#i cleaned my entire room and stayed with the kids all day on thursday so friday my body gave up on me and now im a couch potato

[entropys]

spent the entire day on my bed/couch playing sudoku 🫠 it was fun tho 10/10 would do again

[padfootagain]

Something Good (XVI)

Chapter 16: Waters

Hello! Here is a new chapter for my Ben Barnes series!

Today we have: a nice discussion with Jasmine, Ben coming to the rescue and… having special dreams…

Hope you like this chapter! Tell me what you think!

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Pairing: Ben Barnes x Reader

Warnings: A heated scene at the end!! No actual smut but heavy make-out. Slow burn, professor AU.

Summary: Coming out of a divorce and trying to get used to being a single mom, while teaching your classes at University, you thought your life could not get more complicated than it already is. But when you are asked to take care of the theatre club with the colleague that you really can’t get along with, you realize that everything can still get ten times more complicated in your life. And when you start actually liking Professor Barnes, the troubles only grow exponentially…

Word Count: 4874

Masterlist for the series – Ben Barnes’ Masterlist – Main Masterlist

Jasmine knew that something was up between you and Ben, but she didn’t say a word about it at first.

You were quite obvious though, and Ben was just as discreet as you were.

You laughed together, you spent so much time together these days, you even spent time together with Sally. And Jasmine knew that it was a big deal for you. You were a protective mother, and she was well aware that if you allowed Ben close to your daughter, it meant that you trusted him almost blindly.

And this tension between the two of you; these stolen glances, these shy smiles, blushing cheeks, batting eyelashes and caught breaths… it was driving Jasmine crazy.

What was happening between the two of you?

You were currently lost in a conversation about the theatre club, and some scenes you were struggling to stage, and both you and Ben seemed to be paying no mind to the rest of your colleagues eating next to you.

“I mean… it wasn’t even in the original musical. We can just… not include this song,” you proposed, but Ben winced and shook his head.

“No, no, no. We’ll figure it out. We just need to think about it… I’ve actually booked the theatre for Thursday. We’ll have the stage for the entire afternoon. We can go there with the kids and, if need be, we can still stay after our classes and work on it together.”

“That’s a great idea! I mean… I really want to include Something Good in there, I think it would be a great song to add. But… it’s complicated enough as it is, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know. It’s harder than some Shakespeare, that’s for sure,” Ben jokes, easily making you laugh. “But it’s more fun too. It’s different, in a good way.”

You exchanged a smile, radiant and dreamy, and Jasmine found it almost disgusting. You two were so far gone…

And she needed to learn what was going on, curiosity was, after all, her worst flaw.

She checked her watch, and frowned.

“Ben?” she called, and her colleague reluctantly looked away from you. “Didn’t you say you had a class at half-past one?”

“Yes... why?”

“Your class starts in five minutes.”

Ben paled, his eyes growing round before he would check the time himself. But Jasmine was correct…

“Oh, fuck!”

He jumped to his feet, and you couldn’t help the fond look that crossed your features at the sight of his stuttering self, muttering a string of curses under his breath.

You stopped him when he reached for his lunchbox.

“I’ll clean up, don’t worry about that,” you offered with an amused smile. “Just… go to your class.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes! Go!”

“Thank you! Thanks so much, Y/N! You’re the best!”

“I know, I am. Now, get going!”

He flashed you a bright grin, before hurrying outside the room.

You were finished with your meal anyway, you were merely staying to chat some more, so you soon stood up after Ben’s departure, and you cleaned up your table. You were on your way back to your office when Jasmine called for you.

“Can we have a word?”

You accepted, of course, wondering why Jas was asking in the first place. You walked together to your office, and Jasmine closed the door.

“What’s up?” you asked with a worried frown, sitting down behind your desk.

“We need to talk.”

“About what? Is everything alright?”

She crossed her arms before her chest, studying you.

“Well, you tell me…”

“I beg your pardon?”

“What’s happening between you and Ben?”

Your eyes grew round, and you shied away, becoming defensive.

“No… nothing…”

“Don’t lie, now! It’s obvious that there is something going on between the two of you. Are you dating?”

“No, we’re not.”

But the disappointment in your voice was obvious, and Jasmine’s inquisitive expression turned into a frown.

“So… you wish you could date, right?”

“I… I don’t know.”

You heaved a frustrated sigh.

“Jas, promise me you will not tell anyone about this.”

“Of course, I won’t tell. I just want to make sure you’re alright, because… the two of you are being all… lovie-dovie over there, and yet, I can tell that you’re holding back. Is it because you don’t want to make it official?”

“No, we’re not together. Nothing happened between us.”

“You’re sure?”

You rolled your eyes.

“Nothing happened between Ben and me. But I…”

You hesitated, but only for a moment. Jasmine was your best friend, and if she loved gossips, you knew she would never betray your trust this way. So… you might as well tell her.

“I… I think I’m falling for him.”

Jasmine threw her arms in the air.

“At fucking last we are getting somewhere!”

“Jas, I’m being serious.”

“So am I! You two have been all heart-eyes and shy-flirtation for weeks! It’s time you finally admit that you like him.”

But you shifted on your seat, clearly uncomfortable, averting your eyes. When you looked up at Jasmine again, you seemed both shy and scared.

“Actually, Jas, I… I think it’s a bit more than that.”

Your friend raised an eyebrow, leaning forward.

“You mean… do you… love him?”

You nodded your head, and Jasmine let out a gasp.

“Wow… that’s amazing!”

“Is it?” you asked back.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Because I’m a single-mother? Because I went through a divorce and… what if I’m not ready for another relationship? And… anyway… maybe Ben doesn’t feel the same…”

“Oh, he does. He absolutely does, trust me. He is not even discreet at this point. It’s written all over his face every time he sees you… or every time anyone does as much as mentioning you.”

“Do you think so?”

“Yeah, I know so.”

You couldn’t refrain a smile at the thought. Maybe it was selfish, but you hoped he felt the same…

“I don’t know… I’m a mess, Jas. I’m not sure I should act on it. He… Ben is amazing and so sweet and… He deserves someone who can offer him more than…”

But Jasmine didn’t let you finish. She seemed annoyed now, angry, even.

“Don’t you dare! You’re amazing, Y/N! Everyone struggles with their lives. No one has it all figured out. Maybe you’re having a rough time, but this rough time, it won’t last, Y/N. And then what? You’ll spend your life regretting to not have seized the chance that was offered to you. Who knows… maybe Ben is the answer. Maybe he is your way out of your rough patch. Have you ever thought of that?”

“But what about him? What does he get out of this?”

“You. Couldn’t that be enough?”

You considered her question.

Were you worth it? All the troubles he would have to go through because of you… were you worth it?

He was enough, of course. If the question was reversed, you wouldn’t have to think at all, the answer would be obvious. Ben was enough. He was all you wanted. There was nothing you longed for except for his company, his voice, his goofy jokes, his touch…

He was more than enough. He was everything you wanted. But you?

You heaved a tired sigh.

“I don’t know, Jas. I need to think. Because it’s about me and Ben… but there’s Sally too. I can’t be impulsive. It would affect her too, and… I don’t know. I don’t know anything anymore.”

Jasmine nodded.

“I get it. You should take some time to think about all this. But Y/N… don’t give up. Don’t push your own happiness away. You deserve to be happy. Please, don’t… don’t sacrifice yourself thinking it’ll make others happier. It will probably not be true, anyway. Because… you being happy makes others happy, too.”

You gave her a smile, nodded, but didn’t answer.

You were lost. There was your heart longing for one thing, and your reason pulling you back. Was it reason or fear? You weren’t sure.

You were a mess. You weren’t sure of anything anymore.

You were a mess.

It was half-past eight, too late to call for a plumber. And you were panicking.

There was water running from the pipes under the sink in your kitchen, and a pool on the floor. Sally was staring with round eyes.

“Mummy? Why is there water everywhere?”

“I…”

You wanted to cry. Tuesday night, you were exhausted. All you wanted to do was prepare dinner, take care of Sally, and go to sleep, at long last.

Instead, your kitchen was flooded by a leak.

Your brain went blank. It was too much. After taking care of your daughter this morning, running from classes to meetings to actual research all day long, after picking up your daughter from the babysitter, after helping out your mother with her own issues in her apartment, after making sure Sally was doing her homework, after doing the laundry, bathing Sally…

This was too much.

You could feel that you were about to cry. You wanted to crumble on the floor, your knees going weak. You couldn’t handle that. Not tonight, not on your own.

Your chin was shaking, you brushed the first tear away. Sally was still here, and you couldn’t afford to just… crumble and lie on the floor the way you longed to.

“There is a leak,” you answered. “But it’s gonna be okay.”

Your brain had stopped functioning though and when Sally asked what you were going to do, you had nothing to answer. Instead, your heart was pounding and it was harder to breathe, and your head was spinning…

You needed help. You needed help…

You turned to Sally, and forced a smile.

“I’m going to call for help, okay? Can you go in the bathroom and bring back as many towels as you can?”

Sally nodded with a toothy grin, happy to have a mission. You knew it would keep her busy for a few minutes. You grabbed your phone, trying not to cry.

You didn’t think as you went through your contacts. You didn’t think as you pressed on call. You didn’t think as Ben’s name appeared, written in large letters on your phone. You didn’t think when you pressed your phone to your ear.

And Ben didn’t think either when he heard his phone ringing. It was quite late already, but he grabbed his phone without a thought, his fork halfway to his mouth, covered with lettuce. He didn’t think as a smile spread across his face when he read your name on his screen. He didn’t think when he accepted the call and pressed his phone to his ear.

“Good evening, Y/N!” he chimed. “What’s up?”

But he frowned as he heard the relief in your sigh.

“Ben… I’m sorry to bother but…”

You sniffed, he heard you through the phone, the sound a little distorted, but clear all the same. Ben’s smile disappeared altogether.

“Y/N? You’re okay?”

But he heard you crying. The sound broke his heart, shattered every thought, echoed through his bones.

You were sobbing, actually.

“Y/N?” he called, panicking now. “Y/N? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Where are you? Is Sally okay? Is there something wrong with Sally?”

He heard you taking a couple of deep breaths, and then you spoke again, in a voice drenched with tears.

“No, I’m alright. And Sally’s fine but… I… I have like… a huge leak in my kitchen and there’s water everywhere and I can’t… I can’t…”

Ben heaved a relieved sigh.

“What happened?”

“I was just washing vegetables to prepare dinner, and then… there was water everywhere and I… I’m sorry to bother you, but… I can’t…”

But he interrupted you.

“It’s alright, Y/N. It’s alright, don’t worry. I’m right here, I’m coming over. Did you eat anything tonight?”

“No, I was… I was preparing dinner.”

“Okay, I’m leaving my flat right now,” he said, and indeed, he was already looking for his toolbox. “I’ll be there in twenty minutes, okay? Now, you need to calm down, Y/N. Can you do that for me?”

He didn’t hear you nodding, obviously, but you did, as you dried your cheeks and sniffed again.

“I’ll be here in twenty, I need you to shut down the water in your apartment, can you do that?”

“Yes, I know where it is.”

“Alright, then you do that, and then you wait for me. I’m coming, okay? I’ll take care of it, don’t worry.”

“Thank you. I’m sorry I’m bothering you…”

“You’re not bothering me at all, Y/N. I’ll be right there.”

“Thank you.”

You hung up, and Ben shoved his phone in the pocket of his coat, struggling to put on his shoes as fast as he could.

Ben arrived twenty minutes later, as promised. He was carrying a large toolbox in his hand, but you had quite a few tools yourself, and he found that you were well-equipped. You were calmer again, traces of your tears lingering only in the red in your eyes.

Sally showed Ben the towels that now covered the kitchen floor.

“I brought all the towels,” she said proudly.

“You did such a good job!” he complimented her.

He took off his socks and pulled up his pants a little bit so he wouldn’t wet his clothes as he walked across the drenched towels.

“I didn’t even take a look, to be honest,” you mumbled, feeling quite ashamed now that he was here.

Because you were strong. You were a responsible adult, and you could handle yourself. Still, you didn’t doubt that you had been right to call Ben, not when he shot you a reassuring smile.

“I’ll take a look.”

After a few minutes spent hidden in the cupboard under the sink, a torchlight in his hand, he looked up at you again.

“You’re one lucky lady, you know? The seal at the junction between two pieces of pipes is leaking, but I have one just like this. It often happens with these siphons. Don’t worry, I can fix that.”

“I wasn’t aware ‘plumbing’ was one of your talents,” you teased him, and he grinned at the playful tone, knowing it was always a good sign with you.

“You always underestimate me.”

You didn’t have time to fight back, as the doorbell rang. You frowned, wondering who it could be.

“Oh, I ordered some pizza,” Ben explained.

But you kept on frowning, and Ben was suddenly worried to be overstepping, to be too much and yet, not enough…

“I… I just thought… you said you couldn’t prepare dinner so I called for a pizza while driving. I hope you don’t mind.”

At last, you walked to your front door, but Ben was right behind you.

You greeted the delivery guy, got your pizza, noticing too late that Ben was paying for your food. You thanked the stranger as you closed the door again.

You opened the box, still standing by your door, in your hallway.

Pepperoni and cheese. Sally’s favourite.

When you looked up at Ben again, you were on the verge of tears.

He blushed hard, his mouth opening and closing, taken aback by your reaction.

“Did I… Did I do something wrong?” he asked in a whisper. “I thought… I thought you liked this one.”

“It’s Sally’s favourite.”

“I know.”

You were crying by now, you couldn’t help it.

“Hey… don’t… don’t cry, I… I’m sorry,” Ben kept on apologizing and you had no idea why he was doing that because so far he was being the most amazing person you had ever met. “I… I’m sorry if I’ve done something wrong.”

You shook your head.

You wanted to kiss him so badly…

“You… Thank you so much.”

You brushed your tears away.

“Are you… are you alright?”

He wished you weren’t holding this bloody pizza box. He wanted to hug you so badly…

You remained still for a moment, lost in his eyes and him lost in yours. And for a moment, you considered letting this pizza fall and rushing into his arms and kissing him until none of you could breathe…

And for a moment, he considered grabbing this pizza box and throwing it across the corridor to finally pull you close and kiss you until none of you could breathe…

But Sally’s voice rang through your silent flat, and the spell was broken.

“A pizza!” she squealed.

You smiled fondly at her.

“Ben bought us some pizza, angel,” you explained.

“Thanks, Ben!” Sally chimed.

“You’re welcome.”

“Let’s eat it in the living room, angel. Then, you’ll be off to bed, because it’s quite late already.”

You grabbed some cutlery and a plate for your daughter, and took care of her as she ate her dinner, while Ben was working in the kitchen. You took care of Sally some more, until she was ready for bed.

Ben was surprised when she hurried to him in the kitchen, carrying Mr. Carrot in her arms.

“Good night!” she chimed, before kissing Ben on the cheek.

He grinned.

“Good night, Sally. Sleep well.”

He turned to the plushie.

“Good night, Mr. Carrot. No troubles tonight, huh!”

Sally giggled, before joining you again and letting you carry her to bed.

Fifteen minutes later, Sally was dozing off enough for you to drop a kiss in her hair, readjust her covers, and turn off the light.

You joined Ben in your kitchen again.

“How can I help?” you asked him, crouching down by his side.

“I’m almost done,” Ben answered. “Would you mind holding the light?”

You bent over, holding the torchlight towards Ben’s hands. You helped him for a while, but it was soon over, and you opened the water in your flat again.

You came back into position, on the floor, holding the light. But nothing happened. Ben was still by your side.

“Try the sink,” Ben instructed, and you complied.

Nothing happened. You looked at each other, a grin on both your faces.

“Not bad, Mr. Plumber,” you congratulated him.

“Well, thank you. See? Told you. You simply underestimate my many talents.”

“Of course, silly me.”

You seemed to notice then how close the two of you were. So close that you were almost touching. So close that you could feel his breath on your skin. So close that you were falling right into his eyes.

And you wanted to come closer, always closer, until there was no space left between the two of you. Until there was no space at all…

And he seemed to realize at the same time how easy it would be to lean over and kiss you. His eyes flicked down to your lips, red, inviting, looking so soft… He wanted to lean closer, unbelievably close, until there was no space left between the two of you. Until there was no space at all…

And he started to. His breath caught in his throat, but he didn’t mind, his heart was beating too fast and too hard in his chest for that. He leaned closer though, slowly, torturingly slow…

But then, a weird noise came from the pipes, and you had barely enough time to acknowledge the noise that water was blasted into your faces, the leak even stronger than before.

You both started, let out a surprise cry. If Ben reacted by pressing his hands against the flowing water, you were the clever one who shut down the water again. The leak receded, until it was made of mere droplets falling in the bucket you had shoved into the cupboard.

Ben and you finally looked at each other again, both of you completely drenched, his hair a mess of wet curls, while you were just as dishevelled as he was. After a couple of seconds, you both exploded with laughter.

It took you a while to calm down, but you went back to work, eventually. With your help, it took about thirty minutes to properly fix the leak. After the task was finally completed, Ben helped you cleaning everything up, and you didn’t have much convincing to do to make him stay to eat the rest of the pizza with you.

He was about to leave, it was almost midnight. You wanted him to stay, but there was no good reason to offer him, so, you let him put on his shoes again and his warm coat and his soft scarf.

He was about to leave, it would soon be midnight. He wanted to stay, but there was no good reason to offer you, so, he put on his shoes and his warm coat and his soft scarf.

When he turned to you to bid you a good night filled with sweet dreams, you seemed on the verge of tears again.

“Thank you so much,” you whispered, clearly touched. “For coming, and for helping, and for the pizza and just… for everything. Thank you so much, Ben.”

He blushed fiercely, but smiled all the same.

“It was nothing, Y/N.”

“You came to my aid very late in the evening, dropping all your plans to help me and… coming from anyone it would already mean the world, but I know how it makes you feel when your plans are changed too quickly. I hope it didn’t make you feel… uncomfortable.”

But he shook his head. You should have been right, but you weren’t. He hadn’t thought about that at all. He had planned out his evening, indeed, before you would call: a salad for dinner, some fruits as dessert, a movie, about an hour spent reading before going to bed. His usual routine. And yet…

He had dropped everything for you, and he hadn’t even thought about it. Under any other circumstances, it would have panicked him to change plans at the last minute, no matter how unimportant his evening should have been. But you had called, and you seemed in such distress and… and he didn’t even think about it, he just ran to you.

He shrugged; it was the best he could do as the realisation struck him.

“I wasn’t doing anything important. And… I’m never bothered to change my plans, if it means seeing you.”

Perhaps his confession was a little too earnest, especially considering how much his cheeks flushed as the words passed his lips and yet… and yet he didn’t mind. You were the one looking up at him. He felt safe enough with you to be himself.

Good guys never get the girl.

The words his friend had once spoken came back to his mind, but he pushed them away easily this time.

Perhaps good guys didn’t get girls like Julia. Perhaps they could get women like you?

You smiled, your eyes shining with tears that you didn’t allow to fall. You rested a hand on his shoulder, went on your tiptoes, and Ben knew what you were about to do. It was like that afternoon at the park. And indeed, you leaned up to press your lips to his cheek, and Ben leaned into your touch without a second thought, closing his eyes, enjoying fully the feeling of your lips on his skin. Too soon, you pulled away. He moved his head without thinking, as a reflex, longing for your lips on him again, and he bumped his nose into yours as he chased after you.

And as you stared into his eyes, right when he opened them again, you froze, unable to move further away. You wished he wasn’t wearing his warm coat, so you would feel his warmth under your fingers. And he wished he could lean down, act on his impulsive thoughts and kiss you. But he let you slip away, take a step back, break this moment, feeble and too fragile to last…

He cleared his throat.

“You can call me anytime, whatever you may need. I’ll be there. I’ll help you, always.”

His voice was but a tender whisper, a comforting sound that made your tears come back. Because you didn’t deserve this kind of love. You weren’t worthy of it. Liam had showed you that you were not worth sacrifices. And Ben? Ben was ready to make sacrifices for you…

He didn’t want you to cry again, Ben couldn’t bear the sight. And he was too shy and not impulsive enough to yield under his urge to kiss you, but he couldn’t help himself when he wrapped his arms around you, pulling you into a tight hug.

You were quite surprised, at first, but you didn’t push him away.

“You don’t have to do all this on your own,” he whispered into your ear. “You are… incredibly strong, and amazing, and clever and kind and loving and you are such a good mother, but… but it’s normal to ask for help, whenever you need it. Don’t hesitate, okay? You’ll never bother me. You’re never bothering me, Y/N. I’ll be here for you. I want to be here. Do you understand?”

You nodded, burying your face in his neck, pushing his scarf away with your nose to access his skin, your hands finally coming to close onto his coat.

You didn’t understand why he was ready to do that, but you understood what he said. You decided that it was enough, for now.

“Thank you so much, for everything, Ben,” you whispered, and he could hear that you were crying, feel the tears wet his own skin. He rested his palm against the back of your head, holding you close. “I needed help. I just… I just felt so overwhelmed by everything and… I couldn’t do it on my own. I’m sorry if it was silly…”

“It wasn’t. Of course, it wasn’t silly. You were upset, you needed help. There’s nothing silly or shameful about it. It’s just normal. You’re just human.”

He let you cry for a while, tugged safely into his neck, into his arms, against his chest. You felt so safe like this, so calm, like nothing wrong could happen as long as he held you close…

You couldn’t remember ever feeling this way, even with Liam. Not so strongly, at least.

When you broke your embrace and dried your cheeks in a hurry on your sleeves, you were smiling again. And perhaps, you didn’t need him so much anymore, at least, that’s what he thought.

And Ben longed to stay, but he left anyway.

That night, Ben was dreaming.

He knew, even if he was lost in deep slumber, that none of this was real. It couldn’t be.

The images were vivid though, unbearably so. It was almost too much. And yet, even if this was nothing but a feeble dream, he hoped it would never stop.

Because in his dream, he was not alone. You were there. You were kissing him, actually.

Dimly lit room bathed in a light he couldn’t recognise the origin of. A sunrise? A sunset? A neon light? He had no idea. All he knew was that you were kissing him, your hands in his hair, his name on your lips as you moaned.

You were naked, both of you. He knew that too. And your skin was overwhelming, warm, everything he wanted and desired. Your breathing was shallow, and your heart was beating as fast as his, the two organs in perfect sink. He could feel their united rhythm echo through his chest, as it was pressed against your own. One heartbeat shared between lovers.

And your lips and hands and skin were everywhere, his entire world. He was lying down, over you, was it in a bed? He wasn’t sure. The dream was not clear enough for that kind of detail, which was strange, because he could see with an uncanny precision every detail of your coloured irises. A perfect copy, a chimera he longed to reach.

You called for him in a whisper, half a breath and half a moan, and he had never heard such a pretty sound wrapped around the vowels and consonants of his name. But then, just as he pressed his mouth to your throat, feeling your pulse there, under his lips, under his tongue, longing to devour it whole… another sound came through. A rhythm he recognized, the pattern he feared the most.

When he opened his eyes again, there was no light at all. He was lying in his bed, on his stomach, holding his own pillow. The alarm clock was ringing. He shut it down, heaved a sigh, let himself fall back in his sheets.

It wasn’t his first dream about you. He doubted it would be the last. But it was not real. He wondered it if ever could be…

When he finally got up, he planned his morning in his head. What did he need to get done? Eat breakfast, drive to work, he had a class this morning, but then he would see you for lunch, and the thought brought a grin to his face. He had a test to prepare too, and a meeting with a student, and then he needed to work on this article of his.

But first and foremost, before he could get anything done, he needed a shower. And a cold, very cold one too…

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

Taglist: @sergeantbuckybarnes @reg-arcturus-black @wolfmoonmusic @idek-what-to-put @kpicard @rhapsodyonthethames

[fruitcoops]

After the wedding, coops plays the newly wed game and Marlene is just like 😍😍

The newlywed game is so cute and Neil Patrick Harris did one with his husband a few years ago that is just adorable. SW credit goes to @lumosinlove!

“Welcome back, Lions!” Marlene said with a broad smile. “After a brief summertime hiatus, we’re back with Captain Sirius Black and our brand-new winger, Remus Lupin. Do you guys want to tell the viewers why you’re here?”

“You threatened us,” Remus said.

“Also, we got married,” Sirius added, holding up his left hand.

“Oh, yeah, that too.”

Marlene rolled her eyes as they turned to her with matching grins. “You two are hopeless. You’re here today to play the newlywed game, which will test how well you know each other. I’ll be asking each of you eleven questions that the other person has already answered, and you get a point for each answer that matches. Does that make sense?”

Remus gave her a thumbs-up. “Crystal clear.”

“Loops, because you slandered my good name earlier, you’re going first. I hope your husband wins.”

“Oh, I will,” Sirius promised, kicking the leg of Remus’ chair lightly as he tapped his cue cards on his thighs. “Alright, first one: what did we do on our first date?”

“Pizza at Sid’s,” Remus answered.

Sirius held up a small posterboard with ‘pizza’ written on it. “Correct! What was the last thing we bickered about?”

Remus thought for a moment. “You answered these today, right?”

“Yeah, honey, we did this in adjacent rooms,” Sirius laughed.

“Right, sorry. In that case, it was parallel parking because there weren’t any spots outside the building.”

“Correct! If our love life was a candy bar, what would it be?”

Remus frowned. “What?”

“If our love life was a candy bar, what would it be?” Sirius repeated with a devilish smile. “What, you don’t know this one?”

“Shit, what would you say to this?” Remus muttered. “Um…hell, I don’t know, a Snickers?”

The smile slipped off Sirius’ face. “Are you kidding me?”

“Did I get it right?” Remus’ eyes widened when Sirius held up the posterboard with ‘Snickers’ scrawled across it, and pumped both fists in the air. “Ha! I don’t even care who wins now!”

“Good, because it’s going to be me. Next question: If I could describe you in one word, what would it be?”

“If you could describe me?” Remus exhaled slowly. “That’s tough. Uh, chatty?”

“What?” Sirius asked through his laughter. “Chatty?”

“It’s true!”

“I said ‘sweet’!” He showed the board to the camera and they both burst out laughing. “Jesus, who do you think I am? Just rolling up to Marlene like, ‘hey, did you know my husband talks a lot?’”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!”

“You’ve only made it through four questions,” Marlene informed them, clearly amused.

“What is your weirdest quirk?” Sirius read off the board.

Remus paused. “Like, what do I think my weirdest quirk is?”

“I think so. It threw me off at first, too.”

“This is not grammar correction hour,” Marlene called.

“I think my weirdest quirk is that I can’t end stairs on my left foot,” Remus said after a moment. “I’ll skip a step if I have to.”

Sirius hummed. “I didn’t even think of that one.”

“What did you put?”

“Pre-game superstitions.”

“Hypocrite,” Remus said with a grin.

“Perhaps. Who is my celebrity crush?”

Remus raised his eyebrows. “Are you sure you want me to tell them?”

“It’s not that weird!”

“Freddie Mercury.”

“That is a little odd,” Marlene agreed when he showed the board.

Sirius looked between them in disbelief. “Why?”

Marlene snorted. “Because the person you married is basically the exact opposite.”

“There’s a difference between thinking someone’s hot and wanting to marry them.”

Remus pouted slightly. “You don’t think I’m hot?”

“Oh my god,” Sirius groaned. “Next question. What is my favorite book?”

“The Hobbit.”

“Nope.”

“Three Musketeers?”

“Nope.”

“Winnie the Pooh?”

“What the fuck?” Sirius laughed. “It’s To Kill A Mockingbird. Marlene, can I skip the next one?”

Remus leaned closer. “Well, now I’m curious.”

“Which of us would win at Trivial Pursuit?”

“Oh, baby, I would wipe the floor with you.”

He sighed heavily. “Yeah, I know. If I needed a lift at 3 am, who would I call?”

“James.”

“Yep. What is my silliest fear?” There was a brief pause. “Really? I thought this was one of the easier ones.”

“There are several to choose from,” Remus mused. “But I think you would say your silliest fear is dishsoap bubbles.”

Sirius held the final board up. “Unfortunately, you’re correct. They’re all slimy and gross. Last question: what is our favorite activity to do together?”

A smile twitched at Remus’ lips for half a second before he regained his poker face. “I would say hockey, but I think it’s actually road trips.”

“Incorrect,” Sirius said smugly.

“We literally had this conversation two days ago. What did you put down?”

He flipped the board around. “Movie night. You’re not entirely wrong about road trips, but bonus points helped you win last time, so I’m never doing that again.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” Remus waved him off, as if he wasn’t having the time of his life. “Okay, number one: who is the better driver?”

“Me,” Sirius said without hesitation.

“Indeed. What did I wear on our first date?”

Sirius bit his lip in concentration. “You wore jeans and a sweater. Your green one, right?”

Remus glanced to the camera, clearly stunned, then held up his board. “Yeah, you nailed it.”

They high-fived and Sirius leaned back in his chair, grinning. “You thought you were so smart with that Snickers answer, huh? I know things, sweetheart!”

“Who is the tidiest?” Remus continued with a faint blush on his cheeks.

“Me, but you clean more often.”

“True. Who is the funniest?”

“You.” Remus shook his head and Sirius gave him an offended look. “You’re way funnier than I am!”

“We’re funny in different ways,” Remus conceded. “You make really good puns, but I’m just sarcastic and people think I’m kidding. Who does the most cooking?”

“You, for sure.”

“Marley, these questions are too easy. You’re rigging the game against me.” Remus shot her a teasing glare as he set the used boards on the ground. “What is my ideal date?”

“Going to the bookstore and staying there for at least four hours.”

“I don’t know about four hours—”

“Re, I love you, but that is exactly what we did last weekend.”

Remus hesitated, then nodded. “Fair. What is my favorite junk food?”

“You are an Oreo hound. We have, what, three boxes stashed in the house right now?”

“Five,” Remus muttered.

Sirius’ jaw went a little slack. “Where? I only saw three in the pantry.”

“I’m not telling you, you’ll steal them!”

He turned to Marlene with a disbelieving look and she shrugged. “Hey, I’m just here to moderate. This is reality tv for me.”

“If I was a Disney princess, who would I be?” Remus asked before things could devolve further.

“Belle, obviously.”

“Hell yeah. What do I think your best feature is?”

“Again with the wording,” Sirius sighed. “Hmm. You’re always messing with my hair.”

“It is very soft,” Remus agreed. “But that’s the wrong answer. I think you have the prettiest eyes.”

His cheeks went pink. “Really?”

“Babe, I’ve told you this a million times,” Remus laughed.

“Still.”

He shook his head and moved on to the next question. “Which of us has the worst handwriting?”

Sirius frowned. “Neither of us has bad handwriting.”

“Which one is worse than the other?” Marlene clarified.

“You, maybe?” he guessed. “I really like your handwriting, though.”

“Yeah, I put myself for that one. It’s kind of a weird half-cursive with a bunch of loops. Which is fitting, I suppose.” He shrugged. “Ready for the last one? You’re totally going to get this.”

“Don’t jinx me.”

“What was our last date, and when?”

“Last Thursday,” Sirius said. “We got takeout and watched The Princess and the Frog.”

“Did you sing along?” Marlene asked.

“Of course we did,” Remus said with a playful scoff. “Alright, who won?”

Behind the camera, Dorcas cleared her throat. “Remus, you got seven out of eleven correct, and Sirius, you scored a grand total of…nine.”

Sirius whipped back around to face him. “I told you I would win!”

“I’m crushed,” Remus said drily, though he couldn’t keep down his smile. “Oh, no, my husband knows me too well!”

“Did you guys have fun?” Marlene asked.

“We always do.” Sirius slid the boards across the floor to her before looking up to the camera. “Thanks for joining us today to see my victory at last, Lions! Be sure to like and subscribe to Lion Pride for more content like this.”

[coeurdastronaute]

HSAU: College Part 1

Previously on HSAU

Morning started the same, every day, rain or shine. Four thirty in the morning, the alarm beeped in the small attic room, and under one section of angled roof, where a pile of blankets slumbered, an arm would appear and slap around until the offending noise stopped. It was precise and methodical and never changed, six days a week.

Lexa ran her hands over her face after pushing off the blankets, but stayed in bed just a few seconds longer, orienting herself. Though it was still summer, the sky hadn’t brightened just yet, and the night was disinterested in ending anytime soon. When she swung her legs over the edge of the bed, she stretched and cracked her joints and yawned before grabbing an old shirt to throw over her sports bra and slipping on a pair of shorts. The fan in her window hummed along while the crickets outside groaned in the heat. Outside, the neighborhood she grew up in was quiet and still. A dog barked and calmed itself. No cars moved at all. Every picket fence and yard with signs and flags slumbered before dawn came, and Lexa was the first among the living. July was awake before the dawn as well. It shook off the night from its coat and stretched forward and backward before loping into the streets, covering every surface with a few inches of thick heat. Without the sun, the heat rose up straight from the ground itself, radiating out into the world. Lexa paused halfway through her run and tied her shoe as the light changed for no cars at all. As she stood she dried her forehead on her shoulder and started off again. Her run got insanely longer with the new summer route that took her out towards her uncle’s garage. For no reason at all. “Where’s Bear?” “I let him sleep in,” Lexa smiled before distracting herself with wiping the sweat from her face with her old shirt. “I ran here though, so that’s impressive.” “Yeah, I mean... no Bear though,” Clarke shrugged and hustled about the café, preparing for the opening. It took just a second, but somewhere between flipping the sign on the door and moving to make the second round of coffee, Lexa grabbed her girlfriend’s arm and tugged her back, kissing her like she had been waiting to do since she started her run. “Your mom still at that conference?” “Until Thursday.” “Want me to help you pack?” “Why don’t you let me actually pack and then come over to watch a movie or something,” Clarke chuckled and pushed at her girlfriend’s chest. “I am a great helper.” “No you’re not,” she smiled and ran her hand up Lexa’s neck, pushing her body closer as she found herself stuck between the counter and her quarterback. “I could barely walk after the last time you came over to help.” The words made her shiver, but Lexa grinned as she swallowed and ran her hands over Clarke’s hips. “But you were way more relaxed.” “I can’t wait until practice starts again. You need to work off all that energy somewhere else.” “How about another training session tonight?” The puppy dog eyes were in full effect, distracting her from everything else. The jingling of the bell at the door made them pull apart. Lexa smiled politely, clearing her throat as her girlfriend adjusted her apron. Just a few more days, and they would be gone, away from the safety of their little town. The entire summer had been spent avoiding thinking about it too much, had been spent disappearing to float down the river, to watch movies much too late in Lexa’s room until her mother would come home late from work and politely remind them of the hour, to drop Aden off at his science camp and disappear together to the mountains and spend the day hiking, which inevitably ended with lounging in the shade atop the hill. Lexa took her seat, at her table, and waited until Clarke finished with the first few customers of the morning. Miraculously, without even having to order, a water appeared, with a big bowl of oatmeal and fruit. Just like nearly a year ago, the quarterback sat there and studied plays as the morning rush came and went. Most of her time was spent watching the girl with blonde hair and cheeks that had that damn smile. For the life of her, Lexa couldn’t figure out how she was going to find the motivation to run when she moved to New Haven. XXXXXXXXX

The evening was growing long in the tooth, but neither party could be bothered to let it end without a fight. And even though a mother made her presence known from time to time, it didn’t deter the two sweethearts in the attic hideaway. Nothing really could, with the late-July heat settling on the roof, angry and annoyed. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen your room this clean ever before,” Clarke observed as she hunkered down on the bed while Lexa finished packing and straightening up. “It wasn’t ever dirty, it just feels… I don’t know. Less lived in.” 

“I wasn’t going to leave a mess for my mom.” 

“I know. I just don’t like any of it.” 

“You’ll be doing the same thing in like six weeks.” 

“Oh no. I’m definitely leaving a mess for my mom.” 

Lexa chuckled and zipped up another duffle bag before tossing it on the pile. She gave her room a finally glance and felt a twinge of sadness in the base of her heart, a tiny little tug on her body that felt like she was already gone. She fell into her bed beside her girlfriend and smiled when a hand pushed hair away from her face. 

“You’re going to go across the country tomorrow,” Clarke whispered. “And I will miss you. But you are going to do something spectacular.” 

The quarterback slid her hand around Clarke’s hip, her thumb touching the warm skin there. She liked the feeling of her, and she wanted to remember it. 

“I’ll miss you badly.” 

“Obviously. I’m incredibly missable.” 

Lexa smiled as Clarke held it there and kissed her eagerly, without holding anything back, to try to say what she couldn’t. Hands gripped on her hips and she pushed forward toward Lexa. Hands moved to her neck and she dug her hands into her girlfriend’s hair. 

“I’ll come see you when you move in,” Lexa promised. “Just a three hour train ride and I can be there.” 

“And you’ll work very hard earning that starting spot this summer. No distractions. And if you get a chance,” Clarke grinned and slide her hand up her girlfriend’s stomach. “To get in shape.” 

“You oogling me is really good motivation.” 

“I don’t oogle,” Clarke shook her head as lips moved to her neck. She felt Lexa settle atop her and closed her eyes, pulling her closer, always closer. “I appreciate.” 

“You’ll have a good summer, right? Not miss me too much.” 

“I’ll miss you plenty, but I’ll try.” 

“Will you, um,” Lexa pulled away slightly, her lips a little puffier, her eyes a little more dilated, her hands touching skin and aching for more. “Would you do me a favor?” 

“Your mom is still making dinner. We have like an hour before dinner. I plan on doing a few favors for you.” 

“No, no, not that,” she shook her head. “Well. Kind of that. But I just… I want you to have a good time this summer, and not think about me. But while you’re doing that, could you watch out for Aden? He gets… he gets quiet sometimes. And my mom. She works too hard. I don’t want to leave them.” 

Her eyes were a little glassy with the confession and Clarke pressed her hand to her chest and nodded with a smile before kissing her softly. 

“I’ll keep an eye on them.” 

“You have no idea how good that is to hear.” 

“I can imagine.”

“Any favors I can do for you?” Lexa ventured with a smile. 

“One or two.” 

XXXXXXXXXX

It wasn’t easy for the first week, but Clarke kept telling herself that if she could make it one week, then she could do it, without a doubt. As hard as it was, she clawed her way through the first seven days without Lexa almost intact and only cried a handful to a dozen times. 

They survived with FaceTime and texts and calls. She got to see a lot of Lexa’s new world with tons of pictures and a lot of eager explanations, and Clarke made sure to keep plans with friends, electing to fake it and hopefully find some moments of happiness. And she did, swimming with friends, parties by the river, working at the café. It was all doable when she didn’t take any time to think about it. 

And every night when she talked with her girlfriend on the phone, Clarke had something to tell her that she did that day to keep herself busy. And she got to hear about how crazy training was, and how awesome the team was, and how exciting being on her own seemed to be. Clarke could handle listening to Lexa talk for hours. 

But there was something she needed to do, and she waited until the first milestone of a week to muster up the courage to do it. 

“Clarke, honey, it is so good to see you,” Gabby opened the door and smiled, wiping her hands in the towel on her shoulder before hugging the girl at her door tightly. 

“It’s good to see you, too,” Clarke sighed, melting into the motherly embrace. 

“I hope you’re hungry. I made chicken.” 

“Is it cooked?” 

“Ha ha. Very funny,” she rolled her eyes, grinning as she ushered her guest inside. 

The house smelled warm and delicious, and somehow felt a little different without Lexa’s bag of gear by the door and her cleats clogging up the entryway. The noises were still the same, some music playing over the small radio on the kitchen counter and Aden’s music thumping overhead, but there wasn’t a happy girl about to lope down the steps at the sound of the door and kiss the guest, and everyone knew it. 

“How have you been? How’s summer so far?” Gabby asked as Clarke followed toward the kitchen. 

“Not too bad. Normal stuff. Working and preparing to leave.” 

“Ah, to be young and with the summer ahead,” she wistfully sighed before taking the chicken out of the oven. 

Her phone rang, and Clarke saw the familiar pep in her step to answer it after she looked at the clock, familiar with the schedule Lexa liked to keep. 

“Hey, kid. How are you?” she smiled at her phone as her daughter’s face popped on the screen. “Your timing is great. Look who just showed up for dinner.” 

Clarke waved at her girlfriend from the counter earning a huge smile. 

“Make sure the chicken is cooked,” Lexa offered.  

“Way ahead of you.” 

“How was practice today? You still sore in the shoulder?” 

“It was great. I got some time in on the first line and had a really good film session. I just got back from dinner with a bunch of the guys. It was Shawn’s birthday, so we went to get a bite at this awesome Chinese place I can’t wait to show you both.”

“And you’re back in the dorm by nine?” 

“A couple of the other guys went to grab drinks, but I’ve honestly never been more tired in my entire life, and we have a five call time tomorrow for conditioning.” 

“Okay, honey, well thanks for calling me. You should sleep.” 

“I will. Clarke, wake me up later so you can tell me all about dinner and your day?” 

“We’ll see,” she shrugged and smiled. 

“I’ll be half asleep but I’m extra cute when I’m half-asleep.” 

“It’s true,” Gabby nodded. “She’s impossible to tolerate when she’s awake.” 

“Very funny,” Lexa rolled her eyes. “I love you guys. Have a good dinner. I’m sorry I missed it.” 

“Get some sleep,” they both ordered. 

It was a good dinner. Clarke enjoyed her time with Lexa’s family as she always did, and she felt a little better that Lexa gave her something to do. Maybe it was a win-win all along, that Lexa got to make sure her family was watched, and Clarke would have something to do. She wasn’t sure she could give Lexa all the credit for the plan, just that she was glad it worked out that way. 

XXXXXXXXX

It had been a long two months. Clarke felt every second of it, she thought, despite how busy she was preparing to move across the country. There was still work, and there was still time with friends, still the summer shenanigans she’d come to love, still time with everyone else who was going their own ways as well. 

It took forever and it went on in a blink. But by the time she got off the plane and picked up her luggage, she realized she didn’t particularly miss home at all. As she stood on the curb and waited for an Uber, she wasn’t as daunted by the idea of change as she had expected, but rather eager to embrace it all. 

“Excuse me, ma’am, you’re going to have to move along--”

Dumbfounded, Clarke stared at her girlfriend, who seemed to have somehow gotten taller and prettier in their time apart, standing next to an old truck. Clad in a backward blue ball cap and a torn up workout shirt that looked as if it was still dirty from a morning practice. 

“What are you--?” Clarke began to ask before smiling too much and launching herself into her quarterback’s arms. 

It felt good, to feel Lexa’s arms around her waist, to smell the sun on her neck, to fit so snuggly there. Clarke squeezed with all of her might, kissing what she could smooshed there, with Lexa’s arms returning it, a laugh in her throat strangled from escaping. 

Somehow Clarke realized her legs wrapped around Lexa and she was essentially a koala, latched there. She didn’t care. She kissed her girlfriend, ignoring the honks of the cars and the swirling police that wanted to usher everyone along. She somehow became the person who missed another persons lips. It was infuriating. 

“How did you know?” 

“My mom told me about your flight,” Lexa shrugged. “I borrowed a truck from one of the guys on the line. They think you’re hot.” 

“Well, that’s… sweet, I guess.” 

“I couldn’t wait to see you. Even if it’s just for a little bit.”

“You’re getting soft on me, Woods.” 

“Yeah,” she grinned, squeezing again. “I don’t care. I knew no one would be here to take you to school.” 

“I was just going to uber or taxi.” 

“I’m going to be the person who takes you where you need to go, even if you don’t ask or expect it, and not in as creepy a way as that sounds--”

She was silenced with another kiss as Clarke struggled to hide her smile. 

[tonystarksfavoritedaughter]

Crazy Rich Avengers

Chapter 1:

Summary: You and Peter have been dating for a little over 6 months and have not yet met the Avengers. You were getting curious as to when you would meet them, until you get an invitation from Tony Stark himself, inviting you and Peter to Wanda and Vision’s wedding in Hawaii over Spring Break. You thought that it would be nice to go and finally meet everyone, but what will you think after you’ve been tested by the team?

*Based on the movie Crazy Rich Asians, each chapter will be a different scene from the movie. There will be 15 chapters. Also includes a GIF from the movie scene at the beginning of each chapter.

A/N: I’ve had this series planned for a little while now, and I just got this chapter done and edited and I feel really good about it. I didn’t know if anyone would want to read this until I posted about it yesterday and got some really good feedback, so thank you all who liked it and asked to be on the taglist so much! This chapter is the first scene of the movie, just some things are switched up to fit Peter and the Avengers. Just note that this one is kind of short and nothing much really happens in this chapter since it is just the beginning, but hopefully the next one is a bit juicer. 

Warnings: swearing and fluff 

Word count: 2166

Chapter 1

“Okay class, make sure to email me those presentations by Monday. I don’t want to keep reminding you guys over Spring Break because I’ve still got a life outside being a professor.” The whole class laughs at your professor’s bluntness. It kind of reminds you of your friend from high school, who would always spoke her truth, even when no one asked for it. You packed your things and waited for a clear space to exit your row. Who knew so many kids would be in a business class? Not you apparently. You were a culinary student at the Institute of Culinary Education or ICE for short. Your dream was to become a baker and own your bakery, hence the business class. This was your last class of the day, and you couldn’t wait to see your boyfriend. You two had been dating for a little over six months and it was the best six months you could ever ask for.

You exited out of the classroom, finally, and made your way towards the elevator. On the way down, you looked through your messages and saw that you had five new texts from Peter.

Peter: Hey babe! I’m out of my photography class now. (1:15)

Peter: Waiting by the couches (1:15)

Peter: I miss you (1:17)

Peter: I’m hungry. Let’s go to that pizza place for lunch. I really want some of their cannoli’s (1:20)

Peter: Y/NNN!!! WHERE ARE YOU??? (1:23)

The elevator stopped at the lobby and you walked over to Peter, who sprang out of his seat and practically ran over to you. He hugged with the force of what you assumed felt like ten tons just based on how tight he held you. You laughed at his clinginess and pushed him off of you.

“Dude my class ran like ten minutes late. What’s the matter with you?” you laugh.

He held your hand in his own and smiles at you. “Just missed you is all. Did you see my text about the cannoli’s?”

“Yeah I saw it.”

“And?” he asks hopefully.

“Aaaaaand what?” you played dumb just to see his cute pouty face.

“Can we get cannoli’s?”

“Yes, we can get a cannoli.”

“Ah! You’re the best! Cannoli’s!” he yells at an insane volume for someone who’s just walking down the street. This earns you both a weird look from the people on the sidewalk. You were about to kiss his cheek until he just took off down the street with your hand still in his. You guessed you never knew he liked cannoli’s so much. Maybe you should try out a recipe and make him some one day.

You get into the pizza restaurant and sit down across from each other and waited for the waiter to take your order. You order your drinks; Peter gets Diet Pepsi and you get a Sprite. Both of you talk about how your classes went and held each other’s hand while you talked.

“So, I’ve got to do this project for my class,” Peter began, “And my camera is at the Compound, so tomorrow I’ll be a little late getting home.”

“Okay, that’s fine. Oh! Speaking of which,” you slam your palms on the table, which makes Peter jump a little. “When am I going to meet them? I mean we’ve been dating for going on seven months now, and I still haven’t met them. And I know they know about me because I got a message from Nat telling me happy birthday two weeks ago.” You raise an eyebrow at him waiting for his answer.

“Speaking of said topic, that reminds me. We got invited to Wanda and Vision’s wedding. And it is next Friday in Hawaii, which is perfect because a) we don’t have classes because it’s Spring Break, and b) I know Hawaii is one of your bucket list places.”

Your jawed dropped for several reasons. One, it’s Wanda and Vision’s fucking wedding! You never met them, but from the way Peter talked about them, you could tell they were meant to be. You always thought that they were like what you and Peter had times one hundred.

“Are you serious? They’re having their wedding in Hawaii?”

“Yeah. They thought that since Mr. Stark – “

“What can I get you two today?” the waiter asked breathless. You didn’t even realize how busy they were.

You looked up at him, “I’ll have a slice of the cheese pizza please?”

“And I’ll have two slices of the meat lovers. And can I get three of your best cannoli’s please?” Peter smiled at the waiter as he wrote down your order.

“Alright that’ll be right out.” He walked away almost jogging to get your order in. Goodness they were slammed.

“As I was saying,” Peter continued. “Mr. Stark has one of those beach houses in Maui and so, they thought that it would be the perfect place for them to tie the knot.”

“Wow, so, we’re invited? Like we’re going to Maui and attending the wedding? And meeting everyone?” you asked now slightly worried.

“Yeah,” he drags out confused. “That’s what kind of what ‘You’re Invited’ means.”

“I know, it’s just…this will be the first time I’m meeting them and I always imagined it would be at a like Sunday dinner type of thing. Not a fucking Avengers wedding!”

“It’s okay, I know they’re gonna love you no matter what.”

You take a sip of your drink, “This is also works out for another reason because MJ has been asking us to come see her ever since she moved to Kahului.”

“All the more reason to go.”

You both get your food and Peter immediately starts on the cannoli’s that he’s been longing to eat and practically moans at the taste of them. You get the check and pay and tipped extra for your waiter, because they need to be paid way more than minimum wage. The two of you walk out and head home so you can spend the rest of the night together.

“So, when do we leave for Maui?” you ask, swinging your intertwined hands between the two of you.

“Umm, I believe on Saturday.”

Today was Thursday so that means that you only had tonight and tomorrow to pack for a whole entire week. “Shit! I have almost no clothes washed, are you kidding me?” you yell. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner?”

“I just found out this morning!” he yelled back.

“Okay, well it’s a good thing tomorrow I don’t have classes because now I have to do laundry all damn day.” You reach your shared apartment and go to change clothes and you go straight to the laundry room, faster than Peter could imagine. All of your good, cute clothes had to be air dried and so that’s what you did first. After half hour of folding, and drying, and hanging up clothes non-stop, Peter came in wrapped his arms around you.

“Baby, you’ve been here for forever, come sit down with me,” he pleaded.

“I will once I have all the clothes done, but until then,” you pat his cheek. “I can’t.”

He sighs an ‘okay’ and plants a kiss on your cheek and walks away. About twenty minutes later you had gotten all the laundry done and went to join Peter on the couch. He was watching reruns of Brooklyn 99 which was one of your favorite shows. He put his arms out and made grabby hands and you leaned into his touch. You laid your head on his chest with the rest of your body sprawled out on the couch. He put his arm around your shoulders and kissed the top of your head. You looked up and kissed his lips and sat up just a bit straighter. One of his hands went to the back of your neck and the other rubbed your thigh, and you relaxed even more into him. Your right hand carded through his hair and the other sat splayed on his peck, slightly gripping his shirt. You two stayed like this for what felt like hours, just basking in each other’s comfort. You pulled back to breathe and gave him one last kiss before going back to your original position, laying on him.

“What do you wanna watch?” He yawned.

“Well since your yawning and –“ you yawned this time. “And so am I, let’s just take a nap.”

He hummed in agreement and led you to your shared bedroom and he changed into just a pair of sweatpants. You laid down and he did shortly after. You turned, facing him as your chests were touching. You stared at him for quite a long time before you even realized that you were. His face scrunched up that was so cute you wanted to take a picture.

“What?”

“Nothing. You just look cute,” you said back.

“I love you.”

“I love you more.”

“Nope. I do,” he challenged.

“That’s impossible because I love you to Jupiter and back,” you kissed his nose, ultimately shutting it down because you were tired. School had kicked your ass this week and you hadn’t really had anytime to just lay with Peter. You scooted down a bit so, you could lay your head on his chest, your legs intertwined, as he held you against him so tight that nothing could slip in between you two.

The next morning you had woken up extra early to make some French toast for you and Peter. You got out the bread and butter and the rest of the ingredients and started cooking. Since you were the one who was in the culinary department, the silent agreement between you and Peter was that you would cook, and he would clean your mess. You tried to not make too much of a mess, because you weren’t that mean. After a couple more minutes you got breakfast done and at that exact moment you put the toast on the plate, Peter comes waddling out with his hair a mess. It was almost like it was scripted like a scene in a movie.

“I smelled French Toast,” he smiled.

“Mhm, I thought that I would be nice and cook breakfast for you this time.” You pecked his cheek and gave him the syrup.

“Eat up and get ready for a long day of packing suitcases, babe,” you winked at him.

“Oh boy.” You didn’t hear his sarcasm often, but when you did it always made you chuckle.

He went over to the couch and you followed setting up the coffee table and turning on Spongebob to watch as you ate. You turned towards him and smiled and received a kiss on the nose. Today was going to be a good day, you thought.

It was now four thirty in the evening and you and Peter were packing up all your belongings into your suitcases. “Okay so you need your swim trunks, flip flops, sunglasses, and what else?” You ask.

“Is that just for swimming?” You nodded. “Then yeah I think that’s it.” You went over to his drawer grabbing his trunks out along with your swimsuit. You had all your clothes spread out into separate piles consisting of swimwear, pajamas, nice shirts, casual shirts, and wedding attire. Peter grabbed all of his clothes and stuffed them into his suitcase and you did the same. After that you went to the bathroom to grab all extra stuff that consisted of teeth and hair products, and everything in that category. Peter went into the kitchen to the medicine and started to pack anything that might be needed for allergy’s and whatnot. You figured you would pack your purse of carry on items before you left tomorrow morning.

After two hours of packing and double checking, and once the bed was cleared, you flopped down face first and groaned. “I’m so exhausted,” you huffed.

“Aww, is my baby tired?” He asked this as he pressed feather-light kisses to your neck that always made you shudder.

“Yes,” you say as you awaited a kiss on the lips. He happily kisses you, slow and lovingly, and you feel like you could stay there for eternity. He pulls away for minute to catch his breath. “We should probably figure out what we want to do for dinner.”

“How ‘bout leftovers? There’s still some enchiladas or lemon pepper chicken in the fridge.”

“Ooooh, let’s do chicken.”

You get up from the bed to heat the chicken up in the oven. “Imma make some garlic cheesy rice too!” You shout from the kitchen.

“Sounds good, baby.”

You two make your dinner and eat in a comfortable silence, watching TV. You both decided to watch one more episode of Parks and Rec before calling it a night, and Peter figured it would be smart to go to bed early since you would both have a long day of checking flights and meeting the Avengers tomorrow; and that was tiring by itself.

Tag-List: @randomstufflol29​ @spideyspeaches​ @binnotjin​

[echo-hiraeth]

Chapter 10: One of those long-sleeved dresses

Part of the “Ilicit Limerence” series

Pairing: Javier Peña x F!Reader

Summary: The pressure is on now that the government is negotiating with Escobar. The team decides to take the edge off, but when it comes to it, Javier can’t keep calm.

Warnings: swearing, angst, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, nudity, mentions of pregnancy symptoms, alcohol

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A/n: Hello sweethearts! My sincere apologies for going MIA, I had a really rough week with tonnes of deadlines, but accept this 6k plus chapter! Let me know what you think. Lots of love!

“He did what now?”, Connie questioned, brow quirked in amusement as she sipped on her wine.

You cackled along with her, fingers playing with the stem of a wine glass, which was filled with orange juice. “I’m serious, he’s surrendering his key this weekend!”

“Well would you look at that, Javier Peña settling down huh?”, she smiled, clinking her glass to yours, “I don’t know how, but you did it.”

“I’ll cheers to that, sister”, you gloated, the smile on your face just getting bigger and bigger as the night went on.

The boys were out together, leaving you and Connie alone with the baby. Olivia had been sound asleep for about an hour now and as soon as that baby monitor didn’t detect any fussy noises, it was go-time. How she got the drinks out that fast, you hadn’t a clue, but you weren’t complaining when she got out the chips as well. Seeing how you were back to work and she had a kid to take care of, you hadn’t seen one another a lot this week, but tonight you were just hanging out, catching up.

“How’s the clinic been?”

She sighed, letting her head fall back on the couch. “Sometimes I wish you would just quit and join me already. I swear they only speak in Spanish to spite me.”

You huffed out a laugh, only laughing harder as the two of you locked eyes. It was one of those moments that didn’t make sense, but was hilarious nonetheless. You clutched your stomach as a cramp threatened to come up. “Okay – okay, stop, stop, stop”, you yelped, struggling to catch your breath as you kept laughing.

Connie was wheezing at this point, doubling over as well, the rest of her red wine spilling into your lap. “Aha – shit that hurts”, she gasped, rubbing at her cheeks as they cramped up.

You took a few deep breaths, finally having stopped giggling away. In one swift motion you took the fragile glass from her hands. “Alright, alright, Murphy, you’re too drunk to keep this going.”

“Oh come oooon, it’s my house, I call last round!”, she whined, reaching for the bottle on the coffee table.

You jerked it away just in time, holding it over your head as she groaned and rolled her eyes. “Connie, I’m serious, you have a baby to take care of tomorrow, go get ready for bed.”

She pouted, dragging herself up off the couch as she slumped towards the bathroom. “You’re no fuuuun.”

Shaking your head, you walked over to the kitchen, rinsing the glasses and putting the half-empty bottle in the fridge while your friend attended to her business in the small bathroom. It was a little past midnight now, just about time for the guys to come back too, in fact they were a little late already. The three of you still had work in the morning, considering it was a Thursday night, but no-one other than you seemed to give it much thought.

Some stumbling in the general direction of the two backrooms caught your attention, drying your hands before hurrying your way over to the bathroom. Only there wasn’t anyone there. You peeked into the bedroom, seeing your friend sprawled out on top of the duvet, still fully dressed. Her husband could take care of that. She’d knocked the alarm clock over, successfully unplugging it from the wall in the process. You picked it up, putting it back into place before heading back into the kitchen. Being the good friend that you were, you filled up a glass of water and along with an aspirin, put it on her nightstand. She’d thank you in the morning.

Once back in the living room, you cleaned up the messes, stowing away the snacks in the cupboard and washing the dirty dishes in the sink. By the time you were putting everything back into its spot, clock striking past one, the door swung open. They were mid-conversation, Steve way too loud for your liking, drunk out of his mind. Well, they were married after all – you thought, thinking back of your passed out friend.

Javier seemed fine, supporting Steve as he guided him onto the couch, shooting you an annoyed glare halfway through. You rested a hand on your lower back, trying to ease the pain as you just watched the two of them, Steve’s hand grabbing towards you.

“She’s maaaad”, he noted, giving Javier a look.

You bit back a chuckle, not wanting to give him the satisfaction, instead just motioning towards the door. The other man understood, slowly nodding before throwing a balled-up blanket at his partner. “See you at the office, Murphy.”

He grabbed your coat off the hanger, opening the door as he waited for you. You pecked his cheek in passing, taking the coat from him as you put it on, the coldness in the hallway already making you shiver. “M’sorry hermosa”, he sighed slinging a warm arm around you.

“How much did you have?”, you asked, leaning your head on his shoulder as you walked down to the lobby.

“About three, I’m good to drive”, he replied, pressing a sweet kiss to the crown of your head.

 It was a difficult night, having to run to the bathroom every other half hour as either your bladder or stomach pestered you. Javier was sleeping soundly, his whiskey tending to have that effect. You’d hit him over the head if you didn’t love him as much as you did. The acid reflux was killing you, no matter how upright you sat. You were never touching orange juice again, you vowed, fuck that.

Javier woke up to you sitting up against the headboard, neck at an awkward angle as you softly snored. It was then he noticed the bucket by the bedside, empty, but still there as a precaution. He’d let you sleep a little longer, off to the kitchen to prepare a breakfast while he woke up fully. As he flipped his omelette you shuffled out of the bedroom, rubbing your eyes as you stubbed your right into the couch.

“Motherfucker”, you exclaimed, pursing your lips in pain.

He grinned from his spot in the kitchen, winking as you flipped him an early morning bird. “Sit down before you break a leg.”

You plopped down on the chair, cradling your head in your hands out of sheer misery. You were exhausted and had an excruciating pain in your neck and back, not to mention how raw your throat felt, the acid reflux having left its mark. “Would you mind grabbing a coffee at work? I-I don’t feel particularly well.”

He put two plates on the table, sitting down next to you, resting a hand on your upper back. “Should’ve woken me up”, he mumbled, keeping hand there as he started digging in.

“Wouldn’t have made much of a difference anyway. Thank you for cooking”, you smiled, starting on your own plate.

The rest of the morning was slow, Javier proving to be very helpful as he rinsed your hair for you. There was nothing sexual about it, just simply wanting to ease things for you. You’d been okay for most of the week, morning sickness seemingly gone, but last night’s shenanigans got you good. On top of that your jeans didn’t button, stomach starting to protrude a bit more in your ninth week. Whether it was the exhaustion, annoyance or a culmination of everything at this point, you didn’t know, but you broke down into tears.

“Corazón?”, he asked, barging into the room, cupping your face in both hands. “What’s wrong, what happened?”

“I-I don’t know really, just my jeans don’t fit and – and”, you couldn’t speak anymore, just crying it out, keening into his touch as his thumbs swiped the salty tears away.

He let go with one hand, bringing it down to the denim, softly inching it down your legs. “Weather’s nice enough today, why don’t you wear one of those long-sleeved dresses? Casual Friday was still a thing last time I checked.”

You huffed out a breathy laugh, hiding your face in the safety of his shoulder. “God Javi, I’m such a mess. Are you sure you wanna move in with this?”, you asked half-joking.

“Stop that”, he groaned, lifting your chin to tangle his lips with yours. “You are the most gorgeous, smart, funny, beautiful, passionate and sexy woman I’ve ever had the pleasure of meeting. Now put on that cute dress or I will throw you onto that bed and make sure you know just how riled up you get me.”

You kissed the corner of his mouth, smiling as you did so, stepping out of your jeans before tiptoeing over to your wardrobe. He watched you as you slipped on the dress, fishing a pair of tights from your bottom drawer. You sat on the edge of the bed, rolling up the tights before slipping a first leg onto your foot, carefully hoisting them up, being mindful not to rip them with your longer nails.

In a passing motion, Javier vowed to rip them off of you later that same day.

 In preparation of new measures, you had to sit through another couple meetings and to say they were boring, would’ve been an understatement. You and Javier sat close to one another, Steve sat on the chair between the two of you. He’d noticed you were struggling to keep up, eyes drooping as the search block just went on and on. After about an hour, a break was announced, which was much-needed. Everyone got up as you remained seated, not entirely sure of what was happening, attention span completely missing.

Steve got up as well, leaving the room to fetch some caffeinated drinks for the three of you. But Javi stayed put, scooting closer as he cautiously touched your arm. “Hey, what’s going on?”, he hovered, spinning your chair around to face him.

You stretched your arms over your head, letting out a loud yawn. “’M just sleepy.”

“I know baby, couple more hours. Why don’t you take the couch in the office during lunch?”, he suggested, leaning back in his own chair.

“Hmm, wouldn’t be fair to the two of you, really”, you sighed, standing up to stretch your legs.

He stood as well, bringing you in closer to capture your lips in short-lived kiss. “Go walk around the office for a bit, it’ll wake you up. Steve’s bringing you some of that tea.”

“Thank you Javi, you’re a hero”, you praised, dragging him down for another kiss. “Be back in ten.”

You meandered your way into the restrooms, finishing up at the sink, dunking your tingling hands under the cold water. Once dry you put your cold hands up against your neck, hoping that the temperature shock would help you out of your drowsy state. It did to a certain extent, the icy cold feel of your fingers on your warm skin making you shiver a bit.

Fuck – you craved that sweet kickstart of coffee, but even just passing by the small kitchenette, the odour was too pungent, nearly making you wretch. You nose scrunched up in revulsion, you quickened your pace, hoping to get away before any nausea could settle in. It was then you felt the familiar hot liquid tickling down your chest, letting out a yelp as it scorched your tender skin.

“Shit – are you alright ma’am?”, an unfamiliar voice sounded.

You peeled the fabric of your dress away from you, to relieve some of the heat. “That’s gonna stain”, you joked, trying to divert your attention from the burn on your skin.

“At least it’s a memorable introduction”, he chuckled, dipping his head into the kitchenette to grab a hold of the tissue box. “Stechner, Bill, I’m CIA.”

You pulled a set of tissues from the box, stuffing these between your body and dress, trying to alleviate the two, creating somewhat of a barrier. As you dabbed away you told him your name, which resulted in a raised brow. “Am I wanted or something?”, you quipped, trying to rub some of the stains out of the fabric.

“You’re partnered with Murphy and Peña, are you not?”

“That I am, speaking of which, I have a briefing to rush to”, you laughed awkwardly, the look he was giving you nothing short of unnerving.

He gave you a smirk. “I do hope we run into one another again, ma’am.”

You shivered at the comment, hastily making your way back to the conference room. They’d already picked up again, conversation in full-swing as you cracked the door open, wordlessly retaking your seat. You got some looks, no doubt because of the huge stain on your front and wide-eyes.

You certainly didn’t feel sleepy anymore. The feeling now overtaken by one of discomfort and unease as your clothes clung to you, the tissues already soaked through. Steve handed you a cup of green tea, face contorting in confusion. You made a gesture of dismissal, it clearly not being the place and time for an explanation. But the meeting was cut short as Noonan was whisked away by her assistant, clearly a matter of urgency, if not emergency.

The two men directed their attention in your direction, tilting their heads almost synchronically. “Who the fuck is Stechner and why does he hate both of you”, you demanded, clearly not amused.

“Stechner? Oh that’s all Javi. Ya see, your sweet menace of a boyfriend has had some communistic tendencies in the past”, the blonde taunted.

“Murphy. Watch your mouth”, Javier warned, throwing his friend a death-glare.

Your mouth fell open in shock and something along the lines of amusement. “You slept with a communist?”

Steve and you shared a glance, both sputtering out a string of laughter as Javier just sat there, looking up at the ceiling. “That was years ago. Now cut your bullshit, both of you. Stechner’s just an entitled asshole.”

The two of you calmed down, catching your breath as Javier grew steadily more annoyed, giving you an angry glare. “Oh come on, at least let me laugh about your hook-ups!”

Murphy clapped Javi on his back, mumbling about getting back to work as he exited the room, leaving the two of you alone once again.

“Is that why you wanna get out of that apartment, get rid of the evidence?”, you continued mocking him.

He took a few strides towards you, placing a hand on the wall beside you, towering over you. With the proximity you could feel the soft tickle of his huffs on your lips as you stared up at him. “I’m warning you, hermosa, you don’t want to go there.”

Something about his tone made it difficult for you to determine whether he was being genuine or not. For fear of aggravating him, you decided to shut up and not press on it anymore. “Lo siento cielo”, you croaked out suddenly feeling very self-aware as he brought up his other hand to rest on the opposite side of your face.

He looked you over, gaze lingering on your dress. “Mi corazón, ¿te hizo daño?“ (My heart, did he hurt you?)

Words didn’t come to you, mind overtaken by his cologne and frankly how tempting his lips looked right about now. He cleared his throat, making your eyes dart upwards. “Yeah, yeah – I mean no! No! I’m fine.”

His lips were slightly parted as he indulged in the desperate look you gave him, fingertips softly stroking your neck. “Should probably change out of that dress”, he muttered, lips ghosting over yours, “unless you need some help.”

You couldn’t help yourself as you threw yourself against him, lips painfully colliding with his in a bruising kiss. His hands found themselves on your hips, drifting towards the curve of your behind. “If you don’t stop now we’re gonna get in a lot of trouble”, you cautioned, supressing a moan as his fingers squeezed your ass.

“Cierto.. pero quítate ese vestido, estás empapada”, he groans, slipping his hands under the skirt. (True.. but you need to take that dress off, it’s soaking wet.)

You nodded fervently, pushing your hips into his, panting: “Supply closet, spare t-shirts.”

With your hand held in his, he hauled you towards said closet, making sure to be quick, not wanting to attract unwanted attention. It had to be a quickie, unless you wanted the whole office to know. So you hastily slipped the dress over your head and Javi ripped your tights down, leaving a run or four in your hose. He forcefully shoved his trousers down his hips, taking himself out of his boxers.

You sat on top of some plastic bins filled with spare supplies, legs spread as he moved to stand in between them. There was no time to be gentle, only to take the edge off. He had to lean over a bit, notching himself at your entrance before slowly pushing, bottoming out. You let out a breathy whimper, which resulted in one of his palms clasping over your mouth. His strokes grew more and more aggressive, the need to be closer to you spurring him on even more. The muffled noises you made were enticing to him, almost as if you were begging him to keep going, show you just who was to be in charge. And so he did. His pace was on the verge of brutal as he drilled into you, the metal racks behind you squeaking and rocking along in rhythm with his tempo. When you head tipped backwards and your eyes closed he knew you were close. He moved his hand to replace it with his mouth, swallowing down the sweet, filthy sounds as you hit your peak, closing your legs around him, locking him into place as he came. His lips left yours with an audible sigh, his forehead resting on your collarbone as he caught his breath.

The two of you cleaned up in the small space, stealing kisses left and right. With every sweep of his calloused fingers across your bare thighs you felt your heart flutter. But eventually, after he found you a pair of joggers that wouldn’t fall off and a t-shirt that wouldn’t be too tight you got dressed.

“How’s it look? Everything you ever hoped for?”, you joked, showing of the baggy, nonchalant outfit.

He pulled you flush against his chest, smirking before embracing you. “Muy hermosa, corazón. You head out first, I’ll bring some lunch.”

With one last peck you left the closet, trying to act as normal as possible with your ripped tights and stained dress under your arm. The post-coital lethargy mixed in with the lack of sleep soon had you struggling to stay awake again. As soon as you plopped down in your rigid desk chair you felt the familiar heaviness settle in your limbs.

“Am I really that boring?”, Steve quipped, not looking up from whatever he was reading.

You straightened up a bit, rolling your shoulders. “Sorry Murph, didn’t really sleep last night.”

“I noticed you looking a little green earlier. Take the couch, I’ll move the boxes so you can lay down”, he offered, already getting up out of his chair.

“It’s okay really, I’ll just get another cup of tea”, you ushered, knowing fully well you were expected to type a whole report by the end of the day based off of someone else’s notes.

Steve walked over to your desk, snatching the notepad out of your hands. “You’re pregnant for God’s sake, go lay down or I’ll have Noonan send you home.”

After some more bickering you’d agreed to switch tasks and that you would be reading up on previous reports and strategy proposals while he’d type the report for you. But after barely three pages your eyes just shut on their own. When Javier came back about twenty minutes later, the folder, still clutched in your hands, laid on your chest, softly rising and falling. He nodded towards his partner, gesturing for him to come grab his lunch. Meanwhile Javier sat down on the end of your couch where your feet laid, carefully placing them in his lap.

“What the fuck do you do to her?”, Steve asked jokingly.

Javier took his lunch out of the plastic bag, replying without looking up: “I dick her down.” Later he added a quiet: “like you’re supposed to.”

When by the end of lunchbreak you were still out, Javier decided to stay put. With your legs resting in his lap he grabbed a hold of the folder on your chest, starting to intently read it. It was in that moment that Steve pulled the old polaroid camera from the bottom drawer, snapping a sneaky picture as the two of you just sat there, somehow entangled with one another wherever you were.

He put the picture in his top drawer, not wanting to interrupt your little moment as Javier rubbed small circles on your ankle, sunken in thought. Today would be the deciding day, and everyone was anxiously awaiting the government’s next move. Though they all knew in the back of their heads, that no matter the decision, it wouldn’t change shit.

It was just a little past one when the news got delivered, some fellow agent sticking their head in to tell them: Escobar’s deal was accepted. La Catedral would become a reality. Javier flung the files onto the ground, tipping his head back as he heaved a disappointed sigh. All those years of chasing, murder and devastating guilt just for Escobar to get away once again.

Steve took note of his partner’s annoyance and never related more. “We’ll get him eventually. For now, we take out the smaller guys. He might’ve won this one, but the fight ain’t over yet Peña.”

Javier rubbed his chin, the other hand still resting on your ankles as he tried to keep his cool. He just couldn’t stop thinking about everything he’d done, seeing the faces of those damn informants flash before his eyes with every blink. The shots he’d fired rang in his ears, making him gnash his teeth. His fingers wrapped around your leg in a bruising grip, only getting more and more forceful. You jolted awake, drawing for a weapon on your belt that wasn’t there, panting as you locked eyes with him. He promptly released his hold of your leg, instead moving to take a hold of your shoulders, steadying you.

“What happened?”, you asked, the scattered papers on the ground enough of an indication for you to know that there was something off.

His lips were pursed together in a thin line, eyes avoiding yours as you got up off the couch. “They agreed”, Steve explained.

Your mouth hung open a bit as you looked at your friend, crossing your arms in front of you as you gave an exasperated huff. “Of course they fucking did.”

 The two of you went home early that day, the car ride uncomfortably silent. You’d noticed the sheer rage and resentment in the way he walked. Without a word you’d taken the keys from him, climbing into the driver’s seat. He looked out of the window the entire time, not bothering to look at the road, or you for that matter. Whatever was happening in that brain of his had a vice grip on him and you weren’t sure if he’d let you help him out.

“Do you want to get some take-out?”

He whipped his head around to face you, noting the way your fingers flexed against the leather of the steering wheel. “What now?”

“F-for dinner. Do you want take-out?”, you stuttered, feeling small under his burning gaze.

A muttered “whatever” was all you were given, his eyes once again trained on the world outside of his window.

Not wanting to elongate the duration of the drive any more, you decided against it, knowing that you had some things left in the fridge. The walk up to your apartment was equally awkward and tense. But when his key didn’t immediately turn in the lock and he banged a fist against the wall, you knew what kind of a night it would be. You gently took the piece of metal from his hand, calmly unlocking the door before letting him in.

“Javi, baby, why don’t you grab a shower while I get dinner started?”, you suggested, setting down your bag by the door.

He kicked his shoes off, humming an agreement before shuffling off towards the bed- and bathroom. When you heard the shower turn on, you felt like you could finally breathe again. You’d seen him angry before, especially when dealing with sicarios first hand, but here, in private – in the comfort of the apartment, it was somewhat unsettling. You got out of the cupboards what you needed, and started washing some veggies while turning the tv on.

When he emerged from the bedroom, loose t-shirt and jeans, damp hair, you gave him a small smile. He pressed a quick kiss to your temple on his way to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of beer. “You smell nice”, you cooed, stepping closer to him as you reached for the glass of water.

“You’d hope so after using all of that bodywash bullshit”, he grumped.

“I’ve been reading up on those pamphlets the doctor gave me”, you started, turning your head towards him, “and it says the baby is about the size of cherry now.”

He gave you a look, shrugging his shoulders before walking off with his plate. “Not really in the mood for baby-talk.”

“Yeah, that’s fine. Anything you’d like to talk about?”, you tried, sitting down on the chair across from his.

He shoved a large bite into his mouth, hunching over a bit. “Nothing.”

You stopped trying after that, just finished your plate and got started on the dishes. Javier brought you his plate and went to have a seat on the couch. You rolled your eyes, scoffing softly, clearly not amused with his antics. I he wanted to be like this about it, then you weren’t going to stick around for it. So when all of the dishes were put away, you headed towards the bedroom, not bothering to talk to him.

Stepping into the bathroom, you locked the door, putting his soaked towels in the hamper. As you cleaned up the water on the floor, you ran a bath, desperately wanting to assuage your aching spine. You wanted to talk to him about, but knew better. If he wanted to talk he’d come to you about it – right? Or was he pulling some reverse psychology shenanigans, really just wanting you to talk to him? Your head was spinning by the time you lowered yourself into the warm water, a pleasurable whine leaving your lips at the contact.

Once the water got cold you got out, wrapping yourself in the fluffy towels you laid out before slipping into some softer pyjamas. You got ready for bed, seeing how you were still exhausted and treated yourself to the “nice-smelling-expensive lotion” for once. By the time you stepped into the bedroom again, door still slightly ajar, Javier was still in the living room. Seeing how it was not even seven yet, you concluded that it would be too early to go to bed and that you could catch up on some housework first. So you emptied the hamper and headed into the kitchen, basket under your arm, trying to get to the laundry room.

Javier looked up from where he laid on the couch. He was on his fifth beer by now, but craved something stronger. He reached for the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table, his need for relief overwhelming at that point. His fingers trembled as he went to light it, closing his eyes in relief as the nicotine hit the back of his throat.

You shut the washer’s door, punching in the right controls before heading back into the kitchen. As you walked into the living space again, you noticed the plumes of smoke trickling upwards. With your hands on your hips you cleared your throat, successfully capturing his attention. “Thought we had an agreement on those?”

“It’s just one”, he groaned, kicking his feet up on the coffee table.

“Take it outside then, you have a damn sunroof, balcony and shared terrace, plenty of options”, you tutted, not putting up with his attitude.

He turned around to look at you, raising a brow at you. “Will you stop bitching already? It’s just a cigarette.”

“In case you forgot, pendejo, I’m still pregnant”, you retorted, marching over to grab a hold of the pack.

He stood up, burning cigarette pursed between his lips. “The fuck do you think you’re doing?”

You yanked the balcony door open, throwing the pack over the railing. “You want your precious smokes, well go fucking get them.”

“Are you fucking crazy?”, he sneered, stepping out onto the balcony.

“I think it’s better if you go home tonight”, you said in a hushed tone.

He gave you an offended look, the smoke lingering in his breath as it fanned across your face. “Over a cigarette?”

“If you don’t want to open up to me then I can’t help you”, you explained, turning away from him.

His form towered over you as he stepped closer, chests nearly touching, a stern hand on your elbow. “Open up to you? And when exactly were you ever open with me? Because last time I checked I’m not the one signing a settlement because it’s convenient.”

“Let go of me”, you ordered, glaring into his eyes.

“You’re being unreasonable”, he pressed, grip on your arm tightening.

You tried to wiggle out, whining at the intensity of his grasp. “You’re scaring me Javier, let go”, you pleaded, voice shakier than before.

“You’re gonna listen first. You’ve been down here for two years and that’s barely anything. Compared to Murphy, to me, you’ve had it easy. Let me catch you up to speed, you haven’t killed anyone, you haven’t washed someone else’s blood off of your hands. You haven’t lost anything or anyone here. You, little miss perfect, have nothing to whine about. So when your boyfriend comes home after a rough day, let him have a drink and cigarette and maybe offer to suck him off.”

Tears had started forming in your eyes. This wasn’t the Javi you knew, even at his worst, this wasn’t the agent you were familiar with. It reminded you of that night where he showed up at your apartment, before he knew you were pregnant, when he fucked you and left. It made you feel sick.

“Who are you?”, you spat, untangling yourself from him. “I’m here for you every day, loving you, hoping to make you happy and this is what I get from you?” He didn’t say anything to that, just faced away from you. “If that is how you want things to be, then you need to leave.” Your voice started faltering, the emotion taking over. “I’ll be in my bedroom, if you want to talk whatever this out, then I suggest you join me and think about what the hell you need to say very carefully.”

His head hung low as you disappeared into the apartment, the sound of your muffled sobs stinging in his chest. He hadn’t meant for it to sound that harsh or condescending. He knew perfectly well what you had been going through both in and out of the field. Truth is, he was completely out of line and felt like a complete dick. It was a defence mechanism he had yet to get rid of. Javier wasn’t used to somebody helping him just because, that’s not the way things went here in Bogotá. There was always a catch, always something, whether it was money, power or information, there was always something.

You were his girlfriend, he knew that, he just wasn’t used to it yet. You telling him to leave the apartment – your apartment at that had angered him even more and made his reaction all the worse. He tried to take those vital deep breaths, trying to figure out a way to make it up to you. He remembered you complaining that your favourite ice cream flavour was always out in the store. So he got inside, put on his jacket and shoes and headed for the shops.

When you heard the door close, you cried into your pillow. It felt like a middle finger to the face and for a moment you thought that this could be it. This could be the time that he realised he wasn’t up for this. The following twenty minutes were the most painful ones yet. You thought you were hallucinating when the door cracked open again, shuffling out of your bedroom to see Javier standing in the doorway, plastic bag in hand.

“I – I uh, I went to get some stuff, so we can talk”, he stumbled, toeing his shoes off.

You cracked a small smile at him, beckoning for him to sit down on the couch with you. He grabbed some spoons from the kitchen before joining you. As he sat down you grabbed the tub of ice cream from the bag, eyes going wide. “Oh my God, how did you-“

“I asked them to set some aside last time we went”, he confessed, cracking the lid off for you. “Seemed like a good truce.”

You sunk the first spoon into your mouth, eyes rolling back as you moaned at the taste. “Well, you’re not wrong.”

He chuckled at the sight of you devouring the creamy goods, carefully scooting a bit closer. When you didn’t try to get away he slid an arm around you, pulling you against his chest. “Lo siento por lo de esta tarde. That was way out of line, I shouldn’t have said any of that.” (I’m sorry about earlier.)

“Shut up and try this ice cream, we’ll talk after”, you tutted, shoving a spoonful in his mouth.

The two of you ate the entire tub together, often interrupting the spoon shoving for a sweet, lingering kiss. By the time the tub was empty your legs were draped over his, head resting on one of his collarbones. He was just looking at you, tenderly caressing your cheek.

“I’ve done a lot of heinous shit just to get to Escobar.. so what happened today, it just set me off. It really shouldn’t have, I try not to let it come through when I’m with you but I slipped up.” You didn’t speak or interrupt, just let him say his piece while your softly scratched at his scalp. “I slept with those informants to get crucial information, intel that helped us a long way. But I also just slept with them to get everything out of my system. And then there was you and a month after we slept together I stopped seeing the other girls, even when they’d show up at my door. But there was this girl, a sweet girl really, that was so desperate to get out of here.. it didn’t end well and I couldn’t fucking protect her.”

“Javi, baby, look at me”, you cooed, shifting to straddle his lap. “That girl did what she thought was right, she wanted to escape. It’s not your fault, you did everything you could for her.”

He rested his head against your sternum, wrapping his arms around you to have you just that tad bit closer. “I’ve killed so many people, I’ve done so much fucked up shit.”

“Javier, you’re so much more than that. I adore you, I know you’re a good man. Good people do bad things, it’s the way things go around here. That day out in the small district, you nagging about my vest? You saved my life. And what we’ve got going on, us and this baby, it’s a good thing, something you deserve, Javier.”

He pressed a kiss to the left side of your chest, close to your heart. “You’re the one thing keeping me sane.”

“I try my best”, you chuckled.

“Stop being so amazing, I can’t take it”, he joked, kissing his way up your neck.

You grabbed a hold of his face, having him look up at you. “Javier Peña, I’m in love with you and all your quirks. But if you smoke one more cigarette in this here apartment, I will kick you out.”

Taglist: @pedritomando @peterhollandkait @ophelia-ingenue @radiowallet @phoenixhalliwell @diogodxlot @rosiefridayrogersunday @a-court-of-feysand-and-elorcan @asta-lily @the-bottom-of-the-abyss​

[svtskneecaps]

crew and cast

(gender neutral) reader x jihoon

genre: fluff + some?? angst? listen i tried lmao; words: 2.8k

well howdy @toxicsocial​ tis i, your tct secret santa. so uh, i can’t actually make people cry in a timely manner and i didn’t figure most people would be down to read like 9k of buildup, so!! the angst is minimal!!! but i tried really hard and i hope you like it i love you so much also i forgot to title it again until right now so don’t look at it too hard

You loved your high school’s theatre crew. From freshman year they’d been a staple in your life. It was refreshingly stable to be able to walk into the tech room anytime and reliably know what would be going on. Except, there was one thing about theatre you couldn’t stand: Lee Jihoon. You’d avoided him since freshman year, but unfortunately for you, you’d taken over the position of Run Crew Head and Prop Master, and he was the Student Director. You were forced to sit through every production meeting with him.

Which, fine. You’d do anything for the show to run well. But that didn’t change the fact that he made you want to commit a crime.

Or three.

“Great news guys!” you yelled, sweeping into the tech room. “The crutches still aren’t right and Jihoon wants us to repaint the brickwork on the platforms to be less ‘garish’ and the typewriter is from the 1940s when it should be from the 1890s and I’m going to set something on fire!”

Chan slammed his head against the nearest cabinet. “This is the third time he’s rejected the brickwork, oh my god.”

“Fourth time he’s hated the crutches too, and I’ve told him that the only period accurate typewriter in the basement is literally one wrong keystroke from breaking onstage but I guess he’s willing to take that risk for a typewriter that’s going to be in one scene.” You massaged your forehead. “I’m gonna stay late Wednesday so we can have our shit together by Hell Week.”

“I’ll have to join.” Chan peeled his head off the cabinet, cracking his knuckles. “You think Mingyu’s got time to spare? I might get him to help; there’s way too much platform for me to do in time.”

“Dunno, he’s pretty busy.” Vernon scooped a loose screw out of a sawdust pile and swept the whole thing into the dustpan. “Makeup’s been working hard to get the ‘ragged urchin’ look right.”

“I’ll con Soonyoung into it then, I don’t think they’re rehearsing the dance numbers tomorrow so he might be free.”

“I wish you luck with that, dude.” You scooped the crutch off the floor. “I gotta go beg costumes to let me into the basement storage and see if there’s another goddamn piece of fabric I can use for the crutches.”

“You have fun.”

You ended up getting lucky; Minghao already needed to go down there so you wouldn’t have to fight for cell signal to make sure you were allowed to deface the cloth scraps you’d found.

“You seem stressed,” he noted as he unlocked the basement door.

You snorted. “Stressed is an understatement.”

“Jihoon again?”

“If he tells me to redo the damn crutches again I’m going to nail him to the wall.”

Minghao lead the way down the stairs. “I really thought you had it that time.”

“Nothing is good enough for that guy.”

He shrugged. “He just wants the show to go well.”

“Yeah, well, so do I. He doesn’t have to get up everybody’s ass sticking his opinions where they don’t belong. He’s never been crew, why does he get to make us repaint the entire damn set anyway?”

“He’s the director.”

“Everyone else thought the bricks looked fine!”

Minghao looked at you sideways. “What’s your deal with Jihoon?”

“Like I said, poking his nose where it doesn’t--”

“No, you had beef before he got appointed Student Director.”

You sighed. “I don’t know. He’s always kind of been a pain even when he was ensemble.” You drove your finger into your temple. “And he broke a crucial prop that wasn’t his the night before the show opened and didn’t tell me.”

“You did props?”

“Buddy I was Prop Master. I literally didn’t find out until the Stage Manager tried to run that scene before school.” You glared absently at the shelves of typewriters to one side of the walkway. “I literally had to skip my last three classes and dinner to get a replacement and he never even apologized for it.”

Minghao whistled. “That’s unforgivable.”

“Tell me about it.” You waded through the costume racks to get to the bins of scraps in the back.

“And you’ve never considered forgiving and forgetting? I mean, it’s been two years.”

You sighed, leaning the crutch against a shelf. “I mean. . .”

He snickered. “Come on, it’s just you and me and the ghosts down here, you can say it.”

“I mean. . . he just makes me so mad!” You yanked the lid off a tote with a snap that echoed across the basement. “Like, every time I start thinking maybe he’s not so bad he pulls some other shit on me and I slam right back into hating his goddamn guts.”

“You’re on the same team,” Minghao called down the row. “You’re just trying to make the show better.”

“Making the show better shouldn’t involve painting the entire set three times.”

“I’m just saying, it’d put at least three years back on your lifespan.”

“Yeah yeah.”

You managed to update the crutches by the end of the day, and repainted the entire set on Wednesday--although you had to sacrifice your lunch and free periods and several hours after school to get it all done. Thursday left you with a finished set and another production meeting.

He didn’t like the bricks.

You saw red.

In the hallway, you pulled him aside.

“What don’t you like about the bricks?”

He frowned. “They detract attention from the actors.”

You wanted to seize him by the shoulders and shake him like a maraca. “It’s gray! It is the darkest most nondescript color we have in the buckets and you’re telling me it detracts attention from the actors? You haven’t even seen them rehearse with it!”

“It’s gonna be too much,” he argued. “It’s the same color as half the costumes--”

“I have seen every single costume in the show, it’s not even close to the same pigment!”

“Even still--”

“Listen,” you snapped, your heartbeat pounding in your ears, “if you want the set redone in time for Hell Week then I expect to see you in the goddamn tech room tomorrow after school wearing something you don’t mind getting paint on because I’m not going to make Chan and Vernon repaint the entire damn set by themselves for the fifth time and I have to figure out how to keep that 1890s typewriter from falling apart, do I make myself clear?”

He looked almost disgusted at the prospect, but he nodded stiffly. “Crystal.”

You turned on your heel just as stiffly, striding away before you lost all composure.

To your complete surprise, Jihoon actually showed up the next day, wearing a pair of faded jeans and a shirt so faded that whatever decal had been on the front had long washed away.

“So he arrives!” Chan yelled from his perch on the desk, where he’d been watching you wrestle with the typewriter.

Jihoon looked distinctly uncomfortable, but he squared his shoulders. “Where do you need me?”

“We gotta move all the set pieces in before we start,” Chan said. “Then I’ll probably have you start on the legs. We gotta wait for Vernon before we can move the tall stuff. One sec, I’ll--” he bolted into the hallway.

Jihoon stared after him, then looked to you. “Where is he going?”

“To tell Vernon we’re actually doing the repaint.” You shrugged. “Honestly I’m surprised you showed up.”

“I said I would.”

“Actually you just said you understood the ultimatum; we had no idea if you’d show or not.”

“Oh.”

You shrugged. “Good to have you anyway.”

Chan returned with Vernon before the silence could get too awkward, and you helped them move all the platforms back into the tech room. From there, Vernon set up his speaker and the real work began.

Jihoon helped choose the color of the bricks (and Chan threatened to really break his leg if he changed his mind about it later), and they got to laying down the base coat. You went back to glaring at the typewriter and reading through every antiques article you could find online.

After trying seven different methods to no avail, you shoved your chair away from the desk. “Typewriters are hellspawn created by the Devil himself to punish unfortunate Prop Masters.”

Vernon snickered. “That good, huh?”

“I’m going to put a screwdriver through the keyboard,” you said mildly.

“Okay maybe don’t do that.” Chan paused to pull a clean paintbrush out of his pocket and throw it at you. “You know where the overalls are; come take a break.”

“Why do you just have that?” Jihoon asked.

“A painter is always prepared.”

Jihoon glanced at you. You shrugged. “I don’t question it.”

Between the four of you, you managed to finish all but one platform by the time Chan and Vernon had to go. Being older, you had infinite time, so you cracked your knuckles and sat back at the typewriter. Jihoon lingered in the doorway.

“You need any help?”

You looked up. “Nah, I think I got it. Thank you, though.”

He shifted. “Listen, I know we didn’t really get off on the right foot but, I’m sorry. I know I never really apologized for the prop, and I’m sorry for how long it took, too.”

You sighed. “It’s fine. It’s kind of unfair of me to hold it against you this long anyway, so, I’m sorry too.” It wasn’t the only reason he made you so angry, but that chip on your shoulder made a lot of other offenses you would have normally overlooked seem larger.

“Can we maybe start over?” he asked. “Freshman year all over again?”

You actually found yourself nodding. “As long as you don’t make us repaint the set ever again.”

He laughed, running a paint-stained hand through his hair. “No, I won’t. I can’t do that to your crew again.”

“Good. Cause we weren’t kidding about breaking your legs.”

“I will keep that in mind.” He hiked up his backpack. “I’ll see you on Monday, then?”

“Happy Hell Week.”

Hell Week was hell (and the sky is blue).

Three of the actors lost their voices four days before Opening Night. One of the glasses for the restaurant scene shattered during the dance number--even though it was supposed to be offstage already--and the third lead got very close to twisting her ankle after landing a jump wrong. The actors could never manage to find their light, there were technical glitches with the backstage mics, and you were so on edge that if you heard the word standby you’d jump so bad you’d bruise your knee on the table.

The typewriter gave you more anxiety than it was worth. The actress using it had strict instructions not to actually touch the keys, because the only thing holding it together was gaff tape. You’d put Jun and Wonwoo in charge of bringing the desk it sat on onstage, because you trusted them to have it under control and keep it from tipping, because if it tipped at an angle any more than about 30 degrees, the keys would get out of alignment and that required time and experience to fix, of which you had neither.

Needless to say, you were two steps away from tearing your hair out.

At least you weren’t fighting with Jihoon, though. You’d even gone out to grab takeout with him for dinner, once, and yelling about all the problems in the car was really cathartic and you came back refreshed and relaxed, for once (only for every muscle in your back to clench at once because an actor bumped the prop table in their hurry to get in costume and one of the glasses fell over).

But it was Opening Night, and you were wound tighter than a spring waiting for everything to go wrong.

And it did.

Jihoon was in the hallway behind the stage, giving Joshua a few final notes about his big solo, and he didn’t check his surroundings closely enough. In his wild gesturing to demonstrate the level of enthusiasm, his arm clipped the typewriter.

And it fell.

He stared at it. Joshua stared at it. You could not tear your eyes from it.

The keys had tilted out of alignment. The bar holding the paper was skewed. The decorative paneling to one side had cracked down the middle. You didn’t have time to fix it before it went on. Maybe you couldn’t fix it at all.

“I am so sorry--” Jihoon started, but you stopped him with a hand, balling the other into a fist.

“Don’t,” you forced through your teeth, because you didn’t want to start yelling at him; it was an honest mistake and it was your fault for not resettling it on the desk after the last run. You were just seething with rage, at yourself, at the typewriter--you didn’t want to project it.

“Ten minutes to go!” someone yelled down the hall. You forced yourself to exhale, gingerly picking it up, flinching with every shift of the keys.

“Is there anything I can--”

“Get to the booth. Tell Seungcheol what happened, just-- be in your place. Jun!” you yelled into the tech room. His head jerked up. “I need you to take over headset for me, can you do that?”

His mouth fell open seeing the typewriter and he nodded, wordlessly, leaping to his feet and hurrying backstage.

Jihoon still stood there, looking between the typewriter and you with an anguished expression. “You’re sure you don’t--”

“I got it,” you said again, clipped. “I can handle it. I can-- just get to the booth, Jihoon!”

You hadn’t yelled. You knew enough not to yell when the audience was already in their seats. But your words had the same effect, because he flinched, and he nodded, and he turned the other way and ran.

Your rage was turning inward as fast as it was dulling, but you had a show to put on, so you placed the broken typewriter carefully on a counter in the tech room and sprinted for the basement.

You managed to get the 1970s typewriter back upstairs and on the desk before it went on, and the show went on without a hitch. The actors hit their marks, all the props found their way back to the prop table, and the pit orchestra didn’t have to loop a section for a missed cue even once.

You waited until everyone was gone before you let yourself cry.

“I really am sorry.”

You looked up.

Jihoon stood in the doorway, twisting his hands.

“It’s fine,” you said. “It’s partially my fault for not making sure it was centered right.” You rubbed your eyes with the palms of your hands, hoping to disguise the redness. “I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

“It’s okay,” he said. “Do you want help?”

“I don’t know if it can even be fixed,” you said, staring blankly at the remains of the typewriter in front of you. ��It might-- it might be beyond my help.”

For a long moment, you stared at it, mind spiralling.

You pushed yourself up. “They’ll want to lock up.” You slung your backpack over your shoulders. “I’ll just come in before the show and work on it. Maybe get Jun to grab me some McDonald’s or something and eat during the intermission.”

Jihoon’s brow furrowed. “That’s not healthy.”

“I’ve done it before.” You waved him off. “The show must go on, you know?” You slung your backpack over your shoulders. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

The day came by in flashes as you researched the typewriter with a renewed vigor. You could probably use hot glue and some kind of putty to hide the crack in the paneling, you could probably put the keys back or at the very least tape them to look like they were back, from a distance. The bar at the top would be much harder but you hadn’t really inspected it the night before so maybe it wouldn’t be as bad as you thought it was?

You didn’t feel particularly hopeful when you stopped by the tech room to pick up the typewriter.

Until you saw the typewriter.

“What the fuck.” It was fixed. The keys aligned, the crack sealed, the bar sitting on top just as it was supposed to be. It looked exactly like it had when you’d first set it on that desk.

Jihoon came around the corner, dried putty staining his hands. “Hey,” he said, seeming tired but absolutely beaming at you.

“Did you do this?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. I didn’t want you putting your health on the line.”

“Oh my god, thank you. I can’t-- this is incredible!” You kept tracing your fingers over the ridge formed by the sealed crack, but you couldn’t see it.

“I did a good job, then?” He put his hands in his pockets, grinning.

“Better than good, oh my god I could kiss you!”

Your cheeks burned when you realized what you’d said, but he laughed. “Whoa, buy me dinner first.”

“Bet,” you said, accepting it like a challenge. “You pick the place, I’ll pay.”

“Okay,” he said, and then lifted his hands. “I gotta wash up.”

“Meet you by the front door in five?”

“It’s a date.”

[itubainaretro]

TW // mentions of violence (the attack) 

Sunday, November 15th 2020 -  22:53 

Maybe right now Sander and Robbe are still together in Sander’s house, putting the last of their dinner away and almost done with cleaning the kitchen so they can head to Sander’s room and get settled for the night.

-

Usually, Robbe spends Sunday nights at home, with his mama, finishing some last minute homework and assignment that he had left unattended during the week, but not tonight. Tonight he’s staying at Sander’s place, just like he has been doing since Friday night, and he still thinks it’s cute how Sander made sure to ask Robbe’s mama himself if there was any problem with Robbe spending the entire weekend with him, including Sunday night, more than a week ago. She said there was no problem as long as Robbe finished his school work on time and really went to school on Monday morning and not skipped classes to stay with Sander. Robbe promised his mama he would be responsible and he made sure to keep that promise, finishing all his school work by Thursday and leaving for Sander’s house Friday afternoon after giving his mama’s cheek a kiss and hugging her goodbye.

Robbe didn’t think too much of it when Sander asked him, thinking maybe Sander just missed him and wanted to spend some alone time with him since his parents would be gone for the weekend so they would have the house all to themselves, besides, he would never pass up the opportunity to spend all the time he could with Sander, so he simply agreed to it, without giving it a second thought. 

Until he realised the date.

Things changed when Robbe woke up today and noticed what day it was and what happened to them a year ago. Their first date. The countless hours they spent at the bar, their bar, talking, getting to know each other, drinking, flirting and taking silly photos of one another. The breathtaking kisses they shared outside. And how it all came to an abrupt end. 

Robbe tried not to think too much about it, he tried to keep those memories out of his brain, locked in a box he shoved at the back of his mind and pretended to forget it existed. Instead he tried to focus on the good parts of the night, like when he got to the bar and saw Sander waiting for him by the bike racks with the most beautiful smile on his face, or when they entered the bar and Sander held the door open for him like a true gentleman, or when he pulled that stupid magic trick he learned when he was a kid and Sander found it amusing despite telling Robbe to stop, a sweet smile adorning his face.

It wasn’t the easiest thing to do, but he managed, being easily distracted by Sander’s presence and all the plans he had for them throughout the day. 

After waking up they watched an old movie, one of Sander’s favourites, in Sander’s bed, and stayed there cuddling for what felt like a thousand years, until their bellies started making weird noises, signaling it was time for them to get up and get some breakfast in their systems. They spent the rest of the morning listening to music and cleaning the mess they made in the kitchen yesterday, during their spontaneous instagram live to try out their new Croque 2000 machine, that was left there to be taken care of later after Sander’s near death experience choking on a tomato. They laughed while remembering Sander’s face after getting rid of the offensive tomato and hugging Robbe, thanking him for saving his life and promising to not try that ever again. Robbe couldn’t stop himself from kissing him and calling him a dork. 

For lunch they had some leftover pizzas they had had on Friday night and sometime during the afternoon, after taking a nap together in front of Sander’s TV while some random documentary played as background noise, Sander requested Robbe’s help in the kitchen again so they could start making dinner. Sander decided to go all out and make them pasta from scratch and it was a delight to see them both messing up until they finally got it right and managed to not only make a decent meal from scratch but a delicious one at that.

-

So right now they’re almost done with the dishes, Robbe washing and rinsing everything and Sander drying them and putting them back in their rightful places. 

After rinsing the last of the cutlery, Robbe washes his hands and waits for Sander to finish drying and putting everything away, leaning on the counter and smiling as he sees Sander shaking his head to the music that plays softly from his phone.

As soon as Sander puts away the last fork he was drying he absentmindedly throws the dishcloth somewhere near the table and grabs Robbe’s waist and pulls him into a kiss. It takes Robbe a bit by surprise but he soon after follows Sander’s lead, opening up to him as soon as he feels Sander’s tongue grazing his bottom lip, asking for entrance. It’s urgent, fast, all consuming and all Robbe can think about, feel and smell is Sander, Sander, Sander.

They make their way to Sander’s room, closing the door out of habit, and Sander pushes Robbe against it to kiss him again. It’s another urgent kiss, but this time it feels desperate, like they’re both trying to hold onto something they don’t know how to name. It feels off.

Sander is the first one to break the kiss, breathing heavily and leaning his head against Robbe’s with his eyes still closed. He takes a deep breath and Robbe waits for him to say something, gently caressing his neck from where his hand had found its way to earlier, hoping it soothes him.

Sander shakes his head, sighing. “I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” Robbe whispers, “it’s okay.”

“No,” Sander shakes his head again, “it’s not.”

Robbe pulls away a little, trying to search for Sander’s eyes, but he still has them closed. He caresses his thumb across Sander’s laugh lines and hopes he understands what Robbe wants from him. Sander opens his eyes but doesn’t meet Robbe’s gaze, looking down instead.

“San, look at me,” Robbe tries again. “Please?”

Sander finally looks at him and the sight of Sander’s defeated green eyes is enough to make Robbe’s heart break.

“What’s wrong, baby? Talk to me.”

“I’m sorry.”

Robbe shakes his head. “Sander, there’s nothing to apologise for. What’s going on?” 

“Yes, there is,” Sander nods. “Tonight I wanted to show you how that night was supposed to go, how it was supposed to have ended,” his voice is barely a whisper. “But I don’t think I can.”

Robbe takes a sharp inhale of breath and silence falls between them.

After a few seconds Sander breaks the silence. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for bringing it up and I’m sorry for that night as well.” He sounds choked up.

Robbe shakes his head and engulfs Sander in a hug. “Sander, please, it wasn’t your fault,” he whispers in his neck. “It was never your fault.”

Sander holds him tight and both of them can feel the other’s tears making a wet trail in their clothes the moment they both break down crying.

“And we were both thinking about it the whole day today, so don’t apologise for bringing it up either,” Robbe’s voice is hoarse.

They stand like that, just holding each other for a long time, until Sander pulls away a little bit and kisses Robbe’s forehead, disentangling them from the hug and leading them to his bed.

When they get settled, side by side, Robbe is the first one to speak. “Do you want to talk about it?”

They never properly talked about that night, about how they felt or how hard it was, avoiding all the pain that came with the memory of it, just that they shouldn’t let the existence of close-minded people allow them to make their world smaller, but Robbe thinks it’s about time they do, as painful as it sounds.

Sander nods. 

“I tried helping you, but I wasn’t fast enough,” Sander starts. “I’m sorry about that.” His eyes are still gleaming with the tears he shed earlier. “And I’m sorry we had to go through that, I wished it had never happened...”

Robbe grabs his hand and gives it a gentle squeeze.

“But most of all I’m sorry for what I said and how I treated you after”, Sander continues. “That wasn’t a case of shit happens, Robbe. It could’ve cost us our lives and we should’ve gone to the police, and I know it’s no excuse, but I was afraid. I was so scared, Robbe. I didn’t want to relive that night ever again and just the thought of having to tell someone what happened and go back to those memories, tracing step by step of what and how everything happened killed me, that’s why I told you we shouldn’t go. I’m so sorry.”

Robbe hugs Sander closer and lets his head rest on his shoulder, trying to give him some sort of comfort and seeking some for himself too. He feels Sander dropping a kiss to his hair before he takes another breath and speaks again.

“And the thing with Britt, I….”

Robbe squeezes Sander’s hand. “San, it’s okay.” Because they’ve already talked about that, and Robbe doesn’t want to make Sander talk about all the things that hurt him, hurt them, all at once if he’s not ready for it.

Sander musters up enough courage and goes on anyways. “Somehow I made myself believe it was all my fault and that you’d be better off without me, safer... and I couldn’t bear the thought of something ever happening to you again, Robbe, so I had to keep you away from me. I deliberately tried to push you away, even though I knew it would hurt you, because I thought you being with me would hurt you much more, and I couldn’t have that. That’s why I went to that party and kissed Britt and let her post those stupid photos. As soon as I did it, though, I knew it was wrong. But there was no going back then, it was already too late…” Sander shakes his head. “I’m sorry.”

Robbe starts crying at the same time he feels Sander’s tears falling down on him, so he turns around and climbs into Sander’s lap to hug him as close as humanly possible in that moment. Sander squeezes his shoulders, burying his face on Robbe’s neck, and doesn’t let go.

After some time, when their tears have subsided and they’re just trying to find comfort in each other’s arms Sander rearranges them so they’re sitting in a more comfortable position, facing each other. 

Robbe bites his lips before finding the courage to talk too. He breathes in and out twice before he starts. “The first thing I need you know is that it wasn’t your fault, Sander. None of it was, you know that, right?” 

When Sander nods, he continues. “Please believe it.” 

Robbe gives him a lingering kiss on the forehead before speaking again. “I wish it had never happened to us either and I’m sorry it did. I’m sorry I couldn’t unlock my bike fast enough or reach you when those guys came for us, I was so scared too...” he takes a deep breath. “And I’m sorry we couldn’t support each other the way we needed to in the aftermath.” 

Sander grabs his hands and gives it a squeeze, interlocking their fingers and resting their hands on his lap.

“But the way we reacted wasn’t our fault either, Sander. We both went through a huge trauma that night and what we did afterwards was us barely trying to find a way to cope with whatever was being thrown our way. It hurt, yes. You hurt me, but deep down I always knew there was a deeper meaning behind the things you did. You weren’t doing those things out of spite to purposefully hurt me. You’re not cruel, San. I know you and I know your heart, and I know we weren’t together for long back then, but I knew you then as well. And I knew you wouldn’t want to hurt me just because.”

Robbe disentangles one of his hands from Sander’s grasp and lifts it up to caress his cheek. Sander nuzzles into it and Robbe smiles weakly. He brings their faces close and rests his forehead against Sander’s.  

“But if you need to listen to this to make peace with it I’ll tell you: I forgive you, Sander,” Robbe says sincerely. “I had already forgiven you back then, when you found your way back to me in the flatshare on that Friday night,” he caresses Sander’s cheek again. “But I need you to do something for me too.”

“Anything.” Sander answers in a beat.

“Forgive yourself too,” Robbe whispers. 

Sander nods and hugs Robbe tight against his chest, Robbe’s fingers finding their way to Sander’s hair like it’s second nature and staying there for a long time.

“I’m sorry if I ever made you feel like you couldn’t talk to me about this,” Robbe whispers some time later against Sander’s ear. “What happened that night hurt the both of us, Sander, and if you ever feel the need to talk about it you can talk to me, no matter how much it hurts me. I know it hurts you too.” His voice breaks. “But you’ve always been there for me when I needed you and I want to be there for you too, okay?”

Robbe can feel Sander nodding against him.

“We will get through this together,” Robbe reassures Sander. “It may have taken us a whole year to talk about it, but we finally did it and now we can finally start healing from this together, like we always do.”

Sander’s voice trembles when he speaks. “I know.” 

“I love you, and nothing will ever change that, okay? Please remember it.”

“I love you too. More than anything.”

Robbe closes the distance between them and kisses Sander.

-

They spend the rest of the night in bed curled around each other underneath the covers, still talking about that night, but trying to focus on the good part of it instead. Trying to separate the traumatic event from the happy memories they had from their first date.

“I was feeling like the luckiest man in the world, Robin,” Sander smiles down at Robbe, still playing with his hair that’s going in a million different directions now since Robbe’s been  resting his head on his chest for the past hour. “You looked so pretty in all those lights.”

Sander can feel Robbe’s smile before he sees it. “Despite us only having had that one beer I think I have never felt drunker in my life than I felt that night,” Robbe admits, looking up at Sander, an adorable smile adorning his face. “I guess maybe I was just love drunk.” 

Sander can’t help leaning down to give him a quick kiss.

“I know I keep talking about us going back to that bar until it feels right again because it’s our bar, but you know we have all the time in the world, right?” Sander asks. “It doesn’t have to happen now, or a week from today, or even in the next 10 years, okay? I don’t care if it takes us our whole lifetimes to go back there again, I just want you to feel safe. That’s the only thing that matters.”

“I know,” Robbe reassures him, nodding. “We’ll take things day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute.” He smiles. “We’ll get there eventually.”

Sander nods. “And I’m sorry to bring the topic back,” he says hesitantly, “but if we still want to report what happened to the police we can. There’s no expiration date for these things and it doesn’t matter if they’ll catch whoever did that to us or not, we still have a right to let the police know what happened to us.”

“Thank you,” Robbe whispers. “I know it won’t be easy to talk about it, for neither of us, and I actually don’t even know if I’m ready to talk about this with anyone else besides you for now, but thank you for letting me know.” He rearranges himself in the bed so he can be on Sander’s level and look him in the eyes, both boys now laying on their sides. “When we’re both ready we’ll do it. Together.”

Sander nods and gives him a soft kiss. 

Robbe’s hand travels up to Sander’s face, gently caressing the small scar he has by the side of his eye, making Sander close his eyes at the soft touch. “Thank you for being so patient with me...” Robbe whispers so close to Sander’s mouth that both boys can feel the vibrations of the words on their lips. “... and thank you for tonight.”

Robbe can feel Sander’s small smile on his own lips when he speaks. “There’s no need to thank me, I love you.” He emphasizes his words with a kiss. “And the night didn’t go exactly as planned, so…” He trails off.

“Maybe not, but it happened the way it was supposed to happen this time,” Robbe says. “And I wouldn’t have it any other way, San. I’m exactly where I want to be. Laying in your bed with you, not even an inch separating us from each other,” he reassures him. “I feel like talking about this has made my heart the calmest it’s ever been,” he confesses.

“Mine too,” Sander agrees, smiling.

“See?”, Robbe smiles genuinely at Sander. “I’m happy and I hope that you’re happy too.”

“I am,” Sander’s smile is the most beautiful thing Robbe has ever seen in his life. “I really am.”

[mammonshuman92]

- Sapphire - Pt. 2

(Mammon x MC)

part one | part three |

NOTE: F!MC

“Warm skin, the color of caramel, electricity felt in the slightest of touches.

Hair born of the winter, soft as the Heavens from where it once reigned.

Completely enamored by this creature, I would also happily fall from grace.”

Hair born of winter? Fall from grace? Tan skin?

Wait. That sounds like..

Realization hit him like a truck.

“..It’s about me..” He whispered, barely audible even to himself.

His chest felt like it was going to explode. His stomach so full of butterflies he felt nauseous.

He couldn’t believe it..

--

“Hey, great job out there kid. The crowd really liked you.” The man who had been the emcee for the open mic night was shuffling around backstage, putting away equipment and cleaning up. “We do this on the 2nd Thursday every month, if you’re interested.” 

“Thanks! I’d love to.” You were beaming.

Being out there, under the spotlight, reciting your work that you had poured your heart into, full of all the emotion you had to keep to yourself, was so empowering. You were on top of the world.

You thanked the man again and made your way to the exit. Just outside the door, a rather attractive demon was perched against the wall. Upon seeing you, he smiled and left his place on the wall, coming toward you.

He looks kind of familiar. Does he go to RAD?

Never having seen him outside of a RAD uniform before, you quickly pieced together that the guy was in your Devildom History class. From the few interactions you’d had with him in class, you knew he was pretty nice and also enjoyed poetry. The two of you talked and laughed for a few minutes.

“Next time you gotta tell your boyfriend to get here earlier so he can get a better seat.” He said.

Boyfriend?

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” You said, lightly shaking your head.

“Oh”, his eyebrows scrunched, “Well, the two of you are always together at RAD so I just assumed..”

Oh God..

No.

This isn’t happening.

You tried to keep your cool, but it was too late. The color drained from your face. The back of your neck felt cold and prickly. You felt sick.

Mammon was here. He heard ..everything.

“Anyway, he left right after you got off stage. He looked kinda mad.” The guy said.

...Mad? 

Oh God. My stupid poem freaked him out! It doesn’t take a genius to figure out who I was referring to. He’s probably grossed out that a human has a crush on him.

What were you thinking?

--

After you had finished reading and walked off stage, Mammon immediately stood up and went outside. He needed air. Hearing the words you were saying caused his eyes to prick with tears.

There’s no way. I’m getting somethin’ confused somewhere. Have to be.

Once outside, the cool air hit his face and he took some deep breaths, on the verge of panic.

“There’s no way that was about me.” He kept whispering to himself.

Why would you write something like THAT about him? He’s just a scumbag after all.

Yeah, just a scumbag. Don’t get your hopes up.

His face fell. In the brief moment he got to believe that you loved him, he’d never been happier.

If it wasn’t about him, who was it about? The description was uncanny, and not many demons look like him. Not that you know, anyway.

As the questions swirled around his brain, he saw you walk outside the coffee shop. Before he could react, he saw a demon who was waiting outside the exit, strike up a conversation with you.

Who’s that? Does she know him?

Mammon stepped behind a magazine stand trying to hide, but still watch your interaction with the unknown demon. You’d been in the Devildom long enough to travel close to home without being messed with, but it still made him nervous. He kept his eyes fixed on the two of you.

He watched as you chatted and laughed with the good looking demon, growing more jealous and hurt by the second. Unable to watch anymore, he stormed off in the direction of the House of Lamentation.

“Maybe she does have a boyfriend. She seemed to know that guy pretty good.” He scoffed.

He wasn’t mad at you, he couldn’t be. He was mad at himself. Maybe if he had told you how he felt you wouldn’t have been chatting it up with that pretty boy. 

But what about the poem? That’s gotta mean somethin’ right?

When he got back to the house, he went straight to his room and slammed the door, nearly running Asmo over in the process.

“Hey! Rude.” Asmo called after him.

He didn’t care at the moment. He just needed to be alone. The weight of it all was too much.

As quickly as his love for you was reciprocated, it was ripped away. This time, he didn’t try to hold back the tears.

--

Shit, shit, shit! What now?!

You cursed yourself the entire way home. How are you supposed to just walk in nonchalantly like Mammon didn’t just hear you confess your entire soul? Not to mention  the fact he apparently looked mad.

Ugh. I wonder is Solomon knows a spell that’ll open up the Earth and swallow me whole?

You quietly walked up the front steps to the House of Lamentation and opened the door slowly. Peaking in to see if anyone was around, thankfully not, you carefully made your way inside.

If I can just make it to my room, I’ll be fine.

You crept up the stairs and down the hall. The coast was clear.

Once you got close enough you ran inside your room, shutting the door quickly behind and for the first time since right after moving in, you locked your door.

Usually the brothers come and go out of room, which you don’t mind but tonight you just wanted to be alone.

You dropped your bag on the floor with a hard thud, and sank down to the floor, burying your face in your hands.

How could you be so careless? You should’ve known one of them would figure out where you were. I just wish it hadn’t been THAT one.

*knock knock knock*

The light tapping on the door made you jump put of your skin. Your hands flew to your mouth to stifle the small yelp you let out.

Just stay quiet. Whoever it is will go away.

“MC? It’s me. I know you’re in there.”

It’s just Asmo.

With a sigh of relief, you stood to unlock the door and let Asmo in, quickly shutting the door behind him. He made a face at your strange behavior.

“Hello to you too. And was your door locked? What’s that about?” He almost sounded offended, turning to face you.

“So, what happened?” He asked.

You were a little caught off guard but tried to play it cool.

“What do you mean?”

He perched himself on the edge of your bed.

“Well, this afternoon when I got home from shopping Mammon asked me where you were, seeing as you told him you were going with me. Then, he came home just a little while ago, visibly upset. He nearly ran me over on his way to his room.” He explained.

Crap! Had I let Asmo in on my lie about going shopping with him, I probably could’ve avoided this entire fiasco.

“He was mad?” You asked, voice getting quiet.

Asmo nodded, “Very.” He replied.

That made your heart hurt.

I’ve really done it this time.

--

Avoiding Mammon was going to be hard. The two of you practically did everything together. Did you really have a choice though? You can’t face him right now.

Breakfast was the easiest. Mammon is always late, so all you had to do was wake up early. 

Beel is usually the first one to breakfast, so I can ask him if he’d walk with me to RAD. I’ll study with Satan as usual, and I can spend more time with Levi and hide out in his room or nap with Belphie.

This sucks.

It’s not that you don’t enjoy the time you spend with the other brothers, because of course you do, but you miss your best friend.

The walk to RAD with Beel was quiet. He could tell that you were sad, and didn’t want to make you talk if you didn’t want to. Before you went your separate ways to your classes, he gave you one of his big squeezy, pick-you-up-off-the-ground hugs. It made you feel a bit better. How could it not? It’s Beel.

--

The day went rather smoothly, not once bumping into Mammon. Come to thin of it, you hadn’t seen him at all today.

Maybe he skipped? You thought.

The thought made you breathe a little easier, considering your last class of the day is Devildom History, which is one of the few classes the two of you have together.

You sat in your usual seat, and looked at the empty one next to you that Mammon usually sat in. Your heart started to hurt again.

Trying to distract yourself, you started going over your notes for the upcoming test. When the seat next to you scooted out, your heart stopped beating.

Oh my God! Just stay calm. Don’t freak out. Breathe, dumbass. You chanted to yourself.

“Hey.” he said, as he sat down. You looked up at the demon next to you.

It’s the guy from the coffee shop.

Phew! That was close. Your heart rate started to return to normal.

“Hi.” You replied with a faint smile.

As students kept filing into class, the two of you talked back and forth about the upcoming test  and other school related topics. He seems like a pretty nice guy. Why was he sitting next to you though? Surely he knows who always sits there. Although, it was nice to have someone to talk about poetry with.

Just then, as the bell rang loudly signaling the beginning of class, someone came running through the door.

Mammon.

Shit! I thought he wasn’t here today!

Cue heart rate acceleration.

Mammon looked at you, and the occupied seat next toy you. His seat.

His face distorted.

You kept your head down trying to avoid eye contact. The guy next to you, I think he said his name was Ezra? I don’t even remember, stiffened at Mammon’s reaction to seeing him in his seat.

Mammon made his way to the back of the class to the only empty seat near a bunch of succubi. Their expressions lit up when he sat down. That made your heart hurt.

Their reaction to just sitting near him, just proved how insane you were for thinking he could ever have feelings for a human.

The class seemed to drag on forever. You couldn’t wait to get far away from there.

I’m definitely texting Solomon about that “Earth opening” spell.

--

When the bell signaling the end of class finally rang, you hurriedly made your escape.

I gotta get out of here, and fast before he can catch up.

With zero hesitation, you walked as fast as you could, nearly jogging, to the House of Lamentation. If you could just get to your room again without being stopped, you were in the clear.

Plowing through the front door and running up the stairs, you made it to your room without being discovered. It looked as though you were the first one home.

You opened your bedroom door, and stepped inside feeling accomplished. Before you could turn and shut the door, it was slammed shut.

You jumped and screamed as though the murderer you were trying to outrun had finally caught up to you.

You turned to see that it was Mammon who had slammed the door.

You would’ve rather it had been the murderer.

| part three |

[orionwhispers]

Feels Like Home // Bucky Barnes 🍂

(a/n- ok holy shit ive finally finished my first bucky oneshot. its long as fuck but im so so happy with it. pls let me know what you think. i have lots of requests and peaky stuff coming up as well. love you guys SO much) probs loads of mistakes but its 12k words and im exhausted lol. (also this is inspired by the song feels like home by bea miller and jessie reyez. highly recommend)

warnings: slow burn, friends to lovers, HEAVILY implied smut, so much fluff your dentist will kill me, angst and canon level violence. 

Bucky Barnes had thought a lot about death.

He thought about it often during the war. Wondering if perhaps a bullet would pass through his gut as he ran through the trenches, or a bomb would explode under his feet as he walked across the battlefield. It was everywhere he looked, his fellow comrades bandaged and bloody, the nurses in the infirmary tent smelling of saline and strong, sweet, copper.

He thought about it more than anything with Hydra. Wishing that the torture would send him over the edge, pleading for the sweet release that death would give him. Thinking that what was waiting for him on the other side surely couldn’t be worse than what he was already dealing with.

Even when he moved into the tower, and into a routine with people who understood and trusted him, death had followed him for so long that it was like a friend.

He always thought his death would be something violent; something carnal and savage, almost poetic for him to die the same way that he had lived.

But who would have thought his demise would have been at the hands of the sleepy eyed, honey lipped, gentle girl that made him coffee and brought him raspberry donuts?

You turned his world upside down on a Thursday. He remembers it well, and thinks back to that autumn morning like it’s a picture he keeps in his wallet or a well thumbed book next to his bed. It doesn’t matter what the circumstances are - he could be in battle, bloody and bruised, or five thousand miles away from you on a mission in the depths of some town he doesn’t know the name of, feeling himself start to crumble - and the thought of you is enough to steady him, your light luring him back to rationality, his girl.

His sweet girl.

He owed it all to you, and the way you changed his life on that rainy, dreary day and made him realise that home wasn’t a place, it was a person.

The compound was quiet. The Avengers all in a state of limbo; exhausted from hours of travelling, the ghost of bruises and cuts on their knuckles and blood under their fingernails. But more powerful than anything: the red hot relief to finally be back in the tower after two weeks.

The rest of the group fell into their own routines, their own little grooves that they had mastered over the however many years they had been saving the world. The showers were turned onto the highest setting, the smell of Sam’s ridiculously expensive mango shower gel and Nat’s deep, woody body scrub lingering across the floor. Comfort food was made in the kitchen, the throaty sound of laughter and bare feet on the tiles as popcorn sizzled and snapped on the stove. Blankets were draped across the sofas, mugs of hot chocolate and cans of sweet, dry beer passed around and over tangled limbs.

It was something they needed - something they craved. That comforting, warm feeling of family, something so trivial and domestic that it was enough to dull whatever they had been faced with, that for the evening they could think of terrible rom coms and laughter and teasing, rather than civilians dying and the smell of blood and the sound of gunshots. For those stolen moments of happiness after days of heart ache and exhaustion - it was enough.

Well, it was enough for almost everyone.

Whilst the others were arguing over the remote and whether peanut M&Ms were better than chocolate, Bucky was in his room with the lock bolted, methodically cleaning his weapons with surgical precision. He had been at the compound for almost six months, and despite the amenities and luxuries that came with his new home, he felt anything but comfortable.

He liked the people he lived and worked with - and most of them liked him too, but that didn’t do anything to dull the ache in his skull and the uncertainty deep in his gut. After so many years of not being in control of his own mind and body, of having his thoughts and feelings altered by people who saw him as nothing more than a weapon, he was struggling to adjust to his new life.

Amongst all of the chaos though, he had Steve.

The familiar sunshine haired boy that helped ease the storm. His best friend, his brother. The once scrawny teenager that he would follow to the end of the world, all guns blazing, no questions asked. Deep down, he knew that the golden boy was perhaps the only reason he was still at the tower, blending in with all the rest of the wonderful, shining eyed superhero’s around him, making him stick out like a sore thumb.

He knew they thought he could change, but he wasn’t so sure. Sometimes - like the times when he found himself grinning at something Clint said in the back of the jet, or when Nat patted his shoulder in thanks when he covered her in battle, or when he sat on the roof with Steve, talking about faded memories of pin up girls and Coney Island, he felt like perhaps he could be the man Steve thought he was. But then he caught sight of himself in the reflected surfaces of his bathroom, or felt the ricochet of his gun against his shoulder or the blood coating his hands and dripping down into his boots - and he remembered that sometimes people just don’t change.

He listened to the rain as he folded away his weapons that day. Listened to the way the patter of the water muffled the noises of laughter and playfulness coming from the lounge and dissolved into silence. It was too early to retire into bed, and besides, after a mission like the one they had come from sleep wouldn’t be on his mind for a while, his body was still racing with adrenaline.

Then, amongst the patter of raindrops and mingle of voices, he heard something.

A commotion in the hall. His body was finely tuned to pick up anything out of the ordinary, and he could hear the magnetic whir and clang of the elevator as it reached their floor. Everybody was crowded in the living room, which meant it would be somebody from outside the inner circle, and usually that would send cold chills down to his spine, but for some reason this time it didn’t.

Ghosts. Premonitions. Fortune telling. All a load of horse shit to him. He might have been to space and been frozen in time and met some really, really, bizarre people - but there were some things he just didn’t believe in.

Until that rainy day.

It was like a magnetic pull inside of him, when he wanted to lock himself away and not speak to anyone, something inside of him made him want to get up and join the rest of the crew in meeting the stranger.

Even before he saw your face you had him, hook, line and sinker.

So he begrudgingly got to his feet and stood in the doorway, his shoulder leaning against the frame, metal arm out of sight. Steve glanced at him quickly with his eyebrows raised but he ignored him, focusing his eyes on the elevator as it slowly started to open.

Tony looked up suddenly as the doors opened , furrowing his brow at the semi circle of avengers watching him intently. Rather then question it he rolled his eyes, exhaling loudly and stepping forward, gesturing wildly with his arms. “Gather round, gather round, circus freaks. There’s someone I’d like you to meet.”

Because Tony’s personality took up almost the entire room by himself, he had to step to the side for everyone to even get a glimpse of who he was talking about. They waited patiently, with crossed arms and gentle smiles as you stepped out of the shadows.

Bucky felt himself freeze.

You looked so... scared. Not in the traditional sense, not like you were terrified of them or fearing for your life, but the kind of alarm that always trudged through his blood, the feeling of unease and instability, as though you didn’t really belong.

Everybody fell into their roles the way he knew they would. You were young, probably not much older than the Parker kid, and that was why Nat and Steve stepped forward instantly, very protective of you before they even knew your name.

Your hair was mused and loose, eyes wide and lips puffy, as if you had just woken up. You were dressed all in black, baggy clothes and no makeup, your fingers interlocked, your rapid heartbeat pulsing in his ears.

And for some reason, he couldn’t take his eyes off of you.

“Everyone, this is (Y/N) (Y/L/N).” Tony said, one arm resting gently on your shoulders, pushing you forward.

Bucky had to stop himself from saying your name aloud, wondering why he wanted to taste it on his tongue.

As everybody spoke, introducing themselves with just enough reservation to make you feel comfortable, your eyes met, and his heart stopped. Your eyes were more white than not, a little glossy and swimming with uncertainty, and he felt the urge to do something, anything, to make you feel even a little bit calmer.

The feeling was so foreign that he stepped back, tearing his gaze away from you, suddenly unnerved. He didn’t miss the way you exhaled, and he pretended not to notice the way his body seemed to pine for the warmth he had felt when your eyes met.

Bucky heard him whisper to Nat, his usually sardonic voice dripping with genuine concern. “Keep an eye on her, for me, please.”

And although he knew Tony would never ask that of him, he knew that without a doubt, he would.

—————————————————————-

Those next few days, you stayed hidden in your room - which just so happened to be opposite his own.

Despite that, he never saw you. Not even once.

You weren’t at any team meetings or debriefings, you were never nestled in one of the chairs in the lounge, never sat on the balcony watching the sunrise or slicing up strawberries and grapes in the nook in the kitchen.If it wasn’t for the small, barely there noises you made every so often, he would have thought you had left.

Through the vents he could occasionally hear the whine of your door and the gentle sound of your footsteps at midnight darting to the kitchen. Sometimes he heard Wanda speaking softly to you, so kind and gentle that he could even hear the anxiety leave your voice for a little while. He’d hear Tony’s loud and obnoxious knock in the middle of the night, the two of you leaving for the lab under the cover of darkness.

Bucky hardly slept. It had never come smoothly to him, slipped through his fingers too easily like grains of sand. He used to train to block out the noise, attacking a punching bag until all he could hear was the steady thump, thump, thump of his knuckles. Steve had taken him running whenever the nights got too long or too loud, sweating out the frustration he felt as they darted through the streets at midnight, but now he found another way to pass those hours in the dead of night.

There was something oddly comforting to him about laying upright in his bed, reading whatever novel somebody had leant him and told him was a classic, listening out for the shuffle of your footsteps from the other side of the hall. He remembered what it had been like for him when he first moved into the tower. He knew how hard it was, moving into a space that wasn’t your own.

So now he found solace under the breeze of his ceiling fan and the slow drip of that one leaky tap that he still hadn’t fixed and the low hum of whatever sitcom you were watching vibrating through the walls.

He liked to make sure that you were safe. You were obviously scared of something, or someone, and it made him feel better that he was keeping an ear out for anything out of the ordinary. He told himself that it was for the benefit of the whole tower, but that didn’t explain the ease he felt in his chest when he finally heard the quiet, even snores coming from your room, and the way that it made his own eyes start to close.

The next time he saw you in the flesh was almost a month after you had moved in.

He was in the lounge with the rest of the avengers that had slept most of the morning away, Sam nursing a cup of vanilla coffee and Steve watching the news as he made some kind of bizarre and disgusting protein shake. Bucky sat on the sofa with his back ramrod straight as he did the daily crossword, something about filling out the empty boxes comforting him.

It was a rare free day and he had slept in a little longer than usual, only falling asleep after he had heard the squeak of your bed frame and the whir of your fan flittering in his ears. When he had woken up your room was still, and he assumed you were still asleep as he headed out for his run, but by the sound of your voice in the stairwell you had obviously slipped out unnoticed, and he couldn’t help feeling impressed.

He perked up instantly when he heard you. He listened to the soft way you spoke against the sharp click of Pepper’s heels against the floor, his eyes darting to the doorway as he heard you approach. He saw the girls first, the three of them flanking you like a security detail. Wanda and Natasha at your sides, Pepper walking slightly ahead; gesturing with her jewellery clad hands as she spoke to you.

You faltered as you stepped forward, eyes widening like a deer in headlights as you noticed the boys watching you from the other side of the room. Sam awkwardly removed his hand from where he had shoved it down a cereal box, waving kindly with lucky charm marshmallows stuck to his fingers. Steve - ever the gentleman - gave you his classic golden retriever smile, greeting you as though you were an old friend.

You relaxed a little at that, and Bucky felt himself deflate. He would never be the most warm and welcoming person, not anymore, and he wondered why that bothered him so much when it came to you.

Pepper gently placed a hand on your shoulder, and you leaned into her touch like a cat. “Boys. You remember (Y/N).”

You looked up, waving a hand that was hidden by your oversized sweater sleeves. “Hello again.”

A shy smile. Big eyes. A voice like melted chocolate. Bucky felt fourteen again.

He wanted to say something to you, but he couldn’t get any words out. Pepper was on a mission though, perching her hand motherly on your shoulder and escorting you forward. “Right. The lab. This way!”

Bucky’s gaze followed you all the way down the hall, not stopping even when you faded into nothingness. He turned slowly, feeling Steve and Nat watching with matching smirks on their faces, their eyes flickering with childish glee.

He scoffed.

“Shut up.”

———————————————————

As the weeks passed, Bucky hardly caught a glimpse of you. He didn’t even realise he was searching for you, his eyes just flitting over the empty chair at meal times or trailing through the gym, wondering if he might make out the bounce of your hair or the curve of your lips.

Not that he had been thinking about your lips. He definitely hadn’t been thinking about your lips.

You had piqued his interest though. He thought of the way he had been when he first moved into the tower, and knew that the first few weeks were always the hardest. You spent the majority of the time in your room, occasionally leaving for Tony’s floor or the lab, but always hiding in the night and the shadows, falling just out of reach before he got lucky enough to see you.

Fortunately, there were enough recon missions to fill his days. He found distraction in snow capped mountains and dry, dusty deserts, searching for old HYDRA bases or intel that might have been missed. His mind was filled with coordinates and strategy plans, and that worked for a little while. Until the jet landed and he found himself wondering if you would be there with the rest of the team welcoming him back, and every time he was left feeling a quick, pang of disappointment when you weren’t.

Eventually though, things started to look up.

At three in the morning, like clockwork, he began hearing your door squeal as you opened it, and then the sound of sock clad feet padding through the hallways. The first time it happened his heart leapt and he jolted upright, convinced that something bad had happened. He didn’t relax until he heard Natasha speak, voice crystal clear despite the early hour.

“You ready?”

He soon discovered that Natasha had taken you under her wing, and was helping you spar at the times you felt the most comfortable - when the rest of the building was asleep. He knew he wasn’t the only person who was curious about you, wanting to know if you had any powers, and Nat had stopped Steve from asking a million different questions about you.

He didn’t want to make you retreat once again, so he left it alone.

Eventually, you started sleeping in, getting more comfortable and leaving your bed much later than before. The others still kept their distance, entering the gym just as you were leaving, drenched in sweat and smiling. The first time that Bucky saw you smile like that was after a run with Sam, and he swore his knees almost buckled at the sight of you, wide eyed and sparkling like a diamond, sucker punching the air right out of his gut.

It was just about dawn when he next saw you, the sun barely risen, the compound bathed in a golden, ethereal light. No matter how many early mornings they had had, the kitchen still smelt like triple shot espresso and cans of red bull every day, sleepy eyed avengers mumbling and grumbling as they fought over who got to use the coffee machine first. Bucky smiled smugly across his mug of instant grounds that Sam had so tastefully called, “disgusting cheap crap,” as his $3 coffee capsule got crushed once again.

Steve made some quick joke as he towelled off his hair from his shower, but his words crumbled into TV static when Bucky saw you coming off the elevator. You were limping, just a little, but enough to make his heart thunder in his chest. You were smiling though, wide and happily. As bright as the full sun, and Bucky wanted to stay in your warmth for a little bit longer. Natasha held onto you as though you weighed less than a newborn baby, and the two of you stumbled towards your room. Before you disappeared you shot a small and hesitant smile at the boys, one that pierced through Bucky like a steel bullet.

He wanted to keep quiet but he couldn’t. Not after he had seen you.

“You don’t think Natasha is being to hard on her?” He said finally, clearing his throat in an attempt to sound nonchalant.

“Why do you care?” Sam had asked, halfway through a breakfast burrito that was dropping more food on his shirt than into his mouth.

“Camaraderie.” He quipped.

“Camaraderie my ass. Remember that time I almost broke my leg sparring with you? You made me walk myself to the clinic.”

“That’s because you were being whiney and dramatic.”

“Oh? Well I’ll tell you what I think. I think that Mr Barnes here is - ”

“Alright. That’s enough.” Steve said finally, cutting the conversation short, knowing exactly where Sam was going with his thoughts and not wanting to put his best friend through any embarrassment about his... interest in you.

Sam gave him a glare that said that the conversation was definitely not over, but Bucky ignored him, his eyes trailing the hallway you had walked through, his belly aching and flipping from the way that you had looked at him, filling him with a warmth that didn’t dim even long after he had fallen asleep that night.

——————————————————————-

Things really started to change at midnight. When the sky went black and turned into a blanket of obsidian and twinkling stars, that was when both of you came alive.

The nightmares were back, and they were bad. Blood. Metal. Rust. The pain that felt as though his bones were snapping one by one. Gasping for air. Sweat. Fists. Gunshots. No longer could he stay asleep listening out for you, his body didn’t want him to feel comfortable, safe, whatever the way you made him feel. He wouldn’t allow himself the luxury of something as sweet as you. He was not a man that deserved good things, and he knew he certainly didn’t deserve you.

The compound was so big and he felt so small in his bed. Sometimes he swore he could feel the walls closing in, even though he knew his quarters were more than triple the size of some of the hellholes he had been trapped in. He needed space. He needed air. And that was what led him to wander the hallways like some kind of spectre as the city roared and thundered and thrived below him.

The rooftop had always been his favourite spot. Tony loved using it for parties, setting up a bar and filling the hot tub with champagne and hiring some idiot to blast stupid music that made Bucky want to smash his head against a brick wall. But it was often just used by the team, swimming laps in the pool and laughing under the summer sun, strawberries and wine in the spring and late night swims in the rain in the winter, making Clint jump in the frozen water naked after he lost a round of poker.

It was one of the rare places that Bucky felt truly safe. Out in the open air, watching the water sparkle teal under the stars, the city so big and beautiful, lights flickering and horns blaring. He came up when things went bad, losing himself in the noise and the ice cold air. He often pulled a chair out to the edge, drinking a beer that had no effect on him but somehow made him feel a little bit lighter, just watching the world go by.

He hadn’t been up there in a while. The nightmares had stopped for a while, incidentally the same time you arrived, but recently they had started to trickle back in, like rain at the end of summer.

He was in a pair of flannel pyjama pants and a henley with far too many holes in, cradling a mug of cocoa with a shot of dark rum as he stepped off the elevator, stopping suddenly when he noticed the outdoor lights shining brightly. He knew that everybody else was asleep, and his field instincts kicked in quickly, until he noticed the soft lilac hue of your satin pyjamas glistening under the moon.

Perhaps he should have left. He knew that you liked to keep your distance and God, did he understand that, but his feet seemed to stay cemented to the floor. You were luring him like a ship to a lighthouse, beckoning him to follow you, and who was he to resist?

You were bent over a row of plants and flowers, watering them from a buttercup yellow can, your fingers stained with mud. You moved gently, tentatively fondling the leaves and petals and clipping away any stray stems and weeds. He watched you with curious eyes, amazed at how something so simple could show so much about your character. After so long of not seeing you he felt lucky to catch a glimpse, and he didn’t want to do anything to scare you off.

That was, until his foot caught the edge of one of the sun loungers.

For a trained assassin, he could really be a dumbass sometimes.

You looked up quickly, eyes as wide as dinner plates, your face just starting to flush. He held up his free hand, all the air leaving his lungs like a balloon. He stepped back to leave you in peace, but then he heard you softly say:

“Wait.”

So he did.

You looked nervous but enchanting, with your mussed hair and fluffy slippers and long eyelashes. You smiled timidly, but warmly, and looked at him. Really looked at him. And something about that made him feel truly seen, for the first time in a long time.

“Bucky, right?” A pause lingered in the air, he was suddenly face to face with you and somehow all of his words dissolved into the night air. You mistook his turmoil for something else, and straightened up, the trowel in your hand spilling dirt onto the floor. “Oh I’m so sorry. Do you prefer James? Or...”

“Bucky!” He said, almost shouting, and then calmed himself down. He could feel a blush rising up his throat from his outburst, but if it meant you would look at him the way that you were, then he would happily embarrass himself forever.

A moment passed, the stars overhead round and full despite all of the pollution in the city air, and for once Bucky didn’t find them the most beautiful thing he had seen.

“What are you doing?” He asked before he could stop himself.

“Oh, um.” You were a little flustered, the apples of your cheeks rounding and your lips twitching up, like you were laughing at a joke he so desperately wanted to be a part of. It was infectious. You were infectious, and the ice cold assassin felt the frost around his heart start to thaw.

“Tony got them for me.” You said, barely meeting his gaze. “After everything.” You stopped awkwardly and cleared your throat. His interest was piqued but he knew better than to probe you, instead letting you ramble. “He thought it would be good for me to have something to take care of. Something to look after, you know?”

He nodded.

“It’s not much, but sometimes coming up here and watering them just takes my mind off of things, you know?” You said, somewhat absentmindedly. He watched as you stroked the petals, pushing your finger into a droplet of water on the leaves. He wasn’t much of a gardener but he recognised a few of the potted plants. Forget me nots, African violets, buttery yellow primrose and icy purple orchids. You had other things too, sweet mint and thyme and rosemary, and budding stems of strawberries and blackberries and tomatoes.

It was amazing how much life you had grown along the usually industrial looking balcony. It was rare to see something thrive amongst the smoke of the city,

“I like it up here too, it’s peaceful.” He said, looking out at the skyline and smelling the crisp, cool air.

You mistook his honesty for an annoyance at breaching his personal space, and held your hands up apologetically. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” You were about to make excuses and leave, not wanting to upset the very handsome man who had occupied far too much of your brain anymore, but he stepped forward and said quickly:

“No! In fact, I er - I think I like it much more now.”

You smiled, and oh boy, did Bucky know he was done for.

———————————————————-

Bucky started to like the nights.

After the first midnight meeting it somehow became unspoken for the two of you to meet up on the rooftop. Bucky never wanted to overstep or make you feel uncomfortable, but he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to see you again in the privacy of the twilight, the moonlight casting gold flecks into your eyes.

It should have been awkward. An ex HYDRA puppet and a girl with a blurry past that had just joined the biggest crime fighting organisation in the world should have found it hard to open up to one another, but somehow that didn’t happen.

You both kept the conversation light, the silences were warm and comfortable, and everything felt bizarrely natural. You’d often be preening your plants and Bucky would be sat on a lounge chair, reading a book and sneaking glances at you. You talked about the city, he told you how much it had changed since the 40’s, and you told him about the crappy apartment with no heating and a nest of owls you lived in before Tony took you in.

Family never came up, it was a subject you danced around and Bucky respected your privacy. He told you about his though, it slipped out accidentally when he saw you preening foxgloves the colour of ripe and juicy plums - and how they reminded him of the ones his mother once had in the window box of their kitchen. Somehow the memory hit him like a sucker punch to the gut, and you expertly swerved the conversation onto something else. It lingered in his mind for the rest of the night, only dimming when he came home from a workout the following morning and saw a little vase filled with purple petals and a book titled “Caring For Foxgloves” left outside of his door.

His smile didn’t fade the whole rest of the day, even through Sam’s relentless teasing.

He remembered you talking about your favourite cafe off campus, and the white hot chocolate and raspberry donuts you would kill for, and took an hour detour from his running route to pick them up for you both to share later that night.

It was amazing, how this girl he only knew through the sounds from his wall was now sitting with him in the early hours of the morning, talking to him like he was a real person and not just some shitty science experiment. You exchanged books, giving him ones that you thought he would enjoy, and he devoured them in less than a week, finding traces of you between the pages.

The two of you never sat right beside one another. You knew his past and you were cautious not to overwhelm him, always leaving generous inches and metres between you both. For the first time in a long time Bucky didn’t want somebody to give him space, he craved those moments when your fingertips would brush as he helped you pot a plant, when your thighs would touch as you leant over him to watch the stars, when he could feel your warmth orbiting him like a planet.

He used to loathe the night time, but now, he spent the whole day aching for the sun to set so he could be with you.

Eventually, as you grew closer with him, you also grew closer with the team, and soon you were joining them sporadically for movie nights and “Friends” marathons and training. You mainly stayed with Wanda and Nat, the two girls sparring with you and showing you the ropes and coming from a place you could understand the best, but you always ended up back next to Bucky - and he loved it.

The rest of the team noticed too. The way that you brought Bucky out of his shell and he helped you to feel grounded. Steve instantly saw that the smile on his best friends face was wider than it had been in fifty years, and he enjoyed watching the two of you together, happy his best friend was happy.

Bucky felt his own change, too. He was no longer a blushing, stuttering mess around you, (well, not completely. He was still a wreck when you smiled at him, or laughed, or did basically anything) but he had found a comfortable middle ground in your friendship, the two of you able to tease and joke with each other like old friends. Finding ways to talk the whole night and day away, watching the sky turn from obsidian to sweet purple and then milky blue, both of you wondering how you had managed to once again miss an entire night quicker than a snap of fingers.

He knew that he was in deep when you got cleared for your first mission.

He remembered waking up, running with Steve, drinking coffee and making eggs, all whilst pretending he wasn’t looking over his shoulder waiting for you every few seconds. Sam came in with a smug smile and stole a slice of toast, buttering it until it was dripping and eating it in seconds, his brow furrowing a little as he watched Bucky.

“What?” Bucky asked, shooting him a curious glance.

“Aren’t you gonna say goodbye to your girl?”

“She not ‘my girl’.” Bucky said through a mouthful of coffee, hating how the words made him feel.

“Oh, right. Of course not. It’s not like the two of you don’t spend every second of every day and every night together, and it’s not like you’re totally head over heels -”

Bucky decided it would be easier to just cut him off, taking his frustration out on the eggs he was now whisking a little too hard. “Why would I say goodbye to her?”

“You didn’t hear?”

He shook his head, suddenly feeling a million tiny needles prickle his skin.

“Bruce signed her off. She’s heading to Madrid with Nat.”

“She’s what?”

That was all it took for him to leave, Sam watching him closely and smirking to himself. Not noticing until it was too late that the pan had started smoking, and the smell of burnt eggs wafted through the air, and Sam was left alone to grab the fire extinguisher and coat the meal in clouds of white foam.

Bucky stormed through the halls, he wasn’t quite sure what his plan was, his mind felt like a bowl of alphabet soup and he couldn’t quite place his anger or frustration, but that didn’t stop him from tearing through the rooms with a face like thunder. He found Tony in the conference room, finalising the mission plans and murmuring under his breath. Bucky feet moved him forward before he could even compute it.

“You signed her off?”

Tony exhaled loudly, and with obvious frustration spun round on his three hundred thousand dollar shoes.

“I was wondering when you would pitch in your two cents.”

“Do you think she’s ready?”

“Yes I do.”

“What if -? What if something happens? What if something goes wrong? What if - ”

“It won’t.”

“What if it does?”

“Look, Barnes. I know you and (Y/N) have been getting on well, and I know that she’s opened up a lot because of you -” He paused, mulling over the distaste in his mouth. “... As much as that might irritate me. But you don’t know what she’s like on the field, she’s brilliant.”

Bucky didn’t doubt that for a second, but his blood was as cold as ice. Missions went wrong all of the time, even a simple recon with Clint ended up with them both littered in bullets, and the mere thought of that made his head spin. He had no real reason to be so overprotective of you, but he truly couldn’t help it, everything in him was screaming at him to keep you safe.

“Are you even sure that...”

“Bucky?” He felt like a scarecrow shoved in a pool of mud, stuck straight and stiff as you said his name and rendered him totally tongue tied. He wondered how much you had heard, and he felt like there was an ice cube trailing down his spine.

“Aha! There she is! Superwoman!” Tony said, clapping his hands together, always knowing how to diffuse the tension.

He turned around and felt his heart jack hammer in his chest. He could see Nat, but his eyes totally passed over her, because you were there: your hair tied up and back from your face, subtle makeup with long eyelashes and syrupy lips, a black and powder pink tactical suit that fit and hugged every curve and bow of your body. His brain totally let him down, short circuiting at the mere sight of you. You looked so happy and healthy and glowing, and also like you could knock him out with a single punch - and good god would he let you.

“Bucky I was erm, I was looking for you. I wanted to say goodbye.” You clasped your hands together, appearing so sweet and shy, a total contrast to the femme fatale you portrayed.

“Natalia!” Tony said quickly, and for once Bucky was grateful for his interruption. “Come and look at this strange bird with me.”

All of you knew it was quite possibly the worst fake distraction ever but you ignored it. Nat just rolled her eyes and followed Tony to the balcony, but not before wiggling her eyebrows at Bucky.

You moved forward tentatively. “I wanted to tell you this morning but I couldn’t find you.” You weren’t quite sure why you were so cautious and apprehensive, desperate to speak to him. You had been travelling and fighting for as long as you could remember, you had spent many years alone and entered the battlefield countless times - and yet, that morning as Bruce gave you the all clear, the only person you wanted to see or speak to was Bucky.

“I was running, I’m sorry.”

You smiled, and it made him smile. “Well I’ve found you now.” You stepped forward, Bucky inhaled air so sharply it almost sliced the back of this throat. “I wanted to say goodbye, and that I’ll see you soon.” You paused, then blinked up at him almost cheekily. “Would you do me a favour? If you have time? Could you water the plants for me?”

He grinned, toothy and white. “Already on it.”

“Goodbye, Bucky.”

He put his hand on your shoulder, and he swore he could feel you melt into his touch, or maybe that was his knees buckling at his stupidity and the way that you were looking up at him. He wanted to say a million things, but instead he settled for: “Goodbye, (Y/N). Be safe, okay?”

“Of course.”

He watched as you packed your things and headed to the jet, the rest of the crew coming out to say their farewells and wish them luck. His eyes were trained on you as you spoke to Tony, nodding your head as you listened to him. He felt Natasha sidle up next to him, her hair shining copper in the sun.

“She’ll be alright, Barnes.”

“I know. But - ”

“I’ll take care of her. Promise.”

“Thank you, Nat. Good luck.”

“Don’t need it!”

Three hours later and he was in the gym, punching out his excess energy. The bag was splitting at the seams, and sand trailed sadly onto the floor. Bucky ignored it, his hits getting harder and faster, his blood pounding in his ears. Since you had left he had taken to pacing the floor and biting his nails down to the wick, hovering over Steve as he spoke to Nat through her wire. He only left when he realised that he was driving everybody else crazy with his obsessive twitching and marching, taking out his frustration on whatever he could rip apart with his fingers.

“Tony’s going to kill you if you break anymore punching bags.” Steve said from behind him, his voice echoing around the dark room.

“Hmph.”

He couldn’t stop. His hands were red raw and his knuckles were scraped but they would heal soon, and he’d go back to tearing them up all over again, anything to get rid of the adrenaline and nausea that had been swimming in him since the morning.

A minute passed. And then two. And then three. He exhaled, pausing, his hands midway in the air. He was about to say what he had always known, right from the second your eyes met that crisp autumn day, and Steve was the only one he could confide in.

“I think I’m falling in love with her.”

Steve hardly even blinked, just clapped a hand on his shoulder, warm and comforting, his brother.

“I know.”

Because of course he did. He knew it from the way Bucky smiled, the way he was lighter, brighter, like you had made him switch on and appreciate the little things around him. He had seen Bucky doe eyed and loopy over hundreds of girls back in the day, he knew how he got, but this... this was something bigger, magnetic, the clash of two electric people.

There wasn’t much Steve could say, he was great at saving people but not so good at the more personal side of things, he still turned into a puddle when Sharon looked at him. Instead he laughed, his teeth white as snow and his eyes playful and teasing. “You got it bad, dude.”

Despite everything Bucky smiled. Because yeah, he did.

————————— ————————————

You came back from the mission unharmed and euphoric.

And the second. And the third. And the fourth.

Bucky still tracked mud across all of the carpets and tapped his feet mindlessly for the entirety you were gone, but he was getting better. Steve had even bought him a joke present of a pear shaped and scented stress ball, but Bucky had ripped it in half when there was gunfire in the background of your coms, followed by an apologetic “Sorry!” from Sam. Bucky had then poured all of the tiny fruit smelling beads under the duvet in Sams bed, and then put all of his toilet paper on the holder backwards, knowing how annoyed he got about it.

Every time you came back you were exhausted and elated and beaming, and after having a nap and a shower you spent the rest of the day with the team, but the nights were reserved just for him. You grew even closer together. Steve had watched from the rooftop doorway gobsmacked one evening when he had left his phone up there, watching the way you two interacted, the way that he curled into your touch, never away from it. You got electric shocks when your fingers touched, you would blush when his knee playfully nudged yours at something stupid somebody had said at dinner, and you found yourself falling asleep to the image of chestnut hair and ocean eyes. You had crushes before, but this was all consuming, the kind of thing that made your stomach erupt in butterflies and your eyes turn into hearts.

You were worried that it might be one sided, but Bucky was totally, completely, smitten.

He watched you. Noticed the way that you smiled and laughed and tucked your hair behind your ear. He thought of the girls in the forties, with their painted lips and curled hair and immaculate clothes, and how you blew all of them out of the water, even in just your flannel pyjamas and bunny slippers. The coil in his belly when he looked at you reminded him of being sixteen and holding hands at the pictures, but that had just been a flicker, and this was a forest fire.

The first mission with the rest of the crew was when things went sour.

He got to see how you acted first hand. The way that you were quiet in the jet, but smiling strawberry red, taking in all of the orders that Steve meticulously laid out, your eyes wide and eager. He watched you as he helped Nat set up the guns and stock the ammo, the way that you toyed with the knife in your boot, the gears in your head turning and working on something he was desperate to discover.

He hadn’t been on a mission with you, not only because they way you looked in your suit and the way that you grinned would have led to him inadvertently getting a bullet in his head, but because from what he had heard, your fighting styles were totally different. Your powers and your skills were a mystery to him, one that he badly wanted to solve, but you kept that side of you hidden and guarded with barbed wire, and he respected that.

You were paired off with Sam. Nat with Clint. Bucky with Steve. Wanda with Vision. It was a simple mission, there was some intel locked in a safe of a seemingly abandoned factory in the south of Russia. Tony had discovered the place crawling with hidden members of a gang that specialised in human trafficking and organ farming, and he needed what was hidden below to help blow it out of the water.

It was going to take a lot of skill. There was no doubt that the enemies would be heavily armed, possibly even with illegally manufactured weapons, and all of you had to keep your heads straight the entire time. He had wanted desperately to be paired with you, to keep his eye on you, (not that you needed it) but he knew it was out of the question. Instead, as you all split up a few miles away in the woods, he grabbed your hand quickly and rubbed his finger across your knuckles, looking at you intently, his eyes swimming with sincerity.

“Be careful.” He said, his gaze locked on yours.

You smiled. “Always.”

He stuck his middle finger up at Steve’s smug face as they headed towards the factory.

Things were going well. As well as they could be when they were covered in blood and sweat and surrounded by the sound of gunfire and cracking bones. Nobody had been hurt so far, the coms quiet as the pairings cleared their sectors and worked their way down to the basement. Bucky had just pushed the last man over the railing and onto the concrete floor below when he heard the crackle of panicked voices in his ear, his eyes darting to Steve.

“Shit! Fuck!”

“Sam?”

“It’s (Y/N)! Fuck! One of them took her!”

“What?” Steve said instantly, switching straight from solider to captain, immediately alert.

“There was too many, it was an ambush!”

“Sam just stay there and - ” Steve tried to keep his voice steady and level, but it seemed as though the walls were closing in. To make matters worse, he saw a blur of black in his eye line, and watched helplessly as his best friend tore down the stairwell, his footsteps a clap of thunder. “Fuck! Bucky!”

Bucky knew that he was going to get one hell of a lecture and probably some six week course in impulse in the force, but all that he could think about was you, his blood was ice cold, his body numb and his brain conjuring up a million different pictures of you that made him feel sick to his stomach. He leapt over the bannister and landed haphazardly on the floor, his gun cocked and ready. His eyes were nothing but jet black pupils, scanning for your face through the halls.

He knew that you and Sam had been working through what used to be the laboratory, and that was on the other side of the building. His legs and arms moved almost mechanically, determined to get to you as quickly as possible, taking out anybody that stood in his way. He could hear Steve calling from behind him, and the sputter of the others in his earpiece, but his focus was on one thing. You.

The men were big and brawny and mean. Tattooed arms and shaved heads and gold teeth. Bucky shredded through them like they wore nothing. He flung them over tables, threw them through doorways and dragged them up by the roots of their hair. They were strong though, laughing at him through coffee stained teeth, loving his anger and desperation.

“Where is she?” He snarled at one particularly vicious thug brandishing two assault rifles.

“Who? Your whore? Dead.”

He snapped his neck like it was nothing but a twig.

He ran from room to room, his boots squealing across blood and stray bullets, his breath as ragged and sharp as glass. Everywhere was empty. Rows of vials and big glass cylinders and cages for animal testing, there was nothing, the place completely ransacked and bare. He hissed, getting ready to fight his way through another floor until he heard exasperated grunts and the clash of metal from a small room off to the side.

He skidded into the doorway with his rifle up at his shoulder, his finger right on the trigger, ready to shoot somebody’s fucking head off. Instead he paused, his mouth agape and his hands lowering, the whole room standing still. There was a freezer. Probably for samples and test tubes and whatever crazy fucking thing they kept in a place like this, but they had used it as a cage, the handles tied with thick copper chains and padlocks. Sam was using the butt of his gun to smash his way through, and they were old and rusty and starting to crumble easily, and Bucky watched helplessly as he finally busted in, clouds of ice puffing around him.

Bucky didn’t know why he couldn’t move. Couldn’t help. But his feet were as heavy as cinder blocks, and his heart was thundering in his ears. There was a small squeal, broken and half hearted, void of anything other than exhaustion, and then the smell of tears and blood, followed by sweet mint and wildflowers. Unmistakably you.

He wanted to run forward and scoop you in his arms, press your head against the crook of his neck and get you far, far away from this place, but he couldn’t move, and so he watched as Sam tugged you into him, running his fingers through your hair, cradling you like a child, soothing you as you cried hot, wet tears into his suit. And Bucky wished with everything in him that it was him instead.

He stayed back as you flew home with Sam. He kept away when you were in the hospital with Bruce, lurked in his room when you went over everything with Tony, locked himself away when you confided in Steve. He felt as though he had failed you, no matter what the others said. He felt as though he had let you down, and the noise you had made when Sam tugged you from the depths of that tiny little box, it played in his head like a warped record, haunting him and his dreams.

For a week he kept to himself. For a week he ran a different route and trained at a gym down by the water. For a week he took his motorbike out to a shitty diner in the bad part of town and ate soggy pancakes instead of having dinner with the team, for a week he did everything he could to not see you, thinking that would ease what you had been through, but instead it left you feeling torn and hurt and completely alone.

Tony made him come in to test out a new reloading system and so he reluctantly snuck down to the figuring range under the cover of darkness. He allowed himself to get lost in the sounds of carnage and the smell of metal, until he heard soft footsteps from behind him.

“You’re avoiding me.”

You seemed so sad, and that made his heart clench.

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not.”

Silence. That had never been awkward between the two of you, ever, and yet now it was so thick you could cut through it with a knife.

You wrung your hands together, your eyes flitting around the room, never quite landing on his face. That hurt. After a moment you cleared your throat, using the toe of your sneaker to kick up dust from the floor. “Do you - do you know? I mean, has anybody said anything to you? About me?”

He shook his head. “No.” There had been a million times when it was on the tip of his tongue to pry the truth from Nat or Steve, but his respect for you was stronger than his need for answers.

He felt his stomach flip when you finally blinked up at him. You looked as though you hadn’t slept and he knew he looked worse. You were still so beautiful though, looking so young and angelic under the harsh lights and surrounded by all the weaponry. Like a powder pink rose amongst giant, violent thorns.

Unable to stop himself, he blurted out, “I’m sorry.”

“You said that.”

“Not for avoiding you. For letting you - For not being there for you.”

Your mouth was open, brows furrowed as you took in what he said. “What?”

“I should have helped you.” There was desperation in his voice, and he turned to face the targets rather than look at you, not wanting you to see him so weak.

You were silent for quite a while. It was difficult for you to digest his words, like swallowing glass. You had been under the impression that seeing you tearful and cowering and broken had scared him off, had made him look at you differently, but now you knew that he blamed himself. “Bucky...” You said, biting back emotion. “Its not your fault.” Your tone was definite. Strong. You wouldn’t let him feel guilty for something he had no control over.

He brushed you off, shifting his weight, turning playful. “Yeah I know. It was Sam’s.”

You rolled your eyes.

He clicked his tongue. He set the gun down on the table and turned to face you fully, his eyes solid and unwavering. “I am so sorry you got hurt.”

“I wasn’t - I.”Finding the right words was hard. You had so much you wanted to tell him but no idea how to, the sentences sticking to the roof of your mouth like peanut butter. “It was just...Can we? Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“The roof?”

“Yeah,” You smiled, and Bucky swore even the strongest industrial lights couldn’t even match your spark. “The roof.”

Under the stars and above the city as the cars raced and the sirens blared, you told him everything. Growing up as a lab rat, twisted and moulded by scientists and pumped full of chemicals. You told him of finding your powers and being forced to use them for vile things you couldn’t even repeat, and when he heard the tremor of your voice and saw the gloss on your eyes his whole body vibrated and turned a shade of red that it was almost black. You told him how the people that created you had wanted you back, and how Tony had saved you from being taken again, how you owed him your life.

He wasn’t good with comfort. He wasn’t good with words. He was good at tearing people apart limb from limb and shooting them from distances and breaking their bones like they were toothpicks, but for you, he would try. In a move so unlike him that it felt as though he might have been brainwashed once again, he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close.

You froze at first, but eventually thawed and melted into him, grateful for his touch. You had wanted to be close to him since the first time you met but you held back, and now everything felt right, like the missing piece of a puzzle slotting into place. Bucky couldn’t remember the last time he gave someone a bear hug, his nose buried in your hair, his fingers locked around you, desperate to keep you safe. Perhaps it was way back then, a time of uniforms and alleyways and candy floss and city smog, a time he used to long for with everything in him.

But now the memories of the past didn’t even compare to what he felt when he held you.

———————————————————

Everything came to a head on the first mission you had alone together.

Two months passed. Two months of subtle touches and shared smiles and inside jokes. Two months of rooftop laughter and midnight meetings and eating ice cream straight from the tub as you sat under the stars. Two months of utter, dreadful, aching, slow burning, and it was driving everybody else crazy.

Mostly Sam.

“I’m just saying,” Sam had murmured to Steve over chocolate eclairs one morning as they watched you teach a wide eyed, love struck Bucky how to play Mario Kart. “Can’t we just lock them in a room? Force them to kiss?”

“No.”

“It’s just so gross.”

Wanda flicked a grape at him, smiling cheekily as it bounced off his nose. “It’s sweet.”

He cocked a brow and tilted his head, his eyes filled with mild disgust. “Is it?”

Steve flicked through the files in his hand and licked whipped cream from his fingers. “He’s happy. Leave him be.”

“He’s a dumbass.”

“They both are.” Natasha interjected from behind them, wiping sweat from her brow and pulling off her boxing gloves. She was monotone and her face was straight, but even the black widow couldn’t bite back the smile she had as she watched the girl she now thought of as a sister and the once murderous, unbeatable assassin arguing about blue shells on the sofa.

The first mission you had been assigned together was in a small town in the Midwest somewhere. There had been unusual sightings in an airfield in the middle of nowhere, and a fugitive from Germany had been spotted in the bars that bordered the little village. Tony didn’t want to send too many people and blow the cover, just your powers of manipulation and telekinesis to apprehend the subject, and Bucky for added strength and precision.

Initially Tony was hesitant on pairing the two of you together, but there was no denying that you both worked brilliantly together. You understood one another on a level that nobody else did.

Bucky didn’t get nervous before a mission. In fact, he hardly felt anything. He spent the hours in the jet preparing himself and his weapons, going over maps and plans until they were drilled in his brain. But as the two of you took off, you with your rose blossom lips and eye watering suit and soft laughter, Bucky felt a warmth coiling in his stomach.

Apprehension.

You were staying at a cheap hotel a few blocks from the airfield. Tony had thought of everything and booked the two of you in rooms the opposite end of the hall from each other. Three floors apart. Bucky had slipped the receptionist a twenty for the room next to yours. For protection, of course.

Working undercover could be mind numbingly boring. Hours sat in a parked car in the dead of night, freezing to the bone as you watched an apartment from the bushes, trailing a suspect for days on end - but any time with you was a blessing for Bucky, even if it was sat behind the wheel of a cheap car with painful seats and broken heating.

The mission was a quiet one at first, you’d spotted the subject and had been following him, but all he seemed to do was eat crappy diner food and watch hours of cartoons. You both remained a safe distance but you managed to eventually bug his apartment when he spent the evening at a strip club. Tony and Steve updated you often, they had intercepted his phone calls and learnt that he was sending out a shipment late one night, and the two of you needed to stop it before it reached the air.

The rain was torrential when the two of you left the hotel. You smiled secretly to yourself as you walked through the slick streets, noticing how Bucky always made sure you were on the side away from the road, and how he moved so that you never got your feet in puddles. You were in the middle of nowhere following a criminal who spent far too much time eating potato chips and watching Rick and Morty, and yet you struggled to think of a time when you had been more content.

It meant everything to you.

Staying up late to listen into his apartment, Bucky buying practically the entire vending machine, the two of you pigging out and talking about nothing. You had breakfast at diners and communicated at night through knocks on the wall. Whenever you were out and the air was ice cold, Bucky would always move in close to you, his arm brushing against yours, his body your own personal heater. He wanted nothing more in those moments then to pull you into him and warm you up some other way, but instead he kept his eyes fixed forward, and bit the inside of his cheek until it bled.

You arrived at the airfield at midnight. The moon was high and the sky was dark and you both had to crouch low to be avoided by the overhead lights. You saw the suspect speaking to someone on his phone, and not long after a large white van pulled up towards him, the driver getting out and opening the boot.

“That’s it.” Bucky said pointing at the wooden crates. His voice was right by your ear, and you tried to ignore the way you shivered.“You ready?”

You nodded, smiling up at him. “Always.”

What happened next was mostly a blur. The two of you kept your heads down and your hands on your weapons, the pounding of the rain disguising your footsteps. You made it across the tarmac with Bucky covering you, his eyes alert and prepared for any imposing danger. You lifted your hands, ready to snap your fingers and apprehend the man rooting around the boxes, but before you could even feel the warm buzz of your powers through your veins, six men leapt out from the back of the van, guns raised and smoking.

“Fuck. Fuck! It’s a set up.”

Without even a second thought, Bucky pushed you aside. His body totally covered your own, and he hissed and swore, firing back at the bullets rapidly charging at you. You swung your hands and fought back, sending out flickers of fire and air, setting one of them alight and watching as he howled in pain. Bucky shot at everyone he could, sharp pierces right in the skull, always one hundred percent accurate, but his brain was whirring a mile a minute. He was trying his best to keep his eyes on you, his only goal was to make sure you were safe.

It wasn’t like he thought you were weak - far from it. He had seen you out on the field, been knocked on his ass from the aftershock of your powers more times than he could count, and he knew he had no real reason to be so worried but that did nothing to stop the prickling feeling across his skin like a million tiny little flames at the thought of you getting hurt.

You were determined to keep him safe as well though.You tossed back bullets and threw your knife through the air, smiling as it slashed through on of them, leaving him crumpled and crying on the floor. The two of you worked well together, playing off of each other’s attacks and combining your skills to get as many of them down as you could. Right when the last man hit the floor, you exhaled, and Bucky allowed himself a soft smile, looking beautiful and bruised in the middle of a rainstorm.

“Are you alright?” You heard him say, but his voice faded into static in your ears. Behind him one of them had struggled to his feet, blood spurting out from his neck, his face filled with nothing but venom, his eyes wild and vicious. You didn’t even blink, thrusting your hands forward and sending a wave of power through the air.

But it was too late.

He had already lifted his gun, a ripple of bullets flying towards you both. You leapt in front of Bucky, pushing his head down and trying to soften the impact, but his hands curled painfully around your waist, dragging you onto the floor and under him. The bullets missed the two of you by centimetres, piercing into the airplane behind you both. Your surge of power had knocked the man back and he was down once again, his body now pale and lifeless. You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, and Bucky’s. He was fully on top of you, warm and solid and absolutely seething, his chest rising and falling above your own.

“Are you out of your fucking mind?”

“Bucky...” You inhaled, trying to get him to calm down and look at you but he merely shook his head, his body vibrating blood red.

“No. We’re leaving. Now.”

———————————————————-

After the ambush, it was too risky to return to the hotel, and so Steve sent out coordinates for a safe house an hour away. The ride there was completely silent. You didn’t even try to speak or diffuse the tension, you could practically feel Bucky’s anger, and the steering wheel had even started to bend from his grip.

The safe house was a small cottage. The only heat was from a tiny wood burner in the lounge, and the only food on the shelves were tinned peaches and cans of custard. Everything was oddly cosy. Pink knitted throws and round plush cushions and mismatched sofas, dried lavender tied to the wall and exposed brick and white, ceramic milk jugs. In any other circumstance you would have been happy to spend the night, but Bucky’s sour mood was quick to dim your spark.

You sighed as he threw his duffel bag onto the table, angrily heading to the sink and twisting the tab, exhaling loudly at the thin dribble of water that came out.

“Bucky.” You started to say, but he held his hand up as a warning.

“No.”

“Yes!” You snapped, needing him to understand you. “You have to listen to me.”

He dismissed you, too overcome with annoyance to even process your words. You could have died tonight, and you were acting as though it didn’t matter. “You were a goddamn idiot out there.”

“No I wasn’t!”

He slapped his hand on the wooden counter, a slap ringing through the small room.“You jumped in front of a bullet -“

“You almost got shot Bucky!”

“You almost got shot.”

“It was what was best for the mission.”

“I don’t give a fuck about the mission! I only care about you.”

“What?” Your voice was soft. A whisper. You could hear everything around you, feel him before he even stepped forward. Your breathing was shaky, adrenaline spiking through your body. The man you were in love with looking at you desperately and longingly, as though there was a physical ache inside of him.

He shrugged, because what else was there to say? He was looking deep into your own eyes, wanting to drown in them. His face was stern and hard and he was pissed, and yet, strangely, none of what had happened seemed to matter. He stepped towards you, his gaze running across your figure, looking for any cuts or bruises one of those fuckers might have left on you.

“Are you hurt?” He said finally, his face millimetres from your own.

“No.”

“Good.”

He kissed you. His hands went up and into your hair, his chest pressed against yours, his lips were warm and soft and hungry, ready to devour the one thing he had wanted since the very first time he laid eyes on you. You melted into his touch and he smiled. The kiss got more intense, teeth clashing and hands under sweaters and his body rolling against yours. You moaned in his mouth and he bit your lip and your pulses synced and raced and leapt. This was six months of pure longing and frustration and the need to portray everything that had gone unsaid for far too long.

It wasn’t long before you ended up on the floor. You were both too greedy and touch starved to even stop or make your way upstairs, you both needed the other like air, like addicts desperate for another hit. His lips were all over every bit of skin he could find, you lasted like sweat and cinnamon and vanilla and he swore he would give up everything he had if he got to feel you like this, whining and writhing and grabbing him, tugging him closer and kissing him like an angelic little devil.

He had once been a Casanova. He had once made ladies swoon and mothers blush and fathers clench their fists. Then he had been shattered, rebuilt in a way that wasn’t quite right, his body used for torture rather than pleasure. And yet, with you, the rain pelting the windows and your bodies intertwined and your lips tasting like summer strawberries and everything that he had ever dreamed of - he felt whole, for the first time in a long time. The noises you made were sinful, and his thoughts were nothing but you,you,you, the girl he had fallen in love with through the sounds in the wall and with the flowers on the roof, the girl that occupied his brain more than anything else.

Everything was too much and not enough, his head was buried in your neck, your legs were around his waist, pulling him tighter, urging him to go deeper. He had dreamt of this moment for a long time. He had imagined a candle lit dinner and red roses and awkward touches and itchy dress shirts, he wanted everything to be perfect, because you deserved the world. But in the living room of a safe house in the middle of nowhere, covered in sweat and blood and surrounded by thunder and clashing furniture seemed oddly magical for a couple with roots like yours.

After, you were cradled in the crook of his arm, with your hair splayed across his bare chest. Bucky was having a hard time controlling his rapid pulse and heavy breathing because holy shit he had just slept with the girl of his dreams, but one look at you under the moonlight looking ethereal and exhausted and everything else just dissolved into wisps or smoke.

He wanted to tell you in a better way, but he just couldn’t keep it in any longer. His brain was fizzled with pleasure and dizzy with euphoria, and he just wanted, needed you to know everything.

“I’m in love with you. I have been since I first saw you.”

You froze. After a beat, you buried your face into the flesh of his chest, your soft laughter tickling his abdomen, his fingers trailing loosely across your spine. You smiled like a child, looking up at him with big eyes and heart shaped lips.

“God. We’re both idiots. I’m so in love with you too, Buck.”

He grinned, and he felt like his heart might tear in two.

—————————————————————-

You arrived back at the compound with interlocked fingers and matching grins and Sam nearly collapsed with relief. Tony almost went into cardiac arrest.

For the first time in fifty years, happiness followed Bucky wherever he went. Things were easy, light. You were his. You crawled into his arms at the end of a bad day and you laughed into his shoulder and you held his hand and kissed him and killed him and resurrected him all at the same time. He had never felt home in this modern world, and now he looked forward to each day and whatever strange and inane adventure the two of you would end up on. The anvil that had been crushing his heart for so long had started to lighten, and he owed it all to you.

Still, there were hard days. When he woke up slick with sweat with eyes wider than the moon and an urge to wrap his hands around something, or when you thought of the past and became consumed by the memories, tears falling down your face before you could stop them. He got jealous, and he had multiple stern talks with Steve about “not threatening the interns just because they speak to your girlfriend,” you could be stubborn, take on more than you needed, return from a mission with a limp you tried to hide, one that eventually led to an argument about your reckless choices. But nothing ever lasted more than a day. You were always there for one another, with open arms and gentle smiles and the unconditional love that people would kill for.

He had been in a million different situations where he felt like he was drowning. Like something was pulling him under the depths, crushing his lungs and shattering his oesophagus. But nothing compared to how he felt around you. Nothing could match the way you consumed him completely. the electricity that coursed through his veins when your fingers brushed against his, there was nothing quite like the way his heartbeat would slow when you were around, the way that he suddenly felt warm and full whenever you laughed.

He had spent so long alone. He had spent so many years fighting a war he never signed up for, and he was exhausted. He was starved of attention but terrified of exposing himself, and he lived with a chain link fence around his heart. Your soft voice so soothing, the sweetness in your eyes and the innocent bat of your lashes disarmed him better than any soldier ever could. There was something about you - something magnetic, magical.

Your sweetness went straight to his brain. One look at you and his mind dizzied, a sugar rush that only you gave him.

Whenever somebody asked where he was from, he thought partly of Brooklyn, of his mother and Steve, of cobbled streets and dog tags and ink stained newspapers. He thought of darkness. Of being moulded and reshaped deep down in the depths of bad places, of iron and rust and metal, his hands coated in blood.

But mostly, he thought of you. Safe and warm and sweet and so good. How expensive mattresses and dim candles and hot chocolate didn’t make him feel half the way that you did. How you grounded him, calmed him, made everything feel light and coated in sunshine when he had spent so goddamn long being frozen.

So when somebody asked where he was from, he thought of you, because you were home.

[cellophanejpeg]

innamorato

Pairing: Javier Peña x female!reader

Summary: You sense something is off with Javi and try to talk to him about it.

a/n: requested by @abitofmagic​​ with the prompt:  “You’ll feel better if you talk about it. I’m here to listen.” 

Warnings: smoking, hurt/comfort, a bit of angst, fluff

word count: 3.1k

masterlist | part two | part three

...

Something is wrong with Javier Peña. You can’t really tell what, but you know something’s off when he’s not on your bed one morning. It isn’t unusual for you to wake up alone, after all, you both don’t live together, but considering it’s the weekend and you just had a perfect date the night before, it is a bit odd of him to just rush home.

Rubbing the sleep out of eyes, you sit up and stretch, letting out a loud yawn. A chill breeze hits your skin and you shiver, frowning in confusion. When you see the doors to the balcony open and the thin white curtains floating with the wind, you relax, seeing Javi’s silhouette outside. You quickly search for a sweater and a pair of sweatpants to put on, leaving the mess of clothes on the floor to clean later, and head for the balcony.

Javier is shirtless, wearing only the suit pants he wore last night, sitting at the small table you have outside, one leg bent, and leaning his elbow on his knee. A lit cigarette is between his fingers, but he’s not even smoking it; his gaze is set on the view of buildings and houses in front of him. The sky is cloudy and the air is cold and you know he shouldn’t be out in the open.

“You’re gonna catch a cold out here,” You say, hugging yourself as you step outside to join him.

He looks up at you and gives you a grin. Approaching him, you take the cigarette from his hand and take a drag of it yourself before giving it back to him. His skin is cold as you lay a palm flat on his shoulder, pulling him for a side hug. You lean your chin on his shoulder and press a kiss on his cheek.

“You okay?” You ask and he nods.

“Better now.” His voice is different like it’s still laced with sleep. You know something’s not right, but you don’t press it, knowing he’s a man of few words. You let him press his lips to yours in a sweet short kiss.

“Breakfast?” You smile at him and Javi nods, mirroring your smile. “Come inside, then. I’ll even make bacon for you.”

Javi raises his eyebrows in surprise. Ever since you started sleeping together, you’d always told him that you never eat bacon in the mornings because you always get lazy to wash the pan later.

“Will you, now?” He asks, amusement in his tone. You straighten your posture and take his hand, shrugging one shoulder.

“I’m feeling generous today.”

“What did I do to deserve you, huh?” He gives you a full smile and pulls you to another kiss. A longer one this time, his touch lingering on your skin as he cups your cheek gently. “I’ll be in in a minute.”

Nodding, you run your finger through his hair gently. “Don’t take long.”

Javi watches you enter the apartment again. He cares about you a lot and it impresses him that, despite not knowing him for a long period of time, you picked up on his habits and routine quickly. And he’ll be damned, he actually likes that. He actually enjoys the weekend dates, the quiet evenings in your apartment, the unplanned ones in his. He likes you, he really does.

And that’s what scares him.

Javier Peña isn’t a one woman man. He knows that. Ever since Lorraine, he’s convinced himself he’s not worthy of anyone’s love. Until he met you. Until he laid eyes on your figure in a coffee shop, as cliche as it sounds, one morning before he checked in at work. He could tell you were a teacher too, with a pile of papers in front of you as you scribbled fast on each one. You were grading papers in a coffee shop, at 7:30 in the morning. He was amused immediately by you. Couldn’t take his eyes off you.

Javier had to admit he stared at you that day more than he stared at any other woman. He remembers when you checked your wristwatch and quickly downed your cold coffee, gathering the papers from your desk, shoving them in your briefcase to leave the shop hurriedly. On your way out, Javier noticed you left a few papers on the table and left the line to order to scoop them and run after you.

“Oh, thank you!” You had sighed after he called you on the street, holding the papers out to you. “You’re a lifesaver, my kids would be so disappointed!”

If Javier thought you were pretty from afar, he was certain you were beautiful from up close. You had smiled at him when he frowned and explained you were a elementary school teacher and you had asked your students to write an essay on mother nature. You were supposed to give them back that day but hadn't finished grading them until that morning.

And that’s how you two met. Javier told you he was also a professor, but a university one, and he knew the feeling. You both parted with smiles on your faces, each thinking about the other the entire day. In the next few days, you both bumped into each other in the coffee shop a few times, exchanging a few polite words. Javier couldn’t stop thinking about you that entire week, messing up lectures and forgetting to grade assignments. Until he finally got the guts to ask you out. One date led to another and a few months later, here he is, staying over your apartment on weekends and having breakfast together.

Javier smiles at the memories and finally stands from his seat, putting out the unsmoked cigarette on the ashtray and entering the apartment again. The warm air welcomes him and he sighs, closing the glass door. The smell of bacon makes his stomach rumble and he pads, barefoot, through your apartment to get to the kitchen.

You’re humming a song that plays on the radio, slowly moving to the beat. Javier’s chest swells at the sight. He could get used to this. You and him, having breakfast, lunch, and dinner together. You and him together. Staying in, in cloudy days, watching bad movies on television as you ate kettle corn. Making love on the couch when you get bored. Having a life together.

He approaches you, as you take the last piece of bacon from the frying pan and turn the heat off. You’re about to move to the fridge to get the eggs when he gently grabs your hips; you freeze your movements, tensing your muscles for a second, and then relax.

“You scared me.” You smile as he brushes your hair away from your neck and buries his face on your skin.

“Sorry, cariño,” He murmurs, placing a kiss below your ear. “Can’t help it, y’know.”

He nibbles at your earlobe and you gasp with the sensation, feeling his hands run through your body.

“Javi…” You sigh, still smiling. “The food’s getting cold…”

“So?” He slips a hand under your sweater. “It can wait.”

You turn your head to meet your lips with his in a passionate kiss. When he pulls away, he looks into your eyes and smiles. “You’re so beautiful, you know that?”

A soft laugh escapes your lips and you shake your head. “Even in my gross sweater and these saggy pants?”

“Especially in these saggy pants.” He bends you over the counter and you let out a laugh.

…

The week is passing by slowly and you hate it. The weather isn’t helping either, fall is just around the corner and the days getting cloudier and cloudier. It’s not that you don’t like days like this, but you’d preferred to stay home under the covers when the sun hides behind the clouds. Which takes your mind back to last weekend, where you were all day under the covers with Javier. You have to admit that lately, he has been more affectionate than ever. It started with extra touches: a hand on your lower back, a brush of fingertips on your cheeks, his hands tangled on your hair. Then, random kisses anywhere, your hair, your forehead, the back of your hand… And then, the compliments. Even if you’re at your worst, he’ll tell you you look pretty. While you like these kind of gestures, the change of behavior surprises you every now and then.

Sighing, you sit on your desk, placing the awful coffee from the teacher’s room machine on the table, and getting ready to grade these quizzes. You’re not worried about it, you know your students are going to ace it. But as soon as you start reading the first test, a knock on your door interrupts you.

Javier is standing at the door with a cup of coffee in his hand.

“Can I come in, professor?” A light teasing tone echoes in the empty classroom. You laugh softly, taking off your glasses.

He almost never stops by your workplace and you almost never stop by his. It’s kind of an unspoken rule the both of you follow, but it’s not a bad thing. Even though you both long for each other during the week, you prefer not to get in the way of his job. And vice versa. But it’s nice to have a surprise every now and then.

“Just teacher here.” You smile, leaning your elbows on the desk.

“Sorry.” He shrugs, letting himself in. “Force of habit. Teacher.”

“What brings you here, professor Peña?”

Javi offers you the cup of coffee. “Just dropping this. For you.”

“Javi!” You sigh, feeling your heart swell with affection as you take the coffee from his hand. “You didn’t have to!”

“I wanted to.” He leans in to press his lips on your hair and place a hand on your shoulder. “You look beautiful today.”

A light pink shade creeps on your cheeks as you look away, taking a sip of your, now new, coffee.

“So, I was thinking,” He starts, looking over at you. “Do you want to come over tonight?”

Frowning slightly, you remember today is a Thursday. “Tonight?”

“Yeah, I know it’s a school night, but I just–” He hesitates, sighing. The next words are whispered in a rush. “I need you.”

Your heart clenches at the sight of him. He has been acting weird lately and it breaks your heart to see him like this, vulnerable, sad, distant. So you agree.

“Okay.” You nod. “How does 9pm sound?”

“How about eight? If– If you’re not busy–”

“I’m not, don’t worry. Eight is perfect.” You smile widely at him.

“Great, great.” He smiles, nodding, and looking away. “I, uh– I’ll leave you to your papers then.”

A laugh escapes your throat and you shake your head. “They’re math quizzes.”

“Right. Just be glad you don’t have a hundred of these to go through.” He starts to walk away from the room.

Smiling you stand from your seat and call for him, your heels clicking on the floor as you approach him. Pressing your lips gently to his, you rest both of your hands on his cheeks. It’s a sweet quick kiss, one that leaves him yearning for more.

“Thanks for the coffee,” You mumble on his skin.

Javi smiles widely, resting his hands on your waist. “I’ll see you tonight.”

“Yeah.” You breathe and, this time, you watch him go.

…

After an entire afternoon thinking about Javier and his smile, you finally stop at Javier’s door. You try not to think about the strange acts of affections he’s been giving you lately, or the weird moods he’s on sometimes, and knock on his door. You hear rustling inside the apartment for a moment and then the door opens.

“Hey,” He breathes, smiling at you and looking at your outfit.

“Hi.” You smile back, suddenly feeling insecure. You chose a simple dress tonight, not too fancy and not too casual.

When he gives you space for you to come inside, you do and put your purse on the small table beside the door as he gives you a kiss on the cheek. Soon, when you walk further into the apartment, you see a table set for you two.

“Oh.” You say, frowning. “I didn’t realize it was a date.”

Javi looks at you, a line between his brows. “What did you think it would be?”

“You know…” You trail off, shrugging one shoulder. He raises his brows and then laughs softly. “I would’ve dressed nicer if I knew.”

“I think you look gorgeous.” He squeezes your hand, brushing his thumb on the back of it. “And I just ordered some pizza.” Javier leads you to the couch in the living room. “I thought we could just… You know, watch some movies.”

Tilting your head at him, you smile, feeling a warm feeling on your chest. He just wants to spend time with you. That’s sweet.

“That’s different.” You sit down on the couch. “And sweet.”

He smiles at you and presses a kiss on your lips. “Just wanted to spend time with you.”

Smiling, you look into his eyes. “How was your day?”

“You know, the usual. Giving lectures to uninterested students, grading awful papers… Yours?”

“It was okay.”

You both talk about your week until the pizza arrives and then you both eat, talking even more. You like this. You could get used to it. Javier is good for you and you like it. It doesn’t scare you or make you want to push him away, in fact, you’ve been waiting to find someone like him.

By the time you finish dinner and sit on the couch to watch a movie, you’re a little buzzed out from the wine.

“You’ve been different lately.” The words come out of your mouth before you can stop them.

“What do you mean?” He takes the remote and starts setting up the movie.

“I don’t know.” You shrug, snuggling closer to him. “Like different in a good way.”

“Well, do you like it?”

Smiling, you nod, giving him a kiss on the cheek. He laughs at your reaction and shakes his head.

“Good.”

…

When Javier wakes up, it’s in a jolt, his heart beats so quick inside his chest he fears he might have a heart attack. Instinctively, his hand flies to the place where you should be on his bed. But it’s empty. Still a bit jumpy from his nightmare, he exhales sharply, jumping out of bed and looking of a pair of boxers to put on.

He finds you in the kitchen, warming some milk on the stove. You’re wearing one of his shirts and a pair of his socks that you stole from the dresser to keep your feet warm. Sighing in relief, he drops his head, closing his eyes and leaning a hand on the doorway to the hallway.

“Javi?” Your soft voice reaches his ears and he looks up to see you with a concerned look in your eyes. “Are you okay?”

“Yes.” He breathes. “Are you?”

“Yeah, I just– I couldn’t sleep so I came to warm up some milk.” You watch as he slowly walks to the couch and sits there, reaching for the pack of cigarettes on the coffee table. Turning off the stove, you leave the milk there as you walk to him. “What happened? Did you have a nightmare?”

You know you’re pushing him, but he looks so distressed and tired that you can’t help it. You care about him too much. Leaning on him, your hand finds the nape of his neck and you tangle your fingers on his hair. Javier looks at you in the dim lights coming from the kitchen and almost breaks. Almost.

“You’ll feel better if you talk about it.” You insist. “I’m here to listen.”

“I’m okay, cariño,” He replies, his voice hoarse and dry. “Don’t worry about me.”

Your eyes don’t leave him as he lights a cigarette and takes a drag from it. In a way, his cold attitude stings you and you can’t help but feel like he’s pushing you away. It’s the first time that it happens and you don’t know what to do with this feeling. He seems to sense your hesitation and puts a hand on your thigh, giving you a smirk.

“Javi, don’t push me away,” You whisper in the dark, your eyes already glossy with tears. “Please.”

Javier’s smirk falls and his face changes. His brows furrow slightly and his mouth opens; he puts out the cigarette and turns to you, placing his hands on your upper arms.

“I’m not,” He says, rubbing your arms. “I’m okay, I promise.”

“No, I know something’s not right,” You argue, trying to hold back tears. “In a moment, you’re treating me like I’ve never been treated before and in the other, you’re just– You don’t– You don’t talk to me!”

He sighs, dropping his hands on his lap, feeling defeated. “I’m sorry, baby, I just–” He closes his eyes. Now it’s the time to be honest, or else, he feels like he’s going to lose you.

“Yeah, I had a nightmare,” He confesses. “I’ve had–” He lets out a shaky breath. “I’ve had them since I came back from Colombia.”

Biting your lip, you take his hand and squeeze to encourage him to keep talking.

“Back then, they were just memories, horrible things that happened there, but now…” He finally looks up at you. “Now, they’re about losing you.”

So, that’s why he wanted you to stay the night. That’s why he wanted to spend time with you on a school night, because he wanted to make sure you were here, with him.

“They’re just dreams, Javi, They’re not real,” You tell him softly. “And I’m not going anywhere.”

Then, you pull him for a hug and he gladly hugs you back. You were right, he does feel better, now that he’s talked about it. Javier feels a relief that he’s never felt before, one that he’s been looking for almost all his life. He breathes, trying not to let the tears fall and when he speaks, the words leave his mouth naturally, like they're meant to be said.

“I think I love you, cariño.”

Before he can process what he just said, you laugh softly on his shoulder and press a kiss on the exposed skin. Your lips leave kisses from his shoulder to his neck, to his jawline, and then finally on his lips.

“I know,” You mumble on his lips, smiling. “Javi, I know.”

“How?” He murmurs back, his lips never leaving yours.

“When you know, you know.” You finally pull away to look into his eyes. “And I feel the same Javi. I love you too.”

Javier’s eyes light up and he half smiles, cupping your cheeks and pressing your foreheads together.

“What did I do to deserve you?”

__

tagging: @bestintheparsec​ @adikaofmandalore​

[yikesharringrove]

Hey! So think you could do something along the line of Steve finding Billy breaking down (writers choice as to why) somewhere random Billy thought he'd be alone for awhile and Billy is all teeth towards him before Steve coaxes him enough to let him in on why he's so upset. Maybe first kiss? Or just some angst and comfort

Billy was crashing through the woods, didn’t know where he was, where he was going, barely even knew which way was up at this point.

He was driving, trying to find somewhere, anywhere, had gotten out of his car to stumble through the woods.

He heard a branch snap, went still.

“Hello?”

“Jesus Christ.” Steve Harrington, of all people, stepped out from behind a tree, a wooden baseball bat dropping from where he had it, up and ready. It was that fucking nailed bat Max had threatened his dick with.

“What’s with the weapon?” Billy flexed his hands. A fight wouldn’t be so bad right now. He knows he can take Harrington.

“You’re not the worst thing I’ve seen in these woods.” His eyes looked hollow, empty.

“The fuck you goin’ on about?” Billy could feel his skin itching, his arms shaking.

“Nothing that concerns you, Hargrove.” They stared each other down.

And then Steve stepped closer, holding out the bat.

“You’re giving that to me?” Steve nodded. Billy took it, checking the grip.

“Hit that tree.” Billy looked at him.

“What?”

“You obviously want to hit something, and I’d love to not get the shit beaten outta me again, so, tree.” Billy looked at the bat.

“You gonna be pissed if I break it?”

“Nah. I got like, three of ‘em.” Billy adjusted his stance, holding the bat just like Neil had taught him.

He swung, tree bark splitting and flying into the air when he wrenched the nails out.

He hit it again. And again. And again.

He only figured out he was crying when his vision started swimming, didn’t sop hitting the tree.

He didn’t stop as the bat splintered, as the nails bent and chunks of tree flew off.

And then the bat cracked, split entirely in half.

Billy felt the same.

He threw the piece he was still holding to the ground, burying his face in his hands.

And then there was a warm hand on his shoulder.

Billy whipped around, pushing Steve back from him.

His eyes were wide, and he nearly stumbled over a root.

“What the fuck?”

“Stay the fuck away from me, Harrington!” His blood was pounding in his ears.

“You got two options. Option one: you pound my face in like I can tell you want to. You end up feeling shitty about yourself and I move on. Or, option two: You come eat dinner with me.”

Billy deflated.

“Wh-why?”

“’Cause I’m lonely and got more chicken than I could possibly eat. Besides, you’re in my backyard.” He turned, stepping expertly over a few branches, turning to Billy. “Coming?”

Billy’s not entirely sure why he followed.

The woods opened up to the back of a huge house, a fucking in ground pool right there in front of it.

Because of course Harrington had a giant house with a heated pool.

He led Billy inside the sliding glass door, into the immaculate living room, through to the surgically clean kitchen.

“You live in a model home or some shit?” Steve gave him a tight smile.

“Pretty much.” there was a bucket of KFC on the counter. Steve got two plates from the cabinet, a couple forks, the bucket of chicken. He gestured for Billy to grab the back of sides and Billy stole a few cloth napkins from the neat pile.

Steve led him downstairs to a cozy looking rec room, plopping himself in front of the couch.

“Your parents home?” Billy didn’t want to think about crying in front of him earlier.

“What day is it?”

“Thursday.”

“Not for a week and six days then.” Steve was building himself a plate.

“Must be nice.”

“Used to be.” Billy didn’t know what that meant.

No parents was always a positive.

“What do you mean?” Steve gave him an odd look.

“If I tell you, will you tell me why you were being angry in the woods?”

“Probably not.” Steve shrugged, picking up the television remote.

He put on Indiana Jones.

“Oh, yes. I love this movie.” He scoot forward in his seat, taking way too big a bite of chicken.

It was cute.

Billy mentally kicked himself, tried to stop staring.

It was quiet as they watched the movie, eating the too much food.

“I didn’t know I was in your yard.” Steve looked up at him, a little dazed from pulling his attention away from Indiana.

“I mean, glad I found you. Before anything else did.”

“Anything?” Steve went pale.

“Bears. There’s bears. Here. I saw one. Once.” Billy nodded slowly, one eyebrow raised.

“Bears?”

“Bears.” He watched the movie for a little while longer.

“I just gotta get out sometimes. Be somewhere not in my house. Used to go to the beach, but, uh, no beaches here.” Steve sat up a little straighter.

“We’ve got beaches!” Billy gave him a look. “Well, obviously not ocean beaches, but we’ve got, just come with me.”

He left the t.v. on as he raced up the stairs, running up them on all fours like a little kid.

Billy very fastidiously did not melt at the sight.

Steve was tugging on a jacket, grabbing his keys, and was out the door as Billy rounded the corner.

He didn’t know where Steve was driving him to, but Steve had obviously been there a lot. All the turns were well practiced, and he slid right into a parking spot, the lines too faded to see in the dark.

Billy squinted when he got out of the car.

There were other cars lined up in the other spots, a few spaces left between each car.

Steve led him down a little hill.

“Absolutely pathetic.” Billy could see the water in the moonlight. “This is not a beach.”

“Closest you’re gonna get in Hawkins.” Steve was smiling, all proud of himself.

“Just another reason to fucking hate it here.” Billy flopped down on the shore.

It wasn’t even proper sand, more like, a bunch of pebbles. Steve sat next to him.

“Yeah, there’s a lot of those.”

“It’s worse when you’ve lived somewhere else.”

“Who says I haven’t?”

“No way. I’d bet my right nut you’ve never even left the state.”

“That’s unfortunate to your right nut then, because I went to Chicago once with my dad.” Billy tossed his head back, let his laugh ring out over the water.

“Real world traveler, over here.” Steve shushed his yells, laughing as he did.

“Billy, be quiet, there’s people fucking.”

“Yeah, I kinda put two and two together there, Steve-o.” Steve rolled his eyes. “So you brought me to make out point, then?”

“Lovers’ Lake.”

“Even worse.” Steve huffed a laugh at him. Billy looked out over the water, up at the stars.

There were a lot out here. He could even see the milky way.

“If my dad knew some boy took me out to a place called Lovers’ Lake,” he trailed off.

“Yeah, mine too.” He put on a deep voice, puffing out his chest. “Harringtons aren’t queers, Steven.” Billy looked at him.

“Are Harringtons queers?” His calf was twitching, needed to get his energy out somehow.

“One is.” Steve’s voice was quiet, Billy almost didn’t catch it over the lapping of the water at the shore. “What about the Hargroves?”

“One is.”

Steve smiled at him.

“Maybe they should get together sometime.”

“Yeah, they could go to Lovers’ Lake and make out like a couple a’ dumbasses begging to get caught.” Steve laughed.

“One of ‘em has a big empty house. Gets lonely a lot.”

“The other one doesn’t like bein’ home much.”

“Sounds like they’re a pretty good match.”

“They just might be.” They were leaning into one another, Billy could feel Steve’s breath against his face, could smell his rich boy cologne.

“One of them would really like to be kissed right now,” Steve breathed against his lips.

Billy took his face in both hands, planting a soft kiss to his lips.

It didn’t last long, just something sweet for them to treasure tonight.

“I should probably go home soon.”

“I can drive you to your car, if you want.” Steve stood up, dusting off his ass, holding out a hand for Billy.

They held hands back to Steve’s car. Billy felt like a lovesick idiot.

Maybe he was, just a little bit.

Steve idled next to Billy’s car.

“So, same time tomorrow?”

“Let’s skip the breakdown though, yeah? Don’t think I can do ‘em back to back like that.”

“Then let’s also skip the whole finding you in the scary woods behind my house, too. Just use the front door.”

“You gonna let me pick the movie.” Steve gave him a sharp look.

“You got a problem with Indiana Jones? ‘Cause I don’t think this thing between us can go any further if you do.” Billy laughed. He felt so much fucking lighter after this evening, felt like he could go back, face his dad with a smile.

“No problem, just wanted to watch somethin’ scary.” Steve made a face.

“Not really a scary movie person.” Billy rolled his eyes.

“Then crawl into my lap and be all cute and scared.” Steve’s went all big. “I literally just handed that one to you.”

“Well then you better bring somethin’ horrifying, if this is just a horny ploy.”

“You’ll be scared right outta your pants.” Steve laughed at him, pushing him towards the open door.

“Go away. I don’t like you anymore.”

“See you tomorrow, Stever.”

“Yeah, whatever. See you tomorrow.”

[oddsnendsfanfics]

The (Mis)Adventures of Kal and Moose - Puppy Love?

Genre: Fan Fiction Pairing: Henry Cavill/Reader Warnings: Fluffy Summer Fun Rating: G Length: Drabble Disclaimer: a strict work of fiction, I own nothing except the original characters and the plot line. In no way am I affiliated to any of it.  

A/N: Kal and Moose seem to be popular, what can I say? 

Henry Cavill Master List

“Oscar, can you not torment Kal?”

“I'm not tormenting him,” the boy pouted, attempting to push the dog away. “He keeps sitting on me, Uncle Henry.”

“Kal, stop sitting on Oscar.” Henry scolded the big black and white Akita.

Henry swore he could see Kal roll his eyes, but did as he was asked and climbed off of Henry's nephew. Kal yawned and laid on the bed in the corner, like a “good dog”, another eye roll. Please, this was his domain. Nobody moved him from his spot on the couch, except for maybe Moose. Even then, they would compromise and Moose would lie across the humans.

Closing his eyes, Kal sighed, listening to his human and the two tiny humans playing another video game. They had spent a part of the day outside in the garden yesterday. This morning they went for Kal's regulation walkie, and now they were in the house – again. Kal huffed and yawned. He wished Moose was there, they could bounce around the garden chasing squirrels, cats, and scare the tiny humans with their loud but harmless boofings.

Sprawled out on the “dog bed” Kal whimpered in his sleep. Oblivious to the fact he had company. Dancing around Kal with more energy than he knew what to do with, Moose nosed the big dog and yelped at him. Kal sniffled and boofed in his sleep. Henry laughed watching Kal completely ignore his best friend.

“He's pretty wrecked,” Henry explained with a casual shrug.

“Kids do that to ya.” You laugh, calling Moose back to you. “How was last night?”

“Good, they slept well. Aiden was up in the night, he crawled in with me, and went back to sleep. Thankfully.” A soft chuckle, Henry looked over his shoulder at his nephews playing the video game that he had set up. “They're glued to that thing.”

“Ah, like their uncle.” You tease, nudging him in the side. “Why don't we wake sleeping beauty and head for the park? Moose could use a nice, long run. He's been inside all day. I had Alfie this morning, he had an appointment so no dogs allowed.”

Henry snorted. “You're welcome to try and pry them away.”

His brother and sister in law had left the 10 and 6 years old with their uncle for the weekend, it was their anniversary and Henry wasn't doing anything. He had gallantly offered to take his nephews, they arrived Thursday morning and would be leaving around mid day Sunday. How hard could it be? His sister in law had told him not to let them spend the entire weekend in front of a screen.

Easier said than done. He'd had them for 24 hours and the majority of their time, they weren't happy unless they were stuck in front of a game. Henry couldn't blame them, it was an activity the three of them were equally matched at, and they all enjoyed.

“Hey guys,” You call cheerfully, walking into the room. “What's going on?”

You had met Oscar and Aiden before, although you weren't overly familiar with the two boys, you hoped they had remembered you.

At they very least, they would likely remember Moose. He had been the unexpected star of the show, stealing the tray of sausages from the grill allowing himself and Kal to a fine meal. He then proceeded to vomit on the lawn where one of the other nephews managed to step and slip in it. Henry had assured you that it wasn't a big deal. Right, because it wasn't him having to face the shame or clean vomit off of his dog.

“Playing a game,” Aiden answered dropping his controller and turning to you. “Would you like to play? Uncle Henry said it's okay for kids.”

“I'm sure it is, but I don't want to play. Thanks.” You smile, rubbing Moose's back. He stands beside you sniffing the small human.

Kal is awake, stretching and wagging his tail. Moose is here and the fun is never far.

“Okay.” Aiden shrugs turning back to the game.

“Oscar, don't be rude.” Henry scolds from his spot holding up the door frame with his body.

“Oh, hey.” Oscar turns briefly to greet you.

“So, how many more levels to this game?”

“Seven.” Oscar's eyes never leave the screen.

“Ah. Well, I guess you're probably going to play those then. Sorry, Hen, looks like you and Kal are here all day.” You begin to talk, making no sense whatsoever to Henry.

“Wh-I don't.” Henry begins, when you wink at him. Indicating for him to follow the lead. “I guess we are. Too bad.”

Aiden's attention was now piqued. Ah yes, the little ones always caved first. Standing up and walking to his uncle, Aiden hangs onto Henry's hand for a second before whispering to him.

“What were we going to do?” Henry asks out loud. Kal prances and Moose begins to wiggle around as well. Aiden nods.

“I came over to see if your Uncle Henry wanted to go to lunch,  or maybe we could go to the park, then get an ice cream. But since you guys have seven levels left.” You shrug as casually as you can. “Guess Moose and I are on our own.”

“I want ice cream!” Aiden cheers. “Oscar, turn off the game. Turn it off! We can go get ice cream! Oscar!” the small boy pesters his big brother.

A sight all too familiar for Henry. He was often the one pestering his brothers to do cool things, too.

“Go away.” Oscar pushes Aiden to the side, trying to play the game.

“Oscar, don't push your brother.” Henry corrects. His brow knit, he means business. “Why don't we turn off the game and go to the park.”

Scowling, Oscar rolls his eyes, a Cavill trait. You can't help giggle at how much the two boys look like their uncle.

“Why can't she take him and we stay here?” Oscar pauses the game.

“Because we are all going, I said so.” Henry pulls rank over the sulking child. “Now, it is my game and I want it turned off. I will banish you from playing the rest of the weekend.”

Did that sort of thing actually work?

Indeed it did, for Henry at least. He didn't have to ask the second time. Oscar did as he was told, powering down the gaming system, not without a pout though. Dogs and children wrangled, everyone was out of the house in a timely fashion. Another grumble came, when the boys – primarily Oscar – realized that this was an adventure to be taken on foot.

Whatever, he would get over it.

Holding tightly to Moose's leash, Aiden walked proudly along side his uncle. The red Aussie being on his best behaviour, although you made sure to keep a close eye in case he got any ideas to run off with the child. Making it to the park in one piece, no run offs or mishaps, was nearly a miracle. Letting the two dogs off to play, Henry handed Oscar the ball and told him to throw it as far and hard as he could.

Aiden didn't go too far, sitting in the grass, chatting idly with you. He told you about his favourite subject at school. His favourite sport and hobbies. The topic of conversation got real, when he leaned in closer. Whispering that his favourite superhero was Ironman, but he would pretend to like Superman to make his uncle Henry happy.

Overhearing the confession, Henry shot you a wink and a slight nod. He was well aware of his nephew's acting skills.

Throwing the ball with his uncle, until the two dogs returned panting and tired, Oscar ignored you and Aiden. Enjoying the time he had to chat with Henry about various things. Sports mostly. He made the observation that the usually shy Aiden was your new best mate. Sitting on your knee in the grass, Aiden laughed as you tickled him. Your bonding interrupted by Kal wandering over and slobbering against your face.

“Kal!” You squeal and push the big dog away. “Get off.”

“I think he's saying it's time for ice cream.” Henry laughed, retrieving Kal.

“Ice cream!” Aiden cheered rushing to his feet, Moose dancing along beside him.

Settled on the grass under a big shady tree, Aiden had his wish. An ice cream cone in his hand, melted debris on his cheeks and chin. He was a picture of happy. Oscar sat with his back against the tree, watching  flock of birds near by. Henry rested beside him, Kal's leash in his hand. The big dog licking his paws, having finished a small cup of delicious ice cream.

Sitting beside Aiden, you hold your ice cream for Moose to take a lick. He had his own cup as well, although he refused to share with you. Funny how dogs and children were that way. Henry had shared his with you, insisting that you try the passion fruit frozen yogurt. Resting in the shade, you can't help but enjoy the comfortable silence between the four of you. The boys had been perfect all afternoon, you were certain their mother would be thrilled to hear that they had done something other than played video games. In the silence, Oscar shifted around, sitting to face his Uncle.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.” Henry nodded.

“Is she your girlfriend?”

Hearing the question, you nearly choke. Sputtering and wiping a hand across your chin.

“No, we're friends.” Henry rolls his eyes. Giving you an apologetic look.

“Friends who like to kiss?”

“No, friends who like to sacrifice small children who ask too many questions.” You speak without any thought on that comment. The sheer look of terror on the child's face is enough to force Henry into hiding his laughter.

“Uncle Henry, she's weird.” Aiden licks his ice cream cone, pushing the melting treat a little too hard. Resulting in it splatting to the ground, bottom lip trembling Aiden is on the verge of tears when Kal and Moose rush to the rescue. Kal hunting down the ice cream on the ground, cleaning up. Moose goes straight for the face, licking the remains off of the little boy's face. “Uncle Henry!” Aiden laughs as the dog's tongue tickles his face, Moose now joined by Kal.

“Boys, off.” You attempt to call off the dogs, while Henry has already gone to get Aiden a second cone. “Kal, Moose. Now.”

“Here we are,” Henry holds a new cone, laughing when he sees the sight. Aiden on the ground, Kal and Moose licking his face like it was their new day job. “Well, at least I won't have to clean him up.”

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- if you want to be added? removed, please let me know

[thetorturerwrites]

Sleep: A Sackler One-Shot

Summary:  You’re not sleeping.  Adam wants to help. The only way he knows how.

A/N:  18+ only.  It’s Adam Sackler – that’s the warning. Ha! (Smut. I’m saying its smut.)

Word Count: 4500+

Days. It had been days since you had slept. Everything was starting to blur together because your mind just wouldn’t shut off.

It started, of course, with the slightly manic, sugar-coated Saturday that was your group of friends. None of you were the clubbing kind. So, you would routinely be found in someone’s living room, basement, bedroom drinking together, eating together, creating together. When you all came together like that, it was magic.  And Saturday night had been magic.  The gathering had been at your place this time.  It was you, all of your friends, and Adam.  Tall, dark, sex on a stick Adam.

Adam had moved in about three months ago. The place he lived in before was bought out and all the residents purged so the building could be torn down. He said that he’d used it as an excuse to get a bit away from the heart of the city, and he’d moved in with you after Ray mentioned he knew you and you were looking for a roommate. When asked about why he was looking for a new place, you’d gotten the watered-down gist. Something something Hannah. Something something Jessa. Something something drama. You’d damn near said no because of the something something drama, but he looked earnest when he said he was done with it and wanted to find a calm space. You had calm space to offer; and so, in he moved.

You caught him watching you a lot that night as you flitted from friend to friend in your shared home.  He brought you a drink once or twice when you’d been carrying around an empty glass without noticing, but you were too high on the vibe, the magic, to notice the way his honey-brown eyes always followed you wherever you went or the way he made sure he knew where you were.

Once, he caught you in a quiet moment in the kitchen and moved to stand opposite you, filling your glass with water this time just to take a break from the booze.  You smiled your thanks at him, happy for the moment of silence and stillness, but pushed off the counter when you heard your name again.  But he wasn’t going to let the moment go by and moved to cage you there, arms on either side of you, large body bent slightly to look you in the eye.  His eyes dipped to your lips where he could smell the whiskey and then up to your colored cheeks.

“You’re a pretty drunk, you know that?”

You were about to say something, you were certain of it.  You were willing your brain to fire up and get ready to hit him with something witty and sexy and adult.  But your name was shouted again, and the bubble burst.  That was Saturday.

And so, it wasn’t surprising to you that Sunday was an up day, a productive day, a great, shining day because you were still flying so fucking high. But you fully expected to crash Sunday night after the house was clean, the laundry done, lunch with your best girl, dinner with your parents, two dog walks, and a flurry of this, that, and the other in between. Your body should have been done. And yet, Monday came with maybe an hour of sleep under your belt.

It was now Friday.

The first day, you’d been annoyed, but this wasn’t your first rodeo, and you knew it was only a matter of time. The second day, annoyance turned to irritation; and the third day, you were fucking angry. What the fuck was happening. Thursday was a blur of exhaustion and emotion because you always got emotional when you were tired and it had been DAYS at this point. Never more than two hours of sleep at a time and just fucking awake for no reason. So, you’d begun going through your insomnia arsenal.  

Friday found you called off from work, wrapped in too many blankets on the couch, and the heels of your hands pressed as far into your eye sockets as they could go to stop the tears that were forming. You sat going over the list of things you’d tried to get to sleep AGAIN to try to figure out the right configuration that would work. You’d tried (in no particular order)…

-Hot shower -Tea -Tylenol PM -Masturbation -Hot shower + tea -Tea + Tylenol PM x 4 (nobody fucking takes only one) -Hot shower + masturbation -All of the above in one night

None of it had worked, and here you were practically weeping on your couch because you were so utterly exhausted when Adam crashed through the door, loud and cursing like he usually was. You curled in on yourself just a little bit more hoping he wouldn’t notice you and would just go away.

“What’s up, kid?” He greeted while dumping himself onto the couch by you. When you didn’t reply immediately, he reached over and nudged you. “Hey… ” he said, nudging you again. Two more pokes to your shoulder had you snarling and unbundling your head from the mini fort.

“WHAT ADAM. WHAT DO YOU WANT.”

Your outburst didn’t seem to rattle him, and he gave your shoulder one more nudge with an up tilt of his mouth.

“Y'ok there? You look like death.”

Heaving what probably liked like a dramatic sigh, but was actually just Herculean effort to not burst into tears again, you dropped your head in your hands once more and muttered…

“I haven’t slept all week, I’m exhausted, and I can’t banter with you today, ok?” Because normally, the banter was fun. He made you think with his quips and humor. And you loved making him laugh because it seemed like he didn’t do it enough. But today was a leave-me-the-fuck-alone day. Adam, however, did not get the memo.

“Have you tried…”

“NO,” you nearly shouted, “DO NOT ASK ME if I tried tea or a shower or what the fuck ever. Because I did. More than once and I sincerely doubt that you’ve got any new ideas to cure insomnia.”

He smirked at you but didn’t say anything else. You watched as he leaned forward to unlace his boots.  Canting your head slightly, you let your gaze trail to the strong arms, biceps working, and the black t-shirt that sat tight across his chest.  But for you, it was two things in particular - his height and his hands.  You always had a thing for hands because a good-sized hand could do so many things – Lift, hold, squeeze, choke.  All yummy and delectable things.  You also had a thing for tall people because on one hand, it made you feel safe; and on the other, being able to reach literally anything in the world was attractive.  You weren’t extremely short, but tall came with bonus points in your book.  So, there you were daydreaming about Adam and his tallness and hands when he finally spoke and shook you from your reverie.

“You know…they say sex is good for insomnia.”  He was the one watching you now having shucked shoes and socks and leant back into the couch.  His gaze roamed you over, and you shrank further into your fort because, though you did shower and brush your teeth, you were certain that you did not paint a pretty picture.

“I’m not having sex with you, Adam. Besides…” You could not have helped the snort that came from your face for all the money in the world, and it came with a side of snarky eye roll, too. “I’ve already tried it.”

His brow quirked, but he didn’t look away.  Rather, he let his gaze rove down the bare shoulder, the only bit of you he could see, for a moment before speaking again.

“You haven’t had anybody here in weeks. And you’ve been wearing that same sweater since Tuesday.”  Fuck. It was true, but you didn’t think he paid much attention to your comings and goings.  AND ALSO, you definitely didn’t think he paid attention to what you wore.  Apparently, he did.

“No, but I did try to get off, and it’s the same thing.  And it didn’t work and so here I am being badgered by you about the state of my sex life.”  With the grumpiest face you could muster, you flopped against the side of the couch and pulled the blanket over your head.  

“Just go away, Adam. Leave me to my insomnia and insanity in peace.  I promise I will bequeath the apartment to you when I expire.”  And the Oscar for best actress goes to…. 

But your dramatics were cut short when you felt your entire fort being lifted from the couch, and the squeak that broke from your throat was decidedly less than composed, and you bristled at the noise.  Who the fuck squeaks.  

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!”  Just as quickly, you were deposited on the end of your bed and shot to your feet with a glower.

“Come on, kid.  I don’t like seeing you like this because its literally fucking pathetic.  So, let me help you.  I swear I will keep all of my clothes on, and I will not fuck you.  Well…" he paused and let his gaze trail from your head to your toes and back again before finishing, “mostly.”

“You…,” granted, your brain was sleep deprived and fuzzy, but this was something out of a porn movie, wasn’t it? “You…want to help me sleep…by sort of fucking me?”  What. What was even happening.  Was this real life?  And then, he laughed. He fucking laughed. Hand on the stomach, head tilted back laughed. That was it. Murdering him was your only option now.

“I want to help you sleep by helping you get off.  Orgasms you have to give yourself are still work. Just let me give this to you.”  

Apparently, you’d already begun this bizarre experiment because he reached up to pull the clip from your hair and toss it over his shoulder to be lost somewhere in the room.  Your mouth opened to chastise him, but he plowed forward before you could formulate the words.

“I told you. I’m gonna stay just like this, and you’re gonna feel better.”  You were still contemplating - because sleepless brain = slow as fuck - when he pulled the heavy white sweater over your head and off your arms.

“I’m going to burn this sweater, by the way.”

He balled it into a rumpled mess and threw it clean out of the door and into the hallway. He was serious about that sweater.  Again, you opened your mouth to object, but he was now working on your leggings.  He nudged your feet to get you to lift one and then the other, and they, too, were tossed over his shoulder. In the span of minutes, you had been rooted from your fort, undressed, and were now standing in front of your dangerously handsome roommate in nothing but your favorite blue tank top and black boy-short panties.

“I’ve been wondering what you kept under those ugly, baggy sweaters,” he murmured while not being shy at all about the way his gaze traveled you over.

“Look. Adam.”  Reaching up again, you pressed your fingers into your eyes and just took a breath because this was stupid, right? Adam was manipulating you by weaponizing your exhaustion, and you weren’t going to stand for it.  You were hardly going to stand for standing.

“This is a bad idea, ok?  This isn’t going to work, and I think you sh–”  Christ on a cracker what was that?  He had cut off your objections by sliding all ten digits into your hair and against your scalp.  The large fingers attached to those very large, very strong hands splayed out all around your head. And THEN, he started to rub and scratch at your scalp.

“Fuuuuuuuck,”  The curse-groan that came from you was definitely unladylike but sweet Jesus did that feel good.  Your head dropped forward against his chest, and you felt the reverberation of his soft chuckle against your forehead. Instinctively, both of your hands came up to rest on his hips because he was messing with your equilibrium but god did you hope he wasn’t going to stop.

“Better?“, he asked with his voice a bit softer than before, and you nodded against his chest again without saying anything just in case your voice would break the spell.  Your pity party began to puddle away – no, that was YOU turning into a puddle under that heavenly scalp massage.  He was looking down at you now, where you rested your head against him, and he cleared his throat as quietly as he could.

You tried to lift your head to retort, but he shushed you and just kept right on going with those magic fingers.  Each drag of his nails against your scalp elicited a happy groan or moan that made his fingers tighten or flex momentarily, every noise provoking a physical response.  His hands moved down from your scalp to wrap around your shoulders and start kneading, and you moaned.  Loud. No fucks given.

“Jesus Christ, Adam, please do not stop doing that.”

Adam’s large, wonderful, dexterous hands massaged your shoulders first, then deltoids, then upper back, then rib cage, and you wobbled and teetered depending on where his hands were. You were pliant under his ministrations, and you swore you could hear him muttering something under his breath. Finally, you tipped your head back from his chest and unscrewed one shut eye to look at him.

“Hi,” you said.  That was it. That was the best your brain could do.  He smirked down at you, tilting his head back in amusement.

“Hey, kid. Get up on the bed before you fall over.”  He laughed. He was laughing at you. Again.

You contemplated it for a moment while staring up at him and his long eyelashes. Was he always this attractive, you wondered.  Yes, yes he was.  But now what? So far, he’d been true to his word, but you couldn’t be sure that he would in the long run.  Maybe you were relaxed enough now.  Maybe the massage was enough. Maybe you didn’t have to potentially wreck your roommate relationship by whatever it was he was planning to do.  But he could, apparently, read it on your face that your brain had started whirring again because he lifted you once more and unceremoniously threw you on the bed. You hadn’t even finished yelping from the surprise of it when he was crawling up in the bed beside you and arranging you on your back. He slid your now very-relaxed arms upwards so they crooked on either side of your head.

“Trust me, ok? Try.”  

You didn’t trust him. It hadn’t been long enough, but you were so, so tired.  Your brow furrowed again, and you bit into the plump of your bottom lip.  He nudged the side of your chin with his nose, and you knew the anxiety crossing your face was clear, you just knew it. Your brain was kicking up again. Fast, fast, too fast.  Sliding up beside you, Adam nudged one of his knees in between your legs, and you jumped.

“Adam, I…”

He hushed you yet again, but still gently, and dropped a hand on your stomach, fingers sliding to the side and down until it curled over your hip. His face found the space between ear and shoulder, and those full lips found purchase there. He murmured something against your flushing skin, but you had no clue what it was because that spot, right there, was fantastic. His lips trailed up to the lobe of your ear and then back down again, raising goose flesh in their wake. You sighed against him, a satisfied, almost eager sigh.  You tilted your head slightly to the side to give him more room to explore that valley, and he took the invitation raining kisses on the skin that soon gave way to his tongue and finally teeth. You hiccuped at the feel of teeth on skin. You knew he was a fan of marking and bruising - his calling card to the world. “Adam was here.” It almost made you laugh.

Finally, Jesus Christ, finally, you began to relax against him.  The stiffness from your aching arms and legs began to recede, and tears sprang to your eyes at how fucking amazing it felt to not have that tightness in your shoulders, your back. Both hands dropped down from where he’d set them to fall on Adam’s shoulders, hips shifted against him and tilted - a decidedly languid undulation matched with a contented sound through parted lips. He glanced up at you then, eyes raking over your flushing skin, watching your lashes flutter open at his pause. The slight dig of your nails into his shoulders drew a thrust from his stuttering hips before he could reign it in.  He could not, however, stop the things coming out of his mouth.

“You’re doing so fucking good, kid. Doesn’t that feel better?  Told you I was going to take care of you.”  All you could do was nod.  Yes, it does feel better.  Yes, he was taking care of you. But your brow furrowed again because the ache was shifting from arms and legs into your center.  The core of you began to throb in time with your heartbeat, and that ache was torturous.  

“Adam…” You breathed it out, something of a plea, and he lifted his head to look at you, groaning softly at the look of wanting found there.

“I know. Just let me…” His voice trailed off, and he began to scoot around you – propping himself up on this side, coming up to his knees for balance, both legs caging one of yours to keep it apart from the other. When he had you just the way he wanted, he leaned forward - the bulk of his weight up on the arm so he could look down at you, your face, the length of your body. And look he did. You watched him, through your lashes, as he stared down at you. Canting his head to one side so he could look all the way to your toes.

“So fucking pretty,” he murmured - more to himself but loud enough for you to hear.  And then, he began to move again, heaving a satisfied hum that you could feel vibrate through his chest.

“Ah sshhhit!”  The surprised cry broke from you as two large fingers slid up and down against your labia, the friction from your panties just enough to drag. Instinctively, your uncaged knee drew up slightly, the ball of your foot finding ground in the blanket to give you a bit of leverage to lift your hip - granting more access to the lower parts of you and eliciting an appreciative sound from the looming figure above you. A few passes in, that enticingly long middle finger slipped between the two labia to rub from the tight bundle of nerves hidden there to the slick entrance of your core. When you began to lift your hips to meet his strokes, he cursed.

“These need to go right fucking now,” he muttered and sat up on his knees to peel away the offending panties and toss them away. He turned back to you and just stared. In another life, you’d have shied away from his gaze because there you were naked under him, your breasts swollen high and tight from arousal with pebbled nipples straining the fabric of your shirt, bare legs parted, swelling cunt all on display, and all of you heaving with breath coming in short bursts. In this life, however, you were too lust-rattled and tired to think about how you might look.  With no shame whatsoever, he reached into his pants to adjust himself, and you held your breath. He smirked that asshole smirk of his holding your gaze steady as he did it.  Adam Sackler was a devious beast, you decided, but you couldn’t help yourself from licking your lips at the thought of it.

In a second, Adam dropped back down over you and buried his face into the crook of your neck again hiding whatever tortured faces he might be making.  You didn’t have time to dwell on that notion, however, when you felt the pads of his fingers find the fount of your slick again. Your own self control wavered.  With a gasp, your hips jolted forward against him again, and you began to rock upwards and down with each press and pass of his fingers. The sounds spilling out of you were uncontrolled, frenzied - particularly when he abandoned the long passes for short, tight circles on your clitoris.  Your fingers curled into fists in his shirt, clutching the fabric as though it would help. When your hips began to buck and your head pressed back into the pillow, he lifted his head from the valley of your throat to watch you.

“Come on, kid. Quick and dirty this time. Cum for me.”

You nodded your head blindly, agreeing with him that fucking yes, you wanted to. It was right there and he was charging towards it for you. Bless this dirty, dirty man. Every part of you was clenched tightly, terribly tightly - eyes, fingers, toes, knees, hips, core. And then fucking yes, there it was. As the tightness in you exploded outwards, you came with a series of shouts that had him planting his free hand on your chest so he could feel them. He started to talk to you again, punctuated with his own arousal now, riding you through the orgasm the only way he could in this arrangement - with that filthy mouth.

“Look how fucking good you look.” He huffed, heaving a breath against you. “Bet you taste like candy.” You felt the vibration of his low, hungry groan. “Shit, you’re gonna fucking kill me.” He pressed his hand down into your chest just a bit more until your eyes opened and looked up at him. “Time for take two, yeah? Wanna make sure you sleep. Let me taste you.”

The delirium in your head made you question if he was saying those things out loud, and you certainly weren’t sure if that was you nodding your head, but his weight was gone from you so fast there was little doubt that it was definitely you who had agreed, and it was definitely him pushing your thighs apart wider.  

Laying himself along the end of your bed, he traced the outline of your labia again with his finger.  You looked down to see him gazing into your pussy, pearlescent from your arousal and orgasm. He treated himself first to the taste of your thighs, licking away the sweat and slick that was spotting the flesh and applying a trail of hungry bites to your center.  When he finally - FUCKING FINALLY - lowered his mouth to your taste, he groaned loud.  The reverberation of it against your already sensitive sex sent a shudder up your spine. Hungrily, he tasted all of you - labia, clit, slit outside and in - and you were never so grateful for a debauched man.  His tongue circled and he sucked on your clit until you squirmed. He scooped up all of the slick collecting at your entrance and sucked it down like ice cream with a lascivious moan.

But then you moved, and that drew his eyes open and up along all of the curves of your body. He watched you as you shifted a bit, scooting your hips down closer to him.  Both of your hands came down to thread into his hair, and you began to move his mouth against you, and Adam lost his fucking mind. He growled and moaned, digging fingertips into the flesh of your thigh as you brazenly showed him what you liked. You moved him, then, up and down, side to side, and he hummed hungrily with each thrust of your hips as you worked yourself on his mouth.

You were almost there. It was right fucking there, but your brow knit with frustration because you were chasing something that seemed elusive. A pained whimper broke loose from your chest, and you threw your head back against the pillow. Watching Adam devour your pussy should have been enough because, good god, he was beautiful between your thighs. And the hungry look he gave you when you began to manipulate him made your insides pool that much hotter. But still you chased, frustrated, until finally, one of those large hands came to push one leg higher up.  On the heels of that came two long fingers sliding into your heat, and your chest shot up off of the bed like you had been electrocuted.  A shouted curse broke loose from you as those fingers began to move, pumping in and out, curling to drag against the spongy spot inside. Your trembling fingers curled harder into his hair, and your hips began to dance against him again. Rocking, rocking, rocking…

“Fuck, Adam!”  Your chest arched upwards until the only parts of you touching the bed were head, shoulders, and hips – your pelvis punched down low and open for his thrusting fingers. That coil began to tighten again, and you trembled right at the edge of it. Teetering. Keening. Still chasing.

“Goddammit! Say something!”  

And oh, thankfuckinggod, he moaned into your cunt, and the vibration of it ricocheted through you and shot you like a slingshot.  The force of your orgasm shook your legs, your hips rolled and bucked, and you cried out hoarsely.  The new surge of hot and wet that met his lips had Adam reeling a series of hungry, sloppy moans alongside yours. He chased every drop, every taste of it until you’d rode him through the high and had begun to collapse against the bed.  

Happy, contented sounds rumbled through your body and you patted his head affectionately - that was the only thing you were capable of currently.

With a chuckle, he crawled up the bed beside you and settled himself gingerly by your side.  You watched him move, and your brow furrowed slightly.  Did he hurt himself? Was it that bad? What the fuck, man! But before you could think of too many more scenarios, he captured your chin in his fingers and kissed you once, light but enough to impart his enjoyment of you. The tang of you now on your lips had you smacking them blissfully. Man wasn’t wrong. Tasted like candy.

“Don’t think. You’ve got me hard, painfully. Sleep.”  

As he talked, he wrapped an arm around your middle and pulled you close, settling your back against his chest so that he could bury his face in your hair. Pulling up the blanket around you both, he wrapped himself all around you and whispered into the back of your neck.

“Sweet dreams, kid.”

Because it had worked. And here you were – sweaty, sticky, sated.  And fast, fast asleep.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Whumptober Day 8: Abandoned

CW: Some vaguely implied child abuse, domestic violence between spouses, blood - and like a lot of it, knives, pet whump, emotional abuse and manipulation, brief homophobia reference

I’ve been asked before about how Krista came to live at the safehouse with the others. Well. Here’s her story. Contains a reference to @whump-tr0pes‘s Honor Bound series.

—

Mr. and Mrs. Richardson had been fighting for months, and the girl had kept her head down. She’d kept quiet, stuck to her schedule. Bathrooms on Mondays, dusting and vacuum on Tuesdays when Mrs. Richardson is out of the house because Mrs. Richardson hates the sound of the vacuum, Wednesday is cleaning the childrens’ rooms, Thursday the kitchen, Friday the den and living room, Saturday and Sunday for everything she didn’t get to over the week.

The girl, who they called Sara, did her job. She stuck to her schedule. At night, she slept in her room, in her bed, and she knew that she and the children - teenagers, all three of them - listened to Mr. and Mrs. Richardson fight.

Sometimes about money, something about bank accounts that were supposed to have more in them than they did. Sometimes about women, and something about how the money in the bank accounts was going to women who weren’t Mrs. Richardson. 

Sometimes about how their children were ungrateful, they didn’t understand how good they had it. 

Sometimes they fought about Sara, and whether Mr. Richardson looked at her too much or in the wrong ways.

There were nights the fights were vicious and Sara was terrified of the way they screamed at each other, the sound of shattered glass on the walls. On those nights she crept out of her room and into the oldest child’s room, a girl who had just turned eighteen, and Miss Alyssa would let her lay in the bed while they both pretended to sleep, and both stayed wide awake.

Eventually, the two younger children - sixteen year old Mary and fourteen year old Evan - would creep in, too. The four of them would huddle together, the children and the Box Babe, and sit awake past midnight, waiting and waiting for it to stop.

Miss Alyssa would set her jaw and promise the younger two, eighteen and out, just get to college and you barely have to come back. Eighteen and out. I’ll be gone in three months and then we can start planning for you.

Eighteen and out. But Sara was already eighteen - Mr. Richardson told her her paperwork said she was 22, once - and she would never get out. When Miss Alyssa promised there was an escape to her siblings, she never quite looked at Sara.

But there were nights the fights weren’t bad enough to send the two younger ones in, and it was just Miss Alyssa and Sara. Miss Alyssa had told Sara one night, I think I like girls, but I think my parents would fucking kill me if I told them so.

Sara had whispered back, I think I like girls.

She repeated a lot of things they told her, it felt safer than screwing up by getting it wrong. But this hadn’t been repetition. It had been a confession.

Miss Alyssa had stared at her in the darkness, the sound of breaking glass the backdrop to the silence in the bedroom, and said, I thought they took everything like that away from you.

If they did, it didn’t work, Sara said, and the two of them giggled, half-hysterical frightened laughter, as Mrs. Richardson called Mr. Richardson a two-timing son of a bitch stealing from his kids’ fucking inheritance accounts and Miss Alyssa’s arms went around her shoulders and Sara clung tightly to Miss Alyssa’s waist, her hair a loose waterfall of blond. Mr. Richardson never wanted her to pull her hair up.

Sara was good at her job. No matter how frightened she was, no matter that the fights kept her awake, she was up at dawn to prepare breakfast, get the children their lunches ready, lay out school uniforms and Mr. Richardson’s tie. 

She was good at being their Domestic.

Which was why she was so confused when Mr. Richardson ordered her into the car on a Tuesday. “But it’s-… it’s vacuuming day, Mr. Richardson,” She had protested, uncertainly, standing in the tank top and shorts she was allowed to wear, short enough to show a flash of her stomach when she had to go on her tiptoes to dust the top shelves. “Mrs. Richardson won’t like it if I still have to vacuum when she gets home.”

“I said get in the car, Sara,” Mr. Richardson snapped, his voice edged with the same violence she heard so often at night. “No one gives a fuck what Melanie wants any longer.” When Sara still didn’t move, his eyes narrowed and he stepped forward, grabbing her by the arm in a grip that bruised, dragging her out the front door.

“M-Mr. Richardson, it’s, it’s vacuuming day-”

“Shut the fuck up.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Sara repeated in a whisper, and obeyed.

The children were all at school when she was all but shoved at Mr. Richardson’s sleek black BMW, told to buckle herself in. The click of the seatbelt felt like the click of the collar being buckled around her neck each day after her shower, and she fiddled with the black leather band nervously, chin tucked down.

The radio played at low volume, and Sara looked from the corners of her eyes as they drove down the street. She had never left the neighborhood since the day that Mr. Richardson had brought her home as a Christmas gift for the family, and once they passed the four-way stop next to the sign for the subdivision, the environment around her was as foreign as another planet.

He drove in silence, ignoring her halting, soft attempts at questions. He turned the radio up each time she spoke, until Sara gave up speaking entirely. Had she done something wrong? She had always worked very hard, and Mrs. Richardson was always saying what a good job she did, and…

“Thinks she can fucking take everything from me,” Mr. Richardson muttered. “The house, the beach house, my fucking kids. She thinks she can fucking have all of that? Yeah, we’ll fucking see.”

“Sir, are you-… are you okay?”

They were stopped at an intersection and his head whipped to look at her. Sara flinched nervously backwards, dropping her hands to wring them over and around each other on the tops of her bare thighs, prickling goosebumps with the A/C on full blast. 

“What? What did you say?”

“I asked, um, are you-… are you okay? You seem-”

Angry. Scary. I’m scared of you. I’m scared you’ll hurt me. I’m scared, I-

“-upset.”

“Yeah.” He laughed, bitterly, raking a hand back through his hair, jamming the gas when the light turned green, half-throwing Sara backwards against her seat from the sudden momentum. “Yeah, I’m fucking fine, Sara. Don’t you worry. Take your collar off for me, baby, all right?”

“Take the collar off, yes, sir.”

He never called her baby. That made her stomach twist in newly nervous, nauseous ways, and she slowly raised trembling fingers to the back of her neck, undoing the buckle and feeling her breath hitch, her heart start to race. 

She couldn’t disobey the order, even though she felt more naked than ever when she slipped the collar off of her own neck and laid it in her lap, her thumb rubbing over the metal of the buckle itself, sliding over to the soft inner lining, then back to the metal. 

“Good, good girl. Okay. Okay okay okay. Shit, fuck… you want some McDonald’s?”

“Want some McDonald’s?”

“You fucking parrot. Do you or not?”

“Um. Yes, Mr. Richardson, if you want me to want that.”

He bought her a chicken nugget Happy Meal and she picked at the fries and stared at the little toy inside, squeezing it to make Spongebob Squarepants’s eyes pop out of his head, then back in again. 

Mr. Richardson drove for hours. They stopped at a rest area, and Sara used the pets-only restroom while he waited outside for her, and then they drove some more. At some point his phone started ringing, and he only snorted when he glanced down to see who it was, silenced the ringer, and kept driving.

Countryside passed them, rolling vineyards with grapes heavy on the vine, trees in other places ringed in pretty fences. Sara kept waiting for him to tell her what he was doing, where they were going, but he never did.

A new city rose around them, tall buildings she could barely crane her neck enough to see, and eventually he pulled into a small parking lot labeled EMPLOYEE PARKING ONLY and she knew he didn’t work here, but he parked, and he told her to hold out her left wrist, and she did, looking at him with pretty eyes, just a little large and wide for the thinness of her face.

He reached back behind himself into the backseat and pulled out some towels, soft, fluffy bath towels from home. She hadn’t seen him pack them, and blinked, confused, as he laid them out over the console, layers and layers of them. Four towels total. “M-Mr. Richardson?”

“Don’t scream,” He said, and she caught her breath in a sudden fear just as he brought out the knife and turned the volume up.

The car was running with the stereo at full blast. The noise was deafening inside the car, and no one could hear Sara’s tearful cries for him to stop, and her eventual screams, as Mr. Richardson cut the barcode off her wrist.

His knife slid beneath the skin, not carefully but clumsily, and she kept trying to jerk her hand free but his other hand was gripped with bruising white knuckles. She shook her head, her hair floating around her. She begged, she pleaded, she cried, and he never looked up, not once, until her wrist was a bloody mess of ruined flesh, the barcode was gone, and the towel beneath soaked up more and more blood. 

He said something. She couldn’t hear him over the pounding of her own pulse in her ears, her own wails, her own fear of him.

He spoke again, and she shook her head, trying to pull her wrist back to herself. He kept his grip on it and shook it, and she let out a new burst of wailing tears, pulling away from him, panicked, kicking out without thinking. Her bare foot slammed into his arm and finally he let go of her. She desperately felt for the car door handle, and he spoke again but she only heard the click as the door opened and she fell off the side, landing on the pavement, right over the yellow line to mark a parking space.

She scooted back away from him. Her wrist was still pouring blood, it wasn’t stopping, she was smearing it all over herself, her little tank top and the skintight black shorts. 

“There. If I don’t get to keep you, she sure as fuck doesn’t,” Mr. Richardson said, and he reached all the way over, throwing the towels at Sara and grabbing the handle on the door. The bloodsoaked bath towels smacked into her, and she clung to them instinctively, pressing them against her wrist.

“Mr. Richardson-… w-wait-”

He looked at her like she was nothing, not even an animal. “Good luck, Sara.” 

“Good… good luck?”

He closed the door, and she had to scramble back out of the way as he nearly backed over her. The tires squealed as he pulled back out onto the road, and Sara stared dully after him. Her wrist throbbed, her neck was bare and empty and open, she was bleeding and bleeding and bleeding. He was-… he was gone, and she didn’t know where she was, and she… she belonged to him.

She slowly looked down, lifting the corner of a towel to look at the bloodied bared pinkish exposed meat where her barcode had been. It was-… gone.

She threw a second towel to the side, leaned over, and threw up onto it, losing her breakfast, losing the water she drank while she cleaned during the day, losing and losing and losing until she had nothing left to lose.

“Honey, are you-… holy Christ, are you bleeding?”

The stranger’s voice snapped her out of her disbelief and into terror, and Sara stared up at an older man looking down at her. He wore a three-piece suit and tie like Mr. Richardson wore to his office, and he gasped. 

“Oh my God. Christ Al-fucking-mighty, are you okay? Did you do that to yourself?”

“I-I… I’m hurt,” She whispered. “Mr. Richardson h-hurt me.” 

What else could she say? 

“Do you need me to call someone? Do you have a phone?”

“Need you to call someone,” She repeated, weakly. Her heart thrummed like the hummingbirds Mrs. Richardson fed in the backyard garden with sugarwater that shone in the sun like stained glass if you looked at the feeder.

“Do you know any phone numbers, or…”

“No. I, I, I don’t know who-… who you could call, I…” She whimpered, curling over herself. She would have asked him to call Miss Alyssa or Mrs. Richardson but she wasn’t allowed to know their numbers. There was no one she could ask him to call who could come for her and keep her safe.

The man swallowed, then took his phone out of his pocket and dialed. Her head throbbed, weak and foggy, as she kept the towel on her wrist now, sniffling back tears. It settled in that she had been left here. He cut her barcode off so she couldn’t be scanned and returned home. He had abandoned her. She’d been a good pet, she’d done everything right, and he was gone.

What would Mrs. Richardson think?

What would Miss Alyssa think? Oh, she wouldn’t see Miss Alyssa again, would she? Or Miss Mary, or Mister Evan. 

There were loud sirens, loud loud loud, and she tried to get back up, but dizziness dropped her back down again with a graceless thump onto the pavement, the bits of gravel sticking to her thighs. The strange man in the suit moved close to her, holding her by the shoulders, and she could only blink, struggling to keep focus, as the ambulance pulled up. He put a hand to her face and she leaned into it, closing her eyes, humming softly. She liked to be touched. That meant she was being good.

“It’s okay, honey,” The man said, softly, his eyes roaming over her not with the look of something wanting, but genuine, open, honest concern. He had a little pin in his tie, and she blinked as it glinted against the sunlight.

People jumped out of the ambulance, speaking too quickly for Sara to keep up with, but they stopped trying to speak to her when they saw the blood on her wrist. They spoke to the man in the suit, instead. He spoke back but their words were all running fuzzily together, and Sara was still bleeding.

“Hey.” Someone dropped into a crouch in front of her, a person in a uniform with short, messy auburn hair and an easy-going smile, a look of dedicated focus in their clear hazel eyes, and Sara thought they looked like Miss Alyssa, but older, a little bit, and not like Miss Alyssa at all. Not much older, either, maybe. But the focus was the same. “Hey, hi. Hi, there. Can you look at me, for just a sec? Meet my eyes? Can you focus on my finger real quick?”

They held up one finger, moving it slowly from side to side.

Sara blinked, nodded, met their gaze, followed the movement of their finger, and was rewarded with a slight widening of their smile. “Perfect. All right, okay. Can you tell me what happened?”

“My, um, Mr. Richardson l-left me,” Sara whispered, and the tears were welling up again, running out, and she shakily held out her wrist, still covered with the towel she was pressing down against it. “He left me.”

The person nodded, quick and brusque. “Did he do this to you?”

“Y-yes, he, he cut my barcode o-off-”

“He… your barcode?” Their eyes scanned quickly around them, and caught sight of something Sara had missed until now. Sara’s collar had dropped out of the car, and was lying nearby, unmistakable. “Shit. A pet. Okay, okay that changes things…”

“A pet?” The man in the suit looked at Sara - bloodstained, with loose blonde hair falling around her shoulders, wearing a spaghetti-strap cropped tank top and short shorts - and then at the ambulance people. “I didn’t-… Fuck, someone dumped her?”

“Sure looks like it,” The person crouched in front of Sara said. Their voice dropped slightly and their smile was gone. No, wait, smile again, I’m sorry I was bad. Sara raised a hand to try and touch their face, and they shifted slightly away. 

“What kind of asshole dumps a pet? They can’t live on their own!”

“You’d be surprised. Can we swing by a place, Brad?” They raked a hand back through their hair, and Sara found a watery, fearful smile at the way it stood up from their head.

“Facility 1’s near here, we can drop her off at their clinic,” One of the other ones said, the others from the ambulance, the one called Brad. “They mostly just do the Box Boys but they’d take a Babe for triage, don’t you think?” He was prepping something in a box, a bandage? Something? Sara’s eyes weren’t focusing very well anymore.

“Fuck that shit,” The person said. “You know better than to tell me to go to that hellhole for help, Brad.”

“Yeah, good point. Shit, I always forget you went all lib on us after that thing with the Army-”

“Yeah, well, I fucking don’t forget it.”

“Do what you gotta do, man, just don’t get me fired.”

“Isn’t that our daily motto?” They turned back to Sara, giving her that slight, soothing smile again. “Don’t worry, sweetie. I’ve got a better idea for you.”

Sara swallowed nervously. “Mr., um, Mr. Richardson-”

“Yeah. Just hold on.” The Brad-man came to her side and took the towel off her wrist, and the other person called someone, spoke to them rapid-fire. The pain of the bandaging kept distracting Sara, along with waves of dizziness, and she missed most of the conversation except for barcode’s gone, saw the collar, and she’ll need medical care right the fuck now, we’ll do the basics and you said I could call you if. 

The man in the suit helped her stand up, and the two ambulance people led her to the back. Something about standing, though, made Sara’s head go soft and white around the edges, and she slumped sideways into the man in the suit’s arms.

“You’ll be all right,” The man said, soft and gentle. “They’ll help you and you’ll feel much better soon.”

The last thing she thought was, oh, he was so kind to me, and I got blood on his nice suit.

After that, things were dark for a while.

Then she woke up, and the ambulance had stopped, and there were no lights or sirens. Reddish-Brownish Hair Person was sitting next to her, watching her intently, and breathed out in evident relief when Sara blinked up at them. “Hey. We’re just waiting for someone, and then you’ll get somewhere safe, okay?”

“Safe? I, I need to go home. Mr. Richardson-”

“I know. He dumped you. I’m sorry. That’s the third fucking dumped pet we’ve picked up this month. You’re the first one I’ve caught before they took them back to the Facility, though. Good luck for us, huh?”

“Oh. Yes. Good, good luck for us.” Sara’s eyes moved down to look at her wrist. It had been thickly bandaged and throbbed pain under the layers of gauze, but the pain seemed oddly far away, and her fingers felt numbly cool, almost cold. She blinked - once, twice, three times. 

Oh, drugs.

Sara remembered drugs from training.

She made herself relax, even as her heart raced again.

“Your friend’s here,” Brad called from up front, and Reddish Hair let out a whoosh of breath and pushed themself to their feet, bent over in the back of the ambulance, to open the back doors. 

Brad added, “Just so you know, our GPS officially says we’re stopped at a gas station eight miles from here getting lunch. Which means…”

“I owe you lunch, plus a drink for fucking the GPS up for me. Trust me, you’ll get it. Okay, let’s get you on your feet.”

Sara heard the crunch of feet in gravel somewhere outside the vehicle, as the person helped her to her feet. She had to lean heavily on them, into the arm around her shoulders, as the white nearly overtook her again. She was carefully helped down, and didn’t even wince as her feet settled into the gravel. There were trees, and picnic tables, and-… was this a park?

“Who’ve you brought for me?” The woman who called out to them wore sneakers, jeans, and a flannel thrown over a t-shirt, a long brown braid streaked with gray down her back. She had a kind smile, and Sara blinked at her. 

Pretty, pretty, pretty.

“Dunno. Abandoned pet. Owner cut her barcode off, I saw the collar or I wouldn’t have known. First one I’ve caught in time to make this work. What happens next?”

“Our house doctor’s waiting for her.”

“Who’s your house doctor?”

“Hey.” The woman sighed, and as she held out her arms, Reddish Hair carefully helped Sara move into them, shifting the support that kept her on her feet from one to the next. “You know I can’t tell you their name.”

“Yeah, fair enough. Anyone I’d know?”

“Probably not. Thanks for this.”

“No problem. Fight the good fight, all that shit. Never give up, never surrender.” 

The woman brightened into a smile. “Don’t tell me you actually went and watched Galaxy Quest?”

“Look, just because you’re old doesn’t mean you don’t have good taste in movies, Yoder.”

“Well, damn. Never thought I’d see the day someone listened to my movie recs. You’re a good egg, kiddo-”

“I am twenty-two years old, Yoder.”

“Everyone under thirty’s a baby at my age. World doesn’t deserve people as good as you, you know.”

“Nah. All I do is patch people up.” Reddish Hair gave Sara one more smile, a slightly sad one this time, then turned and jogged back to the ambulance, hopping up into the back and closing the doors. Sara blinked, and they were gone. The ambulance pulled away, and it was the second vehicle that had left Sara in a parking lot while it was driven away from her.

This time, though, she wasn’t left alone.

“All right. Well. Time to get you in my truck and take you home, huh?”

“Take me home,” Sara repeated, dully. “But Mr. Richardson-”

“Not that home. A new home. Here, I’ll help you walk.” She led Sara across the gravel, her bandaged wrist clutched to her chest, and helped her up into the truck. Sara buckled her own seatbelt, and then sat back, closing her eyes. She should cry now.

No tears came.

The new woman climbed up beside her. “All right, first things first, I’m Natalie Yoder. I help pets like you, rescues and runaways. You don’t have to be a pet anymore.”

Sara’s voice was soft, wearied. “But I signed up for this-”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re free now.”

The word meant so little, but still it tugged at something in the back of Sara’s mind. Miss Alyssa, whispering to her siblings underneath the sound of Mr. and Mrs. Richardson’s fighting, one day we’ll be free of this shit, and we won’t have to hear them anymore. We’ll be free. Eighteen and out.

“Free,” Sara repeated, in a whisper. “Free.”

“That’s right. Come on. Let’s go home.

“Home,” Sara repeated.

“Right. You’re safe now, sweetheart, I swear.”

Home. Free. Out. Safe.

It wasn’t until they pulled into the driveway of a ramshackle old house in a run-down neighborhood in the outskirts of the city, with a tall blond boy waiting for them on the front porch, that Sara could even begin to believe her.

—

@astrobly, @finder-of-rings, @slaintetowhump, @orchidscript, @moose-teeth, @whumpiary, @burtlederp, @whump-tr0pes, @raigash @whump-tr0pes

[cherry3point14]

The Wrong Winchester - One Year Later

Pairing: Dean x Reader, Sam x Eileen Warnings: Cavity protection required. Word Count: 12,304. (WHY) Summary: One year after the fiasco that was Fourth of July, you’re back in  Kansas and back at the Winchesters. This time with their other son. A/N: A sequel for the trope fluff fest that was The Wrong Winchester. Somehow this is fluffier and more trope-y! Listen, I didn’t say it was good, just that it exists. Happy 4th July my bitches! (*sobs in the corner* this was supposed to be a timestamp)

Ao3 if you prefer.

June has been cool this year, more so than normal, but then the heat of July hits like clockwork. Even though you enjoy airplanes, and the AC they provide, you’ve done the drive because Dean hates flying. It’s not even a compromise because the detour your journey takes means that it’s Thursday evening by the time you arrive in Lawrence. Sam and Eileen got there mid-morning. You’re hoping that the Winchesters are so distracted getting to know her that you can slip in like an old piece of furniture, unnoticed and ignored.

It’s when he turns the corner onto their street, and the family home looms in the distance, that it hits you. You’re here, again, and you’re doing this, again. And nobody would ever believe it but this is considerably worse because this time you love the guy sitting next to you.

Not that you’ve told him that yet. It’s been a slow year.

Loving Dean does complicate things though. It means that you care what the Winchesters think of you. Last year, pretending, was a walk in the park in comparison. You knew Sam was fake breaking up with you after you left. You could have cheated on Sam in front of him and it wouldn’t have mattered because it was all, well, fake.

Although you did kind of cheat on Sam in front of him. Boy, did you hope Sam hadn’t told them about that.

Now, the house you’re pulling up at makes your toes curl inside your shoes while hurried excuses start pouring out. “You’re positive you don’t want to stay in a hotel? Take the pressure off your mom having to entertain us and Sam and Eileen. That’s a lot of guests.” You nod to yourself convincingly while you stare at the front door.

He smiles at you like you’re adorable, which you don’t appreciate. “If you’re looking to make her hate you, then yeah, go ahead and tell my Mom you’re taking her firstborn to a hotel for the weekend.”

You huff and pout your lips so he knows exactly how frustrated you are, “I know you’re right, doesn’t mean I’m happy about it.”

“When are you ever?” He counters, smirking as he gets out of the car. You follow suit although you’re convinced that as your foot hits the stone driveway you can hear the ticking of a countdown. One small step for you, one giant leap to your doom.

Dean grabs your case and his duffel from the trunk, settling one on top of the other so that he has a free hand to wrap around your waist. It’s probably a picturesque image, him walking you to the house like that. You’re not sure if he’s being nice or making sure you don’t run away. Dean’s a smart man so it’s probably a little of both.

His hand reaches to open the door but even after the long drive from Chicago, your reactions are lightning-fast. You pull his arm back to stop him and answer the silent look on his dumb face, “shut up. We should knock.”

“Did you give Sammy this much trouble last year?”

His joke drags a smile out of you, not a laugh but a smile. He’s been trying to calm you down the whole journey. You don’t get nervous often, so seeing you this anxious has both worried and amused him. He’s settled for being supportive, he’s done everything he can to take your mind off of this moment. He told you exaggerated fake facts about Kansas to stop you complaining that the entire state was too damn hot. He distracted you with questions about the case you’re working on when you panicked about exactly how Sam had explained everything all those months ago. And most importantly he fed you. A few hours out he’d pulled into a drive-through and minutes later you’d found yourself pulled over on a random stretch of highway, legs crossed, and a brown paper bag in your lap. He’d wiped sauce from the corner of your mouth and watched you wolf down cheese fries.

Dean knew how to keep you happy for the hours you’ve spent in Baby. But now that you’re finally standing at the threshold he, apparently, thinks it’s time to throw you to the wolves, which he does, literally.

In one swift movement, the door is open before you can rap your knuckles against it and he uses his arm—the one that’s around your waist—to guide you inside. Except guiding you inside is more like a gentle push, which means you trip your way into the Winchester family home while Dean remains safely on the porch.

“What the f-?” The end of your sentence never makes it past your lips, thankfully, considering the gathering in the living room as you turn your head.  

Sam and Eileen are sitting opposite Mary and John, all of them holding a drink, clearly mid-conversation. They all stop. Four pairs of eyes are now trained on you. Even after a too-long second has passed none of them move as if your presence has frozen them in time. A perpetual state of being horrified by your existence.

“Dean!?” You don’t exactly shout but there’s a worried twang to your voice and still, none of them move. In fact, Sam doesn’t even attempt to help, which is a betrayal you won’t allow to pass unpunished or forgotten.

That’s for another day. Right now you’re about thirty seconds away from your first actual panic attack in years.

Dean slips in behind you, eventually. Even walking in with the bags he’s more graceful than you had been stumbling in. Not that you compliment him on that. You’re too preoccupied because you might have broken the Winchesters.

“Honey!” Mary beams with happiness at the sight of her eldest son and jumps up from her seat like a mannequin come to life. Whatever spell had been cast breaks so quickly that it might not have happened at all. Every single person takes a breath again and Mary walks over, wine forgotten on the coffee table, to hug Dean the way you’d seen her do a year ago.

“Mom!” He hugs her back, wrapping her up in his arms and lifting her from the floor an inch or two. You want to say he’s the cutest thing ever with that childlike smile on his face.

That’s what you want to say.

Unfortunately, the innocence doesn’t last as his expression morphs into a cocky smirk with a waving hand in your direction once he lets his mother go. “You remember Y/N, right?”

Is he freaking kidding?

Mary’s face steels, as if Dean had never entered the room. Your best friend and his girlfriend, who you know pretty well at this point, remain safely in their seats. And your boyfriend, your goddamn boyfriend who you love and trust, is standing there at an arm's length like this is an early fireworks display. The fuses have been lit and he is waiting for the explosives to go off.

The only person in the room who dares to make eye contact with you—outside of the matriarch—is John freaking Winchester. And he has the audacity to smile sweetly at you. Or as sweetly as John Winchester is capable of.

“Of course I remember Y/N.” Mary’s words are friendly but her tone does not mirror the sentiment. She taps her chin with one extended finger, thinking, “you were on Sam’s arm last year, if I remember rightly.”

You were going to murder Sam and thanks to your job you’d get away with it too. “I’m so sorry Mary, Sam told me he explained. It was all a misunderstanding, I was only…”

“Only jumping around between my boys? Or was the misunderstanding when we welcomed you into our home and you lied to us?”

You may have met your match. You could never admit this to the district attorney's office but Mary has found a way to silence you with a stare. Your lips snap shut without a good answer for her. You feel like a child being chastised for making a mess.

In fairness you had made a mess last year, however, you cleaned it up afterward.

Your eyes dart to the still-open front door before you rummage up an answer. “I don’t think jumping between them is very fair, Sam and I weren’t a real thing. I mean we’re still besties, even if he won’t call us that, but we were pretending. Which is still wrong but I defy any of you to say no to him when he does that dopey puppy face of his. Anyway I know he told you it was his idea, because it was, and I made sure he told you that because I don’t want you thinking that I came up with it and…”

“Great, you got her stuck in a loop, Mom.” Dean grumbles with a roll of his eyes.

“What?” You interrupt your own rambling to frown at him.

That’s when it happens. Mary breaks out into a grin so similar to Dean's that it’s frightening. If Sam got his smile from his mother then Dean inherited her devious smirk.

“It was your idea.” She answers your seemingly caring boyfriend.

You’re confused, as you should be. Hours. Days. Weeks of dreading this moment and this weekend. None of this makes any sense.

“I hate to sound like a broken record but, what?”

Mary turns her brightness on you, in the distance, John barks out a laugh and cracks his hand against his thigh as if this all went completely as planned.

“I’m sorry Y/N. We were only playing. It’s great to see you again.”

Then she hugs you, stiff as you may be from the complicated mix of annoyance and residual fear that you’re feeling. Her arms around you exude motherly warmth, something you’re unfamiliar with, until your muscles relax in her grip.

Over Mary’s shoulder, Dean is pressing his lips together to stop himself laughing and then finally your brain catches up. That bastard set you up. He sold you down the river. Still mid-hug you silently mouth to him, “I’m going to kill you.”

That sends Dean over the edge and a deep belly laugh escapes him. He doesn’t even attempt to apologize. He’s too caught up in how funny he thinks he is.

“So, you were all in on this? You too Sammy?” You splay your hand across your chest now that Mary has released you.

Mary links her arm with yours and leans in as if she didn’t rob you of ten years of your life, “if it helps Eileen told us we were being mean.”

You smile at Eileen, your now very good friend, as you take a seat next to her, “at least someone has my back.”

She shrugs nonchalantly, “well, Sam’s girlfriends need to stick together.”

And just like that. The final knife in your back sets them all off howling with laughter again. This was obviously going to be a long weekend.

It's not even day one, that starts tomorrow. It's been a few hours at best and you're already in bed and staring a hole in the ceiling. Ordinarily, you might be questioning why there is a suspicious rectangle that is whiter than the rest. As if the patch of paint had seen less light than the rest of the room like a poster had been there or something.

“You gotta tell me.”

You scoff. He has done nothing to earn any answers from you so far. Looking after you during the journey must have been an act to lull you into a false sense of security because he jumped ship as soon as you arrived. Winchesters are a tight-knit bunch.

“Come on, please?”

It sucks that you love this idiot, it sucks that you haven’t told him, it’s even worse that you cannot resist him. You roll over to his whining voice and prop yourself up on your elbow. It was foolish to ever hope for a good night's sleep when he’s amped up to be in his childhood home again. You can’t say that you remember him being like this last year but, then again, last year you were avoiding him since you were pretending to date his brother. “Oh my god, if I tell you will you let me sleep already?”

Dean nods, using a finger to draw a cross over his chest. Even in the dark, you can see the crinkles of his eyes deepen playfully, “cross my heart. I’ll even help you get off to sleep, by way of apology.” His fingers toy with the waistband of your underwear to hint at his meaning, under his oversized Zeppelin shirt you’re sleeping in.

“Nice try Benedict Arnold, I haven’t forgotten what you did to me.”

He knows by the tone of your voice he won’t get anywhere right now, although it’s nothing to do with his betrayal. You’re still obsessed with somehow clawing back any semblance of a good impression. Sex in his childhood bed doesn’t strike you as the correct way to go about that. He doesn’t tease and try to change your mind with filthy words he knows you love. You think maybe Dean knows tonight isn't the night either. Maybe that’s why he’s asking questions instead.

His hand slides up over your waist and settles comfortingly around your middle—almost as if he knows he has some groveling to do. He asks again hoping to get one of the things he wants; answers. “C’mon. Just tell me. I’ll tell you mine.”

You haven’t spoken much about last year with Dean and you were absolutely fine with that. Last Fourth of July wasn’t exactly a Kodak moment for you. It almost cost you Sam and as much as you love Dean, Sam’s friendship is one of the very foundations of your adult life. Sure last year was the kind of thing you’ve joked about, but the nitty-gritty details had stayed where they should, in the past.

However, being back here, albeit in the next room over to the one you’d previously occupied, has apparently opened the topic up for conversation.

“Fine. You really want to know?”

“With all my heart.”

“God, you’re lucky you’re cute. At the airport. Okay?”

His smile widens until you can see his teeth shine. “You’re joking?”

You bury your face in the pillow, only coming up for air when necessary despite the way he pokes your sides to make you squirm. “No, I’m not joking. I wasn’t sleepy getting off the plane. I was trying to figure out if there was a way for me to make out with my fake boyfriend's hot older brother.”

“You were too good for your fake boyfriend anyway.” He presses a chaste kiss to your lips, “too good for me too.”

He shouldn’t be allowed to catch you off guard like that, it’s against the rules. Yet he does it all the time. The sweetest secrets whispered in your ear while you’re brushing your teeth or watching a movie. As if he needs to tell you as soon as the thought pops into his head. And it’s not fair because he deserved some silent treatment or something. You know he’ll be back to his tricks tomorrow, so he should pay tonight. But now instead of being annoyed at him, your lips are following his while you realize you were never really mad in the first place.

His wandering hand moves to wrap around your neck, his fingers are lost in your hair and his thumb traces over your jaw. This is the classic Dean trick. He thinks he’s so smooth and that one day he’ll manage to keep you attached to his mouth forever if he holds you there, just right.

As much as you want to appease him, it never lasts. Eventually, you always need air in your pesky, needy lungs. Tonight though it ends with your hand on his chest nudging him off of you. “No way. You owe me yours. Come on, when did you start like-liking me?” You finish the question in a sarcastically childish voice.

Dean is nothing if not fair, sometimes, and he would never break a promise. He leans back a little and adopts what you have dubbed his ‘thinking face’. It may be nighttime but you’d recognize that furrowed brow anywhere.

“When I found you in my bedroom.” He finally answers.

It takes a whole second to remember. “Really? You mean when I was trying to find the bathroom?”

“Yeah, I mean a guy comes back to his room and finds a pretty girl...”

It’s your turn to frown, “wait. Correct me if I’m wrong but you’re saying that your ‘moment’ was when you found me in your room, in my pajamas, with bed head and a full bladder?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying. You were all cute an’ twitchy when I caught you, then suddenly you’re all fired up and telling me off for making fun of you. You were a little spitfire.”

You drop your forehead to his chest and let out a laugh. Trust Dean to like you because you busted his balls.

He presses a kiss to the top of your head, “good enough answer?”

You yawn, happily, and shimmy down into bed proper. “It was your game De. The question is are you happy with yours?”

He settles down next to you, close enough to hear the deep, “mm hmm” in his throat.

Almost everything is different this year but one fact remains the same. You can take the running gear from Sam but you can’t stop Sam from going running.

He has emergency running shoes in his closet.

The new part is that you’re up as early as he is. You’re sitting on the sofa with your laptop propped up on your knees, with yet another witness statement that you were sure was made up. It was too perfect and a jury would never buy it.

By the time Sam, the sweat machine, returns you’re typing a passive-aggressive email to that effect.

“You had any coffee yet?” He asks with two mugs in his hands, passing one to you.

You take the mug without looking up from the screen and swallow a scalding sip, which you only half notice burns your tongue. “Obviously not. Your mom is in there and she still scares me.”

He laughs but doesn’t question it. He doesn’t need to. Dean may have dealt with you on the long drive and whenever he was in town but Sam deals with you every day. He has been privy to almost every one of your breakdowns in the last month. June felt longer than thirty days.

Sam sits down next to you and starts watching the news channel you’d been ignoring. It takes a minute but eventually, he grabs the remote to pause the screen, “ah, there’s my favorite celebrity lawyer.”

You don't need to look up to know that you are on the TV.

“I won’t be anyone’s lawyer if I don’t figure out why my client insists on lying to me and getting people to lie on his behalf.” Your fingers get dangerously close to pounding the plastic keyboard into smithereens. “Hasn’t he heard of attorney-client privilege?”

“Okay. I think you need a little break from that.” He says prying the laptop from you and closing it on the coffee table, so you can’t see the screen anymore.

You want to be mad at him but, of course, you can’t. You look up at him and his soft smile that’s all kinds of sympathetic to the workload you’ve been bearing of late. If you weren’t being driven insane by the biggest case of your career then maybe you’d be a little more rational when it came to this weekend.

Although, that’s unlikely. You were always going to go crazy about this particular get together.

“I swear sometimes I think he’s actually stupid. I’m trying to help him. Why did he even think he could escape arrest in the third most populated city in America?” You shuffle yourself so that you’re sitting sideways and facing him. Despite your insults about your client, the question is earnest.

“Probably figured it’s the only way he’d get to hire you.”

You roll your eyes, “sure, that’s why I’m co-counsel to fucking New York’s finest Marcus Delaney, who he trusts like a fucking brother.”

Sam widens his eyes at you in warning but you catch on too late; his mother is in the next room. You both hold your breath waiting for a reaction. When nothing happens you relax and he answers the least important part of your statement, “technically you’re a New York native too.”

“Objection, relevance?”

“Well, you mentioned…”

“Nah-uh. Enough about me. You took my laptop away so now we have to talk about you.” You smirk into your cup.

Sam knows where this is going. He told you his news two entire weeks ago, it worked like a charm and was also the biggest mistake of his life. Because two weeks ago Sam invited you to his office for lunch and told you over takeout that he was getting married.

He wanted to tell you because you’re his best friend. He’d told you before Dean and sworn you to secrecy until he’d called his brother later that day. Both of you knew the news was coming anyway, so it wasn’t really a race. Sam had been wringing his hands over how to ask the love of his life for weeks before he did it. You only found out about the ‘yes’ before Dean, because Sam had been trying to calm you down after another ‘4th of July freak-out’.

Sam had forgotten what happens if a seven-year-old gets their hands on too much sugar. Or, to be more precise, what happens when he gives a big, juicy, sensitive piece of information to you. Now he can't get you to shut up about it.

He sighs. He’s still facing the TV even though your eyes are on him. “I should have let you keep working, shouldn’t I?”

“Too late for that, Sammy. Have you decided when you’re telling everyone yet?”

He shifts to side-eye you, “oh, yeah. I was thinking, how about never?”

“You can’t bring your devoted fiance home for the weekend and not tell them!” You’re keeping your voice low but it’s insistent all the same.

“Ok. What about at the airport?”

“We’re dropping you back to the airport.”

“Right, before that then.”

You laugh, “why did you even come this weekend if you’re going to chicken out?”

“I’m not going to chicken out but, would it be so bad if I did? I brought you last year to avoid my Mom's crazy and now… I mean this will be like Defcon two.”

You wonder, briefly, what triggers Defcon one. Considering how quickly Mary had asked you if you were pregnant last year, you’d wager it’d be grandchildren.

In the pause where you both sip your morning caffeine again, neither of you notice the slight creak. The kind of creak where a door begins to open but never does.

“All I’m saying is, getting married is an amazing thing. It’s time to share the happy news. Hell, I’ll go wake Dean and we can do it now.”

“That’s easily the worst idea you’ve ever had. And I’m including the outfit you wore to the first office Christmas party.”

He’s walking right into your trap. “I dusted that number off for your brother over Christmas, you know.”

“Oh god. I don’t need to know about you and-and him-and a sexy Santa's helper costume.” He actually gets up, sweeps his mug with him, and sours his face.

“You brought it up, Sammy!” You're grinning all wide and evil, calling after him.

He pauses with his back leaning against the kitchen door, at the same time that Eileen walks in. “I hate you.”

You look up at her and sigh, “you see the way he talks to me when you’re not around?”

This is not the first time Eileen has been caught in the middle of you two, so she laughs and promises, “I’ll talk to him about that.”

Sometimes Dean likes to yank your chain and sometimes you like to yank his. It’s what makes you kind of perfect for each other, any bruised egos or pouting lips are part of the game you play. An excellent example is the way he’d betrayed you already this weekend. You weren’t mad, well, maybe a little, but in the end, you forgave him because it’s him.

In all the jokes there’s one thing that Dean knows not to play around with, one thing that he wouldn’t dare mess with.

Winchester. Family. Baseball.

You had agreed to wear his dumb spare jersey the same as you’d done for Sam. Like Eileen was doing for Sam this year. Although you had to admit her shorts are a little more family-friendly.

You’d even made a sign. A big piece of poster board, some markers, glitter, and stickers that you had gone to Target to buy special. It said GO TEAM DEAN! With a heart to dot the exclamation point. The sign was a surprise. When you’d shown him before leaving for the game he’d called you a dork and smiled so wide you worried his face might break.

You were ready for the game because you were safe. The worst thing that you expect is the comments when you turn up with a ‘1’ on your shirt this year instead of a ‘2’. You’ve already dealt with this from Mary and John but you weren’t so blind to forget about the rest of the family.

Charlie laughs at you when she notices, straight away, and threateningly asks for the story later. Bobby simply says, “switched teams, huh?” Before walking off. Granted he doesn’t seem to judge you, merely stating the observation like an interesting factoid. And Gabe starts, “lookie here when do I-” but smartly stops. He’s too tongue in cheek to be offensive but the look on Deans’ face might have something to do with his change of heart.

All of that you could handle. Par for the course. You had been ready for it because—can’t stress this enough—you were safe. Today was going to be a fun day of cheering on your boyfriend at his weird family baseball game.

You’re so sure of yourself that you even helped Mary pack drinks and snacks, with Eileen as a buffer, because you knew you’d get to enjoy said food. As a spectator.

When John does his ‘gather round me for I am John Winchester’ bit to pick the teams you’re choosing your spot in the stands. A little area in the front row for you, Mary and Eileen where you’re putting the food. You don’t join said gathering because that’s how not relevant it was to your life. You’d find out the teams when they’re playing and you’re only fifteen feet away from them all. You can hear them barking out names fine.

Dean picks Micheal. Sam makes a comment like ‘big surprise’. Bickering ensues until John gets them to focus up.

You could write this stuff in your sleep. You don’t want to call them predictable, considering this was only your second year here, but sometimes the truth is right there in front of you. And the truth is Winchester family baseball is going exactly how you expect.

Actually it’s the one thing that is going how you expect this weekend. Frankly, you needed that, some stability. Something you could rely on.

“Y/N”

Time slows down. In your head, you can hear that siren noise from Kill Bill and the world is suddenly devoid of color, except one. A red light flashes over your vision, as you turn in comically slow motion to find out which one of those idiots betrayed you.

Dean. Of course. The goddamn one you’re in love with.

He has the absolute gall to wave at you from where he’s standing. Smiling like, well, like it’s Fourth of July weekend and he innocently picked his girlfriend to play a game with him. That’s what it must look like to his family anyway.

To you? You feel like Lady Macbeth. Disappointed and betrayed by your significant other who can't do his one job. You’re not even asking him to kill the King of Scotland, all he had to do was not say your name.

Before you have an opportunity to write yourself out of this tragedy, he’s waving you over and your legs start walking. Apparently your body listens to him more than it listens to your own brain. Was nothing sacred anymore?

“There’s my girl.”

Those words would normally make you weak at the knees. Unfortunately for Dean, when it comes to baseball, you’re not melting that easy.

When you reach him you smile until you’re close enough to mutter dangerously, “I’m going to make you disappear and it'll look like an accident.”

You notice people dispersing which means your amazing boyfriend waited to call you till last. Not only did he screw you over but he made you the embarrassing last pick.

He leans in to kiss you and breathes against you, “you know you love playing with me.”

God, you do. You love playing with this dick, who apparently hates you, as well as his dick. Not baseball granted but other games.

“‘Sides,” he continues in your silence, “you don’t want to let all that practice go to waste.”

“All that practice? Practice?” You pull your head back, unable to resist showing him how offended you are, “you mean the time you forced me to go to the batting cages?”

He crosses his hands at your back and pulls you to him until your thighs are pressed against his. Were it not for his jeans then it would be incredibly inappropriate for a family baseball game. Actually, with the jeans, it might still be inappropriate.

“I seem to remember someone enjoying my arms wrapped around her while I taught her how to hit. I also seem to remember that someone forgot all about me in a damn second once she could do it on her own.”

“It was very stress relieving, I kept pretending the ball was the dummy who took me to the batting cages.”

A laugh rumbles through him, his body is so close to yours that you feel it in your stomach.

“Come on, this will be fun. You need more fun.”

You poke a finger into his chest, an inch above the collar of his jersey, “don't pretend you're doing me a favor. if I remember the rules, I don’t have a choice. But don’t you worry, I won’t forget this.”

He grins in that ‘brighter than the sun’ Dean way, “I know baby. I know.”

You’d made it home four times, an impressive three more than last year. None of them were from hitting a home run or anything preposterous. You do hit the ball almost every time though. You still couldn’t catch, throw or run--all three skills are apparently super essential in baseball. You can connect the bat with the ball though. Everyone seems pretty impressed every time it happens, if only they knew how impressed you were every time you manage it.

Your lack of skills aside, when Dean wins, he leans you over his arm and kisses you rightly. As if it’s V-J day and he single-handedly stopped WWII. Eileen sneaks up on Sam, from where she’d been watching in the stands. Although your ASL is not perfect, you’re at least 80% sure that her hand's sign “sucks to be you,” as she walks to him. You might love her a little more than you did ten minutes ago and Sam laughs a little harder too.

Dean chooses a steakhouse. The place is all wood paneling and soft lighting. The ambiance reminds you of your first real date in Chicago, although there will probably be less sticky fingers. From the ribs, obviously.

Mary and John drive ahead and they’re waiting outside when you all arrive. You’ve told Eileen to be prepared, told her to have her wits about her, promised her you’ll jump in if necessary. She’d told you not to worry.

Oh, you hate to see it happen.

As soon as you’re inside you volunteer to sit next to John, it’s the smallest kindness you can do for your friend. She should sit between the safety of Sam and Dean for what is to come.

It starts as you expect and it’s strange being on the other side of the interrogation. Nobody gives a flying crap about what drink or food you order but Eileen? She gets the same treatment you had last year. Silence and an entire table waiting to hear what she has to say. She’s the shiny, new thing everyone is interested in. You’re both glad and sorry. Glad the heat is taken off of you and sorry that it’s Eileen bearing the brunt of it.

Although—and it’s not your imagination—they are a hell of a lot easier on her than John had been on you. It presumably helps that Eileen is a Librarian. Her stories are all child reading groups and teaching elderly people how to use email in the computer room. Even you find yourself a bit smitten and you already knew her.

You’re trying not to focus on her too much though. Let her charm Mary and John, she doesn’t need another face watching her while she talks. Instead, you concentrate on your appetizer, one of those deep-fried onion things you’re sharing with Dean. The unspoken agreement is if you eat smelly food then you do it together.

He shakes his head, making eye contact with you as he takes a particularly over the top bite, when you’re pulled back into the main conversation.

“Y/N, where did you spend Christmas last year?”

“I’m sorry?” You ask somewhat dazed by being called on so soon.

Mary smiles kindly, “Eileen mentioned her parent's cabin, which I know is where they spent Christmas. I realized I had no idea where you spent the holidays?”

“Sure. I-erm, I stayed in Chicago.” Dean's hand under the table surprises you when you feel the weight of him on your knee.

“Oh, funnily enough, I remember Dean saying he was in Chicago too and I thought to myself how strange that was with Sam being gone.”

Everyone laughs at her joke, even your boyfriend while he moves his hand up your thigh.

“Didn’t want to head to New York and see your parents?” She continues her line of inquiry.

You have no idea where she’s going with it, why you’re the one in the hot seat, or why Dean is driving you crazy with his thumb rubbing those incessant circles in your skin. You answer anyway.

“N-No. They go to Europe every other Christmas so they’ll be home this year.”

Mary takes a bite of whatever-the-hell is on her plate. “The boys are coming to us this year too, I guess we’ll have to get better about syncing these things up, huh?”

His hand alone wouldn’t normally drive you as crazy as it is right now. He’s only tapping a slow, teasing rhythm into your thigh for crying out loud. But it’s been a few days and before that a few weeks, and you’d been resolved to not sully this wholesome family weekend. So, your breath is just a touch shorter than normal when he squeezes, and you can only hide it by talking.

“Yeah, yeah. I guess we will.” You agree easily.

“I’m looking forward to meeting your parents, yours too Eileen. Do you think we’ll be meeting yours before Christmas Y/N? Any other big events coming up?”

Were you not focusing on the heat of his hand under your skirt then you might be suspicious of the way she asks that. As it is Dean chooses then to wink at you because he thinks it's hilarious how preoccupied you are.

“Erm, Thanksgiving?”

“Right, right. Thanksgiving.” She smirks like she has a secret.

You stand up suddenly, needing to get away from your teasing boyfriend, “sorry. I’m going to go use the restroom.”

“Hurry back.” Dean’s mocking tone follows you.

Were his parents not at the table you'd tell him to go to hell.

Saturday morning comes faster than you expected. You did have a jump on the long weekend because you’d all taken a day off work this year but Saturday still seemed to have jumped from a cupboard to surprise you.

You wake up as you often do when you share Dean’s bed. One of you, today it’s him, has the other one, you, in what can only be described as an inescapable hold. He’s got one arm wrapped around you, fingers hanging loose over your stomach where you’re laying on your side. His other arm is encroaching on your pillow to surround you and his head is curled in your neck. His breath is slow and hot over your skin. You never imagined that you’d enjoy waking up like this, so incredibly close to someone. And then you met Dean. Sometimes you wrap him up in your sleep, your fingers in his hair, and one leg thrown over his. Either way one always claims the other and you wouldn’t want anything different.

Except at this very second.

Dean is a light sleeper. A bit of a contradictory trait for someone who likes to sleep as much as he does—yours is not to question why—but you never want to willingly wake him if you can avoid it. You’re more than happy to let sleeping Dean’s lie. When you don’t need the bathroom that is.

Even though this isn’t your first time trying you still give it your best shot to slip out without disturbing him.

You think you’re getting there. You’ve managed to roll onto your back for an easier way out, his face is now smashed into his pillow instead of your back, you’ve slipped down the bed a little to get away from his hand on your pillow. It’s only that arm across you that you need to get free from. Today is the day that you’ll finally manage to pee without waking him up. The trick, you think, is not to touch him. You’ve been burned before by trying to lift his arm off of you when you only need to slip out from under it.

“Come on, five more minutes.” He mumbles, fingers come to life to hold you tighter and you swear you see his lip curl because you’ve failed to sneak away again.

“I need to pee.” Who says romance is dead?

He huffs, you’ve hit on what he deems an acceptable reason to let go of you. Barely.

Not that he eases up. You have to wiggle from his hold which makes you crack your first smile of the day. Despite your need to hurry you bend over him and press a kiss to his cheek. “How about I get some coffee while I’m up, see if I can get you to forgive me?”

“You can try.” He mutters in his half-sleep state.

The house is quiet when you leave the bathroom, ridiculously quiet for how full of people it will be later. The calm tricks you into feeling invincible, where nobody else exists save for you and the man you left in bed.

“Morning Y/N.” Mary is sitting at the kitchen table, drinking coffee, and not doing much else.

“Oh my god!” You recoil with your whole body, arms bent into your chest like you’re trying to stave off a heart attack. You can be a little dramatic at times but the way she’s sitting in silence, illuminated only by the early morning light from the backyard, almost gives the illusion of her appearing out of thin air. “Sorry, Mary. I must be easy to scare first thing in the morning.”

A slow smile spreads over her face, “no I’m sorry, didn’t mean to scare you. I like a few minutes of peace before the boys are up is all.”

You grab two mugs, a pretty clear indication you plan to take coffee back to Dean, but before you can fill both she makes you an offer you can’t refuse. “You and I both know he is already back to sleep, he’ll keep for a few minutes. Sit with me.”

Dean's empty mug, your excuse to leave, gets left on the counter with most of your hopes and dreams. The only thing you try to cling to is that Mary wants to carry on sitting in silence, only, together.

“Y/N, we haven’t had a chance to talk, just you and me. Not since last year.”

Or maybe, just maybe, she’d been waiting for you all along.

“I guess we haven’t. I-eh, I really did mean what I said when I got here Mary. I’m sorry about everything.”

“I’m not trying to rake you over the coals here, and I’m not looking for another apology. I know what my sons think of me, Sam thinks I’m crazy. You were being a good friend.” She shrugs like it's that simple.

It’s kind of ridiculous how quickly you relax, and how quickly you start spilling your guts, “The lying though. I don’t feel good about that.”

Mary is quick. She leans over the table and wraps her hand around yours, “I don’t remember that much lying. I could tell you loved Sam last year and if that’s like a brother, I’m still glad he has you.”

She’s right. You do love Sam like a brother, the one you never had. He’s been more your family than your own. The first family you’d chose and only real family you had, which is why you’d been so scared at first. It’s why you’d been so quick to run from Dean at the risk of losing Sam. Hell, sometimes you wonder if it’s one of the many reasons you love Dean—because he’s the only other person on the planet who loves Sam as much as you do.

Your fingers twitch under her hand, unsure of the loving way she holds you. Unsure if you deserve it or why she offers it so easily. Whatever the answer is, she has your guard down.

“What about Dean?” It’s a loaded question. You need someone else to see what’s there before you can admit it to him. You're looking for confidence because you are unsure of his feelings. Who better to judge than his own mother?

She squeezes enough to tell you that you’re looking down at your coffee instead of looking at her, before she pulls back to lift her mug to her lips again. “That’s obvious Y/N.” She almost sounds bored at such an easy question, ”I knew I was right all along.”

"Right about what?”

Not even a pause. If she was indeed waiting for you this morning then she was waiting for you to ask this question.

“That you are going to be a Winchester someday.”

“No-I, no…” You trail off to nothing and it’s not because of the way Mary is still grinning despite your protests. It’s not her raised eyebrows over the rim of her cup. It’s not even the little hum like noise she lets out in affirmation that yes, you would wear the big 'W' as your last name.

It’s that you can see it. You’ve had a year of long-distance with Dean; scheduled weekends and facetime dates. You’ve been itching to tell him how you feel but terrified of scaring him away, scared of moving too quickly with the guy you don’t see enough, scared he doesn’t feel the same. And yet in the back of your mind, the vision is forming, pushing its way to the front without permission. Dean on one knee. You in a white dress. The moment you both say ‘I do’.

Is this what becoming a hopeless romantic feels like? Or were you always this much of a total sap?

“Don’t worry, I know.” She reiterates again.

Mary has a reputation, she’s pushy enough, so you assume that’s what this is. You assume she’s making a premonition, not looking for confirmation of something she thinks she already knows. So, you look to escape what you think is the awkwardness that you can’t answer.

“I’m going to get Dean his coffee or-or we’ll never get him out of bed.”

She nods you to leave but disagrees with your evaluation, “I think you underestimate how much my son loves fireworks.”

You smile wide, remembering how his face lit up in the dark the year before, “You’re right. Still, I should go get him up.”

Then you pour more coffee, including Deans, and run. If anyone else caught wind of this conversation they would never believe you were a defense lawyer, let alone the lawyer who’s been plastered over the news defending a celebrity on a murder case.

Dean has, predictably, gone back to sleep since you left. Although the light sleeper that he is, he is roused by the door opening and the smell of coffee.

“Baby?”

That’s all it takes to make you forget the conversation with Mary ever happened. You can’t help but laugh at his sleepy voice as you slip in next to him, careful not to spill anything while he fidgets awake, “who else would wake you up like this?”

He rubs at his eyes, “oh, y’know, my other girlfriend.”

“You’ll have to introduce us one day, we can compare notes.”

You’re still not used to the Winchester’s if you’re being completely honest. To you, barbecue has always been a type of food, and not necessarily one your parents approved of. It was never a place, a home. That’s what today is. Saturday afternoon and the sun is high, there's a faint twang of country music coming from somewhere. Not loud enough to hear the lyrics but loud enough to identify the genre, loud enough to wish you were wearing a cowboy hat. Everyone has a beer or a burger, or both. And it’s not all dopey eyed niceties. There are teenagers, Claire and Alex, hating everyone from the other end of the yard. Occasionally there’s a “screw you” or a “you idjit” shouted from the many random conversations happening. But it’s still somehow perfect in the imperfections. It’s cozy and homely. It’s a family. Love.

It would be easy to feel overwhelmed and convince yourself that you don’t belong. It’s lucky that you have your boyfriend. And since he has disappeared on you, Sam and Eileen. Although she is doing a much better job than you at fitting in.

“She’s going to make me look bad,” you tell Sam while you both watch Eileen animatedly tell Uncle Bobby something that makes him howl. Even his stoic expressions are hidden behind his beard but Eileen is a stand-up comedian, apparently

“That’s not hard is it?” He teases.

“That might hurt if you hadn’t picked me to bring last year, to protect her from all this.” You use the neck of your bottle to draw a circle in the air around the whole motley crew of his family.

Before you register his movement he has an arm around your shoulders, you’re expecting a headlock so you’re pleasantly surprised when he pulls you into a side hug. “That’s the first time you’ve joked about it since… since last year. I’m glad. Everyone else is over it, you’re the only one hanging on Y/N/N.”

You don’t want to choke up in the middle of their backyard but sometimes Sam’s big brother moments hit you like that. “I never said I was very good at letting things go.”

He huffs. “You’re too tough sometimes. That’s why I picked you to help me.” He sucks in a slow breath, “you have to get out of your head... and maybe stop being so annoying.”

You shove him back so he can’t lean on you but now you’re out of his hold he’s looking down at you with those damn puppy dog eyes. He hasn’t asked for something which means he’s trying to use them to make you feel better. You hadn’t realized you’d needed to feel better, was your face sad enough to warrant a Sam pep talk

“I’m fine,” you wave away his concern. “Have you decided yet?”

“And there I was hoping you’d forget.”

“Is Eileen happy to let you forget?” You counter him with an expectant look. “She wants to tell them but she’s happy to let me make the decision since it’s my family.” He says in a pointed, not pointed way.

You shake your head, “she’s going too easy on you. Good thing you have me to put you in line.”

“I thought I was the line?” It takes you a beat, you’re actually surprised he remembered you saying that to John.

“No, that was what I had to say when I was being paid to make you look good.” His face turns somber, “I never paid you.”

“Tomayto, tomahto Sammy.” You finish the beer in your hand, “you know I’m not pushing you, right? If you don’t do it, there’s always Christmas, or send a save the date.”

He shoves at you this time and the air returns to its normal lightness. “I know. You only want me to put on my big boy pants.”

“I could care less about your pants. I want you to take the heat off me, obviously.” You hold up your bottle to him, “I’m out. You need another one?”

He chuckles, ducks his head, and looks at his fiance again. “Yeah, dutch courage might help.”

“Dare to dream.” You sympathize, patting him on his shoulder.

Sam might tell them today, he might not. You wouldn’t judge him either way. He knows you aren’t judging him. You’re nudging him, not so gently. You’re being for him what he is for you. A good friend. Sam has a tendency to drag his heels sometimes and his relationship with Eileen is one of the few things you’ve seen him jump into wholeheartedly. He is, after all, engaged in under a year. You’re beyond pleased because you’ve never seen him so happy, all you want is for Sam’s family to enjoy seeing that too. If you elbow him in the right direction it’s only because you know he’ll regret it down the road.

Besides, it’s not like Mary can scare Eileen away. She already said yes.

So, Dutch courage it is. You don’t condone drinking to excess in front of his parents but a few more beers wouldn’t hurt. They’d only loosen his lips.

The cooler is by the door to the kitchen, for easy refills whether that’s ice or beer. It’s out of the way. Most people stay close to the grill or their seat if they have managed to command one.

You assume your trip will be short and sweet. There’s no one else standing by the plastic box, which means no awkward cooler small talk to get trapped in. It’s half-empty but there are enough bottles that you won’t have to top it up even taking one for you and Sam. Then you stand up with a bottle in each hand, about to turn tail when at the edge of your peripheral you register Dean and Mary in the kitchen.

The window to the kitchen is wide and open and you should walk away. You almost walk away. Then Mary speaks and you can hear them so clearly that you have no choice. You duck down and sit precariously on top of the cooler.

“I know I’m not supposed to rush you but Dean, honey, I can’t stand it any longer. When are you going to announce it? I’m dying!”

Your interest is piqued. Unfortunately. It’s wrong, completely and utterly. Dean should be allowed his secrets whatever they are. Still, it’s not your fault that he chose to have this conversation, with his mother, in the kitchen. Where anyone could walk in or overhear them.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

Although to be fair Dean doesn’t sound like a willing participant in this conversation, so maybe he doesn’t have a secret you have to worry about.

You don’t dare get up and peak through the glass since they sound quite close, but you hear Mary sigh.

“I heard her talking to Sam about it. How she wants to tell everyone and-and if it was up to her she’d have told us all already.”

The sound of the fridge opening and closing before he answers. “Still not following, Mom?”

“The proposal Dean. You asked her to marry you. She all but admitted it to me this morning and I’m so, so happy for you. I did think you’d talk to me first but… When am I getting my big announcement so we can celebrate?”

You suck in a breath and hope that it didn’t make a sound. If you can hear them it stands to reason they might hear you. Neither of them seems to. Or they’re distracted. Dean is silent for a too long beat, Mary is clearly confused, and she’s thrown you under the bus along with her, for good measure.

“You’ve got it all wrong. I don’t know what you think you heard…”

A pit forms in the bottom of your stomach at his tone, how against the idea he sounds. It’s fine, you try convincing yourself, he’s defending Sam’s secret.

“Don’t lie to me, Dean. I know you and your brother think I’m nuts but I want you both to be happy. That's all.”

There’s a part of you that knows you should stop this. Come to Dean's rescue and clarify. You could fix this in thirty seconds or less. That’s what you would do if you weren’t stuck like your feet are made of cement.

“You've gotta cool it with that, ok? Y/N is just a girl I’m dating, that’s it, and I don’t want her getting the wrong idea. You breathing down her neck won’t help anything.”

You have to remind yourself that you’d wanted to know his secret. But maybe you’d only wanted to know because you hoped, assumed, that he felt the same as you.

You’d never actually expected a proposal. Not for years. You’d have been happy with not getting one ever as long as you got Dean. He was your prize, not some ring. But his tone says you don’t have him in any way that you want, you’re just a girl he’s dating. Just a date. He didn’t even say girlfriend. He didn’t even say he likes you.

“Oh, well. I’m sorry. I must have had my wires crossed. I’ll leave it alone.” Mary sounds deflated and disappointed. About a tenth of the hurt you’re spiraling into.

She also sounds like her footsteps are getting closer.

You need to move this time. Because the only thing worse than hearing this conversation is one of them knowing you’d heard this conversation.

The beers get left on the decking next to the cooler you’re still balancing your weight on. You stay low, curled over, as you take long steps along the side of the house. Your immediate plan is to get out of the way while Mary re-enters the backyard but it’s a mere thirty seconds before Dean comes striding out after her. He looks around, maybe for you, maybe for anyone else, it doesn’t really seem like it matters.

You’ve been worrying if Dean loves you, if you would scare him off by telling him you do. You’d never considered that he’s not anywhere close to that. He might never be. 

Your mistake had been to immediately take solace in his room. It’s so his. It smells like him, every single thing reminds you of him. It’s the inanimate object version of going to cry in his arms.

It only made everything so much worse.

Though Dean’s room doesn’t contain a small library like Sam’s, there’s still a desk and a padded desk chair. The desk is covered in random things; a picture of him and Sam while Sam graduates Stanford, some sunglasses and amongst other things a small model car. A model of the impala that you’d toyed with while you were sneaking in some emails last night. He’d told you his dad gave it to him as a kid because his obsession with the car had begun early. However currently the chair is not where it is supposed to be. It’s wedged under his door handle because neither brother has a lock on their door.

You’ve spread out since you’ve been here. Your laptop is in the only free spot on his desk, your case is open on the floor where you’ve been living from it for two days now. Not to mention your things everywhere, a mascara here, or a lipstick there. At home, you only manage to stay any semblance of tidy because everything has its place but this is Dean’s space. It’s not even his, it’s his teenage space, somewhere he outgrew but visits every once in a while. Not even he completely fits in here anymore.

The point is you clearly don’t belong. Not even an inch. Dean liked you but that was it. As painful as it is to admit that’s not enough anymore. You’ve outgrown dates and sex, well, you’ve outgrown only having those things. For the first time in your life, you want the next step and Dean doesn’t. That’s the risk you take when you care about someone, getting hurt is always a possibility.

The only problem is you promised yourself no more pretending. Last year was enough for a lifetime. So, you can’t skip back downstairs and pretend you hadn’t heard what you did. You can’t sit next to him and watch fireworks and not be heartbroken.

“Y/N? Sweetheart?” There’s a knock at the door that spooks the makeup you’d been collecting out of your hands. You don’t answer him instead, you scramble for the things you’ve dropped and scoop them up faster.

He twists the doorknob and you carry on your task because the chair will protect you.

Then the door starts moving. You expect to hear resistance after a second but the room is filled with the squeak of plastic wheels.

You’d forgotten that the damn chair is on wheels.

The makeup is dropped again, spilling out over the floor once more as you fall to your ass and slide across the carpet. You’d never managed anything close to a slide in baseball, never ever needed to learn one. Now you perfect it in all of two feet. Your feet plant either side of the chair and your hands wrap around the seat pushing it back until the door closes again. This was a mistake, the chair is only making it harder to push back, you should have moved it and shoved yourself against the door, it’s just too late for a redo.

“Hey, hey. Open the door.” It’s hard to tell if he’s angry, he mostly sounds urgent.

Your heart is pounding out of your chest, still, it’s impossible to find the words to answer him. You don’t want to say something you’ll regret, or can’t take back, even if you’re hurt. In your silence, he keeps pushing, literally and figuratively.

He twists the handle again but this time there’s a little weight on his side. The weight pushes against the chair and by extension you. It’s not his full weight, he’s bigger than you though so even his half weight is starting to force you backward. You scramble to gain some traction, planting your feet better, shoving some more. The carpet gives you some friction but not enough to help against the force of Dean Winchester. You keep moving.

After a minute things are about a hundred miles south of ridiculous. You love ridiculous, when you’re not trying to run away that is.

Dean is one foot in the room, thick fingers wrapped around the door and his head pushed in looking at you. There’s a confused knot in his forehead while he takes in exactly what he’s forced his way to look at.

You straddling the bottom part of his desk chair, shoved against the door, and looking up at him wildly.

“Really, sweetheart?” He asks with a mix of frustration in his eyes and a curl on his lips, “what the hell?”

That’s enough to snap you out of it and jump up from the floor. Your hands smooth over the wrinkles in your jeans as if nothing happened. “Hi, Dean. Sorry, I thought you were someone else.”

You may be hurting, sure, but if your parents taught you anything it’s how to cover any emotion with pragmatic denial.

He steps all the way into the room now without you in the way. “Someone else? Comin’ into my room, looking for you?”

“Could have been anyone,” you shrug. Careful to keep your voice steady and neutral while you go back to collecting your twice dropped makeup from the floor. “Wouldn’t want any of your cousins to wander in here.”

“Right. Because they’re leaving the yard while there’s food on the grill, come on it’s like-”

“I heard what you said to your Mom.” The last thing you wanted to say makes it to the tip of your tongue anyway, as you dispense the collected make up into your case like a dump truck.

He parts those lips of his, which means he’s worried about something and then he smiles. He smiles at you while you’re doing everything not to cry.

There’s a quiver in your voice despite yourself, “it’s fine I get it. I wish you’d told me yourself but I can’t do anything about that. And I know I shouldn’t have been listening in and I’m sorry. Can you give me a few minutes to get sorted please?”

Dean cocks his head, takes a step closer to you, and then stops when you grimace, “what?”

“You said you-that we-I’m not expecting anything but I thought I was more than ‘just another girl’ you’re dating.” You shake your head, trying to stop those tears now you’ve said it out loud. Feeling your vision blur and wobble anyway. “Like I said it’s fine. I’m getting out of here though. I found a flight home, there’s no point in you driving me home eleven hours when it’s four to St Louis.”

Not to mention the fact that you couldn’t stand to sit in the car with him that long while you’re feeling like this.

“Woah, Woah, Woah baby.” He doesn’t pause this time. He doesn’t care about your frown as he approaches you, he’s more concerned about fixing whatever you have gotten in your head. He’s on you in an instant. One warm hand on your shoulders and one at your chin, lifting your face to his and taking in all your sadness. You hate that he’s making you stare into his eyes like this. Those green, soulful eyes had been one of the first things you noticed on his beautiful dumb face and now this feels like a goodbye. Of course, it's not a goodbye. He’s trying to tell you just by looking at you that you’re a goddamn idiot. “Have you met my mom? Remember when she asked if you were pregnant when you’d been dating Sam like a month?”

“Fake dating. Why does everyone forget I was fake dating him?”

He chuckles, “‘course. Faking. Well, you heard her, right? She thinks we’re the ones getting hitched. Imagine if I’d thrown fuel on the fire and told her that you’re my girl, I love you and that you’re it for me.”

There’s a big, huge lump in your throat stopping you breathing. Too gigantic to swallow down. Tears still want to rain over your face, again, but you refuse to be the girl that cries because her boyfriend, who she loves, finally told her what she’s been waiting to hear.

Wait, you need to say something back.

“I love you too.”

His smile is slow and lazy but it’s perfectly timed with how gently his body leans in to kiss you. His shoulders drop while you’re sighing into his mouth like every romantic comedy heroine. His hands still on your shoulders relax their hold a little and you realize, he might have been doubting how you felt too.

“That’s good to know.” He breathes. “But see if I’d have told my mom all that, with the whole family here, she’d have us shotgun married before I got the chance to actually ask you.”

Your eyes widen, “no. You’re not?”

“Nah, planning on knocking those socks off when I do. Fair warning though, that’s coming.”

A strangled laugh comes out of you because you are, and have always been, the stupidest person alive. Dean loves you. He loves you and you love him. And why have you waited so long to say it?

“Move in with me?” It seems like the next best thing to every sweet thing he just said. It’s not enough but for once you’re happy to be second best in a conversation. You’ve been thinking about it long enough, hating the distance and the weekends you’ve spent apart. It’s so obvious that you should have worked it out months ago.

“What?” He gives you the pleasure of seeing his goofy confused face while your finger traces the curve of his bottom lip. In case you ever forget.

“Move in with me. Move to Chicago to be with me. Benny can manage in St. Louis and you can open a second location... or be chief of police or a fireman or just eat deep dish all the day long, whatever you want. Be with me in Chicago? Everyday? Sam’s there too. How can you be his best man from three hundred miles away?”

Another kiss and a bigger grin that comes from his chest, not even you expected it to be this easy. Which is more of that stupidity because with Dean it’s always easy. You can only imagine how rosy your cheeks are as he answers, “you had me at pizza.”

You get to the foot of the stairs when Sam pops out of the living room. You’ve schooled your beaming grin into something more subdued because you don’t want to draw focus but Sam’s probably still just waiting for his beer. He tilts his head down and asks, “you good?”

Before you can tell him that you have never been better, Dean saunters down the steps behind you without any concern for drawing attention. “Sammy, how many times have I told you, you can’t have her back. She’s mine now.”

Sam purses his lips at his brother, which is still funny to you, and you press a hand to his chest to distract him from their brother games. “We’re all good Sam, I’ll fill you in later. The important thing is are you ready to go? Weekend is nearly over.”

He smiles at you, “couldn’t do it without my legal eagle.”

Finally, he gets it. “Legal eagles for life, Sam.”

“You two are a pair of dorks.” Dean slumps an arm over both of your shoulders, “I can’t believe I love a dork even dorkier than my dork brother.”

If Sam notices any difference or the massive L-word Dean dropped, he keeps his reaction in check. Besides he’s engrossed in something else, he kind of has something huge to announce to his whole family right now. Something you’ve been dying to witness since he told you.

You turn in Dean’s arm to threaten him, “he can still drop you and make me best man, you know that, right?”

Dean feigns anger, “he would never.”

“Keep talking pretty boy and see how fast I’m planning the bachelor party.”

“She thinks I’m pretty.” Dean turns his head to smile at Sam and involve him in your sparring match, you know since best man is his decision, but Sam is now bitch facing the pair of you.

He doesn’t say anything, just swings an arm out towards the kitchen and beyond that the backyard. An annoyed invitation to join him and his fiance for the big moment you’ve all been waiting for.

“Yeah, yeah. Come on De. Let’s go let Sammy-boo and Leney-bear be as disgusting as we are.”

You’re already in the kitchen when Sam shouts after you, “I told you not to call us that!”

“Eileen said she didn’t mind!”

Weirdly, the party in the backyard is exactly how you left it and yet you feel like everything changed, for the better, in the last twenty minutes.

Eileen sees all three of you step out of the house and senses that its time. Or Sam had already told her it was before he went looking for you. Either way, she walks over to Sam who magically ends up in the middle of the yard.

You can feel the excitement buzzing from Dean where he’s standing next to you, you bet he’s feeling that from you too.

“Hey everyone, I kind of have an announcement,” Sam calls out.

Most of them look around but nobody moves and he hasn’t captured everyone's attention in the way John does at the baseball game. For some reason that line from Highlander pops into your head, there can only be one. It’s a concerted effort not to snort at your own joke.

John is, however, one of the people that heard Sam so he hollers, “cut it out, Sammy’s got something to say.”

That’ll do it. The music shuts off and everyone gathers in a circle around Sam and Eileen. You notice then that Eileen’s ring has appeared back on her finger. You know she had it on a necklace until this announcement but the sleight of hand to make it happen is impressive.

“Thanks, Dad. I’ll keep this short and sweet because I know you’re all waiting on more food but while we had everyone here we thought we should tell you all.”

Somehow, you hear Mary’s heart stop from twenty feet away.

“As most of you know Eileen and I met just over a year ago,” a few people who haven't been briefed share looks since he’d been ‘dating’ you last year. “And well, I’ve never been happier or more in love with someone in my life. She’s everything I’ve ever wanted and a few weeks ago I got my act together and asked her to marry me.”

Eileen holds up her hand then, beaming, ‘and I said yes!”

They had to have rehearsed that on the flight.

Chaos ensues. Everyone claps and cheers and people try to move in to congratulate them. Above all of that Mary screams like she’s being murdered. She rushes forward letting every thought in her head fall out of her mouth, “But I thought Dean and Y/N… so you’re telling me it was you all along? Oh Sammy, sweetie, I am so, so happy for you. Oh god, I’m so proud of you.” She wraps her arms around him and crushes him. “And I’m so happy you’re going to be part of the family!” She lets go of her son to give Eileen the same bruising hug.

“Well done, son.” John claps Sam on the back with, you think, the faintest hint of proud tears in his eyes.

Dean wraps his arm around you then like he'd been unable to do it until everything with Sam was ok. You lean into his chest and whisper only loud enough for him, "he's going to be so excited about you being in the city with us."

"You think?"

"I know it. Granted not as excited as me."

He rests his chin on the top of your head, slotting you into him like a puzzle piece.

In the background, it goes on and on until everyone has said something to the happy couple. Even Bobby gets this choked noise caught in his throat. The whole display is actually very touching.

When they finish the mayhem John proposes a toast in which everyone raises their drinks. Then the drinking and eating continue, with much more vigor than before. The whole thing goes from a Fourth of July celebration to a party. The music is a little more upbeat, the hard liquor is brought out early and the hum of everyone feels excited.

Sam—who has been hugged, pinched and shoved playfully enough to last him till the end of days—wanders over to you and Dean with his fiance in tow. “Are you happy now?” He directs the question at you specifically.

You reach up to grab his face with both hands and jiggle his head while you baby-talk to him, “my little Sammy, I’m so proud of you.”

Dean and Eileen both laugh and it's one of those perfect moments you only expect to see in the movies. You realize then that with these three people around you could actually look forward to the Fourth of July with the Winchesters for years to come.

5eva tags: @divadinag @darthdeziewok @fluentinfiction @witch-of-letters @supernatural-teamfreewillpage @magnitude101999 @alexwinchester23 Dean babes: @thewinchesterchronicles @akshi8278 @bloodydaydreamer​