#i need to finish writing about death rituals. are you kidding me

[plulp]

WORLDBUILDING???? 👀👀👀👀👀

you seriously dont want to ask about my ocs. i swear to god you dont. we're all going to have a horrible time. the last time i talked about worldbuilding it was all refrigerators. its all fridges. we'll all have a bad time

[writtenbyevie]

Hi hi!! For the fic recs ask game:

2, 6, 7, 12, 15, 17, 18! I know these are a lot so feel free to not answer all, I’m just very curious and am selfishly looking for new fics to read. Sending hugs and kisses your way, big big love you 💫

my dear, darling jules it's never too much 💫💛!!

firstly, because I adore you, secondly, because I've read so many fics (per my 37 pages of ao3 history and that was only AFTER I got an official account) and I've been fortunate to read so many wonderful things and I'd love to share!

so let's crack in ✨

p.s. if you want more info on a fic I've listed, just lemme know! I'd give a synopsis for each, but then this post would be terribly long

2. a fic you've reread several times

I love rereading fics. Both for my own enjoyment and when I'm in a rut writing my own stuff. I'll reread sections of fics that I feel emulate what I'm trying to do and go from there!

these are some I've reread for both above reasons but there are A LOT more:

cracked open by gentle hands by insomnia (cosmicbluebells) (sunaosa)

Full Bloom by bumblebeesknees (iwaoi)

shinsaibashi, 1:47 am by yamabato (sakuatsu)

Glow by ftld (sunaosa)

6. a fic that made you smile on a bad day

ATSU101: how to fall in love with your fake boyfriend by solyn (sakuatsu + literally every other hq ships cameos)

I sure hope that guy gets fired by Xov (iwaoi)

I've reread both of these upwards of three or four times all the way through. They are laugh out loud funny and just so sweet.

7. A writer who makes you think #writergoals

FTLD!!! FTLD!!! FTLD!!! FTLD!!! FTLD!!!

I am obsessed with how they write. A perfect blend of prose, comedy, characterization, plot, and insight. SO GOOD!! They are a private account on ao3 (meaning you need an account to read their stuff) but my god I am IN LOVE. They primarily write Sakuatsu and Sunaosa, but also Iwaoi and the occasional rarepair and Bokuaka.

I so desperately want to be their friend to just shower them in praise, but they're don't have a tumblr alas :/

12. a fic you couldn't stop reading once you started

My preferred method of reading for both books and fics is binge reading, but unfortunately life does not allow such things. I read both ATSU101 and Full Bloom in one sitting! Other ones I read all in one sitting were (also almost all of these are 40k+):

the death of our hands by Bershlate (bokuaka)

LITTLE LION MEN by mcbeefy (sakuatsu [also obsessed with this author])

the courtship ritual of the hercules beetle by kittebasu (chanyeol) for mamimi (hyemiyah) (iwaoi)

15. a fic you wish you could display on your bookshelf

would it be horribly vain of me to same my own? I kid. in all seriousness though, I'd probably put Full Bloom by bumblebeesknees on display.

I remember finishing it with my hands shaking. It's just so visceral in how it's written. Violently vulnerable.

Sakuatsu, Sunaosa, and Iwaoi are all my top ships, but there's something about the prose in Iwaoi fics that hit like a GUT PUNCH!! I just really admired the writing in this fic and it's long enough to be a book so that's why I picked it.

17. A fic you wish you could reread again for the first time.

I'm not sure why I picked this fic, but it just has a special place in my heart. It's so soft and real and simple.

you're the brake lines failing (as my car swerves off the freeway) by ghostpot (kuroken)

18. A fic that ripped your heart out (but it hurt so good)

So many Iwaoi fics. So many. But also these:

run rabbit run by norio (bokuaka)

All There is to Say by nightscrawls (bokuaka)

Kilometer Zero by internetpistol (orphan_account) (iwaoi)

Missing You by ftld (sunaosa)

frankenstein's monster by starbeyy (sakuatsu [this has one of my favorite quotes of all time])

anywho jules!! here are some of my recs!! I have so many more (specifically in that funny-bittersweet-canon-compliant-post time-skip-between-10k-30k-category)

thank you so very much for the ask!! throwing over you like rose petals 💖!!

[skaldish]

What I learned as a kid about our christianisation was that it was an economic affair for the high ups in society. Christians wanted us to stop raiding their costal cities, and the people in power here wanted riches, land, and control. Entering a deal with the Christians let both of those parties have what they wanted. What the people wanted was never considered, and it took 300 occasionally bloody years for them to finish converting us. Yes, parts of the previous culture lives on, but most 'rituals' we have left have a forgotten meaning. We do it because we've always done it, but we no longer know why. It got beat out of us. Because if you weren't properly Christian, you were hanging out with the devil and trolls, and you needed 'cleansing'. People were killed for being witches long before it became cool lol. The things of old that used to be seen as good and a sign of higher powers were now dark and bad and tainted and of the devil. Seeing a raven was no longer Oden smiling on you, it was an omen of death (which it might have been before too, people maybe just didn't think of it as bad?).

We lost so much when being forcefully christianised. What little still lived seems to have died out in the 1800's (such as writing using runes as a common people's alphabet, for example). It's interesting seeing your perspective as someone from an extremely Christian nation coming here and picking up on stuff we may not think about. But remember, you said you talked to heathens, and they know more about this stuff than the average person. Most people here are some vague half Christian sort, and they will in general not really know anything about this stuff. At least that's my experience as a Scandinavian without religion but with an interest in pre christianisation Scandinavia. 😁

Makes me wonder if I can actually make a list of cultural things that look more "Heathen" than "Christian" in my eyes. It's all very subtle.

[streets-in-paradise]

Best Friends Till the End - Andy Barclay x (Fem) Childhood Friend! Reader - Part 7

Masterlist

Warnings: Chucky doing very fucked up comments.

Summary : Chucky attempts to play his first move against you with one of his classical stalker calls. You know he sees you as the weakest element of the group and his twisted Intervention preys in your biggest fears seeking to destroy your greatest hope. However, a crucial mistake on his part allows Andy to present you with a whole new purpose.

Tags: @barclaysangel ( i finally finished to write this while dealing with my anxiety over the current situation, hope you will like it. Also, i wrote it on the phone so sorry for the mistakes you may find. )

In the peace of your embrace Andy managed to be the first one falling asleep. Judging by the comments you have heard on his insomnia, he must have been too tired or feeling too comfortable with you in order to accomplish that. Confessing your feelings to each other wasn’t an expected part of your childhood reminiscent ritual, but it happened and you were feeling good about that. Finding out you felt the same for him had surprised him the most, Andy was already insisting on saying you needed someone better and you were claiming over and over there was no one else for you. It got to a point where you started to shut him up with more kisses every time he would start bringing up his flaws. The caresses and reassuring whispers must have relaxed him, so you kept doing that even when you began to notice he was getting sleepy. 

It was a perfect moment, you were almost sure nothing could have possibly ruined it until you felt the vibrations of your phone against the wood of your nightstand. Getting called in the middle of the night was suspicious enough already, only your sister in some severe emergency could justify that. Fearing something could have happened to her, you picked up without caring to consider the fact that the number was unknown. 

If she was in danger, her phone could have got ruined and she could be calling you from anywhere else. 

Your doubtful introductory salute found no direct answer, the person at the other side wanted to hear your voice first. Raven would have never done that, not at least at that hour of the night, so it couldn’t be her. 

It freaked you out a little bit, but you tried not to show it. 

“ In case you are wondering, my favorite scary movie is Halloween … Anything else, jerk?”

The Scream reference obtained a chuckle and you didn’t need anything else to understand what was happening. You looked at Andy, still lost in his sleep, and wondered if it was enough to justify waking him up. 

“ Don’t fuck with me, let’s start with that. Shall we?” 

Chucky was ruining everything again, somehow managing to do it exactly the same as the last time. It was only you hearing his voice in the dark while Andy tried to sleep. 

“ This is not what I expected. “ You admitted, then lowered the tone of your voice trying to speak in whispers. “ Of all the shit I could have imagined you say after decades of silence, I gotta say it’s disappointing. This whole thing is a letdown. I get death assholes don’t sleep but, really? A call in the middle of the night? Have you been watching the Scream movies, Chucky? “ 

He noticed the difference and immediately called you out about it. 

“ He is there, isn’t he? Had he already tried to fuck you and found out you are a frigid bitch?” 

The sick insult was vague enough for you to not be able to tell if he was just taunting you or if he had learned private details of your life touching someone who knew you. 

“ Poor babe is too tired. We are too busy keeping every single child in this town aware of you.” Was your strong sounding comeback. “ You reached my kids, they know one of yours was there and news travels fast. Friends, siblings, cousins … neighbors. Organized children are your downfall, that’s what I learned last time. You ain’t going to get a new family anywhere near, I have eyes everywhere. “ 

“ You are so fucking ungratefull.” He interrupted you, his way of complaining sounding too parent-like to not be twisted. “ I let you be, you could have done anything with your life and yet you dare to get in a business that enters in direct conflict with mine. Couldn’t you let it go? With your failed child actress thing and the daddy issues, I have always imagined you would end up in porn.” 

He disgusted you to the core, keeping in mind you were around five the last time he saw you made your stomach churn.

“ I found my call forced to take responsibility for what you left behind.  My mom got into occultism seeking for answers and found in that a passtime to escape my dad. She even tried to convince me that my fear summoned you in the apartment of the Barclays that night and the place was haunted. Her medium was the only one taking real care of me and we raised my sister, so now I’m a kinder teacher who does palm readings.” 

“The cunt inside your mother’s womb, I’m more excited about paying her a visit than the very little thrill I can get from you. “ He cruelly mocked you. “ The name was a very flattering touch. Did the shrink tell your parents to pick it for positive association? Was she left in charge of fixing your screwed mind from birth? “ 

“You will never get Raven, she will get you.” You pridefully recalled. “ She is the Scrappy of my Scooby and she grew up to my tales of Andy. If you would have come back for me, you would have found me running after another little girl who just put on a mask from her last halloween costume to recklessly chase you around the apartment with a butcher knife in hand.” 

“ Meaning literally everyone else in my list is more interesting than you … Do you see now why I never returned? Little bitch, you were just a replacement for someone else. There was a time when killing you would have given me great pleasure, but I got the real thing and I don’t need you anymore. You are becoming a pain in my ass in vain. Face it, no matter how hard you try you will never make anyone care. Your dad never cared, I didn’t care. Every single man in your life has abandoned you, maybe that’s why you couldn’t let me go.” 

The words were like knives stabbing your soul, silent sobbing brought you back to the very same state you swore you would never come back. A lonely, hurted little girl preyed on by a monster. 

“ If I clinged to my memories, if I choose to stay awake … It was never for you. “ 

Despite not fully awake, Andy was giving signs of being listening to bits of your answers. You gesturally reassured him to stay calm, holding him tighter. 

“ You have been waiting for Prince Charming to return and slay the dragon. Even though he had also abandoned you, you have made excuses for him all your life. “ Chucky insisted, twisting your words the way he wanted. “ Andy is not your salvation, he couldn’t even save himself. You have no idea of the kind of man he grew up to be, I raised him. The bastard is a psycho and you are the last thing he remembers fondly;you really don’t want to be on his side. “ 

The card he was playing with was a powerful one, he truly knew Andy better than you. 

“ Bullshit. You may have broken him, but he is still a good man. A wonderful, broken man.” 

“ He is lost, he picked all the tricks in my handbook … Including how to rope the naive woman you got fixated on into opening the door for you. His obsession with you it’s more dangerous than what you think, before you could realize and fight him he is going to make you his new toy. You are going to spend the rest of your life locked in a cabin in the middle of nowhere and he will be telling you it's the only way for you to be together because he has to protect you from me. He will say he had to do it because he loves you, but he is the real danger. 

The grim speech should have been enough to make you hesitate, but it didn't.

" And you expect me to believe you called to warn me? YOU, of all people? "

" I called to offer you a deal, the same I did the last time … Give me Andy and I will let you and the babygirl live."

That time you were the one chuckling.

" If you really want to turn us against each other you are going to need more than that, Chuck."

Apparently, the cocky negatory wasn't what he expected and his persuasive tactics kept escalating in darkness.

" Deny it all you want, but I'm the last hope you have of walking out of this before Andy shows his true colors. Think carefully, little bitch … or you will remember me when you will be tied up begging him to stop forcing his damn dick inside you. In that shitty cabin no one is going to hear your screaming and he is so gone in his delusion that he will think you like it. He will even try to kiss your tears as he is coming inside, so happy that you are going to have his children!! You will wish i was there to fucking stab your growing womb, pathetic slut!!! It's over, you have no choice but doing as i say. DON'T YOU FUCKING DARE TO DISRESPECT ME EVER AGAIN. I'M ALL YOU HAVE, BARBIE!"

He hanged up out of sudden, almost as if anger would have made him deviate from his script accidentally.

Andy was awake near the end, your sobbing and the look on your face explained enough.

" He must have found my old therapist, otherwise i have no idea of where he learned so much of me." Was all you could explain. " He called to brag exploiting my traumas. The pregnancy phobia must have made him very proud, he was extra cruel with that. "

Your enamored friend took a deep breath, seeking to contain his anger because you were already terrified.

" You should have woke me up, never let me sleeping again. Even if you can tell he isn't approaching" He sweetly complained, sitting on the bed to hold you in his arms. " Whatever he has told you, remember it's all lies. It's exactly like you told me : he wants you to feel like shit so you won't stand in his way. "

Tears were still falling down your face, but he wasn't going to give up.

" We ruined part of his scheme without having to spill a drop of blood, and that was thanks to you. It's because you are so smart and kind hearted … and you found a usefull lesson in the shit we went through together. One I didn't seen before. Have you heard that ' kill them with kindness' thing? That's you, and Chucky is pissed off that it worked."

The comfort he was attempting to bring you would have worked, making be you all smiles for him, if you wouldn't be haunted by what you heard.

" Andy … Do you have an isolated cabin somewhere? He mentioned that. "

" It's not the most romantic place, but i can assure you it's not the Evil Dead one. " He answered, worried and weirded by you sudden fright. " … No, no, don't give me that look. Fuck, I should have know he would bring that up. "

You released yourself from his grip to stand up at a prudential distance and he let you do it, but the sudden lack of trust seemed to be hurting him.

" I don't know what he said, but I will tell you the truth. I didn't want to do it before because I feared it would scare you away. " He started to explain himself. " The place is a hunter's hideout and i have one of them prisoner there. As far as I can tell, it's the original."

You weren't dissaproving it completely, so you hesitantly awaited for his tale to end.

" I did all kinds of fucked up things to that doll. Kept only the head as a trophy and tried every single method of torture I had available, that's how i discovered the fire trick. You have seen some of that yourself; I can be a bit too trigger happy when it's about hunting him but that's all. "

The mere posibility of loosing you precisely then, ríght after finding himself enjoying a bit of your romantic affection, got him sincerely desperate.

" I would kill protecting you, but I would NEVER hurt you. " He insisted, approaching to round your hips with his arms looking at you with such broken beauty that you could tell he could be about to cry if he wouldn't feel too ashamed of releasing the tears. " You have to believe me, like you always did … Please. "

It was sincere enough for you.

" i'm so sorry, baby. He had spent more time with you than I ever got, made me feel as if he knew better. " You explained, caressing his face. " He said such horrible things, he wanted me to fear you … It felt exactly as when he threatened me as a kid, he even used the old nickname … Barbie, I can't look at one of those dolls without remembering it. "

As you were speaking, and encouraged by your well receivement, he placed a few pecks on your lower belly. The fabric of your nightgown was a barrier to reach your skin, but that wasn't necesarily the point.

It was a reassuring gesture to prove his devotion loving the spot of you that Chucky hurted. His sweet attentions only stopped to the mention of that name.

" Are you sure he said that? "

Only then you realized you have never told him that specific detail.

" Of course! It was an inside thing he had with me. Whenever he would loose his patience, he would start calling me Barbie. I believe he intends to mock my femminity as fragility. Definitely a mysoginistic thing implying weakness and reliance on him. I was this pink lover girly girl, never have been the queen of challenging gender norms, and I guess Barbie was easier to come up with than Daphne. "

Your guesses didn't convince him.

" … Barbarah Pierce. " He whispered to himself, connecting dots out loud despite you could still hear. " Shit, I'm being such a jerk, there is something else you need to know. "

He encouraged you to climb back on the bed with him before starting and held your hand the whole time.

" You were ríght all along, what Chucky told you that time must had been a twisted version of the truth. " He admitted, hesitant to carry on because he feared your reaction even more than before. " There was another family before mine: a woman and her two daughters. The eldest was of your same age and her name was Barbarah. "

The very few things he knew about the Pierces came from what he managed to read online and his failed experience trying to save Nica. Still, he told you all he could and there was no doubt that had to be the true origin of the nickname. In you Chucky found a reminder of another little girl he despised and that was all. You understood why Andy kept silence on the matter, since untill then he couldn't tell for sure if there was a connection and he didn't want to trigger you in vain. That was your worst nightmare, just like he had the memories of each time the doll attempted to possess him. He was being so considerate of your pain and you loved him for that, but there was no way you would let it go. Andy knew it well. He ended up being the one sedating you with reassurance untill you both finally managed to get some sleep.

That didn't stop you from freaking out the morning after. Kyle offered herself to make breakfast, since she was almost sure you had lost your mind because of Chucky's call. The siblings were watching you sip bits of coffee while nervously revisiting a pile of old books, handwritten notebooks, letters and packs of notes.

Inheritance of your deceased medium friend that you revisited with desperation to find anything usefull.

" You must be scared and I completely understand you… Wouldn't you prefer to talk about it?"

You closed the book before replying her.

" I already called Raven and she is fine, but i don't know for how long. I am aware she is perfectly capable of kicking his ass if he tries to kill her, but never stopped to think what would I do if he possesses her. I'm not going to let her alone for him to take and i am not abandoning Barbie's sister either. "

Before Andy could attempt to calm you down, you pointed at the pile.

" Pick one and start digging, we are looking for anything that could work as an exorcism or to possibly prevent possession."

Your serious determination made him chuckle a little bit.

" … This is exactly what I wanted to avoid. You will get as obsessed as i am, only through a different route. "

He checked the things you recommended him and while digging the pile he did a very strange finding.

" The fuck is this ? "

Picking that particular item from the pile, he then showed it arround.

A Voddoo for Dummies book. Kyle bursted into laughter noticing you mixed that with real stuff.

" Remember when I told you that despite i don't appear in the front page of the search, eventually people always find out? Someone gave me that as a phrank gift like a decade ago. " You explained to them." Even if it's not legit, it can serve as a guide for the mythology. "

He gave you a skeptical look, more amused than concerned.

" Whatever you say, gorgeous. "

Curiosity did make him look into it briefly, but he wasn't actually reading it. It wasn't surprising that you found something first because you knew what you were looking for.

" THE HERMETIC PRINCIPLE!!!" You cheered yourself in a language nobody else was understanding. " How did i missed it? Nadia told me about that so many times!!! Ughhhh, i'm such a dumbass!!! "

" English, please?" Kyle mocked you. " If it's good news, how good is it?"

" Maybe not enough for an exorcism, but it may work as a preventive hack. " You began to ramble away. " When I was told about it I would call it the Upside Down Rule, a bassic prínciple bonding things with their natural contraries. Surprisingly, an example of it was portrayed in Pirates of the Caribbean 3. If the theory is correct, we may just have to twist Chucky's chant to turn his words against him. "

The precise explanation was concluded with a pridefull smile. Despite of how strange it was, the idea has still a sense of inside logic that the audience catched.

Amazed as he was, Andy kissed you ríght there and without any warnings.

" Dating isn't enough, i should marry you. " He sweetly joked ríght afterwards. " ... And then you wonder why he did that? He must be desperate! Soon he would be paying us a visit. "

His lovely encouragement did work that time

" Excellent moment to test the theory. "

Kyle remained silent for an instant, untill realizing nobody seemed to acknowledge what just happened.

" So, Chucky called and you both are going to start dating …. Is there anything else that i missed last night? "

[dreamsmp-au-ideas]

Ok, so I might as well post the first part now since I already have it. Fun fact, it's four pages in a google docs. I'll give you the second part as soon as I'm done writing it.

Tommy glanced at Cedric questioningly. The older teen just waved him on, leaving the trophy open. Tommy shot another glance at Harry, eyebrow raised. “We’re all champions,” the dark haired teen said. “Besides, you and I never put our names in the Goblet. I don’t see the harm in letting him take the cup.” “No, no,” Cedric said with a small shake of his head. “You two have won basically every challenge so far. You deserve the trophy more than I do.” “Together then,” Tommy said, shifting Harry’s weight and reaching his hand out to Cedric. “After all, we are all Hogwarts champions.” After a moment of hesitation, Cedric accepted the hand, and together the three of them limped towards the Triwizard Cup.

Once they reached it, a glance passed between the three of them, and slowly, they reached out for the Cup. As soon as they did, Tommy felt a sharp tug in his belly button and he was yanked forward. He felt his hand slipping from Harry’s, and he held on tighter. Faintly, he thought he heard Cedric’s voice calling them. Then just as suddenly as it had stopped, the dizzying tug stopped, and dumped Cedric, Harry, and Tommy into a damp field of grass.

It took Tommy a moment to regain his bearing. He was still disoriented, but he saw a small hill rising to his left, dotted with tall, rounded stones. It took him a moment to realize they were graves. He was in a cemetery. His brow furrowed. “Where the hell are we?” he asked, helping Harry to his feet. “I dunno,” Cedric said confusedly. The teen was disoriented, but he seemed to have more of his wits about him than Harry did. “I think someone turned the Cup into a portkey.” “Well, obviously,” Tommy said, hand dipping into his inventory for his sword. “Still doesn’t tell us where we are though.” Suddenly, a small, snake-like voice croaked out, “Kill the spare.”

“Avada Kedavra!” A bolt of sickly green light shot out from behind the graves. It hit Cedric square in the chest before Tommy had even so much as a chance to cry out a warning. The older teen dropped to the ground silently, a tangle of robes and limbs. Harry checked him over, but Tommy could tell by the paleness of his skin that he was already dead.

He drew his sword, but before he could find his enemy, a bolt of red light hit him, and he dropped his blade. Tommy fell to the ground frozen, and after a moment, Harry fell beside him. “Very good, Wormtail,” the same snake-like voice said. “Now, as we discussed.” Tommy heard footsteps, and then there was a small hand twisting into the back of his robes, nails digging into his skin. There was a soft grunt, and then his captor was dragging him across the damp grass. “Tommy,” Harry whispered, scared. “What do we do?”

Tommy’s mind was whirling, but he was frozen. He was frozen in place and at the mercy of Wormtail. There was nothing he could do. Not yet, at least. Suddenly, he was slammed up against something hard and rough. A small shockwave rang through his skull and dirty hands yanked his arms behind him. Coarse rope wrapped around his wrists. The stupify hex he had been hit with was wearing off by now, but he was already trapped. There was nothing he could do. He heard Harry hit the grave next to him with a small thud, and after a moment, he too, was helpless.

Wormtail yanked the teens’ wands from their robes and stuffed them into his pocket. For the first time, Tommy managed to get a good look at where he was. He was at the top of the hill. A mausoleum rose in front of him, a cauldron sitting at the base of the steps, a small bundle fo black cloth at the foot. Wormtail aimed his wand at the base of the cauldron, and flames erupted under its base. Sparks danced across the surface of the water, illuminating the grave in a ghostly white light.

Wormtail bent down and undid the bundle of cloth, lifting a small creature into the air. It was grotesque and only vaguely human shaped. It was the same size as a newborn child, but there was nothing innocent about it. Wormtail raised the thing above the cauldron and gently lowered it into the water. Tommy saw Harry murmuring a prayer under his breath. “Please let it have drowned. Please.” Tommy knew they weren’t that lucky though. He still whispered the prayer anyways.

Wormtail raised his wand slightly and began to recite a spell. “Bone of the father.” The ground at Harry’s feet cracked and greyish white dust floated up. “Unknowingly given.” Tommy craned his neck to see that Harry’s grave read “Tom Riddle.”

“Flesh of the servant,” Wormtail continued, voice beginning to shake. “W-willingly given.” From the fold of his robes, he drew a knife. The metal gleamed in the moonlight, and too late, Tommy realized what he was going to do. He turned away as Wormtail brought the knife down on his arm, and tried to ignore the sounds of metal cutting through muscle, skin, and bone.

Wormtail let out a single whimper of pain, but then he forced himself to his feet and lurched towards Tommy and Harry. The two teens scrambled back, but they had nowhere to go. Tommy’s eyes darted around the graveyard, looking for a solution, but Wormtail was too close. He raised his knife above his head, and Tommy braced for the blow. Instead, the point of the weapon dug into the skin of Harry’s forearm.

A jagged cut stretched from the boy’s elbow to halfway down his forearm, and Wormtail’s knife gleamed red. “Blood of the enemy, unwillingly given.” Wormtail’s voice shook with pain, but he held his knife steady as a drop of blood splashed into the cauldron. “You will resurrect your foe.”

The light of the cauldron suddenly turned to a dark, crimson red and sparks danced along the surface of the water. Wormtail dropped to the ground in a heap, clutching his arm to his chest. Tommy watched as the spell performed it’s magic, hardly daring to breathe.

Then, as suddenly as they had appeared, the sparks were gone. White light filled the sky, turning night into day, and thick fog filled the air. From in the cauldron rose a slim figure, everything about it radiating wrongness. Everything in Tommy was screaming to run, but he was trapped. The figure spread its arms and said, “Wormtail.” It was the same snake-like voice as earlier. Wormtail whimpered, but he stumbled to his feet anyways. “Robe me,” the figure commanded. Wormtail grabbed the bundle of cloth and awkwardly slipped it over his master’s shoulder’s. The figure turned around and Tommy finally got a good look at his face.

It was flat, the eyes barely more than slits, nose flat and grotesque. He was pale, paler even than Cedric had been in death. He wasn’t supposed to be here. “Harry,” Tommy whispered, a note of fear beginning to creep into his voice. “Who is that?” “It’s him. He’s back. Lord Voldemort.”

Voldemort slithered over to Wormtail, who was now kneeling on the ground, sleeve of his robes covered in blood. The Dark Lord rested his hand gently on Wormtail’s head, and the man glanced up, pleading in his eyes. “Please, my lord. You-you promised.” “You’re arm, Wormtail,” Voldemort commanded. Wormtail began to extend his injured arm, but at his master’s sharp glance, he bared his other one.

Slowly, the Dark Lord reached for a dark mark that rested in the crook of his servant’s arm. As soon as he touched it, Wormtail doubled over in pain, and Harry cried out scar burning. “That should summon them,” Voldemort said. Then, he smiled. He turned and crept towards Harry and Tommy. “Well, well, well. If it isn’t the boy who lived,” he greeted, cupping Harry’s chin in the palm of his hand. The teen’s breathing was shallow, face tight with pain. “How ironic that you’ll die tonight.” There was silence for a moment, but then he turned his attention to Tommy. “Ah, and the fiery friend.” Tommy’s jaw clenched in defiance, but his heart was hammering in his chest.

“Why are we here?” he spat, struggling against his bindings. He had an axe in his inventory, but it would do him no good if he was still trapped.

Voldemort shook his head as if he was explaining something to a child. It irritated Tommy. “Well, you see, I needed the famous Harry Potter here for the ritual. And now that he’s served his purpose, It’ll be my pleasure to finally finish what I started the night I killed his parents.”

Harry still looked terrified, but Tommy could see the hint of anger that crept into his eyes at the mention of his parents. “And I needed you,” Voldemort continued, digging his fingers into Tommy’s hair, and forcing the teen to meet his eyes. “Because a very special ally of mine requested your presence here tonight.” “W-what ally?” Tommy hated the fear in his voice. Voldemort laughed softly under his breath. “Oh, I’m sure you’ll understand in no time. After all, he seems quite certain the two of you know each other.”

Suddenly, a loud crack filled the air, and Tommy glanced up to see that a figure in dark robes and white skull-like mask had appeared in front of the mausoleum. “Ah,” Voldemort said, standing to greet the newcomer. “You’ve finally arrived.” More cracks filled the air, and a few seconds later, a total of fourteen death eaters stood in the clearing.

Voldemort examined them and no one dared utter a word. Then he rattled off a list of names that Tommy didn’t recognize as he surveyed his servants. He paused on one at the end of the line. “Lucius,” he greeted. “Wonderful that you could join us tonight.” The Death Eater shuffled awkwardly, but didn’t say anything. So Malfoy’s dad really was a Death Eater. Tommy couldn’t help but feel sorry for the kid.

Voldemort’s gaze drifted towards the Death Eater at the back. They were different from the others; their cloak was bulkier and their mask sent a shiver of fear down Tommy’s spine. “So you came yourself,” Voldemort said, a hint of surprise to his voice. The Death Eater simply nodded. “So,” the Dark Lord said, now addressing the whole group. “You are my most loyal followers. How disappointing. Of course, there are those who are still trapped in Azkaban. And we mustn't forget our two fellows trapped at Hogwarts. But so few of you heeded my call. I must say, I was expecting more.” No one said anything.

After a moment, Voldemort said, “I have called you here today, not only to see that your master has been resurrected, but also so that you may finally see me triumph over the great Harry Potter.” An excited murmur ran through the group. “Wormtail,” Voldemort commanded. “Free the boy. Return his wand. It would be best to kill him in a duel. Prove once and for all that I am stronger than a pathetic teenager.”

Wormtail did as he was told, freeing Harry from his bindings, and shoving the boy’s wand roughly into his hand. Harry was clearly still disoriented, and Tommy wouldn’t be surprised if the teen’s scar was brutally painful. He was shaking, injured leg barely supporting his weight, but Harry looked every inch a match for Voldemort. He stepped towards his adversary, and the Death Eaters closed around the two, blocking them from sight. There was silence for a moment, but then two voices shouted “Avada Kedavra!”

Tommy’s fingers worked at the knots frantically, desperately trying to free himself. If only he could get his axe, he could help Harry. Finally, he felt the rope fall away and loosen. But before he could draw his weapon, the strange Death Eater stalked towards him, sword drawn. Tommy leapt to his feet, yanking his axe out of his inventory, and barely raising it in time to block the blow.

The metal of the Death Eater’s blade dug into the hilt of his axe, splintering the wood. Tommy twisted his own weapon, disentangling himself from the Death Eater’s blade. He stumbled back, dodging the Death Eater's thrust at his abdomen. He caught the edge of the sword on the crook of his axe, and twisted it upwards, knocking the sword from his opponent's grasp. He slammed the hilt of his axe into the Death Eater’s head, and the wizard stumbled back with a grunt.

Now the other Death Eater’s began taking notice and drew their wands. Before Tommy could do anything though, the air filled with phoenix song, and everyone turned to see a net of golden light surrounding Harry and Voldemort as they rose into the air.

Tommy took advantage of the distraction to make his way over to Wormtail, Quickly he searched the man’s robes for his wand, and sighed in relief once he found it. Unfortunately, the Death Eater’s had recovered from their shock, and stunning spells were flying past Tommy.

He dove to the ground as curses flew over him, firing back at as many targets as he could. At least three of his spells hit, and the volley of curses lessened just enough that Tommy was able to scramble to his feet.

He fired spells blindly as he sprinted down the hill, trying to reach the sword he had dropped. A jelly-legs jinx curse hit, and suddenly, he was tumbling head over heels down the hillside. He crashed into a gravestone, knocking it askew. Quickly, he cast the counter curse and scrambled to his feet. He braced himself for more spells, but none came. He turned his attention towards the top of the hill.

The phoenix sound had grown louder, and the light from Harry and Voldemort’s wand was blindingly bright. The two weapons were connected with a beam of golden light, and figures surrounded Harry, protecting him. Tommy couldn’t be sure, but he thought he saw Cedric among them. Suddenly, the net dissolved, and Harry dropped to the ground. “Harry!” Tommy cried out, worried.

Suddenly, the dark-haired teen came sprinting out from the mass of Death Eaters, green Avada Kedavra spells just barely missing him. “Harry!” Tommy called again, waving to him. Harry dove to the ground, rolling down the hill, trying to dodge the killing spells. Tommy scooped up his sword, and dropped his axe into his inventory. Behind him, the Triwizard cup began to glow blue. “Tommy!” Harry yelled frantically, skidding to a stop at his friend's side. “We need to get out of here!”

Tommy nodded, and pointed to the portkey. “It’ll take us home. But we need to go. Now.” Harry nodded. He grabbed the portkey, other hand resting on Cedric’s back. At the very least, the boy deserved to be brought back to his family. Tommy grabbed the other handle of the Cup, and suddenly, he was yanked forward. It was only then did he realize that the strange Death Eater’s robes were green. Green robes and a white mask.

-Gemstone Anon.

Oh my god. Okay. This is beautiful. I have read this like 10 times now. Oh my god. This is- This is brilliant.

[carriagelamp]

Art of Aardman

I found myself a cheap copy of the Shaun the Sheep movie, so I was rewatching a bunch of Aardman films earlier this month and decided to hunt down some books too. For anyone that doesn’t know, Aardman is a British stop-motion studio that does fantastic work like Wallace and Gromit, Shaun the Sheep, Chicken Run, Early Man… tons of cool stuff. They’re always quirky and funny and warm-hearted. This was just a very nice art book for anyone that’s a fan of Aardman stop motion and wants to see a bit extra; it shows some cool concept art and blows up the neat details in Aardman work, especially in their intricate stuff like The Pirates! In an Adventure with Scientists!

Asterix and the Picts (Asterix and the Chariot Race, and How Obelix Fell Into The Magic Potion)

I decided to try a couple of the new Asterix comics that were done by the new team, just to see if they stand up to the old ones (that and How Obelix Fell Into The Magic Potion cause I’d never read that one before). They were pretty decent! Asterix and the Picts was my favourite of the two though I wouldn’t say either are going to contest for my favourite Asterix comic... but still! The art looks good and the stories felt like what I would expect, they made for a pleasant couple evenings of reading especially since it’s been so long since I’ve read a new Asterix comic. If you’ve never read Asterix it’s one of the biggest name French comic series in North America, as far as I know and very worth the read. It’s about a single Gaulish village that’s holding out against the invading Romans through sheer force of will, slapstick hijinks, and a magical super-strength potion brewed by their druid. Lots of fantastic visuals and cute wordplay, even in the English translations.

Bear

I found out about this bastion of Canadian literature via tumblr post that was losing its collective mind over the fact that some bizarre bear-based erotica novella somehow won the most prestigious literary prize available in Canada. Since I too found this hilarious and unspeakably bizarre I had to give it a read, obviously. And yes, the flat surface level summary is... a librarian moves out into rural Ontario and falls in love with a literal for-real not-supernatural-not-a-joke bear. And I have to say… it is actually worthy of an award, which I was not expecting given that I was there for a laugh. It has beautiful writing, and the subtextual story is pretty interesting… it kind of makes me think of The Haunting of Hill House actually in terms of themes. (Womanhood, personhood, independence, autonomy partially achieved through escaping the male gaze by claiming non-human lovers... listen if I were still in university I would right a paper comparing the two novels).

I dunno man, it’s fucking weird. Actually a well-written book, but sure is about a woman falling in love with a literal bear. Give it a read if you want something bonkers but like… high-brow bonkers.

Hunger Pangs: True Love Bites

Best book I have read in like… a while. A long while. I am not a fast reader, and I consumed 90% of this book over a weekend. It’s not at all like Terry Pratchett, but at the same time it scratched an itch for me that I haven’t had satisfied since Pratchett’s death. A very clever, hilariously funny poly romance between a disabled werewolf, an anxious vampire lord, and an incredibly powerful woman, with heaps of social satire, political commentary, and sinister undertones. The whole thing reads a bit like fanfiction and I say that in the most flattering way possible -- it is so easy to jump right in and be immediately taken over by the characters and the world and the plot, you never feel like you’re fighting to engage even though the world-building is fascinating and expansive. It welcomes you in right away, it was the book equivalent of a quilt and a hug which is something I sorely needed with all this pandemic bullshit. If you read any of the books on this list, go read that one while I sit here in pain waiting for the sequel.

Kid Paddle

I watched the cartoon of Kid Paddle as a kid and was thinking about it recently, so I decided to hunt down some of the original comics online. They’re fun and weird, with a cute art style and fantastic monsters designs. (My favourites are always about Kid either daydreaming or playing games that involve Midam’s weird warty troll creatures. It’s like a cross between Calvin and Hobbes and Foxtrot with the fun sort of quirks that I love in Belgian comics. Unfortunately, unlike Asterix, I’ve only come across these ones in French, but if you can read French it’s totally worth popping over to The Internet Archive and reading the ones they have available.

The Last Firehawk: The Golden Temple

The lastest Firehawk book. Despite being written for quite young readers, I did enjoy the early books in this series quite a bit. They’re about a young owl and squirrel who found an egg for a magical species that was believed to be extinct. With the newly hatched firehawk, the three of them head off on a mission to find an ancient firehawk magic that could save the entire forest. Very basic adventure story but a good intro to the tropes for children. Unfortunately the quality really feels like it drops with each subsequent book; this will probably be the last one I bother reading.

Lumberjanes: The Moon Is Up

I honestly think I enjoy these Lumberjanes novels even more than the comics just because it really gives time to delve into each story and examine how the camper are really thinking and feeling about everything. (Also I’m always weak for novelizations of anything.) The Moon Is Up is a book that focuses more on Jo, and takes place during the camp’s much anticipated Galaxy Wars, a competition between cabins that goes over several days. While the campers prepare for these challenges though, they also run into a strange little creature with a penchant for cheese and theft. Roanoke cabin needs to keep ahead in Galaxy Wars and somehow deal with the fearsome Moon Pirates that a closing in...

Lumberjanes v4 (Out Of Time)

One of the Lumberjanes comics, a cool, girl-focused, queer comic series. Honestly, this is just a fun series that I never got as into as I should have. My advice is honestly to skip book one because it gets better as it continues, and I’ve really been enjoying the later books now that I’ve given it another go. It follows five campers at Miss Qiunzella Thiskwin Penniquiqul Thistle Crumpet’s Camp for Hardcore Lady Types (Jo, April, Molly, Mal, and Ripley) as they handle all sorts of challenges, from friendship to crushes, camp activities to supernatural horrors, getting badges to not being brutally killed. Great if you liked the vibe of Gravity Falls but want it to be queer-er.

Mooncakes

Another queer graphic novel, but unfortunately not a very good one. It really looked appealing and I had high hopes, but the book itself really didn’t hold up… I actually couldn’t even finish it, the plot was just too… non-existent. The art is fairly mediocre once you actually look at it, especially backgrounds, and it feels very… placid. Not much conflict or excitement or even a very compelling reason to keep reading. If you just want a soft queer supernatural you may get more mileage out of it than me, but it didn’t really do it for me. There’s better queer graphic novels out there.

New Boy In Town

One of the worst books I have ever read. My girlfriend had ordered a very different book online but through a frankly stupendous error was sent this 1980s pulp romance instead. Absolutely nauseating on levels I couldn’t even begin to enumerate here. Naturally we read the whole thing out loud. Probably took us 10 times longer to finish than it warranted because I had to stop every two sentences to lose my mind. If you like bad decisions, baffling hetero courting rituals, built-in cultural Christianity without actually calling it that, and gold panning then boy howdy is this the book for you.

(seriously, you better have patience for gold-panning if you attempt this one, because I sure learn that I don’t)

Piggies

This was a picture book I enjoyed as a kid and had a reason to reread recently. Honestly it’s just very cute and simple, and the art is completely mesmerizing. Wonderful if you know a young child that would enjoy a simple goofy boardbook.

Shaun the Sheep: Tales From Mossy Bottom

Related to my Aardman fascination earlier this month. I tried reading a varieties of Shaun the Sheep books — most of which are mediocre at best — but the Tales From Mossy Bottom Farm series is genuinely good. Just chapter books, of course, but the illustrations match the series’ concept art and each story feels like it could have jumped directly out of an episode. They’re just cute and feel-good! Kinda like Footrot Flats but more for kids, and from the sheep’s perspective moreso than the dog’s.

[the-witty-pen-name]

Can’t Help Falling in Love

Loki x Reader (f) 

Valentine’s Day with the God of Mischief 

Based on suggestion by: @squadleaderchase​

A/N: Thank you so much for the suggestion! I loved writing this, it was so much fun! 

Happy Valentine’s Day y’all!

There is also a gender neutral version of this fic, and will be posted shortly after this one! Read it here! 

I recommend to putting on Can’t Help Falling in Love by Elvis towards the end just for that finishing touch! 

Summary: When Loki learns about the traditions of Valentine’s Day, he asks you to be his Valentine- and reluctantly takes advice from Steve Rogers. 

Word Count: 2.9k

Warnings: none; just fluff 

“Can’t Midgardians have a holiday that doesn’t involve such a grotesque display of… red?” Loki asks walking into the living room of the Avengers compound. Loki arrived at the compound a few weeks before Christmas and so far, he’s experienced two Earth holidays: Christmas and New Year’s. Of course, Tony had picked the theme for both parties to be elaborately red and gold- he claimed the fact that it matched his suit was merely a coincidence.

“Just wait until next month,” you reply casually, your eyes not leaving the brief you were reading while you sat cozied up in one of the large armchairs. “I think you’ll like St. Patrick’s Day much more… color scheme wise at least.”

Loki looked up curiously at the hearts of all shades of red and pink Natasha had hung up to decorate the Avengers’ living quarters. She had gone to visit Clint’s family and his kids spent hours making Valentines and decorations out of construction paper and glitter. Loki looked almost puzzled at the lopsided hearts that hung from the ceiling on transparent line so they looked like they floated mid-air.

“Perhaps I might,” he mumbled to himself, the lovesick aura of his surroundings making him slightly disgusted. “Though I suppose I find your rituals as bizarre as you’d find on Asgard.”

“Mhmm,” you mumbled in response to his thinking out loud. It was rare that the compound would be this quiet. It was a Friday evening and in the middle of a team meeting earlier today, Tony declared exhaustedly that everyone needs to start the weekend early and dismissed everyone despite Steve’s protests. You weren’t sure where everyone else went and you didn’t particularly care- enjoying the rare peace and quiet.

You didn’t mind Loki’s company. He was a little aloof but overall, you found him more to be misunderstood than anything else. He wasn’t like Thor and sure, he had a very trouble ridden past to downplay it- but he’s confided in you all it wasn’t entirely his doing. Out of everyone living at the compound, he probably had grown the closest to you, or as close as Loki would allow himself to be to someone.

“What even is this holiday?” Loki asked, pulling his attention from the decorations to where you sat, binder in your lap. You looked up and closed the brief, tossing it onto the coffee table in front of where you sat.

“Sunday is Valentine’s Day,” you say looking back over to him, meeting his eyes. “I mean overtime the traditions and how we celebrate have changed but it’s originally the day meant to honor St. Valentine and commemorate his death. There’s a lot more to it than that and there’s all different of different origins, but now it’s more like a day where you celebrate love, because he was the patron Saint of Love.”

Loki nods, liking the idea of this holiday much more than New Years already. He didn’t mind Christmas, but the elaborate parties made everything not very appealing to him. You can’t blame the god for not having a good time at parties where every guest fears him or hates him. He walks over and takes a seat on the couch and crosses his legs. He was intrigued enough to continue the conversation and ask you more questions. “What are the traditions?” He asks curiously.

“Traditionally, you would ask someone to be your Valentine, and that’s the person you want to spend the day with,” you answer with a small shrug, trying to explain a holiday you’ve never had to explain before. “Some people have it easy and they ask their significant other, and if you don’t have one, you ask someone you’re romantically interested in to be your Valentine. Then you give each other gifts, like chocolates or flowers, anything really that’s romantic and you go out on a date, like a nice dinner but it doesn’t have to be. That’s the basic gist.”

“Thank you, (y/n),” Loki said, mulling over your explanation. “You’ve been helpful, as always. Tell me, who’s your Valentine?”

“I don’t have one,” you answered honestly. The only time you really celebrated was when you had been with someone. You’d never really participated otherwise. You planned to just spend the night alone or with Nat if she also didn’t have plans and probably watch a movie- most definitely Pride and Prejudice.

“Shame,” Loki said with a tsk. “Perhaps, if you would be interested, you could be my Valentine?”

“Really?” you ask, honestly surprised.

“I actually like the idea of the day,” Loki shrugged. “And I don’t know many people, people seem to hate me on this planet- no idea as to why. You’ve always been kind to me, and you are the most tolerable person I’ve encountered on this planet.”

“That’s oddly very kind of you,” you say with a chuckle. “I appreciate the sentiments. Um, yes. I’d be happy to be your Valentine.”

“Excellent,” he grinned. He clapped his hands together and stood up. “Splendid. I’ll ask Thor to help me plan something.”

“I’m looking forward to it,” you smile, picking up your paperwork again as Loki heads off to find his brother.

***

“Brother,” Thor’s voice echoed in the training room. “Spar with me?”

“As much as I would love to,” Loki said sarcastically, “I need your help with something I need to plan.” Loki walked over to the side of the mat where Thor had been training with Captain Rogers.

“Plan what?” Captain Rogers asked curiously. It was an innocent enough question but Loki took it as Rogers insinuating his distrust in him. Of course, Loki can’t blame the man but it did rub him the wrong way.

“If you must know Captain Rogers, I’m making plans for this upcoming Valentine’s Day,” Loki said matter-of-factly. “I’m sure since you have quite the active love life recently, your words of wisdom are probably of infinite value.”

“You can learn a thing or two from me,” Steve retorted as he put the punching bag beck into place. “But I don’t like your attitude.”

“I don’t know how I’ll ever manage without you,” Loki scoffed. He turned his attention back to his brother. “I need help to determine where I should take (y/n) and what I should get her.”

“(y/n) agreed to this?” Thor asks, his eyebrows raised in confusion. Rogers kept his mouth shut, deciding to see where this conversation will go before

“Yes, brother. I asked her to be my Valentine as stated by tradition and she said yes.”

“Ah! Good for you, brother!” Thor exclaimed, happily. “I’m glad you’re immersing yourself in the Midgard culture.”

“Yes, yes,” Loki waved him off, “Now, please, tell me what I should do.”

“I’ve never celebrated Valentine’s Day,” Thor says with a shrug and a sympathetic look. “I haven’t had much opportunity to explore the culture. Every time I’m on this planet I’m a little busy preventing its destruction. Perhaps Rogers can help you?”

Loki let out an exasperated sigh. He avoided Rogers as he knew the man had such a smug look on his face. Loki refused to give him the satisfaction. However, he realized that wouldn’t be fair to you. Rogers not only knew what to do, but he was also close friends with you. He quickly realized if he wanted to celebrate with you properly, he’d need to rely on the infamous super soldier.

“Captain Rogers,” Loki said with a charismatic smile, turning back to the man. “I wholeheartedly apologize for my lack of… social niceties. If you’d be willing to help me, to ensure your dear friend enjoys her holiday, I would be sincerely grateful.”

“Only because of (y/n),” Rogers says skeptically, waving a finger at Loki. “She deserves to enjoy her time and I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I let you screw up her evening.”

“What a loyal friend.”

Years later, the Avengers would still talk about the fact Loki cared about you so much, he sought out advice from Captain America and Thor. And as Captain America said, he helped Loki with every last detail and Steve never let Loki forget it.

***

Loki had told you that he’d come to your room to get you at 6 o’clock Sunday evening. He wore clothes he had picked out, black dress pants, a white button-down shirt and shiny, black dress shoes. He had kept the last button of the shirt unbuttoned and he had rolled the sleeves up, a styling tip he had gotten from Thor. He had his long hair gelled back and tamed, ignoring Captain Roger’s horrible suggestion for a haircut. He felt very weird not wearing any green, but he took the advice he was given on his ensemble.

You were just putting on your heels when he knocked at your door Sunday promptly at 6pm. Of course, Loki would be very punctual. You gave yourself one more quick once more in the mirror in your room before heading to answer the door.

You had on a pair of dark green heels that perfectly matched your dress. You also layered over the outfit a suede brown jacket, that complimented the jewel tone of the dress and shoes nicely. You kept your appearance simple, sticking to how you usually styled your hair. Not wanting to keep him waiting, you quickly opened the door, your jacket and bag both in hand.

“Wow,” you say with a grin, when you take in Loki’s appearance. “You look very nice.”

“You look stunning,” Loki said, his eyes widening, taking in your appearance. The compliment made you have butterflies.

“Thank you,” you said with false confidence. Underneath, you were a nervous wreck as you took the arm that he extended to you.

“So,” Loki began to walk down the hallway with you. “Apparently, this planet has something called reservations, and anyone who tries to get one a few days before Valentine’s Day is a “moron,” according to a very rude young man I had the pleasure of speaking with- the first time using a phone too on top of that. So, I hope you don’t mind if the evening is a little… makeshift.”

“I’m sure it’ll be great,” you reassure him. You feel him relax slightly. You found how hard he was trying so endearing.

Where else did he bring you but just down the hall to the living room. At night with the lights dimmed, combined with Natasha’s homemade decorations, it actually looked quite beautiful. He had decorated with an eclectic array of candles as well that covered most surfaces of the room. It also looked like he had swiped every throw pillow in the whole compound and had them arranged the coffee table in the center of the room.

“Did you do all of this?” You ask in awe.

“Yes,” he replied, just watching you. “Do you like it?”

“It’s perfect.”

“I had to make my own version of advice I received,” he disclosed to you. You sat opposite each other on either side of the coffee table, you kicked off your heels and he did the same with his shoes. “Captain Rogers said- and I’m trying my best to quote verbatim, ‘You need to show a girl a good time. You gotta take her to dinner and dancing.’” He even mimicked Steve’s voice perfectly. It made you laugh.

“I can’t believe you subjected yourself to Steve for me, I’m touched,” you smiled. “I mean I love Steve,” you continue, “But I can’t imagine you too being best friends anytime soon.”

“No, I suppose we probably won’t be,” Loki chuckles.

“I hate to point it out,” you continue, “but I think you missed both the dinner part and the dancing part of that plan.” Loki smirked and when you blinked, he transformed the whole room.

“Did I?” he asks, with an eyebrow raised. You gasp, looking around the room you were now in. You knew it was an illusion, but it felt very real. The atmosphere, the breeze coming in from the large bay windows that weren’t there before. The coffee table now a table now one of many dining tables in an incredibly high-end restaurant. The table had food, and a bottle of wine. You were stunned. There was a live band and other couples in other tables and out on the dancefloor.

“Loki?” You exclaimed, looking around at your new surroundings. It was amazing. You couldn’t believe the magic right before your eyes. Of course, you knew it was just one of his tricks, but it felt so incredibly real. You picked up your fork and took a bite of the food in front of you. It was incredible, you questioned if you were even eating.

“It’s real,” Loki said, like he could read your mind. Honestly, he had only just anticipated your next question. “I made it. Well, I made it with Friday’s supervision.”

“It’s fantastic! I can’t believe you went through all this trouble just for me.”

“Sweetheart, you are very much worth it- worth much more than this,” he responded casually, throwing in the term of endearment to see how you’d react. He caught the way it made you smile.

You continued to talk for a little while, and shared stories. You were worried that compared to his life on Asgard, he’d find your stories incredibly boring and mundane. It seemed to be the opposite. His attention was only on you and he held on to every word you said. He created this elaborate setting just to keep you the center of his attention.

“Should we dance?” He asks suddenly, a glimmer in his eye. You looked down apprehensively.

“I’m not really a dancer,” you tried to insist.

“Do you actually not want to dance, darling? Because if so, I will not bring it up again,” he says earnestly, “But, if you’re saying no because you’re afraid I’m going to judge you, I honestly can promise you I would never dream of doing so.”

You give it another moment to ponder over his words. You were taken aback at how well he seemed to know how you were thinking. You let out a sigh of defeat, and smile. “I’d love to,” you reply.

He stands up and offers you his hand. His smile is enough to make you weak at the knees. You take his hand and he leads you over to the dancefloor as the band starts playing its next song. “Does that singer sound like Elvis?” You ask, the small glitch in the illusion throwing you off for only a moment.

“I don’t know who that is,” Loki says with a laugh. He pulls you in close and rests one hand on the small of your back and the other grasps your hand close. You wrap your other arm around his shoulder. You are both pressed up incredibly close to one another. You rest your head on his chest comfortably, and you can’t see how much the action makes his whole face go red. Guiding your movements together, it mostly just swaying in place. The steps were small, and with the music playing for the two of you.

“This place is incredible,” you sigh happily looking up at him. “But I think I liked the first place a little better.”

He nodded in agreement and you got to watch a green hue encompass the walls of the restaurant as they almost melted away, and everything around the two of you just fade away. The sconces on the walls, revealed themselves to be the candles that cluttered the living room and the couples evaporated with the green mist. The table you had both sat at, turned back to the coffee table but the empty plates remained. The elaborate statues that surrounded the room turned into the furniture you knew well, and then the live band faded away to reveal Steve’s record player indeed playing a 45 of Can’t Help Falling in Love by Elvis Presley.

When the room finished revealing its true appearance to you, you laid your head back on Loki’s chest and mumbled that now it was perfect. He smiled to himself, thinking about how without a doubt in his mind, Valentine’s Day is his absolute favorite holiday on Midgard. He now couldn’t believe this reality was real. If he wasn’t holding you, he’d pinch himself. You were here, with him, in his arms, dancing in the middle of the living room on this godforsaken planet.

“(y/n)?” he whispered softly as the song was coming to an end.

“Mhmm?” You responded, your eyes closed, really just basking in the feeling of being so close to him and the smell of his cologne.

“Will be mine?” He asks carefully, remembering the phrase from Captain Roger’s advice. That phrase apparently being very important if today went well and he wanted to ask you to “go steady.” You chuckled softly, hearing Steve’s influence in the phrase.

“I would love to,” you say with a shy smile looking back up to him. He beams, incredibly happy you said yes. Swept up in his emotions, he swiftly leans down and presses his lips to yours capturing them in a passionate first kiss.

“Oh gross!” You hear someone exclaim, making you both pull away. It’s Tony- who was currently holding his side in pain as Pepper elbowed him in the side.

“You really had to do that?” she chastised him, rolling her eyes and giving an apologetic look to you and Loki before pushing Tony down the hallway to give you both your moment back, as sullied as it had become thanks to Tony.

“I’m so sorry,” she said embarrassed by his outburst, ushering him out as quickly as possible.

Loki turns his head back to you, immediately after they are out of view. “Where were we, darling?” He smirks, pulling you in for another kiss.

[samuel-de-champagne-problems]

Open Me Carefully

summary: spencer reid and reader are best friends, but don’t realize that they both love each other. 

author’s note: crappy summary, but this one is loosely based on gold rush 

warnings: none

Open Me Carefully 

Maybe it’s the fact that I have a propensity to keep rereading historical romances, or maybe it’s the fact that I just listen to “Lover” way too much for a single person. Or maybe, I’m actually in love with him, my best friend and the only person in this world who I think truly knows me. 

I mean, how could I not be completely in love with him. Spencer Reid is the closest thing to perfection. He is kind, brilliant, and unbelievably handsome. It almost hurts me how wonderful he is. But daydreaming about Spencer’s hair falling in his eyes, or his hands grazing across the map spread out on the table, or even his wide smile that slips out when he lets his guard down is not productive to solving crimes. 

Unsubs, Y/N. Unsubs. Stop thinking about his hands. And start focusing. 

“Y/N/L!” Calls Hotch from across the room. He’s assigned me to locate the birth mother of the potential unsub. He was given up for adoption as an infant, but bounced around from foster home to foster home, never finding a home, and now obsessed with finding his roots. 

“Yes, sir, here’s the name from Garcia. Susan Lee gave up her baby for adoption in 1981, she was a just 16 years old, so that would make her-”

“44 years old” Spencer injected. 

Hotch gave me a short nod of approval and I cocked my head towards Spencer’s direction, who tried to pull off an innocent look. 

“It’s math, Y/N. I can’t help myself,” he explains. 

“It’s fine, Spence. Math is like your religion,” I tell him, but what I’m really thinking is it’s you, Spence, and you can get away with anything with me. 

“Math, in its purest form, is a beauty known nowhere else” he remarks. 

“Who’s that Nietzsche?” I ask him as he beams down at me, twirling a blue permanent mark between his very distracting fingers. 

“No, Spencer Reid.” he says as he turns back to the map on the table before us.

Just as I give myself the smallest bit of a second to enjoy the playful banter that falls between us, JJ and Emily come walking in, leading a gruff looking detective with them. 

“We think we know where Jacob is hiding out,” JJ starts with a grim look on her face. Emily and the detective walk past her to where Hotch and Derek explain the profile to the SWAT team waiting by. 

“His old orphanage, right?” Spencer asks looking up from the map.

“Yeah, and we think he’s going to hold some of the other children hostage,” JJ tells us. 

“We need to get there, JJ. But isn't it his mother he wants, not the other children. You’d think that with the profile we came up with, it would make more sense for him to want to save the children, not hold them hostage?” I reason.

“You’re right, Y/N,” Spencer says, coming to a dark realization “he thinks that he’s saving them. He’s Angel of Death” he finishes grimly. 

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

Sitting quietly in the jet after the chaos of de-escalating a hostage situation is a calm like no other. We all have routines for the ride home. A quiet ritual that we take the time to be thankful that we’re all here, in one piece, having made the world slightly more safe. 

JJ, ever diligent, will work on paper with Hotch. Rossi will usually keep Hotch from overworking with a small, light conversation. 

Emily spreads out on the couch, and the rest of us pretend to not see JJ glance over at her as she looks at Emily with eyes that crave her attention.  

Derek will listen to music and I’ll close my eyes and strain my ears to make out the muffled tunes that escape his ears. I sit across from Derek and will share snacks that we grabbed from a dingy convenience store on the way to the tarmac. 

Spencer, who always sits next to me, will usually write his mother a letter. He writes her a letter on every plane ride after a case. I think back to the time that I asked him why he prefers letters to phone calls. He told me that he finds letters a forever way to say ‘I love you’. Taking your love and turning it into pen and paper makes it tangible, is what he told me. Until that day, I never really pegged Spencer to be a poet, but he continues to amaze me everyday. 

I think that he can feel me staring at him, because he suddenly stops writing and his eyes look up to meet mine. 

“She’s not doing so well, Y/N” Spencer says, his voice but a whisper above the hum of the jet and music spilling from Morgan’s headset. 

“Your mom?” I ask, my voice matching his. 

Spencer, for perhaps the first time I’ve known him, is quietly defeated.

“All I ever wanted to do was to save her, Y/N. Sometimes I feel like I’m not doing everything I should be. I thought that by the time I was 30 I would have cured schizophrenia. It’s just that sometimes I feel like maybe I settled” 

“Well, you know we really don’t hear about child genius when they are adults. And you have the same job and me, and I’m not where near as smart as you. So you feel like you’re letting the world down or even worse— yourself”

“You might not have the IQ points on a piece of paper, but you are nothing short of brilliant” Spencer says looking at me directly in my eyes. I hold his gaze for maybe a second and look down towards my lap in disbelief. 

“Spence,” I say. “You have to say that, otherwise I’d stop making you chocolate donuts.”

“I don’t need your donuts to convince me that you are an amazing agent. I mean,” He pauses and holds my stare again. 

“You’re so kind it hurts me sometimes. And watching you those kids today, you’d be a great mom, Y/N. You make everyone feel so comfortable just being around you, and I’d give up all the chocolate donuts and IQ points and bottomless coffee if it meant you’d stay in my life,” Spencer says looking at me. I rest my hand over his and we sit there in the silence and comfort of the other. 

Spencer Reid is a man of many hats. But I think his way with words just may be my favorite. I don’t dare to respond to him. I don’t trust myself not to kiss his pink lips as he looks at me like he loves me. I don’t trust myself to not tell him all the wonderful and sinful things I think about him. I don’t trust myself to not tell him how I was watching him play with those orphans back at the police station.

“What’s a best friend for, Spence?” I say to him. 

“Besides, ’d want nothing more than to be a mom one day,” I tell him.  We never really talked about our futures. Maybe it was the nature of our jobs. Having a lethal job means that the future is more of an arbitrary idea than a definite possibility.

“But,” I start. “I'm twenty-seven years old, I've no money and no prospects. I'm already a burden to my parents and I'm frightened” I quote with a smirk on my face that covers my trepidation at talking about love and children and the future with Spencer. 

“I’d never think that you’d be one to settle for a Mr. Collins, Y/N” Spencer tells me, a similar look on his face mirrors my own. “If anything, you’re a Lizzie and you deserve a Mr. Darcy” 

“You really think that Spence, because I’m not too sure.” 

“You never know, Y/N your Mr. Darcy can be anyone. Statistically speaking, you may have already met him or have mutual friends or he may even work in the Bureau. 

Sometimes I think that luck and fate are mocking me. Dangling Spencer in front of me; so real yet so far that I’m jumping to remain close to him. Touching his hand to mine feels like I’m teasing myself, just getting a taste of how his warm, strong hands fit into mine is enough to set my heart on fire. 

I let go of his hand and my palm is cold and lonely without his touching. My heart cools but there’s a yearning for him that’s so strong it’s like a magnetic field pulling me in. 

“I’m going to get a cup of coffee, would you like some?” He asks me as he scoots out of the seat.

“I’ll take a green tea, coffee this late makes me anxious” And sitting here holding your hand talking about children and my Mr Darcy makes me even more anxious. 

“Coming right up,” he says with a sad smile on his face that I try to convince myself is because of his mother’s illness and not because I dropped his hand.

Spencer returns to his spot beside me, sipping his coffee and making small notes in his letter. There’s a chill between us that can’t be quelled by even the hottest cup of tea. Spencer doesn’t talk to me again and even though it’s just a couple more hours, I miss his voice.

I have a routine for when I come home after cases, but that routine has been thrown out the window when I watched Spencer walk out of the bullpen without as much as a wave goodbye. We usually go to my apartment and make dinner together. My trip home is a lot more lonely without Spencer by my side. I try to stop my thoughts from going to him, but it’s impossible when he’s all I can think about. 

My apartment is dark and quiet when I walk in. It was left in shambles, with clothes and books strewn all over the couch, desk and floor. I can’t even bother myself to care about the dirty dishes stacked in the sink. I convince myself that those dishes are a tomorrow problem. 

I take out a small container of leftover fried rice and vegetables and pop into the microwave. Making my way into my bedroom I change out of my work clothes, that I’ve been in for nearly 30 hours. I don’t really think about what I’m putting on, as long as it does not smell it works with me at this point. 

My microwave dings, altering me that my mediocre meal is finished. But, before I can even reach the kitchen a small envelope slips through my door and falls on the floor. A sudden rush of fear courses through me. I flit my eyes to the corner safe where my gun rests. In my mind, I try to calculate the risk of punching the code or if I should just find out who is behind my door. I guess curiosity wins out, because I’m walking towards the door where the mysterious envelope sits. 

I reach down and instantly recognize the handwriting as Spencer’s. I can feel my heart pumping blood through my bodying as I think that some sadistic unsub is trying to toy with me by hurting Spencer.

I was not prepared for what I read. My fingers grazed over the messy penmanship. I don’t even let my mind wander as I pour over the words on the page, still fearing for the worse

Dear Y/N, 

Part of me can’t believe that I’m actually doing this. But something that you mentioned on the plane sparked something in me. You’re not a Charlotte, or a Lizzie or even a Jane, even though you are the kindest and most beautiful person I know. 

You are a Y/N. And I am wishing for anything to be your Mr. Darcy. Thinking about you, Y/N gets me thinking about love. How much I love when you look at me across from the table, or how your soft hands will brush against mine. It reminds me that I’m alive. Your gaze makes me blush and those small brushes make me forget to breathe. In your eyes I can see my future— our future. In your smile I can taste happiness. When I am with you the world moves in slow motion and time seems to move too fast. 

I hope that this does not ruin things, Y/N. I could not bear to lose you. I hope that you won’t hate me but even if you do, I’d rather you hate me and be in your life than not be in your life.

I think of love, and you, and my heart grows full and warm, and my breath stands still

Forever yours, 

Spencer

I read the letter silently. Not sure if I can believe it, but I so desperately want to. I throw all sense to the wind when I fling the door open, my eyes hunting for Spencer. He sits on the steps leading up to the next level, fiddling with his shoe laces. I run over to where he sits, not caring that my neighbors might be looking or caring that I look like I’m about to mug him. 

He makes me, cautious girl, a rebel. 

“Hey, you,” I say approaching him. Spencer moves to stand up and I reach out to hold his hands in mine. Like a puzzle piece they hit perfectly. His hands are not too warm or clammy or too cold and boney. They’re perfect. He hesitates and rubs his thumb against the back of my palm, like he does on the plane. 

“Hi, Y/N.” He starts nervously. “I guess you got the letter, and I just want to tell you-”

“What letter, Spence?” I say. I can’t help but to tease him. His face turns pale and green in the same breath. 

“Uh-um, you didn’t just get something in your mail a couple minutes ago?” He asks me so nervously that I almost feel bad at teasing him. Almost, he’s kind of cute when he’s stumbling over his words and I like to be one that makes him this fluttery. 

“I got your letter, Spencer,” I tell him. I think he half expects me to drop his hand and shatter his heart then and there. Maybe he came here and prepared himself for the worse. I think he’s done that his whole life, believing that he doesn’t deserve a chance at happiness. I’m kind of inclined to give him that happiness when it’s so intricately tied to mine. 

“You did?” 

“Yeah, who knew that you were quite the poet, Spencer.” I tell him as I brush his hair from his eyes. It’s gotten so long, but I like it. I’ve dreamt about threading my fingers threw it many times. It’s so soft and brown and frames his face. 

“You deserve a poet, Y/N. And I could only dream of being that person for you.” He says. Against even his own wishes he leans in closer to my touch. His cheek is warm in my palm and I feel his long eyelashes flutter against the ball of my thumb. 

“Luckily for you, Spence, I like scientists.” I say to him. 

“You--” 

“I love you back, Spencer.” I move to wipe the tears that flood down the bridge of his nose. 

“It was a really beautiful letter that you wrote, Spencer. All the right things in there, Emily Dickinson and Mr. Darcy,” I tell him pressing my cheek into his chest. 

“Well, I had to win you over, Y/N” 

“Ha!, Spencer you’ve had me since I’ve met you” 

He looks at me with a veil of disbelief. 

“Spencer Reid, in his purest form, is a beauty known nowhere else” 

“Is that what you think of me?” He asks me. 

“Why don’t you come inside and let me show you what I think of you Spencer?” I say leading him inside to my apartment, that was no longer so dark and lonely. 

[captainsimagines]

To Topple A Giant || Chapter Five

Summary: You had made it your mission to destroy even the smallest evils. When the opportunity arises to finally take down your own family after years of gaining their trust, you reach for it. And so does Steve, the man who represents a symbol of everything you hate.

Pairing(s): Steve Rogers x Reader || Avengers x Reader

Part 5 of 10 ~ Mini-Series

Warnings: This story contains mature themes and discussions such as extreme canon violence, strong language, emotional angst, mentions of Endgame deaths and recoveries, sexual situations, and emotional/physical abuse. All trigger warnings will be listed before the chapter. This is purely fanfiction.

Warnings in this Chapter: mentions of male masturbation and boners (lol); strong language; references to suicide, murder, and drug smuggling; abusive parental relationship; mentions of child death in a second flashback; dry humping (smut); 18+ only please!

Word Count: 16,500+

A/N: damn that chapter warning list was a trip to write down lmao

~

Westview, 2023, 1:32 pm

     An uncomfortable silence spread throughout the parked vehicle, daring either of you to take the first step. No one commented on the glares boring into your soul as you drove through the town or how heavily the three of you got patted down by the authorities right outside the state line. You figured it was completely justified - still a little insulting to a bunch of Avengers who literally saved the world three weeks ago. 

With a loud gulp, Bucky was the first to kick open his door and get out of the car. You glanced at Steve from the driver’s seat, biting your lip with a slight quiver as you went over the speech you practiced earlier today. Simple enough, and not too damning. 

Steve’s leg bounced rapidly a few more times before he too kicked open his door, leaving you in silence. You pulled the car keys from the ignition and took in a deep breath. Your legs were numb, the anxiety washing over you in uneven cycles. It was now or never. 

“Wanda, it’s us…”

Her grief seemed to emit from every crack in the sidewalk, every weak beg escaping the townspeople’s throats, every sound from the inanimate objects her powers had continued to turn from gray to red… to green… back to gray. She was crouched on the property, weeds brushing against her black pants and leaving their mark, mascara smudged with each new wet streak. 

Bucky unzipped his jacket, eyes wandering over the deserted plot of land as Wanda tried to control her sobs. She had already caused enough damage, both physical and psychological, the possibility of more government involvement looming over your heads. He carefully walked toward her and wrapped his jacket over her shoulders, all be damned as he held her and began to tear up himself.

“Wanda, you’re okay. You’re safe. We’ll get through this,” Steve sighed, still keeping a respectable distance from her in case she were to run. But you knew her better - she was all out of fight. One fight after another and yet she still lost her love. 

“I did something really bad,” she sobbed, eyes locked on the spot where Vision had just disappeared. Again.

“No, you didn’t know what you were doing,” Steve declared, shocked by the unexpected scoff from Bucky. 

“Save it, Steve. She may not have known in the beginning but she does now. She still did it.”

No one dared correct Bucky or argue with that logic because if anyone knew about causing harm with absolutely no intention, it was obviously him. Taking responsibility - that was the best course of action. 

Once you heard of a radioactive disturbance in a small town just outside the state, the team almost retired completely. So soon after defeating Thanos, so soon after Tony’s death, so soon after Natasha’s death - the team left it up to the proper authorities this time around. 

But the second you watched the broadcast of Wanda’s fantasies, the sitcom her powers were conjuring, her giving birth to her children… all you could do was wait until she opened the barrier. 

“I still did it,” Wanda said, her upper body beginning to rock back and forth as her fingertips brightened with red tendrils of magical grief. 

You shut your eyes and willed yourself not to cry. You had done so much crying these past few years and you were oh, so tired. You couldn’t possibly take another beating. 

“Hey, hey. Look at me,” Bucky spoke, gently turning Wanda’s face and placing both his hands on her cheeks, mindful of the metal appendage he had forgotten to cover with his glove. “You already did it. It can’t be undone. But you can come with us and grieve properly.”

Wanda reached up and placed her hands over his, tears spilling from her eyes faster now. 

“Let us help you grieve.”

This wasn’t an unexpected goodbye. Wanda knew that. She had just voluntarily given up her husband and children - anyone would crumble from that sort of devastation. But now she had been given a proper goodbye, a somewhat proper closure, and the chance to accept it. “Okay.”

You and Steve remained frozen in place even after Bucky helped Wanda stand. Almost as quickly as you thought it, your feet had a mind of their own. You stood next to Steve, taking in the weed infested, rectangular plot of land - the remnants of Wanda’s fantasy still fresh and creating a tiny, refreshing tingle in the middle of your chest. You looked over at Steve and smiled sadly when you saw him inspecting the area as well. 

“They would have had a beautiful life together.”

Steve’s breath hitched as you finished your declaration, looking over at you and nodding slightly. 

“If I had the chance, I would have wanted a nice house with some decent air conditioning. Some weird, front yard garden where I could plant random flowers. A dog that dug them up and acted like it didn’t do it.”

You giggled, thumbnail between your incisors to try and disguise the wider grin forming. Steve kept speaking. 

“Maybe a kid or two. Never actually checked if I could even have kids after the serum.”

You dropped your hand from your face, your attention completely on him now. 

Steve sighed and kicked a rock over to the other side of the property. “I would have wanted a giant, king-sized bed. With ‘his’ and ‘hers’ towels. And every once in a while we would accidentally use the other one’s toothbrush, a secret we would take to the grave.”

Steve wasn’t even looking over at you as he said this. It was like a one-sided confession, rhetorical, not needing an immediate response or expression in return. And you couldn’t believe he was just saying this in front of you - you of all people - the same person who rolled their eyes whenever Steve struggled to comprehend a modern topic or argued with him when he was in one of his moods. He had been distant the last few weeks after returning the stones, only ever noticing you when other people were around to carry a conversation. 

The tingles in your chest were starting to disappear as the plot of land gave its last few magical rumbles. 

“Steve?”

Steve bowed his head, hands in his pockets and breath steady. “Yes, they would have been very happy together.”

You stared at the back of his head as he slowly walked back to the car.  

Present Day, 2025, 8:10 am

     The amount of times you reminded yourself to wake up early as you were drifting off to sleep last night was perhaps more than the number of sheep you had ever counted in your life. A quick reminder here and there as your mind got clogged with pointless information, the number eight behind your eyelids all throughout the night. 

And you did it. In the early hours of the morning, knowing Steve would wake naturally in about twenty minutes, you tip-toed out of bed to use the bathroom. Acting completely normal in case he did in fact hear you before your grand plan - an easy escape route if he decided to repeat his horrible morning ritual on you. But he was such an old man, getting older, losing that serum’s boost. This Steve, Steve who refused to call any movie made after 1945 ‘old’ because he literally didn’t get the chance to see them premiere - yeah, this Steve, was passed out like he had been hit by a truck. 

Bladder empty and teeth brushed, you quietly opened the bathroom door and peeked through. He still lay there on his back, wrapped tightly in his blanket, breathing steadily, and face completely unprotected. 

Could you die? Probably. Would this payback be absolutely satisfying? Hell yeah. 

You grabbed the biggest of your pillows and fisted the corner tightly, twisting it a couple times for a better grip. You signed the cross quickly before lifting the pillow above your head and bringing it down to Steve’s face. 

Steve’s eyes snapped open and he immediately sat up, “WHAT?”

His eyes flew around the room rapidly until they landed on you, angry and challenging.

“Payback!” you yelled, lifting the pillow high again for a second hit. But he reacted quicker, grabbing a pillow himself and swinging it toward you. It slammed you in the torso and practically sent you flying. You landed at the edge of your bed, mouth open in shock and racks of laughter bubbling deep within your chest. You stood quickly and hit him repeatedly, trying your best to also block his counterattack. 

He reached for your hip and pulled you in his bed, rolling the two of you over so he was straddling your hips. He brought the pillow down several more times before accepting your plea of surrender. 

You threw the pillow back to your bed and pouted, “Not a fair fight!”

Steve scoffed, “You caught me off guard! You had all the advantages!”

You shuffled beneath him and froze, hips stuck in a lifted position as you were too embarrassed to move them back down. “Jesus, Steve! How do you even sleep on your stomach with that thing?”

Steve furrowed his eyebrows as he inspected your face and body, looking down at the two of you before he noticed the way he was pressing into your inner thigh. He scrambled off you, a blush spreading from his cheeks and all the way down his chest. He cupped himself and turned away, quickly shuffling for his suitcase and pulling whatever clothes his flustered hands grabbed. He was also repeatedly apologizing. 

“Steve, it’s okay. It just… startled me, is all.”

Steve cleared his throat a couple times before pacing around the room in search of his toiletries. 

You just sat back on your elbows, watching him scurry like a chicken with its head cut off. It was rather amusing. 

“I’m gonna - gonna, take a shower. Uh, I’m sorry again.”

You smirked at the super soldier, “Steve, I’m not mad. It isn’t like I’m new to that kind of thing.”

Steve blushed harder, “But I didn’t mean for it to happen.”

You shrugged your shoulders and dipped lower into his sheets, grabbing and lifting them higher. You snuggled deeper, “Still.”

Steve could feel the speed at which the world rotated and he shut the bathroom door behind him. He leaned against it, breathing deeply until he had all his inhibitions back. 

He didn’t know what was more embarrassing - reacting the way he did or you seeing him react the way he did. It wasn’t like the two of you hadn’t seen each other in awkward situations, some borderline lewd. There were plenty of missions that involved heavy flirting with the targets, undercover work in depraved settings, missions where nasty magic was involved and concocted a multitude of inappropriate visions. Hell, everyone had already seen each other naked. It was completely normal, a trustworthy environment, and sometimes necessary. 

As much as he wanted to give into the feeling and award himself some proper alone time, he refused to act upon it. He would regret it later once the stress pushed down harder than usual, but it just wasn’t appropriate in his right mind to masturbate with you in the other room. 

Why did he have to be such a good and honorable man?

He busied himself with washing his hair and scrubbing away any evidence of sleep from his face. Steve liked sleeping on his stomach, face smooshed in the pillows and arms extended to his sides. It allowed for more comfortable movement, more ways to stretch his hips, just overall comfort for his massive shoulders. Less pressure on the lungs, too. And unlike the enthusiastic yet almost mean accusation that he couldn’t possibly enjoy that position because of his… well, his dick, Steve would choose that position over sleeping on his back any day. But that morning, his body had decided to betray him in more ways than one. One, he was open to attack because he was on his back. And two, whatever dream he was having caused his morning wood to seem larger this morning.

He had washed up quickly, more time spent out of the shower where he fixed his hair and combed his beard. He thought about shaving it for the rehearsal dinner or wedding, but it gave him a more rugged look - like he was all tough and no funny business. As ridiculous as it sounded, the beard allowed him to lean into the criminal act easier, build a fake personality that already had your father eating out of his hand. 

Opening the bathroom door and having to face the music, Steve was almost certain you would continue to tease him. But you were already munching on the breakfast you had ordered, shoveling hash browns in your mouth as you swiped the mouse through pages and pages of intel. You didn’t even look up as he crossed the room to grab a pair of pants he had forgotten to pick up during his quick escape. That settled his nerves almost instantly and he was dressed and settled next to you soon after.

You worked in silent cooperation for a long while, handing each other files and passing phone calls like you had during every other mission before. Except now it was more comfortable, pleasant, and kind - the soft sounds from the television in the corner, the humming of the desktop, the soft hums of recognition whenever you two showed each other something. You didn’t even bother with what happened in the morning, if it really was anything at all, because you honestly found it normal. You were more focused on the conversation you had last night. 

Steve had offered to kill your father if you seriously couldn’t. Just thinking about his offer caused your stomach to turn. Because yes, you wanted him dead. You wanted to snap his neck in ten different places and feed him to scavengers. You wanted to steal his business from under him and tear it apart, bit by bit, and keep him alive long enough to see you do it. You wanted to see the look in his eyes when you revealed that you double-crossed him. And as the day inched closer, the overwhelming feeling of shame pushed down on your shoulders and swallowed your mind. Once your father was dead, you and Steve would never find true peace. His men would always follow you, probably take you down at the local coffee shop you and Peter frequented. 

The thought of dying in front of Peter caused a lump to form in your throat. No, you wouldn’t do that to your friends. You couldn’t do this to Steve. 

But you had to. Because even though your life will never be yours after this mission, you had to save the countless others your father was sure to touch and ruin. 

But was your life ever truly yours?

Steve’s voice pulled you from your clouded mind. 

“Huh?” 

“I asked if you wanted the last piece of fruit.” 

You looked at Steve then at the small piece of watermelon in the bowl, then back at Steve. He had a pen in between his teeth, one eyebrow cocked, and slightly puffy eyes due to the beer heavy sleep he had last night. You looked away as quickly as you could and stared back at the fruit, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. 

Ridiculous, you thought. Just looking at Steve had flustered you, squeezing your stomach in pleasurable pulses you hadn’t felt since high school. “No, no. You can have it,” you said, hoping your voice wouldn’t crack. 

Ridiculous. 

Steve watched you with a funny smile but he took your word and scooped up the last piece for himself. 

No, you thought again, this man will not give me freaking butterflies. 

It wasn’t like it was odd. Steve had you flustered countless times before, but it was never quite as tingly as it was now. You suddenly wanted to facetime Wanda and rant about these weird feelings; you wanted to curl in on yourself and squeal; you wanted to -

    “He’s what?”

You sat on your knees and leaned over the back of the couch, chin resting on your folded arms as you watched Steve pace around the common room. He was tugging at his dress shirt repeatedly, desperately trying to attach cufflinks without additional help. Sam sat right beside you, in the same position, snickering each time Steve cursed under his breath. 

“He’s nervous,” Bucky smirked, arm holding out Steve’s tie for the past five minutes. Steve had paced beside him various times already, completely oblivious. 

Steve groaned and readjusted his collar, snapping his head toward the three of you. “I’m not nervous.”

“You’re sweating buckets, man,” Sam pointed out, one of his hands discreetly opening up his camera and switching to video. 

“What if she doesn’t like me?” 

Bucky threw his head back and cackled, choosing to grab Steve and steady him to finally put that damn tie around his neck. “Same old, Steve. Can’t accept that a dame would ever possibly like you back.”

“Hey, Steve don’t worry about it,” you started, shooting Steve a sympathetic look. Steve glanced back at you, expression swiftly changing due to your kind tone. “... when I was in high school,-”

Steve released a loud grunt, rolling his eyes and stepping away from Bucky’s hands. 

Sam rolled over and clutched his stomach as he laughed, pulling you into him. The two of you shook from your laughs together. 

“Guys,” Bucky warned, reaching for Steve in a ‘grabby’ motion. “Give him a break.”

Steve reluctantly stood beside Bucky again, head tilted upward as he tried wrapping the tie back around his neck. 

None of you heard the entrance of Thor and his brother, too busy with bullying, laughter, or moderating. 

“Did we miss all the fun?”

You shot up from the ground, kicking Sam away as you rushed across the floor and stumbled over the rug. “Thor!”

You rushed into his arms and he gripped you tightly, swinging you around and loud laughter matching yours. 

“Now, why wasn’t I greeted in a similar manner?” Loki questioned, crossing his arms over his chest. 

You pulled your face from Thor’s shoulder, “Oh, you want this too?”

You jumped back onto the floor and were about to jump into Loki’s arms, but he held his own out, stopping you. “It’s too late. It’s not the same.”

“Piss baby,” you quipped, rushing behind Thor for protection when Loki’s mouth dropped in surprise. 

“Can everyone stop what they’re doing real quick and tell Steve his date is going to go well tonight?”

You rolled your eyes at Bucky’s favor, but he just raised his eyebrows, challenging you to disobey the order. 

“The Captain has a date? Are they okay?”

Loki and you shared a comical gasp. 

Steve gaped, “Now, what in the world does that mean, Thor?”

Thor raised his hands in defense, “I’m just asking if she truly knows what she’s getting herself into! Don’t try and tell me she has no idea who you are.”

Steve was back to groaning nonstop. Bucky threw his hands up in the air, “I ask one thing of you guys. One thing.”

You stomped over to Steve and ripped the half-tied tie from his neck and smoothed down his collar. You patted down his shoulders and the front of his shirt, and gripped his shoulders to straighten his back. 

“Now,” you smiled up at him. The breath caught in your throat for a second, the blue of his eyes shining under the ceiling lights and the pink of his cheeks spreading slowly. You let out a tiny sigh, heart fluttering faintly from the small grin he was giving you. He looked so innocent, a renaissance subject created from light oils, signs of true aging showing in his forehead. “Whatever date you got planned, she’s gonna love it.”

Steve relished in the feeling of your palms pressed against his chest for a few moments before he nodded at your declaration. He stepped back and smoothed down his shirt. “Wish me luck?”

A chorus of ‘good luck’s sounded as Steve found his keys and shared a goodnight hug with Sam and Bucky. They both jokingly reminded him to use protection. 

You watched Steve leave, a newfound bounce in his step as he walked away. Your words had been so simple, so cliche, and yet he had dropped any visible nerves as he walked out the door. You weren’t the best motivational speaker, that was for sure, but the proof of at least an ounce of motivation was there. Maybe your words held a hidden meaning. Maybe.

You thought about him picking up this random woman, wine and dining her, kissing her cheek as he said his goodbyes at the end of the night. It was somewhat adorable to think about, but also weird.

Before you could dive more into the strange feeling, Thor’s voice sounded. 

“Should we order pizza or chinese?”

It’s like that snapped you from your trance, because next thing you knew you were back to your playful self, sprinting across the room and into Loki’s arms. 

     You cherished the slight, pleasant churn of your stomach as you watched him happily munch on the fruit. 

Okay, it was normal to have a tiny crush on your mission partner. God knows how many times you wanted to jump Thor’s bones whenever you were undercover together. A crush was normal, completely natural and expected. 

Except you had never gotten so much sane joy from a simple question of whether you wanted the last piece of fruit. 

You blinked a few times and shook off any trace of overthinking devils, grabbing at random files to occupy your mind for a while. After about fifteen more minutes of comfortable silence, you spoke.

“So, we think Ramirez is gonna get straight up murdered?”

Steve snorted, filing through a pile of papers Torres had delivered this morning. “I wouldn’t put it like that, but sure.”

“But it’s just a theory at this point. We can’t just go in guns blazing without enough proof.”

“And if there is proof? Do we protect him? The original mission was to arrest all four men.”

You groaned, “I don’t know. He’s never done me wrong.”

“Personal feelings aside, Y/N.”

“Ugh, fine. But I’m not gonna be happy about it.”

Steve squinted at you with a playful smile. “You’d rather just arrest the bad ones, huh?”

“Obviously what Ramirez is doing is illegal and it’s horrific to think of what might be happening behind the scenes on his side, but either he’s serious or he’s been putting on this good guy act for his whole life.”

“Leaning towards the first option?”

Shrugging, you leaned toward your computer screen and scrolled through the massive list of emails. “It’s what my gut tells me, but ehh.”

There was one random email from Maribel, but random only meant coded. Reading it over a couple times, humming to yourself in concentration, you finally cracked the code she was trying to send. 

“Maribel says Ramirez acquired some land in Mexico… lots of it.”

Steve looked up from the files, “Any significance?”

“It’s probably for growing the products.”

Steve quickly typed key words that would alert him of any new transactions in the past few months.  “Who’s on the title?”

“Just him. And his oldest daughter. My father must know, right?”

Steve leaned back in his chair, releasing a heavy sigh as he thought about what this could mean. “Ramirez acquiring more land means more of Ramirez’s product. A three-way partnership would be split unevenly if he utilizes the land.”

“Make sure Bucky alerts us of any business my father might have with realtors authorized to work in that area.”

It functioned like this for another hour, the two of you sharing bits of information every ten minutes or so. 

“Torres sent us an update on White.”

You rubbed at your strained eyes, “What does he say?”

Steve’s eyebrows raised, “That he’s been in the country for much longer than his passport says.”

You stood from your seat and rushed to look at the same screen Steve was reading from. “He traveling under a fake name?”

“Customs says he returned to Germany,” Steve stated, highlighting a paragraph on the screen for you to easily read. “Four weeks ago.”

It was your turn to snort out a laugh, “Oh, he’s so setting up an alibi.”

Steve nodded in agreement, “Looks like it.”

You slapped his shoulder lightly, voice raising an octave. “Look at us! Piecing together the puzzle!”

“We still got a few more pieces to attach before you go getting all cocky.”

You chuckled and decided to take a break. You speed walked over to your bed and plopped down, the mountain of pillows already relieving your tense muscles. “Hey, has my sister’s plane landed yet?”

Steve glanced at you quickly before pulling up Bucky’s morning emails. “Uh, landed about an hour ago.”

“She at the estate?”

He shrugged, “Torres hasn’t sent an update. Just her profile, hold up.”

You waved him off, a nonverbal way of telling him you seriously couldn’t care less. “I haven’t spoken to her since I joined you guys. You don’t gotta give me her origin story.”

“That long?” Steve questioned. 

You placed a pillow beneath your head, body horizontal and facing Steve. “We were never that close. I’ve got tons of half-siblings. Most of them were adults when I was born, anyway.”

With just a few words exchanged, Steve realized he had just stepped through your metaphorical door of reminiscing. So he stood to lay in his own bed, the simple action of giving you attention enough to keep you talking, he hoped. “Were you alone a lot? Growing up, I mean.”

You watched as Steve also placed a pillow beneath his head, “There were always kids around. Kids of the maids, cousins, neighbors.”

“A full house, sounds like.”

“Yeah,” you mumbled, a small smile forming as you thought about old friends. “I remember this one time, we all ran into Ramirez when we were trying to get to one of the playrooms. But he grabbed me quickly and told me to not go in there.”

“Was it a threat?”

You grinned at his protective tone, “No, it was a warning. There were some really bad men in the other room. It was me and a few other girls. He told us to run back to my room and lock the door until he came to get us.”

Steve couldn’t come up with a reasonable explanation as to why Ramirez joined the drug game. Sure, the function and presence of cartels had changed drastically over the last forty years, but it didn’t explain why he remained involved. In the eighties, the drug game was highly televised and spoken about, but the cartel violence was not as strong. Nowadays, and not even you could give a proper explanation, the violence was astronomical and basically advertised as something to expect when visiting certain countries. This was the mob game now, freaking Al Capone or the goddamn Godfather, absolutely meant to frighten whoever dare join or leave. For Ramirez to still be one of the big players even with that many internal changes, to be a good person in the middle of such hell, didn’t make any sense. 

“He protected you.”

You clutched the pillow closer to your chest, the memory a good one even if it was weird. “Oh, yeah. Those guys he was warning us about were no angels.”

Steve gave an awkward smile, “I feel like I know more about your childhood than you know mine.”

“I’m all ears if you wanna tell me about little, asthmatic Steve Rogers.”

He raised his index finger at you, “Hey, I was more than just my asthma.”

“Oh, excuse me. I totally forgot about your scoliosis.” 

The pillow under his head was now flying across the small distance to your face. You shrieked and sent it back. 

“Stop bullying!” Steve laughed.

You shielded your face in case he decided to continue the pillow war. “What? I’ve got my health problems, too! I just don’t have the serum to help me out.”

But he didn’t throw it again. He repositioned himself on his back and placed both hands beneath his head, gracing the ceiling with a grin. “I remember this one time, Bucky and I were around eleven-years old, and I had this really bad asthma attack. Bucky just freaked out. I was choking and he was just holding me, screaming for help -”

You blinked, “This is really depressing, what are you-”

“-and! Bucky threw himself into a full-blown panic attack. So we were both choking on air, but I was starting to laugh at him freaking out, which only made him choke harder. We ended up throwing up.”

You were silent at the end of his short story, mouth open in a wide smile. “I don’t know what else to say other than that was one of the greatest stories I’ve ever heard.”

Steve rolled over, a literal twinkle in his eye. “See? Don’t interrupt me before I get to the good parts.”

This simple moment catapulted the realization that Steve hasn’t spoken to you this much in two years, to the front of your mind. In these past four days, you had spoken like you had never stopped, like it was never awkward, like you two seriously didn’t need another person in the room to simply converse about what you wanted for breakfast. Yet here you were, more words exchanged in the past four days than you ever thought possible. 

After the fallout, you didn’t say one full sentence to him for seven months. Seven months. He hadn’t attempted a conversation with you either, but you actively avoided him like he was infected. Hell, he even moved out of the compound and into his own apartment to get away from you for most of the day. After your forced reconciliation, the awkward apologies, you still didn’t force any open conversation. But it was easier, lighter, and most conversations involved mission information. 

Talking this much now was so easy, so simple, like you didn’t need to force the comfort - there was already full comfort, a sense of community with this man. 

He was so different from when he insulted you while you were packing, annoyed by the fact that you pried too much. And now you were prying into his childhood and him yours without a lick of annoyance on either side. 

“We both had eventful childhoods, didn’t we?”

“What, with both of us in the middle of a war?” Steve asked, a genuine look on his face.

“Guess our wars never really left us, huh?”

There was a knock at the door. You weren’t expecting Torres again today. Steve muttered ‘room service, maybe’ under his breath as you went to open it. You were startled to find Scott standing outside, two massive suitcases in his hand. 

“Oh my god, I forgot you were arriving today!”

Scott scoffed, “Am I not as important as your other friends?”

You laughed and helped him inside, “Stop! You’re one of my favorite bugs!”

“Ha ha. Very funny. I’ll leave right now if you two decide to pile on me instead of each other.” Scott placed one of the suitcases near the door but the other at the edge of your bed. 

“We’ll be nice,” Steve promised, standing to greet Scott with a hug. 

“You better. Catch me up, please?” 

The suitcase contained your outfits for the rehearsal dinner and the wedding. Whoever was in charge of costumes definitely went all out, hoping their work would make the big fight the most fashionable. Steve was given a perfectly tailored suit, navy blue and velvet. It was lined with vibranium, inside pockets covered with it. That would certainly be handy if you were forced to walk through metal detectors - vibranium couldn’t be detected. His suit for the rehearsal dinner was a lot simpler, the custom black and white aesthetic, but still protected with vibranium. 

Your clothes were certainly not styled to match Steve’s, giving you a sense of individuality. It was perfect really - it would allow you to leave Steve’s side, if necessary, when the mission called for you to split up. Your rehearsal dinner outfit was two parts: a black, velvet long-sleeved shirt, slight turtleneck, and gold cuffs. It was joined by a long gold skirt, high-waisted, the front shorter than the back and sides more curled than ruffled. You would have to wear tights underneath, but it was beautiful. Vibranium was also stitched in for added protection. Your dress for the actual wedding, however, was a total knockout. Red, spaghetti strap, tight on top but loose once it reached your hips, a long slit on the left side. They were even kind enough to give you a pair of heels to match. 

Yeah, Steve was Captain America and his appearance will shock the guests, but your attire will definitely be the second topic in gossip. 

Scott was filing through the same papers you and Steve had reviewed earlier, a bowl of potato chips at his side. And it was peaceful - you and Steve even had the chance to nap. 

“So, you’re gonna see Jackeline at the rehearsal dinner?”

You wiped the remnants of your nap from your face and groaned as you stretched, “She’ll probably be busy tomorrow when we go for breakfast, so yeah.”

Scott shifted uncomfortably in his seat, eyes practically attached to the computer screen. “And… she’s the one getting married?”

His tone started to worry Steve, “Yes, Scott. You good?”

Scott piled a handful of potato chips in his mouth, finger clicking the mouse every few seconds. His eyes were now wide, blinks forgotten. “Jackeline Vega. Jackeline.”

Steve ignored him now, “Hey, why isn’t your last name Vega?”

As much as you wanted to share about how and why you changed your last name, Scott’s demeanor interested you more. “Changed it when I became an American citizen - Scott, what’s up?”

He let out a tiny squeak, swallowing his snack quickly. “And she’s your father’s favorite?”

You rolled your eyes, “Mmm.”

Scott released a huge huff of air, shoulders falling as he raised his voice and turned the monitor to face you. “Think he knows anything about this?”

The photograph was blurry because it was enhanced, but you could still make out the face of a sister you hadn’t seen in years. Older, still with teenage features obviously, and tossed on what looked like a church alter-

Steve's eyes widened, “Is she…?”

Scott finished his sentence for him, “Fucking a priest?”

You covered your mouth in shock, “Oh my god, she’s fucking a priest!”

Bent on the literal church altar, skirt bunched around her hips, head thrown back in ecstasy and face in full view. And the damned priest, in between her legs and under the eyes of god. 

“That’s why I asked!”

Steve clutched at his chest, head thrown back as he howled, “I think you were wrong about your sister.”

Now your eyes were glued to the screen, “Oh, I was fuck all from correct!”

Scott cleared his throat, “Is the priest… her fiance?”

Steve came down from his laugh attack, “I highly doubt that, Scott.”

“This is actually really damning evidence.”

You grinned at Scott, “For what? Painting her out to look like the most sinful whore? I might just congratulate her.”

Steve stared at you, judging almost. “For fucking a priest?”

“For proving me wrong. She’s not so innocent after all,” you responded, cheeks strained from how wide you were smiling. 

“Clearly. This is… actually badass,” Scott admitted, turning the monitor back to him.

You teased, singing your next words. “Don’t let the Lord and Savior hear that.”

Steve glared, “Y/N.”

You leaned away from him, “What? Anyway, that’s gotta be one the worst sins to commit, right?”

Steve’s expression contorted from annoyance to disbelief. “We’ve literally killed people.”

“Pfft, but we’re not fucking priests. Right?”

Scott answered, nodding quicker than he needed to. “Right.”

“You’re literally asking that?”

You pressed your lips into a fine line and tilted your head at Steve. “Steve?”

He glared at you for a long moment before slowly shaking his head. “I’m not fucking any priests.”

Your response was immediate, “Alright! I gotta hand it to her, though. Who took the photo?”

Scott went back to fishing through the emails. “Some sleazy magazine that never got around to actually printing these out.”

“Someone paid them off. Or killed them.”

“I wonder who,” you replied sarcastically. 

Steve continued, “You honestly think he would support her doing that?”

You shrugged and scurried back over to your unmade bed. “Not my problem.”

Scott interjected, “Okay, okay. How’s tomorrow gonna work?”

Steve answered first, “Well, we’re driving out around eight.”

You hummed in agreement, reaching over to unplug your phone from the charger. “Scott, you’ll just ride on one of our backs as we walk through the estate.”

“I kind of want to ride Y/N’s back this time.”

You snorted, “Now that doesn’t sound sexual at all.”

He hid his face in his hands, “You know, I heard it once I said it.”

“Course you did.”

Steve jumped back into the conversation, Scott’s embarrassment seeming to grow under the weird tension. “Then you’ll hop off and plant the bugs wherever you feel like they’re needed.”

“Easy peasy!” you cheered. 

“Bucky and Sam gonna meet us Friday night?”

Steve nodded, “That’s what they said.” He looked over at you, scrolling through your phone and already smiling at something you found funny. He cleared his throat to get your attention. “You know they can be out here in under an hour if we seriously need them.”

You glanced over at Steve, his sincerity greatly appreciated. “I know. But all my faith is in Scott here.”

Scott moaned quietly, “Oh… no, let’s not put all the faith in me because I can’t handle that responsibility.”

You propped yourself up onto your elbows, “You saying I can’t trust you?”

“No, no! That’s not what I’m saying at all-!”

Steve rolled his eyes and looked at the man, a sheen of nervous sweat starting to form on his forehead. “Scott.” 

Scott lowered his hands from his chest, “O-oh. She’s messing with me, huh?”

You chuckled and laid back down. “You’re so easy.”

The easygoing atmosphere for the next few hours almost had you believing you were on vacation, away from the bad guys and space aliens for just a moment. Almost like you weren’t in the middle of a drug war, a mob business, the literal daughter of a king. Scott had that effect, his personality such a sweet refresher and such a contrast to every soul in the compound. 

Thor and Peter were also sweethearts and fun was always expected when they were around, but Scott had this different vibe. Maybe it was because he was relatively new, or that he had a child, or that he hadn’t suffered the same five years as everyone else did. Like he wasn’t yet tainted.  

“You guys mind if I run a job inside a job?”

Your head snapped up at Scott’s crazy question, “You stealing something?”

To run a job inside a job was risky. There was no exact plan to keep both missions balanced, to somehow rank the other more important. You prayed it wasn’t something insane. 

Scott chuckled under his breath, already grabbing his jacket and suitcase by the door. “No, I’m not stealing something. Hank needs me to speak to some guy he’s doing negotiations with about a space for a new lab headquarters.”

Steve tilted his head, “In Northern California?”

“Nah, the dude is vacationing out here for the time being. The lab will be in San Francisco again.”

You squinted at him, still cautious. “Where you meeting him?”

“Some nice Italian restaurant an hour out.”

Steve spoke before you did, similar thoughts running through his mind. “You check with Torres? We don’t know who might randomly show up there.”

Scott tried his best to reassure you, “Yeah, he said they’re following every car that leaves the premises and travels more than thirty minutes away. None of Ernesto’s men have been spotted further up north.”

You sighed. You didn’t want another member of your team to venture out in this area, let alone this goddamn state, without your eyes on them. You were protective, the proximity of your outside world with the one you had spent ten years building too suffocating of a reality. 

Still, you told Scott goodbye with a steady voice. “Then enjoy your dinner, Scott.”

His voice picked up again, that childish and upbeat feeling wrapping you around his finger. “You guys wanna come with? I’m sure you’re sick of icky hotel food.”

Steve waved him off, “It’s actually not that bad-”

“Breadsticks. Garlic pasta. More breadsticks.”

You laughed, “That sounds nice, Scott but we can stay here-”

“Three-cheese pastas.”

“Scott, you can try all you want but-”

“Unlimited breadsticks.”

You shared a look at Steve, puckering your lips at the suggestion. 

“.... We’ll sit far away from your table, okay?”

Scott opened the hotel door and started sprinting down the hallway. “I knew I could persuade you with that! C’mon!”

     California at night was a death trap. Potholes on every stretch of asphalt, construction halted for who knows how long, random opossums lingering in the shadows just waiting to get hit by tires. It was prettier during the day - less of a ‘lead me into this forest, yes, kill me’ vibe. 

You chilled in the backseat while Scott drove you guys to the restaurant. You had texted Bucky where you were planning to go, the message activating the group text chain. 

Peter: it’s Wednesday! Who died?

Wanda: she’s literally texting us

Peter: Y/N, you won???

Bucky: fuck do I owe the fucking spider money?

Peter: pay up dude

Y/N: tf Bucky? You bet against me?

      “You sure you two are good?”

The restaurant looked quiet considering it was a Wednesday night, but it was still crowded. There was a short line extending out the door and a… bouncer. You sucked in a breath and smacked Scott in the chest once you were out of the car. 

“Thought you said this was a restaurant?”

Scott rubbed his chest, a look of disbelief spreading across his face. “Restaurant slash bar!”

“We eating with the Italian mob now? I can only handle one mob at a time, Scott.”

You nodded rapidly, pointing at Steve. “I agree with him!”

“Not every place has bad guys!”

You groaned and reluctantly stood at the back of line, pulling Steve’s hat lower on his forehead. It wasn’t like people couldn’t take one long, hard look at him and not know who he was, anyway. 

“Can you guys just… enjoy a night out?”

“While on a mission?”

“While living your long lives. God, Y/N, you getting old already?”

Your mouth dropped, “I’m twenty-six and I’m not complaining about a nice dinner, Scott.” You pointed at the bouncer. “I’m worried about the fact that our ID’s are gonna be checked.”

Scott’s mouth formed an ‘O’. “Yeah, that.”

“Next.”

You shot Steve a worried look but handed the bouncer your driver’s license. He just looked at the date of birth and moved you along. “Next.”

Scott handed him his, doing his best to smile proudly while the bouncer scanned him up and down. “Next.”

“See? Wasn’t so hard,” Scott joked, standing next to you in the far corner of the entrance. 

You rolled your eyes, “Wait.”

The bouncer took one look at Steve’s ID and gasped. Steve looked anywhere but the bouncer’s eyes, his bottom lip suffering the abuse of his incisors. 

“Cap-Captain?”

Steve gave a sheepish grin, lowering his cap further. “Uh, yeah.”

“Enjoying your day?”

You pinched your nose. 

“Would like it a lot more if you could lead us to a table with as much privacy as you can offer.”

You had to hand it to Steve for taking advantage of situations like this. 

The bouncer agreed immediately, speaking with the manager and promising discretion. The manager said it was no problem, that it was the least he could do for you guys after you brought his son back to him after those rough five years. 

The restaurant offered a somewhat real Italian setting, awarding their guests with as much real scenery and architecture it could. You could only compare it to the Venetian in Vegas as you had never actually been to Italy, but the live band and garlic smell was enough to transport you. 

The lights were low, older couples enjoying the food and wine, and there was a small bar near the back of the restaurant. It wasn’t really a place for some shady business, but years of experience let you know that wasn’t always the case. It was second nature to eye women reaching into their purses, only to pull out a pack of gum. Second nature to wince at the sound of a loud laugh cutting through the quiet atmosphere. 

As promised, you were led to a more private area of the restaurant, closer to the bar than to the band. 

“Go run the job, Scott. We’ll just be enjoying our unlimited breadsticks,” you said, letting out a heavy and relaxed sigh as you settled into the private booth. 

“That hat isn't really hiding those broad shoulders, Cap,” Scott laughed, slapping Steve on the back.

Steve slid into the same booth, ignoring the completely empty seat across from you. “Thanks, Scott. I’m aware.”

You tried to hide your blush as you squeezed deeper in your seat. Scott noticed though, side eyeing Steve who was none the wiser. “You know, I told him that he should have used those facial changing things SHIELD used to have.”

Steve grabbed the offered utensils and started unwrapping them from their napkins. 

“What are we if not superheroes who think a baseball cap and glasses hide our identities?” you teased, shooting Scott a quick wink. 

Steve answered almost triumphantly, “Uh, Superman?”

You giggled and grabbed the napkin he had unwrapped for you. “I’d argue Thor is more like Superman, but okay.”

“How am I not more like Superman? What-”

“Uh, guys? I see the dude so I’m gonna go. You two enjoy your meal,” Scott interrupted, running off to a booth located toward the middle of the restaurant. 

You sat for a few awkward moments before you squinted and looked at Steve, who was sitting to your left and way too close. “Are we annoying?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, like,” you spoke with your hands, “you and I bicker a lot because we love to annoy each other but you think it gets on other people’s nerves?”

Steve chuckled, rubbing his shoulder with yours. “Do you really care if it does?”

That blush of yours was starting to feel warmer. “No, just wondering if you felt that way.”

He shrugged, “I quite like our relationship.”

“Oh,” you smiled, looking down at your lap.  “I quite liked it more a few years back but you know.” 

He immediately tensed, body leaning away from you as if you were burning him. You shut your eyes and shook your head. “Sorry, that was low.”

He sighed deeply, “No, I deserve it. I’ll always deserve it.”

You took a risk and reached for his hand, squeezing gently. The kind gesture seemed to calm him, and he looked back at you. “I still shouldn’t have said it.”

He accepted that, and handed you the menu. 

The hotel food was grand, it did its job of filling you up and providing the necessary nutrients, but there was just something about the carbs in pasta and bread. It ignited the food critic inside you, because now you were cursing the hotel chef and dreading having to order breakfast in the morning. No, dinner. You were having breakfast with your father tomorrow. 

Scott was busy conducting his own business, bluetooth turned off but still glancing over his shoulder once in a while to check on you guys. Each time he did, he felt butterflies flutter in his breadstick-filled stomach. It was the first time he had seen the two of you so carefree, let alone with each other, and it was the most refreshing thing in the world. 

Steve was in the middle of telling another childhood story, his main plate already finished and practically licked clean. But the unlimited breadsticks were coming out by the pound, a new stick in each of your hands every five minutes. 

“I swear, she loved Bucky more than me!”

You covered your mouth and chewed, careful to not let anything through because of your giggle fit. “Steve! Your mother did not!”

Steve wiped at his under eye, clutching his chest as he continued explaining. “Bucky was always around and my mom would just linger every second she wasn’t working!”

“Bet she loved him.”

“See?”

“No, I mean she must have loved him like her own! Bucky was your best friend, your only friend. She probably thought of him like an angel sent from God!” you clarified. 

Steve smiled wider at your cheesy explanation. They were happy memories, joyful ones that he would often think about while writing or drawing. 

He continued with a soft confession. “I really wish I could see her again.”

You leaned your temple on your palm, “From everything you’ve shared with me, she sounds lovely.”

“She would have loved you.” The blush was back, and so was Steve’s, almost like those words were supposed to be kept in the back of his head. He cleared his throat. “God, she was so destroyed when Bucky first got his orders.”

“Was Bucky scared?”

“Scared? Absolutely fucking terrified. We talked about running away and changing our names so he didn’t have to go.”

The draft was such a horrible practice. The fact that men still had to enlist and hope no ‘necessary’ war was upon them. It was quite reassuring to know most of those men wouldn’t have to see battle today, they were given a choice, and there were agencies that managed people who could, like the Avengers. 

“Steve…”

Steve just hummed softly, “Life in the forties, am I right?

Your voice also got quieter. “Why didn’t you run away?”

Steve huffed out a laugh, swallowing the last of his bread. “We tried. Got all the way to the edge of town before Bucky’s dad wrung us both back to kick our asses.”

Almost out of instinct, you gripped his hand again. You rubbed soothing circles into his knuckles, knuckles that hadn’t seen hand-to-hand combat in so long. There wasn’t much danger in the world nowadays, just small missions here and there. It wasn’t like the team was itching for another alien invasion. But these periods of well needed rest were odd, periods where bruises completely healed up and little pockets of weight were gained. Steve’s knuckles were soft, only having seen the ends of paintbrushes for a long while. 

 “...Where’s your mother?”

His voice snapped you from your thoughts, and you had to repeat the question in your own head a couple times. 

“It’s not a happy story.”

There wasn’t much of a story anyway. 

“But is it a story you need to get off your chest?”

Steve didn’t want to push too hard. The long pause in your relationship definitely didn’t soften this blow, and it only added to the strings of resistance. If you decided not to tell Steve about this, Steve would have to accept it. If anything, this was one of the toughest questions to ask someone when all you’ve been doing is ignoring them for two years. 

“Not really much to get rid of.”

He nodded, only a slight hint of disappointment laced within his words. “You don’t have to tell me.”

Natasha was the only one with any knowledge of your mom. There was never an actual moment in which you freely spoke of her - inserting her likeness, her person, back into some alternate and fucked-up reality - you kept her legacy dead. It was obvious she hadn’t enjoyed this part of her life, no doubt it absolutely killed her to leave you trapped in it, so keeping her dead, even in conversation, was a favor. 

But one drunken night and you were showing Natasha the one photo you had of her, stuffed deep in your wallet and crinkled beyond repair. Her black hair to her shoulders, lip liner a darker shade than her lipstick, hands intertwined behind her back as she arched forward in a playful tilt, shooting the camera a smile that was stuck around the word she was saying as the candid was taken. There was no recorded voice but you had a record of her movement, frozen in time.     

Steve’s sincerity grasped you by the literal roots of your hair, because next thing you knew you were spilling the first thought you had. 

“She was twenty-three. Working as a real estate agent, very beautiful, and she was engaged. To an American.”

Steve chuckled around his champagne glass, “Was that bad?”

You grinned at that, like he was already fully and deeply invested in your story. “Not necessarily. But everyone knew she was taken.”

“And your father?”

“He wanted to buy some houses. Saw her, wanted her, tried persuading her into going on a date. Nothing really worked, she didn’t accept his money or gifts.”

Steve fumbled over his next words. “Did she eventually?”

“No, but her brother did. My father didn’t know it was her brother, so he thought she was accepting them. Got mad when she still refused his advances.”

He was digesting this little by little. Steve had heard horror stories of girls he grew up with, forced to marry at a young age when they were caught in a passionate moment with a man, or when they ended up pregnant. Bucky and his mother had always instructed him to treat women with respect, to never intentionally or accidentally ruin their reputation, to protect and use his voice to stand up for them. And although women weren’t getting frisky with him when he was all but ninety pounds at the ripe age of twenty, that didn’t stop Steve from exchanging a few words and punches with men who had no right.  “How did they end up together?”

You shrugged, reaching over for another breadstick. “No one knows. He invited her to a party one day and she didn’t come back for a whole week. Next thing her family knows she’s engaged to my father and no longer with the love of her life.”

“That’s awful.”

“Yeah, her family had no choice but to accept that. Her poor fiance, though.” 

“Where is he now?”

Steve had this weird hope that the fiance may still be alive somewhere, waiting for your mother to find him. But that was just the hopeless romantic emerging. 

You sighed deeply, “My father told my mother he killed him. My mother believed him.”

“So, he’s still alive? He didn’t hurt him?”

“Apparently he’s still kicking, yeah. But my mom became severely depressed from that lie.”

The restaurant felt colder and the air became thinner. Steve didn’t want his next thought to be true. “She didn’t...?”

You shook your head quickly, “No, she found out he was alive.” Even if you weren’t witness to it, you could still imagine your mother charting the areas she would have to run and swim through to get away. Wasn’t like it was a heartfelt thought, but the mere fact that she had that much determination to risk her life for love, it was somewhat therapeutic to think about. Like it was genuinely satisfying to imagine her defying your father. Still, your face drooped as you gave Steve the sad conclusion. “She didn’t even make it across the border before he had her killed for betraying him.”

His face fell in time with yours, “Fuck.”

“She left me with Maribel’s mother. But my father found me and told me she had an accident. Didn’t find out the truth until I was thirteen.”

“I’m so sorry.”

You shoved his shoulder with yours, a light chuckle cutting through the sad moment. “Not like you had a hand in this, Steve. It’s just my life.”

You were used to Steve’s generosity, his ability to make any person feel a part of his family - you had been on the receiving end of his sincerity for the past week now. But as you held his gaze, his body seemingly towering over yours, your chest flushed with such warmness, a tranquil promise of safety. He leaned forward, breath hitting your cheeks, hand still gripping yours. 

“Not anymore. We’ll end this, Y/N. I promise you, we’ll end this.”

You took a risk and rested your forehead on his, his continuous promise still causing your stomach to twist pleasurably. “How’d we get so sad all of a sudden?” You pushed away and threw your arms in the air. “We need more breadsticks!”

Steve laughed loudly, the private booth still providing somewhat of a thin curtain to the other diners. “No, we need mints!”

Rolling your eyes, you blew your breath at Steve teasingly. “Weak.”

Steve groaned, “You and Scott are not getting into the car without chewing on a mint.”

“You got a thing against bad breath?”

“Take the mint.”

“I’m gonna fight you if you force the mint on me.”

He was reaching into his jacket and pulling the small case out. He winked at you. “I’ll win.”

He popped open the cap and held it out to you. He didn’t tip it though, as if he was waiting for you to extend your palm. Everything was silent for a minute, eyes challenging one another. 

He could easily lean in. He could easily just tilt his head a little to his left and capture your lips with his. Every damn molecule in his body was telling him to do it, every bubble from that champagne somehow giving him some extra courage. 

Your breath hitched slightly, and he leaned away. I’m such a coward, he thought.

You reacted swiftly, disguising the awkwardness. “You’re right, give me the mint. You should swallow like three.”

Steve snickered, “You ruined the moment.”

But you didn’t ruin the moment. And he just blamed you for it. Like he had already established - he was a coward. 

You grabbed the mints he offered and popped them into your mouth. “What moment? I didn’t see any moment.”

Okay, he could just lean in right now and hope the mint freshness in your mouth would mask the garlic in his. Yeah, he could just lean in and do what he’s been thinking of doing for the last day and a half-

“Hey, you guys finished? Getting dessert?”

Steve almost shot from his seat, “Jesus fucking christ, Scott!”

Scott slid into the seat across from you. “You scare easily. Let’s get dessert!” 

You were too flustered. Fine, okay. You’ll play along. If the gods want to reward you with this fun Steve, the Steve you were closest to years ago, then so be it. You’ll bite. And if he wants to resort back to his bitchy self, his hermit behavior, then you’ll fight him then. 

Scott ordered so much dessert. 

So much. 

The little moment you had with Steve was still fresh, you could sense he was thinking about it too, but you opted to simply enjoy the night out. You were here with two friends, protection was just a phone call away, and you were safe. 

Perhaps Scott had the same effect on Steve that he had on you. Absolutely demolished his ‘Captain’ self and released the guy who simply wanted to enjoy a mini road trip with his friends. 

     You were barely fifteen minutes into your ride home when Scott lowered the windows and turned the radio up high. 

“Woohoo!”

You screamed over the loud roar of the wind, “Scott, it’s fucking freezing!”

Scott yelled back, “We just had three desserts each! Your blood should be running warm!”

You blinked away the dryness, “Dude!”

Steve, surprisingly, agreed with Scott. “Enjoy it!”

Your mouth dropped open and you followed Steve’s movements as he turned the radio higher. 

The music blared and you were about to protest again, the air literally nipping at your sensitive cheeks, but the song that started was a non-skip. 

You would indulge in this childishness once. 

Once. 

You reached around the passenger seat and gripped Steve’s shoulders, shaking him in place. “Ah, California radio giving us the classics!”

Scott leaned over and turned it up higher. 

You swayed in your seat and sang along with Scott. “Bidi bidi bom bom!”

Scott pointed at you and recited the lyrics, “Bidi, bidi!”

Both of you sang, “Bom!”

Even with his eyes on the road, Scott was nailing some good dance moves in his seat. You both sang each lyric with your heart and soul, laughs escaping during the guitar breaks. 

Steve just enjoyed the show. He didn’t know the song, the melody a foreign one for him, but it must have been popular for both you and Scott to know it. He watched you sway in your seat, hands dancing and voice matching the volume of the radio. Just the other night, you had mentioned how you never sang anymore.

But here you were, singing through the most beautiful smile Steve had ever seen. 

He missed the sound of it. He missed hearing you sing in your room, no doubt you were dancing too since he usually heard your feet shuffling against your carpet. He missed the innocence you would casually portray, an invitation for anyone to befriend you. He missed teasing you lightly, and he regretted the roughness of his voice years later. He missed just walking into the common area and finding you there, cooking for yourself and anyone who wanted a plate - that plate usually for him. He missed you. 

You were right here, voice hitting those octaves Steve didn’t think he would ever hear again. You were right here, and he missed you. 

      Scott was staying in a separate room. The dessert and alcohol had run right through him, and he bid you goodnight after he threatened to plop down in your bed if you invited him in. 

The sound of Scott’s retreating footsteps seemed to suck all the air from the vents at once, whispering its song lovingly in your ear. It was both refreshing and terrifying to be left alone because now here you were, standing outside your hotel door with the super soldier you had gone to Hell and back with. 

You inwardly cringed, the tightness in your chest sending your childish ass back to sophomore year of college. A first date, the lost promise of another - a proper teenage reaction to a crush. But this man in front of you wouldn’t let you delete his number from your phone; he wouldn’t avoid eye contact in the dining hall; he wouldn’t sit at the back of the lecture hall just to keep a necessary distance. 

Granted, Elijah - poor, frightened Elijah - had seen you literally kidnap someone off the street under your father’s orders. This being before you went straight and moral, before you had met Fury, before SHIELD training. You were to blame for that sprouting relationship going south pretty quickly. So you avoided him, too - praying Ernesto or Seda could never track him. 

But Steve, beautiful Steve who reloaded your guns when you couldn’t, who jumped in front of stray bullets for you and those he loved, Steve who very quietly asked you for various salsa recipes when he was in the mood to cook. Here he was, eyes also watching Scott walk away, no doubt experiencing the same tight coil within his chest. He hadn’t run, he had worked and fought with and against you, and he wasn’t running away. 

No, Steve Rogers never ran. 

The low beep from the hotel lock snapped you from your thoughts. You sensed his hesitance because when your history was truly reviewed with the most unbiased of minds, there was absolutely no reason to overthink. Hell, when you ran through the halls of Thor’s Asgardian palace with Rocket tailing you, the first joke out your mouth was how Steve would probably instruct you to respect a place like that and speed walk. Your first thought when starting the pilot episode of a new show is to wait for Bucky… and Steve, who would pop the kernels over the stove and add real salt and butter. 

His first thought as he helped load people onto the planes in Sokovia was that your whiny ass better be on one of them. Or when Steve regrouped in the support circle, his first thought before he continued the discussion was that he really hoped you would walk through those doors and join - until one day you did. 

Whether the two of you recognized the severity of your unspoken feelings, they were there. Silent and at a gradual increase. Never rushed, not entirely obvious because of the temporary roadblocks of unnecessary separation. 

Steve was here in front of you, like he always was, and he was wearing the smallest nervous smile you had ever seen.  

And you were here in front of him, like you always were, and he could not entirely read the mixed emotions on your delicate face. 

You shuffled alongside your bed, stopping to shrug out of the heavy jacket you had on. “We should turn in early so we can be well-rested, in case we gotta fight tomorrow.”

Steve nodded in agreement but remained silent, hovering near the coffee table and monitors. Your back was facing him and he just watched you fumble with your boots and belt. It was like your back was on fire, bursting with fueled flames as you could literally feel his gaze boring into you. The overwhelming urge to simply snap and ask him what the hell he was looking at was strong, so in character, but you refrained. It was too intimate, too quiet, but before you could even ask him if he wanted the shower first, the warmth of his chest was near, inches away and calling. 

Your breath hitched, shoulders rising slightly and exactly what Steve needed to witness. It was awkward for him to just stand behind you with no actual intention of touching you first - no, he needed a proper signal. So Steve waited those few precious seconds more until you turned, sun-kissed by the California sun and hair no longer in tight curls, before he glanced down at your glossy lips. You followed his eyesight, all knowing in his intentions, and you glanced at his lips as well. 

A gesture of approval. 

Steve pulled you in, both hands settling on your cheeks, thumbs exploring the corners of your mouth. He watched them dance and how your mouth parted slightly in response. He looked back up, studying the small crease forming in between your eyebrows and the pinch of water filling the inside corners of your eyes.

His thumbs felt like a gentle sigh, a promise of a sweet caress in both the daytime and dead of night. Although all his focus was on you, his own features reacted to the moment. His lips were also parted, sweet breath with the scent of those classic tiramisu’s he had devoured, touching the tip of your nose and equally trembling lips. 

So goddamn intimate that you found yourself internally cursing those sitcoms Wanda had forced you to binge watch. Because the two love interests, albeit they had several months or years of growing tension, rushed into their first kiss for the sake of limited airtime. They didn’t prepare you for practically a ten-year build-up, a relationship that was both heavily work and friend related, the slowness of such a moment fans would most certainly be jumping out of their seats for. No, nothing could have prepared you for the warmth of Steve Rogers. 

Your Captain. 

You registered the soft feeling of his lips as they pressed against yours, overlapped only slightly. Eyes now fully closed in surprise and pleasure, you leaned into it more, hands placed on Steve’s rising chest. The squeeze of his hands cupping your cheeks caused your lips to pucker more, but you were relaxed in his desperate touch. He tilted his head a little to the left, your lips sliding against each other’s and noses bumping. Steve frowned in concentration, pouring whatever emotions he had felt throughout the last few years into this one kiss, and he knew he couldn’t possibly fully portray them. And almost as quickly as you thought about how sweet and innocent of a kiss this was, Steve’s tongue slowly peaked out from behind his teeth and greeted your bottom lip. 

His tongue traced over your bottom lip warmly, welcomed by yours as you followed his lead. God, you would always follow his lead. 

You tried to move in closer, but your elbows were already bent fully against him and his hips were only a few inches from your greedy ones. One tiny step forward and you would be completely flushed against him - but you chose to respect the distance Steve created. 

You let out a quiet whine, body shuddering as Steve applied more pressure. It was as if Steve had never heard such a sound - completely unexpected and causing him to pause momentarily. He leaned away a little, lips still barely kissing yours. He opened his eyes, gaze wandering from your flushed cheeks still squeezed between his palms and to your fluttering eyelids. The crease between his eyebrows deepened as he debated leaning forward again, to be selfish for once and to pass forth the trophy for ‘waiting too long’. But as you opened your eyes, no trace of regret or hate swimming inside your irises, Steve froze. 

You were his friend. His friend who teased him about the paint streaks across his forehead, who followed his lead no matter how ridiculous the order. 

He didn’t want you to inspect him further as well, so he shut his eyes and rested his forehead against yours. It was only then that he felt you settle back down from your tippy-toes. 

You gulped loudly, throat dry and lips instantly craving him again. “Steve…”

Steve let go of your face and dragged his hands lightly down your neck, leaving goosebumps in their wake. He turned his head slightly, his breath now kissing your cheek. Although your cheeks were red, the absence of Steve’s palms made them cold. 

He took a small step back, hands straining to stay on your skin as he reluctantly pulled them away. The absence of any warmth finally woke you from that intense daze and you frowned at Steve as he pulled away altogether. The instinct to reach out was there, and you cursed yourself for being so clingy. 

“Steve?” you called again, voice hoarse but light enough to pinch at Steve’s fast beating heart. 

He looked up and locked eyes with your confused ones. Oh, you’re gonna hate him for this. 

He gave you a small and kind smile, one you had seen plenty of times when he was actually enjoying your company. He backed up to the door, gaze never leaving yours even as he reached for the handle and key card. 

And he wanted to bring his hands back to your face to rub away that wrinkle between your furrowing eyebrows. But he simply opened the door and left you standing near the edge of your bed, flushed with a deep sense of longing and growing confusion. 

Steve already knew the amount of heat he would receive from the moment gossip of the kiss spread. Whether he was first to tell or you were. Bucky’s going to kick his ass, for sure, no doubt about it. No matter his bond with Bucky, it could never excuse leaving you alone to unravel this situation. You had this hold over Bucky, a soft mutual understanding of mental torture, so this inevitable ass kicking would be justified. Plus, after years of being rejected over and over, mostly in the forties, Bucky might just kick his ass for simply being a dumbass. 

But Steve felt calm, an added relaxation due to the whiskey cooling in his hand. If there was anything Steve was an expert in, it was overthinking. You two had that in common - were you overthinking while absentmindedly watching TV? Overthinking while rubbing shampoo into your scalp? Overthinking while angrily stomping your way down to the hotel bar to hand his ass back over to him?

He let out a sigh of relief when he didn’t see you burst through the doors. 

      “Anyone wanna start?”

Steve glanced around the circle of familiar and new faces. The group varied each week. Some people would try, share their anecdotes about lost loved ones, only to never show up for another session. Others often attended and never spoke, but they kept returning. Steve didn’t judge their choices - he couldn’t. No matter how many mornings he wanted to crawl back under the sheets and binge eat packaged foods, he never could. He had been at this job for two years. There was both pain and satisfaction in what he did. Sam would be doing this if he were here. 

And he had to do this for Sam. 

“My divorce was finalized yesterday.”

Steve looked over at the man who spoke first, a long-time member of this particular support group, and grimaced at his confession. The man couldn’t have been more than thirty, no wrinkles or gray hair, and he was ending a two-year marriage. 

“I’m sorry, Michael.”

The man, Michael, shrugged sadly, “We still love each other, man. But seeing your newborn disintegrate in your arms does something to your soul that’s just… we both knew we needed to move on. Even if it was from each other.”

Steve squeezed the small, red stress ball in his hand and tried to offer more condolences and a kind smile, but it came out rather painful. He opted to stay silent in case Michael wanted to continue. Instead, another member decided to comment. 

It went like this for almost an hour with Steve adding in his empathetic words of wisdom whenever he saw appropriate. It was good for everyone to share so openly, to carry the conversation with minimal involvement from Steve. Steve had shared snippets of his story with the group awhile back, careful to not mention the gruesome specifics. He had let out as much as he was able, not as much as he would have liked, but his main job was to facilitate. Besides, Steve went to confession every month to talk to someone - anyone - even if he wasn’t necessarily Catholic. But that’s just the thing - no one knew who they were anymore. 

The sound of a scraping chair leg caught everyone’s attention, and they all turned to the entrance in search of the disruption. You paused in your movements, face scrunched in embarrassment. Opening one eye, you mouthed a quick apology and rushed to carry the chair to the circle. 

“I’m sorry I’m late. Subway was a bitch,” you muttered, your embarrassed smile growing wider. 

For over a year, Steve had subtly urged you to attend one of these meetings. He was witness to your nightmares, your destructive solo missions that even Friday had no records of, and your sudden breakdown last week. You were casually jogging around the outdoor track when you suddenly stopped and fell to your knees, broken sobs seeming to shake the trees around you. You were crouched for a good minute before Steve had seen you wipe your eyes and continue your jog. As if nothing happened. 

To see you here, whether to share or to listen, prompted the proud and erratic beating of Steve’s heart. 

“It’s completely fine. Time’s almost up but we still got time for you.”

You sent Steve a funny smile, amused by his professional tone. “Uh, yeah! A friend convinced me to come. He was pretty persuasive.”

Steve blushed, head tilting downward. 

You introduced yourself and let the group know you were also an Avenger. No one seemed shocked and you were suddenly grateful for this mixture of people. 

Steve sat and listened, his nerves settling. 

“I’m gonna be honest with you all,” you started, thumbs dancing in your lap. “And I’m not sure how you’ll react.”

Steve sat up straight, eyebrows scrunching as he listened intently. 

You sighed, wetting your lips briefly. “The day before the snap, I was supposed to die.”

You wanted to avoid Steve’s gaze until the right moment. You continued, “I went on a mission to Mexico. Alone, which was completely against protocol but hey, we broke a lot more rules than that.”

Steve cleared his throat which earned a chorus of chuckles from the group. 

“And I was technically on house arrest but I found out a way to temporarily disable that ankle monitor,” you added, grinning from the laughs you were receiving. 

“Anyway, all my potential backup was nonexistent. I had friends on the run,” you paused, glancing at Steve with a somber expression. “And other friends literally fighting another battle on their home planet somewhere in space. So, I went alone.”

“While I was bleeding out from a bullet my own father ordered, Tony was already up in space. Loki was already dead.”

You hoped no one commented on Loki’s role in your life. He wasn’t exactly a nice figure to suddenly name drop in New York, but he was important in your grief. 

It was slightly unnerving to be on display here, but you weren’t exactly planning on returning. You just needed to rant. 

“I stitched myself up the best I could in that quinjet - which I almost crashed,” you muttered, smirking at Steve. “Sorry, Cap.”

“This is the first time I've heard you flew. You’re not even authorized to fly,” Steve declared, face scrunched in confusion and astonishment. 

“That’s not important,” you teased. “But the stitches were messy work. Horrible criss-crosses.”

Steve was in a tiny state of shock. He had known what happened to you, but to hear you talk so casually about the day before the world went to shit - it just made it more real. 

You had mentioned before that you never dreamed about the snap, but about everything leading up to it. 

“I woke up, betrayed yet again by my own blood, and Steve was suddenly there after two years. We were gonna fight an outside threat.”

You crossed your arms over your chest and huffed lightly, “I was still healing but I was on the battlefield. Stayed close to Nat most of the time.”

The group was heavily invested in your retelling. “I couldn’t fight him, obviously. But I did see him. I saw how he ripped that stone from my friend’s head.”

A few winces sounded around the circle. 

“I guess I feel immense guilt. Like, I could have done something more even though realistically, I couldn’t. Kinda feels like I sat back and watched my friend’s die.”

No one spoke, but it was obvious everyone had survivor’s guilt. 

“And now, I’m living with the pain of having all three of my best friends stripped from me while also celebrating the fact that the snap took my father.”

Shrugging, you gave your last sad smile to the group. “I feel guilty for what happened while also being grateful it took someone who deserved it.”

After a few seconds of silence, Steve spoke. “You’re here today to tell your story. No one has to agree or disagree with you. It’s your story. Tell it like it is.”

You chuckled, “I could easily bother Steve with this at the compound.” You smiled at the teenager clutching what looked like a stuffed animal in his lap. “But I had nothing else to do tonight. My only friends are gone.”

“You and Steve aren’t friends?”

This time it was Michael that spoke, his eyes bouncing from you to Steve. You turned to Steve for some kind of answer. Was it a yes? Were you more like coworkers than true friends? 

Steve’s eyes softened and his kind smile was back. 

You answered, “I guess. I did come here for him.”

Steve rolled his eyes and kept his light-hearted tone, “I’m really glad you did.” 

Steve backtracked, clearing his throat as he addressed the circle. “I’m really glad all of you did. Same time next week.”

You busied yourself with stacking the chairs and dusting off your pants. Once most of the group had left, Steve gathered his things and walked over to you. “You take the subway?”

Your head shot up at the sound of his voice, and you stacked the final chair high. “I did. You drive?”

Steve hummed in response, “Want a lift?”

You raised an eyebrow at him, “You’re not staying at your place tonight?”

“Nah, I haven’t seen Nat in a week. I should pay her a visit.”

He curled his jacket around your shoulders as you exited the building. You held it tightly, relishing in the comfort. The walk back to the car was quiet but not awkward. After such a heavy night, silence was most definitely needed. And just the comfort of being around someone you trusted added to the relaxation aspect of it all. 

Steve kicked a loose piece of gravel to the street. You watched him for a few seconds before you spoke, voice light and a puff of cold air escaping your lips. 

“Steve?” 

He turned to you and waited for you to continue speaking. 

“You know Sam would be so proud of you doing this, right?”

Steve watched the cold air leave his own lungs as well. He felt the weight of that statement pressing down on his shoulders as he looked up at the dark sky. “I know.”

     Steve knew he was utterly fucked, so fucked that any line that had been established was stepped over and kicked a thousand yards back. His mind was made up, he would not run, he would not succumb to some former mindset 2016 Steve would have fallen victim to. He was a new person, a completely different person than he was out of the ice and after the snap. He deserved to cross the line, he deserved whatever happiness was afforded to him - he deserved comfort in the arms of another after years of denying himself. 

He downed the rest of his drink with a loud gulp, mind made up, and headed back to your room. 

    It was best to just pretend it never happened… no? But did you want to pretend it never did? So many moments over the years where this could have happened, where either of you could have literally just said ‘fuck it’. As overthinking was a specialty, quite a useless skill, you thought about the countless fights you had. 

Red in the face, hands clenched until nails imprinted little crescents, absolutely seething at the mouth. Some of the things you would yell were vile, none at all honest but with the intent to cause pain for only a moment, and mumbled apologies later. You were literally enemies for these past two, long years. Enemies who had to be seated and scolded, tricked into accepting defeat and living as teammates once more. 

Perhaps one of those arguments could have been remedied by simply leaning in like you had tonight, by throwing each other against the wall, by pulling the roots of your hair as he tugged-

Nope. 

Nope. 

No matter how much tension you were now realizing you had for this man, tension that could literally be fucked out, wasn’t it too late to act on it? You couldn’t pinpoint the chance you maybe had and missed. 

Steve walked through the door in the middle of your rapid brainstorming. He just grinned sweetly and slipped into the bathroom. 

As simple as that. 

Now you couldn’t discern between the feelings of wanting to fight him or fuck him. Not being able to differentiate between them ignited a sour mood, and once he stepped out from the shower, you basically pushed him to the side to lock yourself in. 

Even the warm water hitting your body couldn’t alleviate the pressure of overthinking. You disregarded your hair tonight and instead just washed your body. As quick as you could jump back out and go to bed, the better.  

Sucking in a deep breath, you opened the door and shut off the bathroom light. Your eyes landed on Steve’s torso, shirtless and the only thing not covered by the white blanket. He hadn’t shaved his beard either, the length evident when he kissed you earlier. It felt wrong and right at the same time, a battle that you seriously did not want to deal with. To get involved with your mission partner was dangerous - not because Steve himself was dangerous, but because it was a giant distraction. A distraction that you couldn’t afford. 

But as he put down his book and lay it in his lap, looking up to look at you through hooded eyes, sleepy but alert, the ‘danger’ was nothing but enticing. 

You cleared your throat and padded down your pajama shorts absentmindedly, slinging your hair over one shoulder and focusing on plugging your charger into your phone. It was so silent besides your pitter-patter, and god, did Steve find that sound so relaxing, until you climbed into bed. Once your shuffling was done, the slight buzzing of Steve’s desk lamp drowned out all your other senses. And the longer it was heard, the more it sounded like a ticking clock. 

Steve shut the lamp off, the only light now illuminating your figure from outside. He studied your breathing, watching how every so often you would bring your hand up to scratch your cheek or move a stray hair. You looked so gentle, so inviting, so small. 

You were turned away from him and facing the wall, eyes shut as you listened to his movements. There was a small part of you that wanted to stay up all night talking, to lean on his shoulder and simply feel his warmth, to feel that beard against your cheek one more time. As quickly as those thoughts flashed through your mind did you scold yourself, that this was inappropriate and wrong and so dangerous. 

You felt a dip in your bed, heavy and unsure, a lift of your blankets, and it happened so quickly that you could have sworn you dreamt it. Steve wrapped his arm around you, his broad chest pressed tightly against your back and his lips attacked the skin just below your earlobe. Your breath hitched, eyes shot open, and your hands reached up to grip his wrist. Steve stilled. 

“Tell me to stop,” he breathed, lips hovering over your blushing skin and breath practically blistering. You could feel him now, hard and pulsing against your ass and ready to move. You felt dizzy, overcome with such a rush of desire that you couldn’t help but stiffen in his tight grasp. 

“Don’t,” you choked out, feeling his body become rigid and his breath begin to quicken. 

“I’m sorry I-” he began to move away from you, voice no longer a whisper and tainted with panic. 

“No,” you pulled back, tilting your head up to lock eyes with him. You brought your arm up to grasp the back of his head, and you tugged it back to your neck. “Don’t stop.”

Yeah, he was utterly fucked. “Fuck,” he groaned, continuing the attack on your neck. But he gained momentum now, arm squeezing you against him tighter, and voice cracking as he moaned your name. 

“Steve, please do something.”

Your hands found their way back to his arm, gripping it tightly as he fumbled with the waistband of your shorts. He played with it, teasing in his actions, almost as punishment for the years you tormented him with your attitude. His lips pressed harder now, finding each patch of available skin on your neck and flushed cheek, and Steve has never felt so aroused in his life. He wasn’t even inside you, but the quick gasps he heard from you did plenty in aiding the rush of blood from his head to his stiffening cock. 

“Tell me what you want. Please, tell me and I’ll give it to you,” he moaned, the slightest experimental role of the hips causing you to whimper. 

“Touch me,” you practically sobbed, rolling your hips back against him, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you felt all of him.  

And just like that, he gave you what you asked for. He gripped your hip and shoved you closer to him, hot and ready and pressed firmly against you. He rolled his hips into you, little whimpers of his own touching your sensitive ear. He quickened his pace and he found it hard to think straight when the scrunch of pleasure all over your face, making you look so willing, was all he was focused on. He focused on the way you bit your lip, a bite and then a gasp, and then you were back to biting as if you were trying to restrain any higher moan. And even with only the moonlight illuminating the room, he could see the sun-kissed color of your skin and the bruising he was causing. He kept his mouth on you as he rocked himself against you, indulging in a few more selfish seconds of pleasure before becoming his generous self. 

He dipped his hand into your shorts and found the sweet nub that so desperately needed attention. His brain almost short circuited, the feeling of his fingers finally sliding into your wet lips making his throat dry. He drew little but skilled circles, each twirl of his index and middle finger in unison with the grind of his hips. Your mouth fell open by such pleasure, and you braced yourself by placing your left palm on the mattress and pressed down, nails scratching the cotton fabric and alerting Steve of your excitement. You pushed back against him, timed and in perfect harmony. 

You knew the room wasn’t on fire, but even if it was you didn’t think to check. 

“Keep talking to me, Y/N. Keep talking to me,” Steve begged, each rotation of his hips gaining pressure. His eagerness prompted you to reach back up and grab him by the hair, yanking his head to your tilted one and smashing his lips against yours. Steve gasped at the pleasant sting, somewhat surprised with himself that he liked that form of roughness. But who was he to judge his kinks when the tip of your nose was turning redder, the blush in your cheeks mixed with barely visible silver droplets of sweat, and a purple outline was beginning to form on your plump upper lip? 

The kiss was sloppy, uncoordinated, but still beneficial in getting Steve to rut against you even harder. 

He could so easily pull your shorts down and enter you, and if he was anything like he felt, then you knew it would sting. But you craved that sting and stretch, the thought of him inside you causing another gush of desire to leak from you. Steve dipped his finger deeper into you only to accumulate your juices and spread them higher. He went back to rubbing expertly, actions gaining speed to match your whimpers. 

“Fuck, Steve,” you moaned louder, and you swore you felt tears forming in the corner of your eyes. You pressed back harder, his hand rubbing and pressing down on your stomach simultaneously. Your head felt cloudy, the pleasure coursing through your veins and to the very tips of your toes. “Oh, my fuck.”

Steve paused his fingers to trail his hand back up your stomach and to your breasts, pulling your tank top down to spill them. The sounds leaving your throat set him on fire, desire pulsing everywhere - his head, his heart, his aching cock that was pressed so closely against you that he could feel you vibrating. He pinched your nipple and rolled it, closing his eyes in response to your dirty purrs. “Let me make you come, doll.”

“Wasn’t that the point?” you quipped, ass tilting at an angle that caused Steve to choke. He growled from the attitude he couldn’t believe you still fucking had during a moment like this and kissed you roughly, both your broken moans molding into one. His hand returned to your shorts. 

“Do that again,” he begged, hitching his leg up to rest on yours. The angle allowed him to drive his hips even harder. You maneuvered to provide the same tilt, grinning at the pleasurable cries that left your Captain’s mouth. 

“I think I’m gonna make you come first,” you chuckled and took his bottom lip between your teeth. You pulled lightly, concentration still in the circle of your hips. He looked back down at you, determination and undeniable lust in his eyes. He thrust his aching cock against you, sliding himself over your ass. He did it hard but slow, the pressure applied giving the head of his cock such a sweet squeeze as he bumped it against the curve of your lumbar spine. 

The heavy duvet was abandoned now, cold air from the hotel air conditioner failing in cooling you down at all. You both had a thin sheet of sweat on your clothed bodies, goosebumps standing proudly, and lips all plump and red from your harsh kissing. 

Steve held you so close, so tight, and his fingers were drawing such rushed and tiny circles that you swore his wrist had to be cramping up. But the sound of both your whimpers started to mesh together, alerting you of such a sweet climax up ahead. 

“Steve, fuck, fuck, ohh,” you mewled, voice now high pitched and yes, it turned Steve on incredibly but it also fueled you. Your pornographic moans ignited an even deeper desire within you, just the true fact that Steve was touching you, Steve was getting you to make these sounds, Steve is actually hearing these sounds, Steve is making the same exact sounds. 

 “I-, please, come for me,” Steve pleaded, cock twitching with each thrust as he neared his end. “Make me come.”

His begging, his equally high voice, his skilled fingers rubbing rapidly and the slight pain from that, his breath burning your neck, were all too powerful, their combinations causing the fire in your core to explode and make you see white in a flash, black dots later clouding your vision. Your nails dug into his moving arm, crescents branded into him. You clenched around nothing, walls fluttering and thighs shaking as they pressed around his hand and fingers. 

The inappropriate squelching sound of your juices spreading as your thighs clenched around his cramping fingers, the slide so sensual and dirty, had Steve rutting against you one, two, three more times before he came in hard but long spurts. His mouth hung open, breath still fanning your neck, and his eyes were so tightly shut that the force was enough to strain them. 

“Oh, fuuuck, yes, yes!” Steve groaned, his body taking longer than usual to recover. His orgasm was powerful, more powerful than when he got himself off in the shower or in the comfort of his bed at night, and he knew it was because you clouded his senses. Of course, there was an added benefit to getting off with someone else, aiding that person in the same endeavor, but because it was you, it made the climax even more forceful, more intense. The whole situation was both unexpected and calculated, gentle and rough, and Steve’s heart was beating so fast by the thought of what just occurred that he found himself wanting to spill into you all night long, and to apologize for overstepping an unspoken boundary. 

You could feel the wetness of both your own release and Steve’s, head still cloudy from such a sharp orgasm. You hummed in satisfaction, reaching your arm over once again to lift his head up by his hair. He hissed at the pull now, his body all fucked out and satisfied. “You good?”

Steve gave you a lazy smile, chest heaving in unison with yours. “I’m okay. You?”

“I’m good.”

Steve scanned your face for any regret just in case your words held other meaning, but all he could see was your satisfied expression, cheeks still flushed pink, hair tangled, and pupils dilated. He hesitated for a second before he leaned down and connected your lips, molding his with yours slowly and chastely. You both sighed at the feeling, highs now lowering and the coldness from the air conditioner causing a different set of goosebumps to appear. Steve pulled away, giving you one last peck as if testing the waters, and rested his forehead against yours. You both relished your post-orgasm bliss for a few silent minutes before cleaning up. 

You shared playful shoves as you cleaned up. It was almost innocent, a huge contrast to the sinful activities you two had just committed, but there was a genuine feeling of understanding in the room. Your heart clenched at the simple sight of Steve washing his hands, eyes meeting his in the mirror, a soft look in his that startled you. 

You gave him a smile so as to not alert him of your reaction, and exited the bathroom to climb back into bed. You drew the heavy duvet back over your body and cuddled in it deeply, chin hidden underneath and back facing Steve’s bed. It was a few more minutes before Steve came back into the room, shutting the light off, and looking at your resting form. He wanted to climb back in with you and hold you innocently, to have the feeling of your warm back against his broad chest, gentle exhales tickling the arm that would wrap around you. But he just looked back and forth from your bed and his, and he decided to not push the boundary further. He hesitated with this decision, but climbed into his own bed, the feeling of his cold sheets making him immediately regret it. He shuffled silently, his body facing yours. 

You wanted to lay beside him too. But whether you were making a smart decision or an absurd, cowardly one, one thing was certain: you could no longer ignore the stacking of such emotions you had for this man. 

It almost angered you, how much you denied yourself of even a simple crush for literally ten years, and it made you mad at Steve, too. Because if he hadn’t pushed you away, then maybe you could have accepted this sooner. 

~

TAGLIST: @dumb-ass-writer @justab-eautifulmess @supraveng @mycosmicparadise @missnighttigress​

[never-quite-logistical]

Ghost Stories ~ Chapter 1

i forgot how to format so this bit might be a little rough but. i finally finished it! literally only because @virgils-eyeshadow encouraged me

pairing: pre-relationship logicality and background prinxiety

cw: in this one, i think just some tears.

word count: 874

Patton sighed as he looked down at the notebook paper. Writing, at this point, was a nightly ritual. ‘I can’t do this much longer. But they can’t find out, they’ll be crushed.’ Patton sighed, grabbing the pencil and notebook he had brought into the bathroom with him. He sat in the tub, holding the pencil in his hand and notebook in his lap.

‘I don’t know how long it’s been anymore’, he wrote, ‘it’s been years. I can’t keep this up. I think it’s almost 1964. Which means it’s been’, he paused to do the math, ‘seventeen years. I wonder what movies have come out. I wonder if there are any good bakeries now. Mine would have been darling. This is getting off-topic. Logan is real smart. I think he’s going to put everything together soon. He’ll hate me if he finds out before I tell him. I should tell all of them. I’ll tell them in the morning. Maybe I should start with Logan though.’

Patton stood up and stepped out of the tub, clutching his pencil and notebook tightly. This was the only place he could be sure he got privacy. Well, the attic. But Janus is up there a lot, sometimes he sleeps up there and not on the sofa. So every night, he sat in the tub and updated his journal, and every night he would get more and more worried about the other four finding out, if they hadn’t already. If they had found out, nobody had made it obvious to Patton. But that’s to be expected. He hid this from them, and he wouldn’t hold it against the others if they didn’t tell him. Though, he seemed to think they’d get mad at him, yell at him, at the very least. Logan sure will, he sighed at the thought. And he wasn’t ready for that. Virgil, too, they’ll hate you; all of them will. Patton pushed the thought away as he squeezed his eyes shut, as if the thought was something he would see.

Of course, it wasn’t something he was going to see. But walking into their shared bedroom in that lakehouse, that’s something he could see. He could see the three youngers sleeping together, Remus on the side huddled in blankets, and Roman holding Virgil, who had his face buried in the crook of Roman's neck, their legs tangled together and chests flush. They would say it’s for warmth in the morning, like they always did, because of how Remus always took the blankets. It was cute, but it did tend to worry Patton. He couldn’t help it, considering his death and all. He was worried for Virgil, his son, could he help that?

A small click came from the far closet (or Logan’s “room”, as they had come to call it) as the door slowly opened. “Patton? What are you doing up? It’s four in the morning, go back to sleep,” a familiar, calm voice told him. Patton looked over to the right closet.

Well, the bedroom had two large closets, the bed sitting between them. The closet on the right side of the bed was Logan’s “room”, while Patton stayed in the other. There were two windows in the room, moonlight peering through both. Patton had lost their only night lights, and they couldn’t see all that well if one of them woke up, so the moonlight was the only thing illuminating the room. It did make it difficult to see, natural lighting and their glasses being the only things helping either of them see.

“I, um, I was just… I woke up again. The, uh, the crummy bed, I guess,” Patton replied, giving a breathy laugh. It had sounded forced, Logan noted.

“Alright… do you want my pillow tonight? Maybe you can sleep in the attic, and Dee could sleep on the sofa tonight?” Logan offered, fixing his glasses as he spoke.

“Oh, no, I couldn’t do that to him. And I want to be near the kids in case Virgil wakes up with another nightmare, or Remus tries something cockeyed, y'know?” Patton gave another forced laugh as he nudged up his glasses, not meeting Logan's gaze.

Logan gave a tilt of his head and a soft sigh. “Patton, is something the matter? You seem a little, well… off.”

“What? Me? Off? Why, Lo, who would ever dream of it?” Patton forced another laugh, tilting his head slightly to play with a strand of his wavy hair; a nervous habit, or perhaps a tell, Logan had noticed.

“Patton,” Logan sighed as he walked around the bed to get a better look at the man in front of him. His hair was messy, his eyes were puffy. “Patton, were you crying?”

He hadn’t been. At least, he didn’t think. Nighttime got a little fuzzy, especially the writing. “I… I don’t think so? I don’t know, honestly,” Patton gave a breathy laugh, not meeting the other’s eye.

“Patton, if something is wrong, please talk to me? Please, I promise I’ll listen,” Logan offered, a hopeful glint in his voice.

Patton hesitated for a moment, then reluctantly nodded. “Actually, I did need to talk to you about something. I promise it won’t take long,” he relents.

[magioftheseas]

Please Wait For Me

Summary: Amane's been having difficulty with sleeping lately. He also seems distracted...?

Rating: R

Warnings: Gore, body horror, violence, death, all that fun stuff.

Notes: I tried my hand at writing horror again and this is what I came up with. It’s kinda waffly and experimental but I tried my best. It’s also fairly short, too, so hopefully it’s not too difficult a read? I think the twins have too much potential in this genre lol. Also the AU is kinda weird and unspecified but all that’s really important is that Amane is in the same class as Kou and Mitsuba. Since Nene’s in the grade above, he doesn’t really know her yet and she’s not featured anyway. Also, Tsukasa was in the broadcasting club. Was.

***Alternate Ao3 Link***

Commission? Donate?

By the time he’s woken up, the class has already ended. The teacher is chatting with some students asking about upcoming exams. The teacher notices that he’s awake, and just that brief glance spoke volumes. The teacher finishes his conversation with the other kids, and Amane doesn’t even have the time to stack his books before long jagged fingers tap menacingly on his desk’s surface.

“Yugi,” Tsuchigomori-sensei drawled. “Spent all night stargazing again?”

Amane’s lips pulled into a straight, neutral line.

“Sorry,” was his curt response. “I’ll try to get in better sleep tonight.”

Tsuchigomori sighed heavily.

“So you keep saying. And you won’t tell me much else.”

“Sorry,” Amane repeated blankly. “I’ll try to do better.”

“If you won't talk to me, there’s always...”

“Sorry. Excuse me.” Leaving it at that, Amane focused on gathering his things. Sliding them all off the desk and haphazardly into his bag. It doesn’t matter if the teacher is scowling; if the teacher’s eyes are worried while his grimace is more exasperated. Amane has somewhere to be. “I’ll see you tomorrow, sensei.”

As he brushed past, Tsuchigomori huffed.

“You’re lucky to have such good friends, Yugi.”

--

True to sensei’s word, the middle Minamoto boy and that prissy kid with pink hair were waiting by the lockers.

“Yugi!” the middle Minamoto exclaimed with a wide grin. “Here I thought I’d have to carry you back home again.”

Amane laughed just a little. “Sorry about all this. Can I ask about...?”

“The lesson plan for the exam?” Minamoto finished. “Yeah, of course, it’s no...”

“It IS a big deal!” the prissy kid shrieked. “Just what are you constantly dreaming about in class anyway?! It better not be anything naughty!”

“Mitsuba!” Minamoto snapped, but Amane felt his lips twitch into a smile.

“That’s riiiight,” he drawled. “I have very, very dirty dreams of thick, sexy radishes.”

“R-Radishes?!” Mitsuba shrieked some more with a look of utter horror. “T-That... That’s really...seriously weird!”

“That hurts.” Amane’s smile dropped. “You really shouldn’t be so judgmental.”

“And you shouldn’t yell, Mitsuba,” Minamoto griped, lightly smacking the back of the prissy kid’s head. He ignored the other’s immediate wailing and blubbering, and most annoyingly, he fixed Amane with his own worried stare. “Is everything going alright at home?”

The middle Minamoto kid is almost worse than Tsuchigomori-sensei.

“It’s going.”

“Look,” the kid attempted with such a painfully sympathetic pinch in his brow. “We’re friends, Yugi. I’m here if you need me.”

He could answer. He could either feign gratitude or lash out. However, Amane was instead distracted.

Something was calling his name again.

“...Yugi?”

The hairs on his nape prickled. He has somewhere he needed to be.

“I just need the lesson plan, k... Kou.”

Minamoto frowned but handed it over. This kid was saying other things while the prissy kid was glaring at Amane quite intensely. Amane noticed, but he was more focused on the encroaching shadows in the corner of his vision.

He needed to go.

“Thanks.” He took the plan and needed to hurry. “Later, you two.”

--

There’s a certain ritual he attempts each day after school. He counts each step. He makes it halfway. It’s always a struggle to not turn around.

This time, he forces himself forward, as if being called.

Amane passes by the many graves, several of which are lovingly polished. Autumn has begun to set in, with leaves of red and gold scattered in his path. It’s such a colorful sight. Right before winter was to sweep in and everything would wither and die.

There will be a moon-viewing festival soon, Amane thought with each crunch of the leaves under his shoes. If I go with the Minamoto kid...his prissy friend will definitely tag along... But they might both have families to go with—

Crunch.

There’s a girl praying by one of the graves. Normally, Amane would just pass her by like the rest, but she’s at the grave he’s come to see.

And his heart seizes up immediately.

This girl has already burned incense, and the grave looks lovingly polished. This girl doesn’t react when Amane stalks close, looming like a shadow. This girl...

She has hair as verdant as the leaves of spring and eyes to match. When she finally regards Amane, it’s with a calm, stoic gaze. Amane nearly trembles.

“Amane-kun,” she greets. She stands. She’s taller than him. She bows. “Good afternoon.”

She brushes her hair back behind her ear, doll-like and elegant.

“My apologies,” she says. “If I am in your way, I can...”

“Sorry,” Amane bit out. “Do I know you?”

She blinked at him. Something writhes under his skin as she seems to mull his words over.

“No, I suppose you don’t know me. I’m terribly sorry for presuming.” She ponders further. “Mm... How should I put this? I’m a third-year...”

Truth be told, he doesn’t for introductions. He was already committed to hating her long before this moment.

“Nanamine Sakura.” She bows. “It’s nice to meet you, Amane-kun.”

“Nanamine,” he returns. “You’re in my way.”

She blinked at him again. The sight of her looking so inquisitive is almost offensive. But without another word, she steps aside. She does not leave.

The grave is so polished that Amane can see his wretched reflection. Nanamine says nothing as he drops to his knees before it. As he prays and prays. She is silent and his reflection only grows more and more twisted.

He clasps his hands together tighter. Nearly pierces into his own knuckles with his nails.

“Amane-kun, have you been getting enough sleep?” Nanamine asks.

He answers her with a cold stare.

“I worry about you,” she goes on. “For that child’s sake.”

“You shouldn’t,” is his retort. “I would rather you didn’t. In fact, don’t even look at me.”

After all, he can’t bear to look at himself, especially not when reflected back in Nanamine’s empty stare.

Graciously, she does shut her eyes. That’s something. It’s something.

A name is called. He needs to leave.

When he turns on his heel, however, he nearly barrels into an excessively irritating guy with a vapid smile.

“Whoa there.” His shoulders are gripped. “Just where do you think you’re going, huh? Not causing any trouble, right?” The words should be intimidating if not for the guy saying them still wearing that insipid cat-like grin. “You’re the brother, right? I don’t think we’ve ever...”

“Natsuhiko,” Nanamine cuts in. “Release him. He’s not in the mood to talk.”

“As you wish, my lady.”

The hands are gone, but Amane is still being gripped in place. They’re crawling up his legs, rising like the tides, sticking to and seeping into his skin like mud. He can’t even tremble, even as he holds his breath.

The stench of earth and rot still tickles his nose playfully.

Another call of his name. It’s starting to constrict around him.

“Hey, bro?” A snap of fingers in front of his face. “Spacing out, there?”

“Natsuhiko,” Nanamine urges, but she sounds muffled. “Over here.”

The guy does obey, and Amane sees him unknowingly shake off the shadows as he pads over. Nanamine is untouched, even as the grave pulses. The guy smiles down at her idiotically, and she...

Looks over.

Amane turns back before their eyes can meet.

“Not in front of them,” he pleads in a whisper. “They’re his friends.”

Thankfully, he’s released. He’s allowed to go home.

The shadows are waiting for him.

--

The house is empty as always. Amane sets his bag on the table, and he probably should start copying the lesson plan right away.

As he flips through it, he notes that the kid’s handwriting is still messy. Hard to read. Didn’t have that in common with his brother, for sure, but there were few people who existed that Amane wished to think less about compared to the eldest Minamoto. Clicking his pen a few times, Amane gets to work. Each stroke is quick and curt. The clock is ticking.

What’s much louder is the padding of feet. And the voice that calls to him rings harder than thunder.

“Amane?”

“Oh, Tsukasa,” Amane sighs and doesn’t look back. “Sorry. I’m copying a...friend’s notes. There’s an exam coming up and I need to study. If I don’t do well, I’ll really be in trouble.”

The clock is ticking. Tsukasa steps closer.

“I’ll be done in a bit,” Amane calls back, trying to sound stern. “But we can’t play until after the exam is over...”

With a hop, skip, and jump, Tsukasa swoops down. Skinny arms wrap tightly around Amane’s shoulders from behind, and Tsukasa squeezes him. Amane’s sharp inhalation lodges itself in his throat.

“Tsukasa,” he manages, much raspier now. “Please... Wai...”

Tsukasa practically shoves him to the ground. They both hit the floorboards with a sickening thud. His hip is no doubt bruised. Even when he cries out and tries to cover himself, Tsukasa doesn’t stop. He snatches up Amane’s wrists and pries them from his face.

Blood drips onto his forehead. Amane immediately shuts his eyes tight.

“Amane,” Tsukasa murmurs in that usual lilting voice. “Amane...”

Keeping himself willfully blind, Amane tries to struggle. Tsukasa won’t be moved. Amane can feel the grip around his wrists discoloring not only flesh but bone.

“Wait,” Amane gasps. “Please wait... Please stop... Tsukasa...!”

“I won’t,” Tsukasa snaps childishly. “You didn’t stop when doing this to me.”

Another drip. This time onto his stomach. The unknown substance is thick as sludge and its rotten stench permeates the air. Amane nearly gags, but then the body flops onto him. His eyes snap open to meet with the usual ceiling.

Flies are buzzing about in half-circles above. The corpse is seeping into his clothes. Then, it digs in deeper, rooting itself in the flesh. Twisting and entwining, swelling and mushrooming.

As if with the intent to consume him.

Or, more specifically, assimilation.

He and Tsukasa were twins, after all.

Was it really natural for them to be so separate?

“We’ll always be together,” he had promised Tsukasa once.

He deserves this for breaking that promise.

He deserves this.

He deserves this.

Amane’s eyes fall shut. When they open again, he’s lying mutely on the floor of his empty house. The air is stale and there are some moths fluttering about the lights. He’s unspeakably exhausted.

“Not yet,” he murmurs, twisting his head to the side. Grimacing when he sees that he had accidentally knocked the lesson plan to the floor. That his wrist looks bruised. “Sorry, Tsukasa. Not yet. I’ll be done soon. So, please...”

Wait for me.

[fandom-imagines-stories]

Face Me

Gif credit: @haloforsam​

Dean Winchester x Reader

Words: 3673

Summary: The Winchester brothers are recruited by a former girlfriend of Dean’s to help with a haunting problem. As the case intensifies, Sam and Dean uncover the ghost’s origins and the reader’s dark secret. 

Notes: Welcome to the Winchester October Take Over! As always, as this month progresses, let me know what you think and buckle up for plenty of Winchester angst. This was totally inspired by Becky Barnes from the Starkids musical Black Friday. This is very very intense, but I hope you guys like it.

Special shout out to my amazing beta reader Sarah, @suckmysupernatural​ . I love her so much and honestly, she’s helped me so much in getting these imagines out for you and she has some absolutely killer writing of her own!

Warnings: Extreme domestic abuse, violence, death (like I said, it’s intense so please please read only if you are comfortable)

Want more Supernatural? Find it HERE

-

It wasn’t a call you ever thought you’d have to make, but as police swarmed around you, you lifted the phone to your ear. You thought you had calmed down enough to speak, but as soon as you heard the voice on the other end, you felt the whole situation crash into you again, along with so many feelings you’d kept locked away in your heart. 

“D-Dean?” You sniffed, feeling your stomach drop as they brought the body out the front door, sealed up in a bag. “Oh god.”

“Who is this?” Dean’s voice was gruff and tired. You must have woken him up. 

“I’m sorry. You probably don’t remember.” You started to regret calling. After all this time, you couldn’t expect him to come racing to save you. Dean was quiet for a moment.

“Y/N?” Sam stirred awake and gave his brother an inquiring look. “Y/N, is that you?”

“Dean, I-” You tried to catch your breath. “I need your help.” 

“What happened? Are you okay?”

“Something… something killed Danny.” Or someone. 

“Are you still in that same sleep town in Nebraska?” That’s all he needed to know. No details, no suspicious activity. You were in trouble. That was enough for him. 

“You know me. I never go anywhere.” You winced, thinking about the last time you saw Dean Winchester. There was a loud shuffle as Dean started to pack his things, motioning for Sam to do the same.

“We’ll be there by morning.” You uttered a tearful thanks and hung up. 

“What was that about?” Sam asked, climbing out of bed and grabbing his duffle bag. 

“You remember when we were in Nebraska for a few weeks trying to find that coven of witches?”

“The ones that were using high school kids in their ritual? Yeah.” Sam recalled a fiery English teacher that Dean had dated for most of their time there. 

“Y/N’s brother is dead.” Dean said somberly. 

“The one that bought us drinks after we saved some of the kids?” Dean nodded. “Damn.” He was a good guy. “She thinks it’s our kind of thing?”

“I don’t know. Y/N’s one tough broad, Sammy, and she-” The sound of your trembling voice echoed in his head. “She sounded scared.” By the look in his eyes, Sam knew how important this was to him. 

“Then what are we waiting for?” He zipped up his duffle bag and threw it over his shoulder. “Let’s get to Nebraska.” 

-

You spent most of the night answering police questions and carefully watching the windows. He was in there somewhere. Waiting for you. Once the ambulance and the police were gone, you didn’t dare go back inside. Instead, you curled up on the porch swing and broke down. This was your fault. Danny was gone and that cruel smile was burned into your brain. He was coming for you. 

You must have fallen asleep because the bright morning sun and the low rumbling of an engine pulled you out of your nightmare. You’d never been so happy to see that beautiful car. 

Sam got out of the passenger side and you slowly walked towards him. You had to restrain yourself from just crashing into him to be safely wrapped in his arms. 

“Your hair’s different.” You noted with a small smile. He pulled you into a hug. 

“I’m sorry about Danny.” He whispered, pulling back to give you a sympathetic smile. Behind him, his brother waited anxiously, straightening the sleeves of his jacket. He hadn’t changed at all. 

“Dean…” You gasped, memories flashing through your head faster than you could register them. The first touch. The feeling of his flannel wrapped around your shoulders. Your last kiss. 

“Hey.” He greeted. Neither of you moved. You just looked at each other, both wanting to say something but not having a single clue as to what. 

Suddenly, it hit you. What might have been. How different everything would be. Danny would still be alive. When your eyes started to fill with tears, Dean enveloped you in his arms without a second of hesitation. Feelings he had tried to forget came rushing back, but he tried his best to ignore them. That’s not what you need right now. So he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. 

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” He wished more than anything that you had reunited under different circumstances. He knew how much your brother meant to you. He ran his hands down your arms. You felt like ice. “Jesus, Y/N, you’re freezing. What, did you sleep out here or something?” He quickly shed his jacket and draped it over you. 

“Why don’t we head inside?’ Sam suggested. “Talk about what happened.”

“No.” You responded a little too quickly, earning a strange look from both Winchesters. “Why don’t we talk down at the diner? Breakfast’s on me.” They exchanged a skeptical look, but agreed nonetheless.

People were already whispering when you walked in. Word traveled fast. As uncomfortable as the stares made you, anywhere was better than home. 

“Hey Josie, can I get a few cups of coffee?” You asked the only waitress who wasn’t too busy gossiping about you. She gave you her usual smile. 

“You got it, sweetie.” At least you still had one friend. The three of you picked a booth, Dean sitting on the other side and Sam sliding in beside you. He put a hand on your arm. 

“Can you tell us what happened?” You tried to ignore Dean’s worried gaze and took a deep breath. 

“I’ve been living with Danny for a little over a year now.” Just tell them. Just tell them. “After Isaiah left, I needed a place to stay.”

“Isaiah?” Dean stiffened. You couldn’t look at him. 

“My husband.” Both Winchesters froze. 

“Oh.” Was all Dean said. You set down your coffee mug a little too fast and the hot liquid splashed onto the counter. 

“Anyway, it doesn’t matter.” You tried to clean up the mess with your napkin, your voice sounding more flustered than you intended. After all this time of keeping the secret, why was it so hard to lie to them? “He’s gone now.” Sam was the first to speak. 

“I’m sorry.” His voice was so sincere, you felt yourself choke on your words, the emotion becoming too much. 

“What matters now is destroying what killed Danny.” 

“Do you have any idea what it was?” Sam asked. Dean seemed very interested in the inside of his mug. You wanted to tell him the truth, but the words caught in your throat. “Y/N?”

“I don’t know. One minute he was fine and the next his head was cracked open.” You closed your eyes, remembering that awful scene. You felt a hand rest on top of yours. Dean had reached across the table, his warm touch giving you enough courage to keep going. “The police can’t figure out how anyone else got in the garage, what the murder weapon was, or anything that could give me an answer. So I called you.” Sam and Dean exchanged a look. 

“We’ll do what we can.” Sam promised you and Dean nodded. 

“And we’ll fry this son of a bitch.” 

-

Without a good enough excuse not to go back, you took Sam and Dean to the house. The police had cleaned the scene so you were able to get in. Dean stopped by the garage and laughed softly to himself. 

“Still working on the bike.” He mused. You smiled slightly. 

“He finished restoring it last year.” That motorcycle was Danny’s prize possession. A 1984 Disc Glide Harley Davidson. It was one hell of a bike. He had been washing it when he died. 

“So… married.” Dean blew out a long breath. You looked away. 

“After you left, Isaiah was… the normal I thought I needed.” You almost laughed. How wrong you were. “And then after a couple months he was… different. I guess I was too.” You thought of every red flag that you had missed, every great big warning sign you chose to ignore. 

“Ah,” Dean nodded. “Normal.” You looked at him, shaking your head. 

“I was wrong.” He read the glint in your eye that you had tried to hide. Your ex scared you. 

“What went down between you?” His question wasn’t out of plain curiosity. He knew there was something you weren’t telling him. 

“He started vanishing into the beds of barmaids and the occasional tennis coach until he didn’t come back.” You shrugged, hoping that he would buy the lie. He didn’t, but he didn’t ask you anything else. 

“Hey guys, I think I found something!” Sam shouted from the living room. He was holding up a picture of you and Danny from a couple years ago. It looked fine. “Check this out.” Sam turned the farm around, revealing the words scratched into the back of the frame. Your heart stopped. Face me.

“Face me?” Dean read. “What the hell does that mean?” He and his brother both turned to you. 

“Does this mean anything to you, Y/N?” Sam asked. All you could hear was Isaiah’s voice. 

“Face me you stupid bitch!” You instinctively pulled Dean’s jacket tighter around you even though you knew they couldn’t see what you had hidden under your shirt. 

“Y/N?” Sam repeated. Both brothers were staring at you waiting for an answer. 

“You know Danny. He used to get in bar fights all the time. Maybe one of them died and wanted to get revenge?” You wouldn’t have believed it either . Dean ran his fingers through his hair in frustration. 

“Look, we can’t help you if there’s something you aren’t telling us.” He snapped. “What the hell is going on?”

“My brother is dead, Dean!” You shouted. And it was all your fault. The two fell totally silent and you tried not to cry again. “Sorry. I’m just… tired.”

“Maybe you should just take it easy for the rest of the day. We’ll go back into the history of the house and see if there were any violent deaths.” Sam suggested sweetly. 

“Don’t leave me here.” You pleaded, grabbing Dean’s hand. “Please don't leave me alone.” 

“Hey, it’s okay. I won’t.” Dean assured you. What the hell was going on. He briefly turned to his brother. “Sammy, why don’t you head to the library and I’ll take Y/N to the motel?” 

“I’ll call you if I find anything.” Sam gave you one last concerned look before heading out. Dean gave your hand a reassuring squeeze. 

“Let’s get you out of here.”

-

The motel room was relatively nice compared to the other places they had stayed. You sat on Dean’s bed and took off his jacket. 

“Here. You probably want this back.” You held it out, but he shook his head. 

“You can keep it until we get this son of a bitch.” He pulled up a chair across from you and you couldn’t help but check him out. Those muscles under his shirt, his perfectly messy hair, his unreal green eyes. He really hadn’t changed at all. 

“Do you ever think about it?” You blurted suddenly. 

“Hmm?”

“About how we said goodbye?” Dean looked at the floor. 

“Sometimes.”

You had thought about it nearly every damn day for the past three years. After facing the witches, it was time for Dean and Sam to move on to the next hunt. Dean had fallen in love with you, which was not something he usually allowed himself to do. You knew that you loved him and it scared you. The man hunted monsters, for god's sake. So when Dean asked you to come with him… you said no. 

“Look, Y/N, I don’t hold anything against you.” Dean started, “I mean, we’d only been together a couple of weeks and you were still teaching and, you know, I had just killed a bunch of witches pretending to be lunch ladies. 

“Dean.” You crossed to him. “Not leaving with you… It’s the biggest regret of my life.” Dean stood, eyes intense. YOu weren’t sure who kissed who first, but just like that, the years melted away. You quickly threw his jacket over the chair and Dean lifted your legs up around his waist as he backed you towards the bed. His jacket joined his jacket. 

Dean’s hands slipped under your shirt, just grazing one of the lower scars on your back. You panicked and pushed away from him. 

“Wait.” You gasped, catching your breath. 

“What? What’s wrong?”

“I can’t.” Too many questions that you didn’t know how to answer. “I’m sorry, Dean. I can’t-” Seeing how upset you were, Dean tried to relax, putting his hands on your shoulders. 

“It’s okay. You’re tired. Today has been pretty crazy. How about you rest?” He was being so sweet, which just made you feel worse for keeping things from him. 

“Will you lay down with me?” It seemed like such a juvenile question after literally tearing his shirt off. Dean just smiled. 

“Yeah, of course.” You both got under the blankets, keeping apart at first. You moved closer and he wrapped his arms around you, your back pressed against his chest. “Hey Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

“Sam and I are gonna keep you safe, okay?” His breath was warm against the back of your neck. “You can trust us.”

Dean knew that you were hiding something. Something that absolutely terrified you. He felt the marks on your back before you pulled away. For now, he would let you sleep. Hell, he could use a few hours himself. But sooner or later, he would find out the truth. He just hoped that it didn’t destroy you first. 

-

You slept without nightmares. It was so unfamiliar after so many sleepless nights that even as the afternoon light streamed through the windows, you slept more peacefully than you had in years. It wasn’t until you felt a rush of cold and turned around to cuddle closer to Dean. Your eyes fluttered open and you screamed. The spirit stood over Dean menacingly with a stone raised over his head. Even though half of his face was bashed in, you could see Isaiah’s furious scowl. 

“Dean!” You cried. Dean woke up and looked over his shoulder as Isaiah brought his hand down. Dean rolled out of the way, both of you tumbling off of the bed. 

“You cheating whore!” The apparition shrieked. Dean pushed you behind him and you screwed your eyes shut. “Look at me when I’m speaking to you, Y/N! Face me!” He reappeared, standing over both of you and raising the jagged rock over you. 

“Get down!” Sam burst through the motel door and fired two salt rounds into the ghost. Isaiah vanished. Sam hurried to his brother’s side. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine.” Dean stood, eyes burning into you, demanding answers. “What the hell just happened?”

“I’m sorry.” You let terrified tears stream down your cheeks. “I should have told you. I should have told you.” Sam helped you to your feet, trying to calm you down. 

“Y/N, who was that?” He asked gently. There was now way to hide anymore, but you just stood there. Dean’s anger disappeared, connecting the spirit’s words and your fear. He cradled your face in his hands. 

“Sweetheart, we can’t help you unless you tell us what happened.” He tucked your hair behind your ear. You tried to pull yourself together. 

“It was Isaiah.” You sat on the bed and pulled your knees up to your chest. 

“Your husband?” Sam asked. You gave them a weak nod. 

“He didn’t leave me. I tried to leave him. He hurt me. He kept hurting me.” Every cut and every bruise stung now as if they were fresh. Dean gripped the back of the chair. “I told him I wasn’t going to let him hurt me anymore. He got so mad…” You gulped and turned around. You slowly lifted up the back of your shirt. Your back was a jagged puzzle of scars, some small and some stretching across your skin. 

“Oh my God.” Sam gasped. You kept your back to them, unable to look them in the eye. 

“He pushed me out of a glass door.” You pulled your shirt back down and wrapped your arms around yourself. “Our yard opened out to the river where there were some trees. So I just ran.” 

Dean closed his eyes, the entire scene playing out in front of him. The blood soaking the back of your shirt. Your crying pleas for help. It haunted him. He somehow felt like it was his fault. Like he should have been there to protect you. 

“I ran and I ran, but everything stung and it was hard to see straight with the pain. He caught me and shoved me to the ground. I was screaming, but nobody came. He wrapped his hands around my throat.” You sank further into your nightmare. “I grabbed a rock and hit him over the head. I just kept hitting him and hitting him and hitting him.” Your body shook as you cried. Nobody said a word for a long while. You were grateful. 

“Y/N,” Sam sat down beside you. “You didn’t have a choice.” 

“I shouldn’t have fought him, Sam.” You exclaimed. “If I hadn’t fought thim, none of this would have happened. Danny would still be alive.” Dean pushed the chair aside and crouched down in front of you, making you face him. 

“None of this is your fault.” He said sternly. “Not what he did to you when he was alive and not what he’s doing now. Do you hear me? It’s not your fault.” He pulled you to him and let you cry into his chest, gently stroking your hair to sooth you. He looked at Sam intensely. “We’re burning this son of a bitch tonight.” 

-

In order to find the body, you had to go back to the river. As you lead Sam and Dean through the grove of trees, Sam asked more questions. 

“It’s been a little over a year since everything happened, right?” You nodded. “Why do you think he’s back now?” You shrugged. You had been trying to figure that out too. You suddenly remembered a conversation you had had with your brother. 

“It’s because I’m leaving.” Of course. If you were gone, Isaiah wouldn’t be able to exact his revenge. He may have been tied to you, but he was also still tied to his body. Dean joined the conversation. 

“Leaving?”

“Yeah. I need to get out of this place. Get away from everything that happened here.” You sighed. “I guess Isaiah had other plans.” 

“Where will you go now?” Dean glanced over at you with a flicker of hope in his eyes. Before you could respond, you reached the North Platte and the tree you buried the body under. 

“This is it.” You forced yourself to stay calm as the memories flooded your head. Dean gave you a reassuring nod. “No one ever came looking for him.” It was kind of sad. Everyone in town just assumed that he left you and he didn’t have any family to worry about him. “I couldn’t bury him very deep with my back cut up like that, but I couldn’t bring myself to just throw him in the river. Monster or not, he was till my husband.”

It was late evening now so you didn’t have to worry about anyone stumbling upon the scene. The boys started digging, that lump in your throat getting bigger and bigger with every inch. Once the body was fully uncovered, you made yourself look at him. Sam and Dean stood on either side of you. 

“Alright Isaiah,” Dean started, lighting a match. “You’re not gonna hurt her anymore.” 

Both Sam and Dean were flung backwards and you felt icy cold hands wrap around your neck. 

“I’m not going anywhere.” Isaiah hissed in your ear. He flung you into the tree, hitting your back hard. 

“Over here you freak!” Dean fired a salt round, but missed. Isaiah knocked him to the ground, slamming a rock against his temple. Sam rushed to help his brother and Isaiah simply raised his hand, throwing the younger Winchseter into the river. 

“Stop!” You tried to scream, but it just came out as a wheezing gasp. 

“We’re going to be just fine, Y/N.” Isaiah sneered. “Just as soon as you face me and learn your lesson.” He hit Dean again, this time knocking him out. You reached into your pocket. 

“Face this you son of a bitch.” 

You threw your lighter onto the body and watched it go up in flames. Isaiah raised the stone one last time before burning away. You ran over to Dean, your back aching with every movement.

“Please please please.” You begged, holding his head in your hands, his blood oozing from his temple and onto your palm. 

“Y/N!” Sam called out, crawling out of the water. “Dean!” 

“Come on Dean.” You cried. “If you wake up, I’ll say yes this time.” You leaned down, pressing a desperate kiss to his lips. 

“That’s gotta be my favorite way to wake up.” He teased, his green eyes slowly opening. 

“Shut up.” You shook your head and laughed, pulling him into your arms. 

-

Sam packed the last bag into the trunk and gave you a small smile before getting in the passenger seat. Dean had his arms around you, his hands soothingly running up and down your back. 

“I guess this is goodbye.” He sighed dramatically. You rolled your eyes. 

“I’m going to be right behind you.”

“I don’t know if I can wait until we get to the motel.” He gave you a cheeky grin and pulled you into a passionate kiss. He went to the car and you revved Danny’s Harley to life. Dean pulled the impala out of the driveway, you trailing on the motorcycle. You followed that beautiful black car down the open road, ready to face anything.

-

General Tag: @rae-gar-targaryen; @takemepedropascal; @childhood-imagination;  @mylovegoesto;

[ezrasarm]

Loving You Too Late

[ day 3 | angstaggedon masterlist ]

Pairing: Frankie “Catfish” Morales x Reader

Word count: 4.6K

Summary: You and Frankie have loved each other for a long time. You’re just a little out of synch.

Warnings: Angst, a tad bit of cheating (more like brief romantic overlap), language, main characters being idiots, oh and theres a funeral too

Credits: A massive thank you to @chaotic-noceur​ and @din-damn-djarin​ for beta reading and listening to me complain about how much of an idiot I am for deciding to write this! I don’t know that I would have finished it without your encouragement and now it’s the longest oneshot in my repertoire!

A/N: “Let’s write oneshots!” we said. “It’ll be fun!” we said. “Just connect the bullet points!” we said… 4.6K words later. Yeah we really have no self control at all do we?

You and Frankie had known one another pretty much all your lives. Your parents both had cottages on the same small lake where you would spend most of your summers. His place was just two doors down from your own so you knew who he was through community events and simply for being the “Morales Kid”. You hadn’t really gotten to know him until one summer when you applied for a job at the general store just across the lake. He was working stocking shelves the same year. You don’t think you’ll ever forget that first shift you shared together. You hadn’t seen him in a couple of years and you could hardly believe the name tag clipped to his shirt labelled “Frankie” when you first set eyes on him. He’d grown up a lot in the meantime. He was taller, his shoulders had broadened and he was more solidly built than the lanky little kid you’d known him as for so long. But the mop of wild chestnut curls on top of his head that he hid under a beat-up and salt-stained truckers cap assured you it was him. 

It was the boredom of day-long shifts in the near-empty store that made the two of you overcome your timid demeanours. It started with you offering him a soda on one of your lunch breaks. That turned into long conversations with one another when your boss was nowhere to be seen, sending goofy looks to each other over the shoulders of unsuspecting customers, and stealing the occasional ice cream from the freezer. Soon just hanging out at work turned into hanging out whenever you got the chance. You peering over his shoulder as he tinkered with boat motors he’d salvaged from the brink of death. Him timing you when you would swim lengths between the neighbour’s dock and your own. Before you knew it you were taking any excuse you could to spend time with one another, until it came to the point where you didn’t even need an excuse at all. Suddenly you and this shy kid with his feet on the ground and his head in the clouds were inseparable.

Of course, Frankie being Frankie didn’t realize what that clenching feeling that rose in his chest every time he set eyes on you was until it wasn’t there anymore. Summer had to come to an end at some point, and with it you two were reluctantly dragged away to your respective ends of the state to finish off school. The almost seven-hour drive between you complicated your usual hangout rituals but you took to calling one another whenever you got the chance. Frankie’s friends would tease him for it but he practically sprinted across the room whenever the phone rang. He had thick skin. He brushed them off when they would hoot or holler and make kissing sounds at the mention of your name. “She’s not my girlfriend.” He would remind them through an irritated roll of his eyes whenever they would ask about you. What he hadn’t realized was that the annoyance he felt towards them wasn’t because of their mocking tone or their rowdy demeanours but because a part of him wished you were.

It was a Friday night after you had ended your call with a heavy yawn and an apology that you had to go to sleep because you were up early that morning. A goofy smile lingered on his face as he flopped back into his bed, that infectious laugh of yours was still ringing in his ears when that feeling washed over him again. The same one that made his stomach flip when you would shoot him a grin from the checkout of the shop. The one that made his blood boil when his friends would joke at him for making you up. The one that made his heart break when the line went dead after you hung up. The one that made his palms sweat and his heart hammer against his ribcage at the mere thought of you. Suddenly it hit him like a freight train all at once. It was too obvious to deny any more. He was completely, absolutely and utterly head over heels for you.

But as school work ramped up and your agenda got fuller and fuller, your calls became fewer and farther in between. A quick ‘hello’, ‘what’s new?’, ‘nothing much’ and a ‘sorry, I gotta go’. There were a few times where he almost let it slip. The conversation would come to a lull and his eyes would fall to his feet. His hand would instinctively come to scratch the back of his neck as he readjusted his grip on the phone. He would even start the sentence. “Listen, uh” Then he’d shake the thought away. As desperate as he had grown to tell you how he felt he couldn’t bring himself to do it over the phone. He needed to see your face. He wanted to lock his gaze onto those beautiful eyes of yours and see your reaction. His skin crawled at the idea of the words tumbling out of his mouth only for you to go silent and that dreaded tone to ring through the line telling him you had hung up. He would tell you this summer, he promised himself. Just a few months. He could hang on that long. 

Which he did. He had a speech planned by the time he watched your car pull up the driveway to the small wooden cabin you called your home every summer. A smile broke across his face as he stood up from the doorstep where he had been waiting to greet you. You came barrelling out of the car the moment it came to a full stop, just about knocking him over with the force you collided to envelop him in a tight hug. 

“Why are you crying, you big baby?” He teased when you pulled away only for him to see your eyes were watery with unshed tears. 

“Because I missed you, you idiot!” You force out a laugh, whacking the visor on his cap lightly so it fell down in over his line of sight before wiping away the damp from around your temples with the heel of your palm.

Frankie’s heart is hammering in his chest when he parts his lips to speak again. He’s got the words on the tip of his tongue when a voice he doesn’t recognize emerges from behind you. “So you’re the famous Frankie I’ve heard so much about!” He feels the smile on his face drop the moment his eyes fall on the stranger in question who has now tucked his arm around your waist. “I’m Mike.” He says, an amiable smile on his face as he extends a free hand to shake. Frankie hesitates a moment, his confession from before still lodged in the back of his throat. He has to choke it down with a curt smile before he accepts the gesture. He’s not sure how long he stands there, politely nodding along to the conversation, his mind elsewhere as you make introductions he’s not ready to hear. You looked so happy together he can’t help but feel out of place. He’s not even sure what words he used to excuse himself as he retreats down the beaten dirt path that leads back to his place. 

He’d never felt his emotions flip on their head so fast he felt he might have vertigo. Yet here he was, his head spinning and the taste of bile bitter on his tongue. He felt like a fool. Wracking his brain for any sign you could’ve given him, any warning that would have told him to stop. Stop loving you as though that were a thing that was within his power to do. He’s got every phone call you had shared since you left playing on repeat in his head but he keeps coming up empty. You gave him nothing. That or he was too selfishly consumed in his own ardency for you that it hadn’t even occurred to him that you might already have your own… for someone else.

“Hey, where were you?” You asked him from where you’d perched yourself on the stretch of dock just in front of the boathouse. His boathouse. Your toes just barely skimmed the surface of the calm water sending ripples across the lake. It had been three days that you hadn’t seen him, a long stretch by your standards. At first, you had simply put it down to him being busy. Maintaining his parent’s property was no small feat and there was no one there to help him yet this season. But the longer you went without a sign of him the more worried you started to get. 

“Had to pick up gas for the boat.” He said, jostling the jerrycan in his grasp and you formed your mouth into an ‘o’ as you nodded in understanding.

“Did it strand you in the middle of the lake again?” You ask a smug grin pulling at the corner of your lip as you recall the time you saw him fruitlessly rowing the old fishing boat against the wind with only one ore and had to go out there and rescue him yourself.

“No,” He scolds you genially as he comes to sit next to you with a heavy sigh. “...not this time.” He adds, causing an affable chuckle, one that made his heart skip a beat in his chest, to escape you. It’s only when he catches himself staring at your up-quirked lips that he has to clear his throat. A pang of guilt that hasn’t quite become custom yet is nagging at the back of his mind as his gaze falls in front of him. 

“Where’s Mike?” He asks hesitantly, not entirely sure he wants an answer to that question yet.

“He left this morning.” You say. He hates that the sombre note to your voice actually gives him an ounce of hope for a moment. “He has to be back in town for work on Monday.”

“Ah, a city boy.” Frankie teases in an attempt to muffle his own disappointment and you jostle him with your shoulder chidingly.

“Hey, lay off.” You laugh softly before your tone shifts and those upturned corners of your mouth drop wistfully. “I thought you’d like him.” You said, quieter now as though you weren’t convinced you wanted him to hear it. 

He hated the way you looked up at him, your eyes blown wide with such expectation. He hated that his opinion mattered and that it wasn’t the one you wanted to hear. Because that was just it. Frankie did like him. Or at least he couldn’t bring himself to hate him. He should like him and yet the mere mention of ‘Mike’ made him want to punch a wall. He’d been hiding away this entire weekend because he could hardly stand the thought of looking you in the eye when he couldn’t tell you the one thing that had been playing in his mind on a loop for months. Yet here you were, forcing his hand and he couldn’t even be mad about it. He was just so desperate to be near you.

“I- yeah.” He clears his throat as his gaze falls to the water, and a pregnant pause fills the air. You purse your lips as it hits you that he’s less enthused about this introduction than you had hoped he would be. “Why didn’t you tell me about him?” He huffs out softly through an obviously feigned attempt at a smile. But the truth was you didn’t know. Or at least you didn’t want to know. You couldn’t figure out why but something in the back of your mind had told you it would hurt him. And with the look on his face as you tried to come up with a decent answer, he was beginning to prove you right. 

“I don’t know.”

You hadn’t intended for it to work out this way. But that just so happened to be the last conversation you had with him. You left for university and the next thing you heard, he had shipped out and joined the army. Perhaps it would have stung a little less had he been the one to tell you, but you had to hear it through your parents when you went home for mid-term break. Everything about the way you left things with him made you sick to your stomach. You had drifted apart from your fair share of friends over the years. It was never easy. It always hurts. But it had never hurt like this. It took you years to find out why.

“Whatever happened to you two?” Margaret, the next-door neighbour who lived just between your cottage and Frankie’s, asked, looking fondly at the scrapbook in her lap. “You were always so cute together.” She added, her voice warbling with what she excused as ‘age’. She had come over briefly to borrow something when you invited her in for a drink and she caught sight of the picture book on the coffee table.

“Who?” You asked, leaning over to take a look at the photo. “Oh, we weren’t… together.” You interjected, feeling childish for the way you avoided the implication that you and Frankie had ever been a couple at all costs. 

“Really?” She asked, leaning back to quirk an eyebrow at you skeptically. “Try telling him that.” She scoffed, plucking another photo from the binder. It was the two of you at the end of your dock. You were flaunting the tiny ass fish you had caught for the camera as though you had just caught that night’s dinner. But what grabbed your attention wasn’t the goofy look on your face, the ridiculous stance you had adopted, or the fish you were holding cautiously at an arm’s length. It was Frankie, his gaze set unflinchingly on you.

“Really, we were just… friends.” You try to explain, but you’re too distracted by the admiring look in his eyes and lopsided grin at his lips to sound entirely convinced by yourself. 

“All I know is that the way he is looking at you,” she says, prodding a shaky finger at the photograph, “is not how friends look at one another.” She concluded before dropping the subject altogether. 

Sure, it had crossed your mind from time to time. The idea of you and Frankie being together wasn’t all too outlandish. You could see how she might have been confused after all. You got along well, you spent a lot of time together, you cared about him deeply and dare you say you even loved him but- 

You loved him. 

The thought had implanted itself in your mind before you could even process it and suddenly you couldn’t believe what you were admitting. Staring down the snapshot of your former self now, all you could do was wonder why the hell you couldn’t have caught on sooner. Why you couldn’t have turned around in that moment, seen him and had it all snap into place before you managed to fuck it up so royally. Why...Why did you have to fuck it up? Your mind snapped back to the night before you left that summer. You hugged him and you could still feel the lurch in your chest, not unlike the one you were experiencing now, from when his grip on you lingered a few moments longer than usual. 

You were scared.

Scared because you had never done this before. You had never been in love or fallen out of it, and you had convinced yourself the only outcome was heartbreak. Scared because if things went south, you would lose not only the person you had ever loved like that but your best friend too and that was too high a price for you to pay. Scared because you didn’t want to hurt him just because you knew you were too afraid to take the leap. 

Turns out you managed to do that anyway. 

So now, as much as you wanted to- as much as your heart bled for you to march down to his place and bang on his front door until he was forced to open up, you knew you were too late. He was stationed god knows where with a whole new life of his own. You probably couldn’t even get a hold of him now if you tried. So you didn’t. Instead you cleared your throat, took a sip of water and asked Margaret if she had any big plans for the summer. 

You thought you had moved on. Which was why you weren’t looking for him when you attended the very same Margaret’s funeral six years later. You weren’t searching for him when you caught sight of a familiar silhouette a couple meters ahead of you and you certainly weren’t trying to grab his attention when you snatched that trucker’s cap off his head on your way into the church for the service. 

“Really? At a funeral? You’re wearing a suit.” You chided as he whipped around, his hand instinctively going to smooth down his hair as his eyes fell on you. He hesitated a moment, his mouth agape as he took you in. Your immediate assumption was that he didn’t want to see you, that perhaps time alone doesn’t heal all wounds and as much as you had hoped this would be easy, as much as you wished you could fall back into old habits as though nothing had happened, you were different people now. It had been twelve years after all. A wave of panic rose in your chest as you tried to fill the silence. “I didn’t think you owned one of those.” You joked. ‘Sure, tease him more. That’ll help’ you cursed yourself but you were relieved when a soft chuckle escaped him.

“No, I uh, I had to borrow it.” He huffed out. He was sure his cheeks were on fire with the heat that had flooded them all of a sudden. He froze the moment he laid eyes on you. He hadn’t done that in years and suddenly he felt himself being reduced to some teenage crush that made his heart stutter and his palms sweat. “Y- You look good.” He remarked, still feeling out of his element in the ill-fitting suit as he watched you, beautiful as ever, toying with the brim of his hat.

“So do you.” You said, biting back the smile that threatened to break across your face. This clearly wasn’t the place. You wound up sitting together for the rest of the ceremony, dropping by the reception for a moment to pay your respects, then inviting him for a drink at the bar just down the street so you could catch up properly. There was a moment’s pause where you thought he might turn you down. He probably had things to get back to in his limited time back in town and who were you to get in the way of that? But instead he shot you a classic Frankie smile, one you hadn’t seen in a long time, and you wound up reliving memories of summers passed in the dingy leather clad booth for hours.

It was as you emptied out into the parking lot. It was late and you both had places to be in the morning. Perhaps you’d had a bit too much to drink or maybe it was just that magnetic pull you always seemed to feel when you were around him. His head was thrown back in laughter over something you had said and his features, aged slightly from the time that had elapsed but still carrying those undefinably ‘Frankie’ qualities you had fallen in love with in the first place, had been outlined in the dull glow of the orange street light a couple meters away. For one glimmering moment you felt as though you had been handed a second chance. The one you had told yourself it wasn’t possible and that even if it were you were too late. But you had lived through that loss. The one that had paralyzed you with fear and self doubt for so long. You had suffered the aftermath and you had missed him so deeply you felt you were missing a part of yourself. And now he was standing right here in front of you. You weren’t about to let him slip through your fingers again.

“Frankie, I loved you.” You blurted out suddenly only to watch the smile that had been plastered to his face drop in the blink of an eye. ‘Well you sure had a funny way of showing it’ was his immediate thought but he was too stunned to get that out.

“You what?” He asked, not because your words hadn’t reached his ears but because he couldn’t seem to make sense of them. He had spent so long thinking you simply weren’t interested in him. That he wasn’t good enough or that he would always be playing second fiddle to someone else. Someone better suited for you, that you actually felt something for.

“I said I-” 

“No, I heard you.” He clarified but the clip to his tone and that look in his eye told you that you had overstepped. That you had just undone all the progress you’d made over the past couple hours. That this time you wouldn’t be able to rebuild the bridges you had just demolished so carelessly. How was it that he was always the one to suffer for your mistakes?

“Frankie I’m sorry, I never meant-” You didn’t even get to finish your sentence before his lips were firmly planted on your own, a hand splayed against the small of your back, pulling you in towards him. You had to grip his upper arm just to keep yourself from toppling over from the sheer momentum of it all. Your heartbeat was pounding in your ears and you were sure the alcohol in your veins wasn’t helping the way your head was spinning but something clicked in your mind. It felt so right being in his arms, so comfortable, safe and familiar like this was the only place you were ever meant to be. You had just about gotten over the shock of it all, your muscles relaxing and your hand coming to cradle the nape of his neck when as quickly as they had arrived his lips were gone. He hovered there a moment, his breath, still heavy with fervor, was fanning over your top lip and his eyes were screwed shut tight as though if he opened them you would have disappeared. He just needed a moment longer before the stage set collapsed. Just a second... but it was already too late.

“Fuck,” He muttered more to himself but it made you shift awkwardly on your feet anyways as he pulled away, straightening back up to his full height. You felt much smaller now as you looked up at him. “Fuck, we shouldn’t have- I shouldn’t have done that.” He stammered out suddenly, eyes pleading when all you wanted was for him to do it again.

“Frankie it’s fine, really, I-“ You went to explain, your fingertips reaching out to lace in his own but he flinched away the moment you made contact, his hand retracting as he stepped back to place some distance between you with a clearing of his throat.

“I should- I should go.” He gulped back, an apologetic look flashing over his features once more before he turned to walk away. You had to choke down the sting at the back of your throat, and bite back your quivering lip as you watched him leave. You weren’t quite sure what you had done wrong but any words in protest seem to catch on their way out. You felt powerless to anything but watch it all unfurl. 

You didn’t sleep that night, thoughts still reeling from the events of that evening. You tossed and turned until sunlight poured through your curtains and you were forced to give up. You weren’t ready to admit to yourself that that was it. That you had already screwed up your second chance, your final chance. Before you were even sure of what you were doing you had the number he had given you last night dialed into your phone, the tone ringing out a few too many times before you heard him finally pick up. “Hey, uh, it’s me. Listen, I just wanted to say that I know last-”

“Hello?” But the voice that came out from the other end of the line was not one that you recognized. It was a woman. You stopped dead in your tracks, your words lodging somewhere in the back of your throat.

“Sorry, I must have the wrong number. Is this Frankie Morales’ phone?” You stammered out, your words struggling to catch up with the thoughts spinning through your mind.

“No, this is the right number. He just stepped into the shower.” The mystery woman explained. “Can I take a message for you?”

“No thats- Can I ask who’s speaking?” You asked. You could already feel tears stinging at your eyes as the pieces started to fall into place. Why he pulled away, why he ran off and left you stunned in the parking lot of a small town bar after the best damn kiss of your entire life. The best damn kiss because it was with him...

“Jeanine,” She said and quite suddenly you felt like an idiot. You hadn’t even considered this outcome. That maybe your second chance wasn’t a chance at all. That you were foolish enough to think someone wouldn’t have smartened up and realized how remarkable he was before you.

“Jeanine…” You weren’t even aware you had repeated the name until it had slipped off your tongue, your voice weak and disbelieving. 

“His fiance.” She confirmed. You had to bite your knuckle to hold back the silent sob threatening to pry its way past your lips, white hot tears now breeching your waterline and streaming freely down your cheeks. You couldn’t even find it in yourself to dislike her. She was perfectly polite- probably perfect for him.  

“Right, of course.” You shake your head, attempting to get your breathing back under control before uttering your next words. You wanted to be mad at him for making you the other woman- for letting you become the other woman. For not telling you. But you couldn’t even manage that. It was your own doing. All you had done was rub salt in old wounds and now you were left with the searing evidence. “I’m sorry to bother you. I’ll- I’ll call back later.” You lie before hanging up. The line goes dead and the silence that surrounds you now is deafening as you slump back down onto your bed. 

And that was it. The end of something that never even began. You missed your chance. You were too late and now you were the one who would suffer for it. For knowing what his lips tasted like on your own, knowing the completeness you felt in his arms, and knowing you would never be able to feel it again.

[ angstageddon masterlist | Ezra’s arm masterlist ]

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[kiarasukulele]

Hate That I Love You (r.c.)

Summary: Where your drug, alcohol, and sex fuelled relationship has turned you into a cold and detached person. Both running from things in your lives, you and Rafe Cameron lose yourselves each night in each other and any substances you can get your hands on. 

(not my gif, if it’s yours let me know so I can credit)

requested: no

warnings: drug use & dependency, sexual content, swearing, drunk driving, toxic/violent relationship, ANGST ANGST ANGST (I'm sorry if I missed anything)

word count: 3.4k (issa long one oops)

(A/N): omg hi, it’s finally done. This is the first piece of writing I'm posting on here so I’m extremely rusty so I apologize in advance for any mistakes. Also, I am in no way trying to romanticize toxic or abusive relationships!! If you are experiencing something like this or have in the past, it is not love and you all deserve the world♡. Also thank you to @adoreyoudrews​ for just being supportive since the beginning and throughout this whole process (ilysm). Enjoy!!

He could be crazy, but some would argue that you were crazier. You’ve always been an impulsive person — but you both brought out the worst in eachother. You used to spend your days with the pogues who you called your best friends, but as you grew closer to Rafe he slowly put the idea in your head that you were better off without them. You would do anything Rafe asked you to, which might scare you to death. But your drug and alcohol-fueled relationship didn’t leave room for you to feel scared.

You squeezed your way through the crowd of intoxicated teens that were currently surrounding a game of beer pong in the kitchen of Kelce’s house. As you brushed past some of the familiar faces you would whisper, “Rafe is in the pool house, come if you have cash.”

You and Rafe became a team over the course of your relationship. The king and queen of the kooks. It was summer, and you had been doing what you wanted, whenever you wanted with your boyfriend. Days usually consisted of hanging out at the country club, golfing, or boating but they always ended with you and Rafe getting high or drunk together. The only time you ever felt bad was when you stopped the cycle, so eventually you just decided you wouldn’t stop. You were constantly around him, which your old friends would call “unhealthy” — which is exactly why they’re now old friends. All you needed was Rafe.

Once you spread the word to enough people about Rafe’s new supply of the “finest coke in the obx”, you made your way back to the pool house excited to try it yourself. As you were exiting the house, you passed a few acquaintances who would greet you with a smile and offer you a shot, which you happily accepted. The day someone sees (Y/N) (Y/L/N) refuse a drink will be the same day hell freezes over.

Opening the French doors of the pool house, you see a small group surrounding your boyfriend. Laughter and twenty dollar bills were being exchanged. You stood there for a minute to admire him. Cracking jokes and telling stories with these people before they would take a bump or in between them. When he wanted to be, he could be the most charismatic and magnetic person in the room, but it often flipped like a switch. The way that he could captivate an entire room of people whenever he wanted with seemingly no effort always left you astonished.

Sure, you guys fought like you hated each other sometimes but when you loved each other... holy shit you loved each other. And there was no inbetween with you and Rafe — your relationship was either scalding hot or freezing cold, it was never lukewarm.  

You strut towards Rafe with a devilish smirk. You eagerly pushed past every person standing between you and your boyfriend. He makes eye contact with you and his face lights up immediately. This is the atmosphere both of you have been happiest in lately. You were both running from things in your home lives that each of you knew better than to bring up to one another. As long as you and Rafe were running in the same direction, you didn’t care how tiring it would often feel.

He eyes you up and down as you approach him. You’ve discarded your shirt since the last time you saw him that night, your black bikini still damp from the pool.

“Get over here, baby” he mutters, firmly grabbing your wrist and pulling you onto his lap. The surrounding conversations continue as you make yourself comfortable on top of Rafe. He leans around you, gathering the white powdery substance into neat lines while you roll up a loose twenty dollar bill. When it comes to this, it’s like a ritual. The two of you move like it’s a dance you’ve rehearsed every night for the last few months — you leaning over, him holding your hair back, your nose brushing up against the cold surface of the table as the drugs enter your system. You lean back into your boyfriend as the euphoric sensation takes over. He eagerly begins to lean forward, to finish off the lines you left behind.

“No,” you mutter, grabbing a hold of his bicep to pull him back. He looks at you with furrowed brows, confusion written all over his face.

“What the fuck do you mean, no?” he spits. As mentioned, Rafe could flip like a switch at any moment. The bruises that would often litter your frail figure could attest to that, but you forgave him every time.

“I mean…” you trail off as you twist your body so your back lays flat on his lap. His demeanor calms immediately, as he catches on to what you’re asking him. He gathers the coke and lays it between your cleavage. As the drugs disappear from your chest, he kisses the surrounding area. If you were sober, you would maybe feel slightly embarrassed as the two of you had gathered somewhat of an audience. But sober you were far from. In this moment there wasn’t a trace of the guilt, anger, and sadness that would often plague your sober thoughts. You’ve convinced yourself it’s easier this way; and you really believed that you loved this boy.

❁❁❁❁❁❁

Rafe was recklessly driving back towards his house with you in the passenger seat, head out the window and giggling uncontrollably.

“Get back in here.” he slurred, pawing at your skirt to try and get you to sit still in your seat.

You began to laugh even harder at his attempt to reel you in. Your whole upper body was leaning into the cool summer breeze passing you by.

“I’m not fucking kidding.” Rafe said firmly, losing his patience. Your laughter softened as you sighed, “Fine.”

Sitting in your seat you began to get bored after only a minute. Over the past few months you have grown to need constant excitement in your life. Things always needed to be fast paced and you craved the adrenaline that accompanied your reckless behaviour while under the influence.

You stared at Rafe for a moment. His eyes were hazy; hand switching back and forth from your thigh to a bottle of beer he’d been drinking as he sloppily navigated the streets approaching tannyhill. Your own eyes widened with the idea that suddenly came over you. Lifting Rafe’s hand that was resting on your thigh, you raise it to your mouth.

He glances over to you, a smirk spreading across his face. His index finger finds its way into your mouth and you begin to gently suck. His eyes are hungry as they flash between you and the road in front of him.

“You’re so hot, (Y/N).” he practically moans, a bulge appearing in his shorts. Roughly, he grabs hold of the back of your neck and pushes you down towards his crotch. Leaning over the centre console, you take him into your mouth.

If the drugs weren’t fueling your relationship — it was the sex. Taking place anywhere and everywhere — his father's boat, the office, the beach, or simply in between his french-imported sheets. It was while he was inside you that he unleashed much of his aggression and rage, especially if you had just been fighting. It might bother you, if it didn’t feel so damn good. You didn’t mind that he could be rough, violent, or cold towards you. You were all of those things too.

Between the drug haze, intoxication, and the feeling of your mouth around him his driving was becoming more and more reckless as he pulled into the long and swerving driveway of his house. He closed his eyes for a moment, basking in the feeling of pure bliss. As his eyes were shut, the car began to swerve. You jolted forward as you came to an abrupt stop.

“Shit, shit, shit.” Rafe muttered in a panicked tone, zipping up his shorts and roughly shoving you off of him as he exited the car. He had collided with the marble statue that resided at the edge of the Cameron’s driveway. Wiping the edge of your mouth, you exit from the passenger door to assess the damage.

You couldn’t help the laughter from escaping your lips as you looked upon the statue that was broken into pieces before you. Rafe was anxiously pacing, shaky hands running through his hair.

“What the fuck is funny, (Y/N)? My dad is gonna lose his shit!” he spat at you, still not able to keep your laughter under control. You couldn’t help it, you always found that statue of a naked man hideous and borderline creepy. Through the laughter you uttered, “Holy shit, it’s dick broke off.”

Rafe was getting angrier with you by the second. You picked up the cracked and detached marble phallus and started making obscene gestures with it, which Rafe didn’t happen to find as entertaining as you did. “What? Are you jealous, baby? I’ll save some for you don’t wor—” before you could finish your sentence, Rafe’s hand swung to knock the piece of marble from your grasp as he grabbed a hold of your jaw to keep you from talking. “Shut the fuck up.” he angrily slurred.

You pushed him back with all of the force you could muster. “Don’t you fucking touch me.” you spat. He took a few steps back due to the abrupt force of your shove. As much as he could push you around, you rarely sat there and took his shit without fighting back although you were no match to his 6’2 frame.

“You know what…” he trailed off. Rafe was looking between you and the shattered pieces of the statue that Rose had treasured. “Go the fuck home.”

His statement, the way he was looking at you with utter disgust, and the throbbing pain from where his hand had been gripping your jaw was enough to cause tears to form in your eyes. “What do you mean, go home?” you asked softly. Rafe had strayed from the usual pattern of events that would take place. Usually, you would have it out and scream at each other like maniacs for a good amount of time, before you each would break down and lose the argument somewhere between the sheets. Home was the last place you wanted to be right now. The place that should be associated with warmth and love could not be said about your large blue house with the wrap-around porch. Your mother and father hated one another — their least favourite characteristics about each other were reflected in you, their daughter. Most of the time they couldn’t manage to look you in the eyes, much less hold a conversation.

“I mean, I don’t want you here,” he explained to you in a condescending tone, as if you were an unknowing child.

All of a sudden, the anger you had just felt towards him was replaced with absolute desperation. Desperate to stay, for him to forgive you, for him to hold you even if it hurt. You’re not even sure what you’d be asking for forgiveness for — but you’d do it without hesitation.

Your shaky hands find his chest and you snake your arms around his waist. He stands frigid and cold, unresponsive to your touch.

“Please, I’m sorry baby.” you mutter into his shirt. “Let’s just go inside…” you trail off as you use the tip of your finger to trace shapes on his back, a weakness of his. You begin to feel him slightly relax into your touch.

Trying to diffuse the situation you add, “We can make something up about the statue. I know how Ward can be sometimes...”

He tensed up again. You knew better than to bring up his dad, especially in the state he was in right now. You were already blaming yourself for whatever would come next, before it even happened.

Rafe ferociously pushed you off of him sending you into the ground, knees scraping against the pavement. “You think you know everything.” he spat, “You don’t know shit, (Y/N).”

Rafe walks away and you sit there for a moment. All that can be heard is the pounding of your heart and the crickets chirping. You begin to think from this angle, you and the shattered statue didn’t really look much different.

❁❁❁❁❁❁

Walking the streets of figure eight, you begin to feel the effects of the stimulants wearing off. The distractions you so desperately seek are beginning to crumble around you — leaving you completely and utterly alone with just your thoughts, bloody knees, and shaky hands.

These streets were painfully familiar. Under the amber glow of the street lamps, memories uncontrollably flooded your mind. You were seeing it like a movie scene — from the days that you spent with the pogues riding bikes together fading into more recent memories of Rafe carrying you on his back on your way home from a houseparty. Sometimes you think of that girl you used to be. Even if you wanted to be her again, you had no idea how. Riding on the back of JJ Maybank’s bike while the sun was setting and the rest of your friends trailing closely behind you. You remember the sound of your laughter while your arms and hair danced in the wind. The thought reminds you of earlier that night in Rafe’s car and the similar sensation you had felt while leaning out the window. You immediately felt guilty for thinking about the past — you loved Rafe… and they didn’t want you with him.

Attempting to keep your thoughts from slipping out of your control, you begin to start thinking of what painkillers you could steal from your parents medicine cabinet. Continuing to stumble home while considering whether or not there was enough oxycontin or vicodin that could be stolen without someone noticing. Nobody ever did.

Noticing headlights approaching, you stagger to the side of the road. The streets were usually vacant at this time. You look to your right to see the van you once spent much of your time in, with the paint still chipped and surfboards strapped to the roof. You immediately avert your eyes, desperate to disappear into thin air. The constant presence of Rafe basically ensured that whenever you crossed paths, all of you would just look the other way.  

“(Y/N)?” you hear the familiar voice as the van slows down beside you. You hesitate before looking up, meeting the gaze of John Booker Routledge. You’re grateful it is only him in the van, seeing all the faces that represented your old life would be too overwhelming while you were in this state. You don’t slow down your pace, but he drives slowly alongside you awaiting a response. All that you do is quickly glance up with a forced smile, panic rushing over you as you think of what Rafe would say if he knew who you were talking to.

“(Y/N)… are you okay?” he asks, noticing the blood running down your shins and unsteady steps. “I’m great.” you reply, eyes glued to the road ahead of you. Your voice comes out sounding harsh. You feel a pang of guilt, but you’re not the same girl that John B remembers. You’ve become detached and full of anger — ready to unleash it on anyone in an instant.

“I can’t let you walk home like this.” he states with a sigh, looking between you and the road as he drives alongside you.

“You’re not letting me do anything,” you retort. “Besides, Rafe would beat the shit out of you if he found out.”

John B scoffs, “I’m not scared of your boyfriend.” You should be, you think to yourself. “And besides, I don’t see him anywhere.”

That comment caused you to stop in your tracks and stiffen up. John B hits the brakes. You constantly craved Rafe’s presence and standing on the side of the road bloody and bruised and practically sober, you never felt more alone.

“Shut up, Booker.” you almost whisper. His eyes softened at the use of his middle name that he only ever let you call him by, “Listen, I’m sorry. Just let me take you home.”

You think the faster you get home, the faster you make it to the medicine cabinet. So you get in.

What would’ve been a 30 minute walk was just a short 6 minute drive. Silence had filled the space between you and the boy who you once called your best friend. After what seemed like forever, your large blue house finally came into view. You were prepared to make a quick exit with just a simple ‘thank you’ but John B sighed as he put the car in park, obviously wanting to say something.

“(Y/N), I know it’s been almost two years but—” you cut him off, “We’re not doing this. Thank you for the ride but, we are not doing this.”

You manage to open the passenger door slightly so you can make a swift escape from the last conversation you want to have but John B reaches over you, slamming it shut and making you flinch which doesn’t go unnoticed. “Please let me say this.” he pleads. You sit there staring at your hands as he continues, “We never stopped caring about you. I don’t care where you are, or who you are with. Pogues for life… I don’t care how much of a kook you or everybody else thinks you are.”

You shake your head, “You think you know everything.” you recycle the words you had just heard from your boyfriend, “You don’t know shit.”

“You’re wrong.” he replies, “I know you, (Y/N).”

You break your gaze from your hands, looking at him in the eye for the first time. The words come out soft and sort of sad, “Not anymore.”

You exit the car and begin to walk towards the door of your cold and harsh home.

“(Y/N)!” John B shouts. You spin on your heels, with a sigh. What more can be said, you think. “You know where to find us… if you ever need anything.” With that, he drives away.

❁❁❁❁❁❁

You collected the pills that you hoped would make you forget the events that took place and snuck into your bedroom. Leaning against the counter of your ensuite bathroom, you stare at yourself in the mirror. Someone with messy hair, smudged makeup, and bloodshot eyes stares back at you. But what caught your attention was the hand shaped bruise that was beginning to form on your jaw. Your fingertips graze over the area as tears form in your eyes. You suddenly felt sick to your stomach. It wasn’t Rafe’s violent nature that scared you. It was realizing that no matter what he did, you would still love him. You pop the pills and head to bed.

❁❁❁❁❁❁

The sunlight peeking through your blinds wakes you up. With your head pounding, you reach for the aspirin that you kept on standby as this is how you were left feeling most mornings. Reaching for your phone, you hoped to god that you had messages from Rafe. 

No new notifications, just your lockscreen with a picture of you and him kissing from last year's Midsummers staring back at you. Unlocking your phone, you open your contacts. Scrolling to the letter ‘B’ you find the contact information that has laid idle for nearly two years. ‘Booker.’

You stare at the name for what seemed like hours, something inside you willing you to be brave and reach out.

Before that voice got too loud, it was interrupted by your ringtone. ‘RAFE♥’ spread across the screen and your heart rate picked up. You eagerly answered, “Hello?”

“Hi baby girl. Can you be ready in 15 minutes?” he asks, “I just picked up from Barry’s and we’re going to spend the day on the boat I think.”

You hesitate, remembering what it was you almost did mere seconds before you received Rafe’s call. “(Y/N)?”

You snap back into reality, “Yeah, I’ll be waiting on my dock.” you confirm.

“That’s my girl.” you smile at his words, “And hey, sorry about what went down last night. We were both really fucked up.” he chuckles.

You had forgiven Rafe before he even said the words, “Don’t worry about it.”

“I love you, (Y/N).”

“I love you too, Rafe.”

[jpegjade]

Me and my friends are lonely - Spencer

It started out as a music blurb based on a song i’ve listened to since i was a teenager but it turned into something more. I just kept writing and this is what came to be... I really needed to get this out of my system i guess. bc we want to take care of spencer so... yeah. 

Song: Me and my friends are lonely - Matt Maeson

Warnings: Okay so the whole conversation revolves around death (maeve referrence but it’s spence x reader). If you’re not in the headspace to read that, I suggest you don’t read it. No one actually dies and there’s nothing graphic but yeah. proceed with caution. 

_____________

“Do you ever feel like you’re going to die alone?” Spencer asked, staring up at the stars. 

The two of you were on the roof of his apartment complex, having a picnic. It started out as a ritual the two of you did to get him out of the house without going anywhere after Maeve and now, it was something you regularly did whenever one of you was feeling down. Even as just friends, before it turned into something more, the two of you just established something special with the picnics. 

“Jesus, Spencer. Isn’t the point of these picnics to remind you that you aren’t alone?” You said. Laying on your back, you turned your head to look at him. God he was so beautiful… You couldn’t help but smile. 

“Yeah but… What if we don’t work out? What if you leave? What if…” Spencer's breath hitched. “What if something happens to you when I’m not here and I’m back where I started… Alone…” 

“Spence, come on. You can’t think like that.” You said, sighing. 

“Why not? I’m being realistic. My line of work isn’t something simple like working at a bookstore or a barista or a fucking-”

“Watch it.” You said, making sure to keep Spencer in check about what he would say next. 

Spencer could be a little insensitive at times when he wasn’t thinking about what he was saying at the time he said it. You tried to develop a tougher skin so it didn’t bother you when he did say certain things because you knew he wasn’t saying it to hurt you, he was just saying what was on his mind. Still, you tried to remind him that not everyone can handle facts like you can. 

“Sorry. But my point is there are horrible people everywhere who I have helped put away. People that want to hurt me and you and whoever is close to me. People I’m a little bit scared of because they are the prime examples of the loss of humanity that can happen to anyone. I have nightmares of being alone, adding you to another list of people I have loved and lost.” Spencer went quiet. 

“You’re long winded, Spencer. Do you ever breathe?” You said, a tear streaming down your face. He had good points, all things you had thought about before with the roles reversed. 

“I find that when I use my diaphragm instead of my lungs to control my breath, much like singing, then I’m able to recite a longer string of words without losing my place.” He looked over at you, completely straight faced. 

“I was joking but that’s good to know.” You looked back at him. 

“I don’t want anything to happen to you…” He whispered. 

A tear slipped down, dropping onto the blanket. 

“Nothing will happen to me, Spence.” You said, whispering as well. 

“You don’t know that. We can’t predict the probability that you will remain safe. Look at Hotch and Haley. He couldn’t save her. If Hotch couldn’t, what makes you think…” More tears ran down his face. 

“Well that’s the point. You can’t use statistics to get out of this one. You can’t predict everything, Spencer, and this is just something that we can’t focus on because I believe that it will manifest itself. But you know what?” 

“What?” Spencer asked, holding back tears. 

“Whatever happens to me, I had the time of my life with you by my side. Spencer, you have made me the happiest person alive ever since you breezed into my life. I wouldn’t want to have night picnics with anyone else. I wouldn’t want to dream about kids and a house with anyone else. I wouldn’t want to die in anyone else’s arms. And that’s morbid but I trust you. I trust that you will be there in my final moments. I know you and you wouldn’t let the story end there.” You were holding back tears yourself. 

“It doesn’t make sense.” Spencer sat up, pulling his knees to his chest. 

“What doesn’t, babe?” You said, sitting up as well. 

“The dreams. The dreams don’t make sense. This doesn’t make sense.” He dropped his head between his knees. 

You crawled around the picnic basket, thankful that the blanket was softening the gravel on your knees. It would hurt even more if it wasn’t there. You pulled him into your lap to lay down and he loosened up a little bit. Putting your hand on his arm, rubbing it softly. 

“What dreams? Are you having nightmares again?” You scrunched your eyebrows together. He was supposed to tell you when he had bad dreams. 

“Yes… I didn’t want you to worry. You worry about me a lot more than you should and it worries me that you worry about me. I’m not a kid. Logically, I should be able to take care of myself with something so simple.” He sighed. 

“Is that why you’ve been pulling more hours at the office? Being up at odd hours when you text me? You don’t have to close yourself off when bad shit happens.” You started playing with his hair and he closed his eyes. 

“I can’t figure out what to do. It’s a version of the same dream. And it’s always you and…” Another tear. 

“Spencer, please just open up. I promise not to go anywhere.” You pushed his hair out of his eyes so you could make eye contact with him. 

“I can’t. I can’t do it. I can’t choose. She always makes me choose between you and Maeve. And I can’t make a decision. I can’t choose one of you. I can’t choose. And she never takes me. I’d rather die than choose between the two of you.” 

Spencer was crying hard. You didn’t know what to say. You knew it was bad with how dark the circles under his eyes were but you never asked details because you wanted him to come to you. The two of you didn’t force anything in the relationship, no matter how painful it was to watch the other suffer. You asked if he was okay along the way but he didn’t want to talk about it so you didn’t push anything. 

“Spencer, you have to breathe. You’re going to pass out.” You said, trying to calm him down. He sat up, curling back into himself. 

You just wrapped your arms around him and held him until he was able to breathe again. You hated to see him like this but this is what happened when it built up within him: the dam broke and all the tears came rushing out. 

“Can you breathe again?” You said, grabbing a paper towel from behind you so he would blow his nose. 

“Yeah… I’m sorry. I didn’t think I would lose it like that…” He was quiet, sniffling but he was all cried out. 

“No, it’s good. You needed to get it out of your system. That was heavy stuff.” You said, putting your head on his shoulder and rubbing his back. 

“She was alive. In 5 minutes, her life ends…” A couple more tears rolled down his face but he patted them away with the paper towel. “You probably think I’m crazy… Hung up on a dead girl…” 

“No, baby. I don’t think you’re crazy for that. I think you’re crazy for dating me but not that.” You made him chuckle. 

“You make me sane….” He said a little louder. 

“But really, I think you’re processing. You’re still grieving. That’s some hard shit to go through and it’s not something you just get over, especially not a year later.” You paused. 

“I can’t choose... You both changed me in different ways and I’m not who I am without either of you. I’d rather die than be without either of you. And there’s already one that slipped away so…” His sigh was shaky but you continued to rub his back and slowly, his body was relaxing. 

“Spencer, I didn’t know I meant that much to you…” You were quiet this time, in disbelief. 

He turned to look at you. “You mean all of that and more. I can’t imagine my life without you.” 

“I don’t want you to stop living if I ever leave the world. I need you to promise me that you will continue fighting, okay? I need to hear that from you.” You said, eyes meeting his. God they were so beautiful, even under the shitty yellow light above the two of you and the moonlight. 

“I can’t promise that and you know it.” He whispered. 

“Spencer…” 

You were both quiet. There was something lingering in the air, a somber feeling. You wanted to kiss him so badly, make it go away. You wanted to just go for it but this wasn’t the time. It would lead to something more and he wasn’t in the right headspace. You needed to get back to where you were before: the picnic.

“Do you want to finish the picnic? I think you need some energy after all of that and we can even cuddle.” You said, still so close to his face. 

“Okay.” He whispered. 

You dropped your head to break eye contact and a moment later he kissed you on the forehead. 

“I love you.” He said for the first time. 

“I love you.” You said, hoping he knew you meant it with all of your heart.

[caranfindel]

Recap/review 15.17: “Unity”

THEN: Chuck is destroying all his worlds. Dean tricked Amara into going along with their plan. Empty!Meg is on Billie's side because she just wants to go back to sleep. (Don't we all, dear.) Billie wants Dean to be ready. Dean finally told Sam the truth and Sam was MAD.

NOW: Amara is enjoying a hot pool and a glass of wine in Reykjavik, Iceland. (She's pretending to read but there's no way she can see that book. Although I guess she could have super vision. Why not? And I'm sure the book itself is significant and maybe I'll look that up later but let's face it, I probably won't.) Her glorious view of the Milky Way is punctuated by what seems to be a falling star. But there are more and more and more and she knows what it really is. "Welcome home, brother."

Title card!

Bunker. Sam is on the phone with Cas, who just found out a possible lead in the "Basilica of Guadalupe" was useless. I wonder if he means the Basilica of Our Lady of Guadalupe in Mexico? A 35-hour drive from Lebanon? "That's all right," Sam says. "We'll find a way." {Sidebar: Eternal optimism or simple bullheaded refusal to accept the inevitable truth? Discuss.} Dean enters and asks if that was Cas, but Sam doesn't answer.

So, this is how it's gonna be? You're gonna give me the silent treatment?

I'm not sure what you want me to say.

That you get it. Like I said, killing Amara, Jack, dying, that's the only way.

Sam huffs and imitates Dean: "The only way. Our one shot. Our last chance. You ever get tired of saying stuff like that?" The guys are interrupted by a noise, and I'm just going to stop here for a minute, because I need to talk about Sam's anger. Sam's delicious anger. Apparently some people thought it was inappropriate for Sam to be so mad at Dean last week. At least that's what I read on the Tumblr. I'm sure no one reading this post feels that way. I mean, anyone who found Sam's anger inappropriate would have stopped reading my crap a long time ago, right? I just don't get it. This isn't an "I can see both sides" situation. Dean withheld information from Sam - lied to Sam - and I know they've both lied to each other before, but this was something catastrophic involving someone he loves. And when confronted, Dean doubled down. He didn't say "sorry, I just couldn't bear to tell you" or "I was hoping Cas would find some other way" or "I was trying to think of a way to break it to you easy." He blamed Sam. He told Sam he wasn't qualified to have that information because he would have done something about it. And after Dean spent the entire episode whining about having no control over his life, being a hamster in a wheel, he sentenced Sam to the same fate - he told him that he didn't have the right to know about Jack because he refused to just accept that this is their destiny.

I mean, I'm not bitter or anything.

Silver lining: Dean treating Sam so horribly at least means I got some tasty, tasty Angry Sam. (Mandatory disclaimer: I love Dean. I love that he is heroic and self-sacrificing but also deeply, deeply flawed.) Moving on.

Wait. I also love that Sam's justification for the silent treatment isn't I'm punishing you or even I'm mad at you, but is literally there is nothing I can say to you. Nothing I say will mean anything to you. All right, now we're moving on. Searching for the source of the noise, the guys find - Amara! Drinking their beer! Wearing pink again, but this time it's sparkly! "We should talk," she says.

Or, you know, we could just look. Looking is good. We have a little time jump in order to gather Jack. Amara tells the boys that her brother is back, and Jack knows this means it's time. She asks how they're going to cage Chuck, and Dean lies that Jack will be able to do it. Amara hopes she and Jack can get to know each other afterward, and Jack lies that they will. He just has to complete one final ritual. Sam doesn't lie to anybody; he just stands there looking unhappy. Amara asks what she can do to help, and they cut away from any discussion of what she's going to do, but then we get this. When the time comes, we can count on you, right? Like I told you when we first met, you and I will always help each other. Awkward! The way Amara is looking at Dean, I'm pretty sure she knows he's lying, and is just waiting for him to break down. (Spoiler alert: why do I even try?) But Dean and his lying, lying eyes do not break down.

But those eyes don't exactly hide any secrets either, do they? Meanwhile, Jack is concerned that Sam is angry at him. Or disappointed. Sam manages to express both support for Jack doing the thing and a strong desire for Jack to not do the thing. "Sacrificing your life for a cause takes a lot of courage," he says."I still think it's wrong, though." OH SAM. YOU WOULD KNOW. AND YOU WOULD DO IT ANYWAY. Apparently Jack's final ritual is taking place in Santa Fe. Dean's ready to go, and says they can be there by morning. (Oh, I hope she tells us if that's possible, they said sarcastically.) Hey, anyone who doesn't want a deep dive into the logistics of Winchester travel can write their own damn recap skip this part. I think the guys actually went to Santa Fe last season? Ouroboros? Anyway, it's 10.5 hours away. 11 hours if you avoid highways, which we know Dean likes to do, although that route would take you on some mountain roads that would probably be a little much for the Impala. So yeah, depending on what time it is now, "by morning" is doable. I know you're relieved. I think the bigger question is when will Cas get back from Mexico City? (Yes, I'm sure he drove - he was standing by his blue truck. Yes, I know no one else cares.) Dean is surprised to find that Sam's not going. He accuses Sam of "taking a knee," but Sam says that's not what he's doing. He's still looking for another way. Sam, you and me, we have to do this; it's in the book. Oh, Chuck's death book, right? Come on, man! Blindly following orders, sending Amara to her death; does any of this feel right to you? It doesn't matter how we feel! You know what? Stay. Stay. But somebody's got to be the grownup here. Yeah, well, someone has to keep fighting for Jack. He knows what he signed up for! Last I checked, we don't give up on family. Jack's not family! I know how you feel about the kid, okay? I feel for him too. I do. But he's not like you. He's not like Cas. He's just not. I have to confess, I maaaayyyybeee haven't been keeping up with the A plot as much as I should have, because I wasn't aware they were actually operating from a book. (Or I was and I forgot. Stranger things have happened.) I thought this was just Billie's plan. But if it's a book, that means it was fated to happen, right? Um, like the Ma'lak box? And why isn't Sam pointing that out? Why isn't Sam saying "we've already changed one of Billie's unchangeable endings, what makes you think we can't change this one?" But, you know. That's not important. What is important are two things: 1, the way Sam reacts when Dean says "Jack's not family," and B, the fact that Jack has entered the room at some point and heard some of that. Again, awkward! How many times has Jack come up behind someone and overheard something like that? Why don't they put a bell on that poor kid? Jack says he's ready, Sam gives him a sad, broken little smile and Jack and Dean hit the road. Boy, that's gonna be an uncomfortable 11 hours.

Whatever you think about this scene, you have to admit Jared is acting the hell out of it. Bunker. Cas is back, so I guess it's been 35 hours since that phone call. "Stayed behind to find another way, huh? I would have done the same." They research together. Wooded park. Amara. Chuck shows up. A title card weirdly informs us this is Amara. Yeah, we know that. I don't really care that much about their convo. All you need to know is he wants to do a "hard reset" - another Big Bang? - and can't do it without her. But she cares about this world now and wants to protect it. He thinks humans are lame and boring, and she says "what about your first children?" and zaps him into Heaven. He's welcomed by a small, adoring group of angels, but Crystal (an angel named Crystal?) annoys him so much that he snaps them all away. Amara offers him balance, darkness and light, here on this Earth, but he's not interested. So she zaps him into the bunker, which she has made into a trap for him. Impala. Dean, says the title card, unnecessarily. (Now that I've figured out what they're doing, I'd say the odds are 50:50 that Sam will have a title card.) Dean starts to talk about what Jack heard - not necessarily to apologize, but Jack says he understands that he's not like Sam or Cas. Okay then. Morning. They show up at a jewelry store and are greeted enthusiastically by the man and woman inside. "I'm Adam," the man says. "You know. God's primo. First dude off the assembly line." The woman with him is not Eve, but a hippie angel named Seraphina. I guess that means she's a seraph? Get it? (Sorry, I have to amuse myself sometimes.) She proclaims Jack's aura is "like Skittles," and of course it is. What else would it be like, other than something sweet and rainbow-colored? {Sidebar: Or should it be like nougat? Discuss.} Adam and Seraphina are very into Jack and also very much into each other. They separate long enough for Adam to take Jack for a "pop quiz." Seraphina says she knows Jack will pass because she saw it in a dream, which annoys me because angels don't sleep, but it turns out she means a mushroom-induced hallucination. She tells Dean that so many things had to happen for Jack to end up here, it was obviously "meant to be." Which doesn't sit well with Dean. Meanwhile, Adam explains to Jack that because of what God did to him and his sons, he's been wanting to kill him for a very long time. Billie is working with him, and kept him alive so he could finish the job. They've just been waiting for Jack. Adam shows him a tray of crystals and tells him to pick the one that was touched by God. Jack points to one, and Adam is disappointed. That's your choice? Yes. And... the others. All of them. They're just rocks, but their existence makes them divine, because God is in everything. And that's the right answer! Jack and Adam return, triumphant, and Seraphina celebrates by plunging a knife into Adam's chest and prying out a rib. Ew. "Everything can contain the spark of the divine, but this puppy? Is packing enough punch to create life. Or in this case, destroy God." With the power of the rib, Jack will turn into a "metaphysical black hole for divine energy" that nothing can escape. Not Amara, not God. But once is starts, it can't be stopped, so Jack shouldn't use it until "game time."

I'm pleased that Adam is a Middle Eastern guy. Back in the Impala, some hours later, Dean pulls over right before they get home. He apologizes to Jack for hearing what he heard. Not for saying it, but for Jack hearing it. He tells Jack that he hasn't been free his entire life. "But now, now me and Sam, we got a shot at living a life. Without all this crap on our backs. And that's because of you. So, I want to say, I need to say, thank you, Jack." Well, that's a nice emotional moment, but isn't Jack doing this to save the world? Not just to get Dean off the hamster wheel? Dean's phone buzzes. It's time. Jack takes the rib out of its baggie and absorbs it into his hand and oh, Jack, I don't think I'd have done that just yet. Bunker. Is this Sam's section? Yes, it is! \o/ Sam hurls a book to the floor in frustration and is comforted by Cas. Guys, Sam and Cas tend to do some crazy fucked-up shit when they're left together unsupervised, and I am here for it. Sam wishes he could talk to Billie about her plan, and Cas immediately assumes he's going to kill himself and puts his foot down. But Sam suddenly remembers what Sergei said about the key to Death's library. "Oh, is that why I invited Sergei here to the secret bunker," Cas says, "because now that makes sense." They start digging through old wooden chests and I'm fairly sure these are boxes full of cursed objects, although all they find are a large novelty chess piece, a gold leaf cross from Hobby Lobby, and the Holy Grail.

Tell me you didn't think the same thing. But Cas eventually does find the box with the key. The box has an inscription in Latin, which Sam reads out loud. By the way, Sam Latinating is always hot, even though he looks like he doesn't understand what he's saying. As the guys watch in amazement, a portal and keyhole appear in the wall. Cas wants to go with, but Sam asks him to stay and buy him some time if Dean comes back before he gets out, even if that sounds crazy. "Sam, for what it's worth, I don't think you're crazy," Cas says. "I think your internal compass is functioning perfectly." And Sam's all, aw, that's the nicest thing anyone's said to me in a long time.

"Donde está la biblioteca?” He puts the key in the keyhole and opens the door into the W section of Billie's library. I want him to start pulling books off the shelves and reading versions of his death, but he's distracted by a dead reaper on the floor. And more dead reapers. And the sound of one begging for her life and then noisily dying. He finally sees Empty!Meg (\o/) sitting at the circulation desk, as another reaper pleads for his life. "Please," he cries, "she won't come!" He prays unsuccessfully for Billie to come, and gets his neck snapped for his trouble. Sam immediately tries to nope the hell out of there, but Empty!Meg snaps her fingers and he appears in front of her. Sam Winchester? Meg? Sorry, she's still dead. Just borrowing the queen's pretty face cause really? I'm empty. {Sidebar: Why would Meg's meatsuit go to the Empty with her? Discuss.} Empty!Meg is trying to get Billie's attention, and she drops a bombshell on Sam. Billie intends to become the new God. "Classic narcissist, right? So tingly for the rules, the good old days. Everyone back to where they belong. Realities, dimensions, graves. What should be dead dies, angels off Earth, demons back to Hell, and I go back to sleep!" Oh, wait. Graves? So anyone who was dead at some point, and was brought back to life, would go back to the grave? She tells Sam that he's in God's book - the ornate book in front of her that only Billie can read. "She always talked about how you should be so dead, except she needs you." Empty!Meg decides that hurting Sam might get Billie's attention, and well, y'all know I'm not opposed to that. (If you're new here, hi, my name is caranfindel and I have a problem.) She brings Sam to his knees, but he finally manages to say "Billie sent me." Oh, Sam. He claims Billie sent him to get the book, because she's trapped on Earth. Empty!Meg can't go to Earth unless she's summoned (hmmm, wonder if that will come up later), and Sam says he has a message for her, from Billie. "Billie will honor her promise. God, Amara, they die. And you, you can go back to sleep." Empty!Meg decides to believe Sam, even though he didn't even know who she was or why she was there when he got there, or that Billie had even made any promises, but I'd have a hard time saying no to that face too.

I'll believe your lies. When Sam comes back through the door into the bunker, Cas greets him with "finally" as if he's been gone a long time, so time must flow differently in Billie's library. Cas tells him Chuck and Amara are here, and it's time. "We can't let that happen," says Sam. "We have to stop it." In the trap, Chuck narrates what's happening elsewhere in the bunker. "You hear that? Dean. Brought to the edge of doubt. His sense of duty, his rage, winning out in the end." As Dean drags Jack through the hall, Sam tells him about Billie's plan to take advantage of the power vacuum and become God. Dean doesn't care - he doesn't mind being duped as long as it's not by Chuck. "And poor Sam," says Chuck. "Always gotta know everything. Can't leave well enough alone." Poor Sam stands in front of Dean, trying to stop him. Dean yells that Jack already "lit the fuse" and they can't wait any longer. "This is my ending," Chuck says. "My real ending." And just as I'm wondering if he means his preferred ending, where one brother always kills another, Dean pulls his gun out and points it at Sam's heart. "Move, Sam. Move!" Sam's horrified. Cas and Jack are horrified. I'm horrified. And also, I'm ashamed to say, very entertained. I mean, I don't want the brothers fighting, and yet for Dean to lose the plot so badly that he'd actually shoot Sam in order to get off the hamster wheel? That's some gloriously messed up stuff, friends. Amara is shocked that Chuck orchestrated all of this. "What part of omniscient do you people not understand?" he says, and YES. THIS is something that has long needed to be said. He says that even though he can't read his death book, all he had to do was plant a few visions, mess with a few outcomes, bada bing bada boom! Nobody's killing him! Hallway. Sam pleads with Dean. "I don't want to do this," Dean says, "but this is everything!"

THIS is everything. Trap. Amara tells Chuck they're going to cage him, not kill him. Hallway. Dean does that thing you do with a gun when you want someone to know you're serious. Clicks off the safety, or whatever. Sam makes a have we really come to this? face and yanks Dean's gun hand away. Dean punches him and he drops to the floor. Trap. Chuck tells Amara that TFW is planning to kill both of them. Hallway. Dean drags Jack toward the trap and Sam tackles him. Dean punches him again. Cas just watches all this. What the hell, Cas. Trap. Chuck says the Winchesters are using Jack to destroy them. Amara says that can't be, because Dean can't hurt her. "No, but he can lie to you. He can send you into the meat grinder with a wink and a smile." But isn't that hurting her? Hallway. Dean orders Cas and Jack to go. Sam yells for Jack not to do it. Cas asks why not, because... Cas has suddenly forgotten what side of this argument he's on? "Because if Billie takes over, then everyone goes back to where they belong!" Sam says. "That means everybody from Apocalypse World - Bobby, Charlie - they get sent back to a place that doesn't exist any more. And everyone we saved! Eileen, she just dies, again! And that's just the beginning!" Trap. Amara is devastated. Hallway. Dean yells that they don't have a choice, and Sam says "we always have a choice!" Trap. Chuck tells Amara "the only ones who ever really get us is us." Hallway. Dean says there's nothing they can do but get out of the way, and he doesn't care if Billie becomes God. I'd trade it all, I'd trade 'em all, for Chuck! In a heartbeat! What about me? Would you trade me? Okay, is this Sam pointing out that if Billie becomes God, he dies? Because it's awfully subtle, and I think he just needs to come right and say "that's fine, Dean, but when I told you everyone we saved would die again, I meant everyone, and that includes me!" And Dean would probably also want to know that angels will be banished to Heaven, don't you think, Sam? Anyway. I saw this on Tumblr, and I can't get to it now because Tumblr is being a little bitch, but basically: Sam Winchester may have low self-worth, but he absolutely knows what he means to his brother, and he does not hesitate to use it. Trap. Chuck offers Amara the balance she said she wanted. "Us, starting fresh, creating something new, something beautiful, peaceful, together. And we can finally forget about all this pain. No baggage. Only balance." He extends a hand. Amara takes it and dissolves into smoke, which is absorbed by Chuck, who now has one demon-black eye and one angel-blue eye. And a sadistic grin. Hallway. Chuck has to die. He has to! Otherwise he'll keep us tap dancing forever, and I can't live like that, man! I can't live like that; I won't! I know you feel like that right now, okay? I know you do. But you gotta trust me. My entire life, you've protected me. From Dad? From Lucifer? From everything. I didn't always like it, you know, but it's the one thing in the whole world that I could always count on. It's the only thing I've ever known that was true. So please, put the gun away. Just put it away. We'll figure it out, Dean; we'll find another way. You and me. We always do. Gotta admit, I'm torn about this scene. I mean, on the one hand, it's beautifully done, so much emotion and angst and anger and teary-eyed, shaky Sam. Once again, Jared is acting the hell out of it. (And Jensen too, but come on.) And yet, on the other hand... how bad is Sam's Stockholm Syndrome? "You protected me from Dad?" Have we seen any evidence of that? I'm sure Dean was forced to be the referee sometimes, but have we seen any evidence that Dean ever said "no Sam, you're not disowned just because you want to stop hunting and go to college" or "no Dad, I'm not even going to pretend I'll kill Sam," rather than consider it an option until he was actually faced with it? It seems like "protecting Sam from Dad" mostly meant "trying to get Sam to do what Dad wanted, so he'd stay out of trouble." And Lucifer? When Sam told him he was Lucifer's vessel, and the Devil was coming to him in his dreams, Dean basically said "sucks to be you, now pick a hemisphere." Now, I'm aware that Dean has actually protected Sam from many, many things. In good ways and in bad ways. And yet he's also hurt him in some pretty awful ways. I mean, he just now threatened to shoot him for refusing to accept his destiny is to help Dean escape the slavery of his destiny. So for Sam to say "you protect me" is one thing. Dean absolutely does that. But to say it's the only thing that's true, and to specifically mention John and Lucifer, well. Hmmm.

Let's just concentrate on the pretty. Anyway. Dean puts the gun away, Sam sighs a tearful shaky sigh of relief, and then the door to Amara's trapped room explodes. Chuck walks out dramatically - not nearly as hot as Demon!Demon dramatically walking through his own destroyed door - and yells at them. "Are you kidding me? After everything, after all that, you did it again!" He tells them he absorbed Amara, mocks Castiel (which is kind of funny), and says they're all stupid, stubborn, and broken, and he's done with them. "You know what you do with broken toys? You throw them out. So, kill each other, don't kill each other, I don't care." Then he tells them to have fun watching Jack die, and zaps on out of there. Jack collapses, and bad things are clearly happening to him. Well, it's hard to get worked up over Jack dying again (what would this be, the third time?). After all, as Dean said, he's not Sam. I'm more interested in finding out if Dean understood he was sentencing Sam to death when he said he didn't care if Billie became God. {Sidebar: Would Dean die too? Or would everything that happened because Sam was brought back be erased? Discuss. And maybe fic.} And now Amara is gone. But, conveniently, destroying Chuck will also destroy her, so. Balance! Unity! Hugs and puppies all around! Oh, friends. The end is near, and I don't feel good about it. I'm anxious about a lot of things happening next week, and the third-to-last episode of Supernatural is one of them. How do you feel? 

Please help me stay unspoiled, including episode titles and casting info, thanks!