patton wildly looked at Logan. He knew he probably looked feral. His hair felt mussed, his body was covered in sweat from two chases in one day, his clothes were rumpled. He felt no words running through his mind. 

 In his mind there was only the need to run after the Duke desperately. His heart was pounding over and over. “Logan,” he gasped, “Logan, what are you doing? Interfering with an...an investigation…”

  He was ready to collapse now that he was still. Rational thought took over while his body felt like gelatin melting in the summer sun. He had pushed himself to the limits. 

 Logan slowly made his way to Patton, yet made it just on time to catch him in his slump. He gingerly helped Patton into the backseat of the cramped vehicle. Patton leaned on Alice’s shoulder as he felt the numbing defeat spread from his lips down his body. He played the meeting with the captain, the walk, the kiss, and the chase over and over in his mind. Where had he gone wrong?

  From there on out there were no holds barred. Patton would no longer play by the rules in his pursuit. The badge on his belt was no longer a barrier between him and his chase. It no longer mattered what was right and what was wrong-his heart needed vengeance against the  manipulative nature of his enemy. He would let himself be seduced then wrap the cuffs in one painfully swift movement. 

 Alice carded her hand through his curls. She hummed a soothing tune that washed over him as a cleansing shower after a long day. It was a backwards scenario-a young girl comforting an older man. If any of the passengers heard him softly sob once while a tear fell off of his face, no one spoke up about it.

 The sun had set, and with it the last remnants of upstanding, rule-following, by-the-book morality Detective Patton O’Hearty had left. 

 “Catch me if you can,” The Duke had teased. Oh, how he would.

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A/N:  Hi! I haven't abandoned this story, I promise! I have had a lot going on lately and have been absolutely zoned in on Prince in the Storm. I apologize again for making this so late. I hope you still enjoyed, feedback is appreciated.

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[justatiredghost]

Unsolved Academy Ch12

I know I said this fic was done but I guess I’ve got a couple bonus chapters for you all! I have some ideas for Klaus and Dave settling into homeownership and living alone together (and maybe their wedding? Maybe?) but I don’t know if it should be it’s own fic or just flavor in between their ghost hunting adventures. Thoughts?

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They’d gotten a hammock after all and set it up by the window so they could curl up together on it and stare out at the busy street below. Most people wouldn’t really consider it much of a view but they could see the sky as well as people watch, so what more did they need? It was a bit precarious, getting them both situated on the hammock without tumbling out, but they’d finally figured it out and could do it with ease now. 

Today as they lounged in their favorite spot, Klaus couldn’t help but stare around at their apartment instead of out the window, properly taking it all in for the first time since they’d furnished it. Sure, it was small and cramped and everything was second hand and not in the best shape, but that didn’t matter. It was all theirs. 

They had the freedom to fill this space with whatever they wanted and they were having too much fun with it. Every piece of furniture and decoration had a story behind it and it all made him smile. They’d started a competition to see who could find the most terrible or ridiculous addition and at the moment Dave was winning with an old coffin-shaped coffee table, but Klaus had his eye on a set of second-hand landscape paintings someone had added silly-looking monsters to that might just win him the week. Ben came in as the final judge when there wasn’t a clear winner.

“We’re actually doing it,” Klaus said, his voice full of awe.

“What?” Dave said, mouth full of the last bite of toast he’d been munching on.

“I’m holding down a job, I’ve got a home that has nothing to do with the fam, I’ve got an absolutely gorgeous boyfriend,” Klaus added and Dave gave him a playful shove. “And I’ve been off the hard stuff for, what, a year? Maybe more?”

“Yeah,” Dave said. “I’m proud of you.”

“I never thought I’d live past my 20s, I guess I’m just kinda shocked that I ever managed to get my life even a little bit together.”

“Me too,” Dave said wistfully.

“You also didn’t think I’d ever get my life together?” Klaus said with a grin.

“What? No, no,” Dave laughed. “I’m a bit of a disaster too, you know, my life wasn’t exactly going anywhere even before the war. This all seemed pretty impossible. And I’d say we’ve done better than ‘a little bit.’ I mean, have you seen my boyfriend?” Dave wolfwhistled and Klaus laughed. 

“I don’t know if I’m ever gonna get used to this,” Klaus said. “I’m just gonna constantly stop and look around and realize how wild all of this is.”

“You deserve it,” Dave said, squeezing his kneeaffectionately. 

“Me? Never!” Klaus gasped, mock scandalized. 

“Too late, I already said it so it’s true.”

“Fine,” Klaus said with a laugh. “So long as you get over here and kiss me.”

“Yes, sir.” 

-

Making this place a home had been easy for Klaus. After all, wherever Dave was, felt like home, even when they’d been in hell fighting for their lives. There was still plenty they had to get used to, though. Their lives were changing, a layer of stress and urgency added onto their work now that they had rent and utilities among other things. Really, that urgency had always been there as they tried to just prove to themselves that they could support themselves, but now they had a bill attached to it.

Figuring out how to deal with that stress was a large part of adapting. And on top of that, Klaus had to deal with even more ghosts as they moved into a more active part of the city and he had had just about enough. 

The last few days he’d been getting more and more on edge, every last bit of patience drained from him as the ghosts got louder and louder, invading his privacy and interrupting at the worst possible moments. He finally snapped when a faceless man started screaming in the middle of his favorite show. He and Dave had been waiting all week for the new episode and he’d been looking forward to it and to have it ruined like this was just the last straw.

“Oh my god, that is fucking it!” he yelled as he jumped to his feet off the couch.

Apparently Dave either saw this coming or just knew him well enough not to be too alarmed because he just paused the show and waited for him to explain. Muttering under his breath about endless noise and annoying ghosts, he grabbed their camera and hit record, turning it on himself first.

“Today we have a very special episode brought to you by this fucking asshole,” Klais said, turning the camera in the direction on the faceless ghost who happened to be standing near Dave who pointed at himself in confused amusement. “No, not you, Dave. The ghost behind you. This dick has been doing nothing but screaming every time I sit down to enjoy some quiet time. What does he have against TV? And how does he even manage to scream without a face?”

He turned the camera back on himself. 

“So, we’re going to take a tour of our apartment here and I’m going to introduce you all to the assholes I have to live with. Since they usually follow people around I sure hope none of our neighbors are murderers.”

“I have my suspicions about that little old lady down the hall,” Dave chimed in. “She’s way too friendly.”

“Right,” Klaus exclaimed, pointing at Dave. “pkay, so, let’s do this. Time to put some ghosts on blast.”

He marched down the hall and into the bedroom where a woman was crouching in the corner, sobbing quietly.

“This ghost here never stops crying,” he said, exasperated. “It really is a buzzkill. We’ve all got problems, lady.” He turned the camera on himself again, hand shielding his mouth from view of the ghost like he was sharing a secret with the audience. “Honestly, some days I feel like joining her.”

He headed to the bathroom next, to where a ghost was screaming and pounding against the wall.

“And this ghost likes to start acting up the moment I’m trying to enjoy a nice bubble bath. Apparently I’m not allowed to get any down time around here, they always gotta be the center of attention. It’s a good thing I’ve never accidentally manifested this one, we’d probably have a hole in our wall.”

He walked into the hall again and stumbled backwards in surprise when a ghost phased through the wall and continued on into the kitchen.

“And then there’s this guy!” he exclaimed, gesturing. “He just wanders around, popping through walls at the worst times, but he never even acknowledges me which is unusual. Seriously, dude, what do you want?”

It went on like that for some time as he went over every ghost in the house. Dave already knew about them all, Klaus mentioned any time a new one showed up or one of the old ones finally disappeared. He said he didn’t want Klaus to go through this alone and encouraged him to, so at least he didn’t look upset when he finally clicked the camera off with a heavy sigh, feeling slightly better. Instead, Dave was watching him fondly and came over to pull him into a hug big enough that he lifted him up off the ground, causing them both to laugh. 

“Not that I didn’t enjoy it, but what was that for?” Klaus said as he caught his balance once Dave put him down again.

“What? Can’t I hug my boyfriend?” Dave said, putting his arm around Klaus’ shoulders, pulling him into a playful headlock, although it was one he was easily able to slip out of and repay the favor, ruffling Dave’s hair in the process.

“No, no, your boyfriend very much approves, it just kinda came out of nowhere is all.” Maybe they said the word ‘boyfriend’ a little too often but they were still enjoying the reality of being a couple so much that they liked reminding each other. Dave in particular always seems to beam at the endearment so of course Klaus couldn’t stop. 

“Then I obviously don’t do this nearly enough,” Dave said, grinning as he took Klaus’ hand, swinging it back and forth, smiling at him and just looking so damn proud Klaus didn’t know what to do. “Although I am really happy that you’re doing so great.”

“What?” Klaus said, a little confused. “I don’t know if I’ll even upload that let alone make it an episode, I just wanted to let off a little steam. Was it really that good?”

“No, no, I mean, yeah, it was good but that’s not what I meant. I know how much the ghosts scare you and it sucks that you have to see them at all, but it just seems good that you’re finding ways to face them. And get back at them, that’s always good too.”

“It is better than being drunk in a gutter,” Klaus joked. 

“Maybe you should start posting pictures like this on our social media. Instead of pet shaming, ghost shaming?

“What, like, post a picture of the corner of the room with just a sign that says ‘I have to scream and wake everyone up at 5am every day,’ things like that?”

“Exactly.”

“Could be fun,” Klaus said thoughtfully. “But I’m all fired up now, let’s get out of here and do something fun tonight.”

“I’m game!” Dave said immediately, looking excited.