#sam reminds me of a deer with sad eyes

[kellyvela]

Idk if anyone’s pointed this out, but Sam and Jon talk about goodness being told in lies when they unite in ASOS. it reminds me of Sansa’s words when she lies to sweet robin, about lies being kindly meant being okay.

Oh Anon, you are so right and it's something Jon and Sansa learned from their father —the honorable liar— Lord Eddard Stark:

EDDARD STARK

"I hate them," Arya confided, red-faced, sniffling. "The Hound and the queen and the king and Prince Joffrey. I hate all of them. Joffrey lied, it wasn't the way he said. I hate Sansa too. She did remember, she just lied so Joffrey would like her."

"We all lie," her father said. "Or did you truly think I'd believe that Nymeria ran off?"

Arya blushed guiltily. "Jory promised not to tell."

"Jory kept his word," her father said with a smile. "There are some things I do not need to be told. Even a blind man could see that wolf would never have left you willingly."

"We had to throw rocks," she said miserably. "I told her to run, to go be free, that I didn't want her anymore. There were other wolves for her to play with, we heard them howling, and Jory said the woods were full of game, so she'd have deer to hunt. Only she kept following, and finally we had to throw rocks. I hit her twice. She whined and looked at me and I felt so 'shamed, but it was right, wasn't it? The queen would have killed her."

"It was right," her father said. "And even the lie was … not without honor."

—A Game of Thrones - Arya II

JON SNOW

"You know you cannot keep her," Jon said gently, "no more than I could stay with Ygritte. You said the words, Sam, the same as I did. The same as all of us."

"I know. Gilly said she'd be a wife to me, but . . . I told her about the words, and what they meant. I don't know if that made her sad or glad, but I told her." He swallowed nervously and said, "Jon, could there be honor in a lie, if it were told for a . . . a good purpose?"

"It would depend on the lie and the purpose, I suppose." Jon looked at Sam. "I wouldn't advise it. You're not made to lie, Sam. You blush and squeak and stammer."

"I do," said Sam, "but I could lie in a letter. I'm better with a quill in hand. I had a . . . a thought. When things are more settled here, I thought maybe the best thing for Gilly . . . I thought I might send her to Horn Hill. To my mother and sisters and my . . . my f-f-father. If Gilly were to say the babe was m-mine . . ." He was blushing again. "My mother would want him, I know. She would find some place for Gilly, some kind of service, it wouldn't be as hard as serving Craster. And Lord R-Randyll, he . . . he would never say so, but he might be pleased to believe I got a bastard on some wildling girl. At least it would prove I was man enough to lie with a woman and father a child. He told me once that I was sure to die a maiden, that no woman would ever . . . you know . . . Jon, if I did this, wrote this lie . . . would that be a good thing? The life the boy would have . . ."

"Growing up a bastard in his grandfather's castle?" Jon shrugged. "That depends in great part on your father, and what sort of boy this is. If he takes after you . . ."

"He won't. Craster's his real father. You saw him, he was hard as an old tree stump, and Gilly is stronger than she looks."

"If the boy shows any skill with sword or lance, he should have a place with your father's household guard at the least," Jon said. "It's not unknown for bastards to be trained as squires and raised to knighthood. But you'd best be sure Gilly can play this game convincingly. From what you've told me of Lord Randyll, I doubt he would take kindly to being deceived."

—A Storm of Swords - Samwell IV

SANSA STARK

Sometime during the night she woke, as little Robert climbed up into her bed. I forgot to tell Lothor to lock him in again, she realized. There was nothing to be done for it, so she put her arm around him. "Sweetrobin? You can stay, but try not to squirm around. Just close your eyes and sleep, little one."

"I will." He cuddled close and laid his head between her breasts. "Alayne? Are you my mother now?"

"I suppose I am," she said. If a lie was kindly meant, there was no harm in it.

—A Feast for Crows - Sansa I

[limelocked]

I'm kinda interested of Sapnap's perspective during the MCC in the hermit au. I'm assuming it's been a few months since Dream escaped so I wonder if Sapnap feels happy, sad, or even a little jealous when seeing Dream with the hermits.

this has been sitting in my inbox for literal months but someone just reblogged the post it was based of so im gonna be updating based on current hermit dream thoughts first then go into sapnap (warning that it might be less than stellar since im not familiar with his character too much)

the team is dream, ren, gem, and cub. dream only vaguely knows gem but she reminds him of a number of people from his own server, not in a bad way, while ren and cub he knew more or less from previous mccs and who hed had to lightly fight scott to be a team with.

he is confident

he avoided sapnap during tag, there had been no battle box or survival games yet, it was break, and dream was running because while talking to his team he'd seen sapnap walking towards them and while he rationally knew that he couldnt be hurt in the hub there was something, weither it was fear of being drug back to pandoras or it was the fear of having to talk at all with the friend that promised him death... who knew

-

dream hadnt been in the last few mccs which was, by all metrics, weird. he'd been in a few of them during his imprisonment but it was never a fun affair and they never looked in the eye. this, amongst other things, was why sapnap was surprised to see the teams of the months event and to see dream playing with all new people.

he cant get ahold of him on the training server or via messages, he asks george, even phil and wilbur, but no one has seen much of him even though the leaderboards show he has been practicing. he even schedules a visit at the prison where techno tells him that he's not seen dream for months , and could he please get sam to let him out before quackity starts getting torturin ideas again

this is why sapnap doesnt really know how he feels when dream masterfully avoids him like this is some sick game of manhunt in the middle of a tournament. it feels obvious but he also feels betrayed, irritation and resignation bubbling up into a simmering anger because why doesnt he just fucking face me!

its with these conflicting feelings that he now runs after dream, ignoring the shouts of the team dream left behind, and following in the ever chaise that was once their friendship. and when he drives dream into a corner, and see how scared he is, that anger and frustration and betrayal.... its still there... but he cant act on it

because his best friend looks like a wounded deer in front of a hungry wolf

so he just says "hi", a restrained but genuine hi, and doesnt follow when dream sprints away

he tells george first, then he goes back to his team, confused, resigned, melancholic

while dream runs home, and ren hands him an armful of pinecones

[pparkerpoetry]

Face Reality (Part 12)

Title: Secrets Fester (but they aren’t the only things that grow)

Summary: Tommy's hybrid half urges him to seek out his family. Sam is hiding something, but they don't know what. Tubbo learns about a part of himself he didn't know existed and is reminded of his past.

Part One

Part Thirteen

Masterlist

___________

Tommy woke up last a few days later to a soft trilling in the corners of his mind. He groaned- it was his turn for a thin day, apparently. He wasn’t surprised, he’d read that families tended to group their days close together. 

 He sat up and sighed. His thin days were always embarrassing, his stupid little bird brain always wanted to spend time with his family, and constantly wanted cuddles. Tommy didn’t want cuddles.

 Yes you do.

 Tommy huffed. No, he didn’t want cuddles. He wanted to get through the day without getting teased. Maybe he could just stay in his room all day. Yes, that was a good idea.

 Make a nest? His mind asked, getting excited.

 He rolled his eyes. Okay, maybe he could make a nest. That was relatively normal, right? His hands moved to grasp the blankets and shape them into a sort of circling wall, with enough space in the middle for him to curl up underneath his wings. He ignored the happy cooing that his mind wanted to release- he couldn’t just chirp and trill, that’d bring noise, and noise meant someone coming in, which meant embarrassment. He didn’t want that.

 Flock, The bird in him trilled sadly. Where’s your flock?

 “Busy,” Tommy grumbled, moving a wing to cover his face. “So shut the fuck up.”

 He stayed there, keeping the sounds at bay, for a long time. Too long.

 There was a knock at the door. “Hey, Tommy?” Ranboo asked. “Are you alright? It’s almost noon, and you never sleep in this long.”

 Tommy opened his mouth to say he was fine, but a distressed chirp escaped instead. He winced, hoping Ranboo didn’t hear it.

 “Uh, pardon?” Ranboo chuckled a little. “Can I come in?”

 He wanted to say no. But the part that wanted to say no was overpowered by his bird brain. Literally. “Yes.” He sighed reluctantly.

 When he walked in, Ranboo immediately spoke. “Aww, Tommy, is it a thin day?”

 He nodded miserably, forgetting that his wing was covering his face. 

 “Aw, Tommy, come on, most of us are in the living room.”

 His stupid bird sounds made him give out a happy trill, and then he cut it off with a grumble. “They’re gonna tease me.”

 Flock? Flock? 

 Ranboo lifted Tommy’s wing and stared at his face. “If I make them promise you aren’t going to say anything, will you come out? It’s not healthy to suppress this.”

 Tommy sighed. “Fine. But they need to promise to not take any photos for blackmail.”

 Ranboo left the room, which his mind didn’t like, but he sucked it up. Eventually, Ranboo came back and beckoned Tommy to follow him.

 When they got to the living room, he frowned. “Where’s Dad?”

 Flock? Where is the flock? Why is it not complete?

 “Prison.” Purpled sighed. “Something about making sure the prisoner didn’t die.”

 “That’s okay though,” Tubbo smiled. “We’re here! We’re enough, right?”

 Tommy’s frown deepened. “I guess.” He went over and flopped on top of whoever was on the couch. He wasn’t sure who, but someone started preening his wings and he let out a happy sigh that morphed into a purr. 

 All of them remained close to the living room for most of the morning, taking turns being near Tommy since his body radiated warmth and the house tended to be a bit colder (which didn’t make a whole lot of sense, since Sam liked warmth, but..). 

 Sam came back a little after lunch. 

 “What took you so long?” Fundy drawled, head hanging off of the couch and feet dangling over the back. “You got a secret girlfriend?”

 Sam had been drinking some water, and nearly spit it out. He was content to stick with choking on it, instead. “No,” He said weakly. “Nope, no girlfriend here. I just had a weird conversation with Dream and had to think about it a bit.”

 Everyone squinted at Sam for a moment, but Tommy interrupted by barreling into him. “Hi, dad.”

 “Hey, Tommy,” Sam smiled. “Your turn, huh?”

 Tommy chirped a bit, burrowing his head into Sam’s chest and letting his wings circle them both.

 “Who’s the clingy one now?” Tubbo mused from a chair. “Hint, it’s not me.”

 ________

 Sam was having an odd day. He hadn’t been lying when he said he’d gone to the prison, but Dream was being weird.

________

 “So, how’d those hybrid hunters end up?” Dream asked nonchalantly. 

 Sam turned. He was just about to leave, but… “You knew they were coming? And you didn’t warn us? I have the emergency contact button for a reason, Dream.”

 Dream chuckled. “I knew you wouldn’t have your device on, since you exploded, and well, I couldn’t be bothered to reach anyone else by now. Haven’t you learned, Sam, that I just don’t care?”

 Sam glared at him. “You’re lucky my boys took care of them. Tubbo and Purpled could’ve been killed, since humans are no use to the hunters.”

 “Humans?” Dream laughed again, before realizing Sam was serious. “Sam, no one on this server is completely human. I made sure of it.”

 “What?” Sam shook his head. “You’re saying they’re hybrids, too?”

 Dream was quiet. “I’ve already helped you enough. I think you’ve gotta give me something in return, if you want more.”

 “Alright. Be like that, then. See you next week.” Sam sighed, leaving the prison. His brain was muddled with thoughts.

 When were Tubbo and Purpled going to show their true colors? What hybrids were they? Was Dream even telling the truth?

 __________

 And, well… He took a detour before he got home, sure, but he hadn’t been lying when he said he didn’t have a girlfriend… but it felt weird keeping a secret, even if he’d been keeping it for a while.

 He had Tommy to think about before tonight… would he be able to leave the house? Tommy seemed pretty attached. 

 The day went by okay after he got home, to be fair. There was one incident where Tommy tried to get on top of the fridge to divebomb everyone since he was too tired to fly up, but Sam got him down. 

 Having a relatively tame Tommy was a nice change, but it was odd. Sam kinda wanted his energised son back, even if he was a little annoying at times. 

 At any rate, he’d made some half put together excuse as to why he needed to leave for the night, and planned on leaving through a hidden back door connected to his room once he was ready. He looked in the mirror and scrunched his face up. He hated wearing suits. He was more a sweatshirt type of guy, or he wore his mask when he was working, but never suits. Why was he doing this again?

 He patted down his- jacket? He wasn’t sure what it was called, but he straightened it (some part of his brain snorted at that), then fiddled with his tie.

 The door burst open before he could stop it, and then it was just Sam, in a fancy suit, staring at Tommy, both looking like deer in headlights.

 “Where you going, big man?” Tommy asked, less clingy than this morning as his human side was taking back more control. 

 Sam winced. He couldn’t lie to Tommy, even if he wanted to. Not directly. “I’ve uh, I’ve got a date.”

 Tommy lit up. “No kidding? Who’s the lucky lady?”

 “I’m gonna refrain from answering that.” Sam chuckled nervously. “Are you going to be alright while I’m gone?”

 “Are you crazy? We gotta tell the others so we can hype you up, and then we’re gonna meet our new mom!” (Sam didn’t know it, but Tommy’s mind was spamming flock)

 Sam’s eyes widened. “No, no, no, Tommy, I don’t think that’s a good idea-”

 It was too late. Tommy had already run down the hall, and Sam barely had time to sit down on his bed before the entire herd of his sons came barreling back, outraged that Sam had kept such a momentous secret from them.

 “Are you nervous?” Tubbo asked, towards the back of the group.

 Sam shrugged, “I mean, yeah, but-”

 Fundy grinned. “It’s gonna go great, dad. You’ve got nothing to worry about, she’s going to love you.”

 Sam cringed, “I, uh, I’m sure she will?”

 “Yeah! That’s the spirit!” Tommy cheered. “On the other hand, can we go meet her? I promise we won’t be weird.”

 “Can you promise that?” Ranboo teased. “But yeah, can we?”

 Sam sighed. “I mean, I guess,”

 “Do we have to put on suits?” Purpled complained, “Cause if we have to, I don’t wanna go.”

 “No,” Sam said, putting his head into his hands. “You don’t have to put on a suit.”

 “Hey hey hey,” Tommy said, sitting next to Sam on his bed, “Now is not the time to be sad. You are going on a date with a woman, and that is Pogchamp. Now is a time to celebrate. Let’s go, you’re going to be late, and you can’t be late if you’re going to absolutely win her over like I know you are.”

 “Thank guys,” Sam said, and he meant it a little. Now he had something to worry about other than his date. “You’re right, let’s go.”

 It was… an interesting walk. His boys were hyping him up, which he appreciated, but he was nervous. He had been hoping to wait a little longer to tell them. Of course they found out on one of his only dates after he’d adopted them all.

 Finally, after a stroll through the woods, they arrived at the place: a lovely little clearing with fairy lights that shone and twinkled as the sun set with a table in the center set in the middle. There was food, and candles, and it was all very romantic, but the boys weren’t focused on that. They were focused on the person who was standing by the table, in a suit, rose in hand.

 Purpled was the first one to speak. “Ponk?” He stepped closer and fell into a hug from the man who was, indeed, Ponk. “Is this really you?”

 “Yeah, Purp. It’s me. I’m sorry you had to go through all that you did alone.” Ponk said, surprisingly softly. “I wanted to see you, but Sam told me to let you heal a bit, first.”

 “Bitch.” Purpled said, but it was clear he was trying not to cry. “I missed you.”

 “I missed you, too. I thought you would’ve come to see me earlier.”

 Purpled shook his head, refusing to leave Ponk’s hug. “How could I? We just found out you guys were a thing today, I was too scared to visit you otherwise.”

 Ponk turned to Sam with an exasperated look. “Sam, I thought you said you were gonna tell them!”

 “Well, I had every intention to,” Sam said defensively, “but everyone kept getting hurt and it never seemed like the right time.”

 “Wait,” Tommy butted in, “How long have you guys been dating? I thought this was like, a first date type thing and that’s why he was so nervous.”

 “Aw, Sam! You were nervous?”

 Sam, in question, flushed a little. “I mean, how could I not be? You’re so amazing and all, I-”

 “How long?” Tommy asked loudly. “You aren’t answering my questions, and they need answering! Now!”

 “Well,” Ponk winced, “Sammy, you answer it. They should hear it from you.”

 “What do you mean we should hear it from Sam?” Tubbo asked. “How long has this been going on?”

 Purpled squinted at Ponk. “And why don’t you want to answer?”

 “A little over a year and a half.” Sam blurted out, and all eyes turned to him.

 “What?” Tommy cried out. “And we didn’t know? You’re our dad, you’re supposed to tell us these things!”

 Sam was at a loss for words. “I didn’t know you guys cared about my love life?” He tried as a weak response.

 “Of course we care,” Fundy argued. “We always care, and that’s why we came here to make sure that whoever you were dating was fit to be our other parent. We just… weren’t expecting Ponk.”

 “Who were you expecting?” Ponk asked, confused. 

 “Well, Tommy thought it was a girl.” Tubbo said, and Tommy tried to deny it.

 “You thought-” Ponk laughed. “You thought Sam was dating a girl?”

 “Sam didn’t say he wasn’t!” Tommy protested.

 It was quiet a moment longer, until Ponk interrupted it, arms still around Purpled. “Wait, Sam, your love life? You love me?”

 All eyes turned to Sam as he blushed furiously and scratched at the back of his head. “Well, I mean, you’re really funny and your smile is really cute, and I really like spending time with you…”

 Tommy glanced from Sam to Ponk, both blushing and looking at the ground bashfully, and groaned. “Oh, my god! We get it, you’re in love! Get a room.”

 The two adults both spluttered, trying to get a response, before Tommy spoke again. “Go ahead, say ‘i love you’ and all that gross mushy stuff. Pretend we’re not even here. I swear, we’re not gonna say anything. Just go for it.”

 “I mean,” Sam started, looking up at Ponk, “if you want to, of course I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, or anything...”

 “I love you.” Ponk blurted out.

 “I love you, too.” Sam responded breathlessly. “A lot. Like, probably too much.”

 Ponk hid his face a little, and held out his hand. “I, um, I got you a rose,” 

 “I saw. You’re adorable.”

 It was quiet, and Ranboo coughed a little. “C’mon, guys, they probably want us to leave. It’s their date, after all.”

 “Do we have to?” Purpled asked, “This is more entertaining than any movie we’ve watched, I wanna keep making them embarrassed.”

 “I agree with Ranboo,” Tommy said, “We should probably go. However, I also agree with Purp, because I want to stay.”

 Ponk shrugged. “I mean, I can woo Sammy here another day if you all wanna just go watch a movie, or something. Sam? You alright with that?”

 Sam had to admit he'd wanted a nice night with just him and Ponk, but part of his mind was worried for Tommy, since he was still going through a thin day. “Sure, I guess we can watch a movie tonight and do something else later.”

 So, they all walked back to Sam’s base, boys in front, politely pretending that they didn’t notice Sam and Ponk holding hands in the back. They didn’t want to notice it. They also pretended to not notice the little sweet whispers that the two exchanged, and the boys were starting to regret their decision to not leave the two alone.

 Despite that, they all watched a movie, huddled in a nest that Tommy had made. He stretched his wings around those that he could, but ultimately was content to just huddle up against Sam and sleep, instead of watching the movie. 

 Sam was curled up next to Ponk, which was a little odd considering the height difference, but they made it work. Sam wasn’t sure where the rest of his boys were in the nest.

 At some point that night, once it was late and it was just him and Ponk awake, he felt Ponk shift. 

 “Where are you going?” Sam asked sleepily, clutching the sweatshirt that he’d let Ponk borrow. “Why are you leaving?”

 “It’s late,” Ponk whispered. “I need to get home.”

 “No,” Sam pouted. “I don’t want you to go home. You should stay here for the night.”

 “I appreciate it, Sammy, but I really-”

 “I almost died a few days ago and you’re not going to do what I want?” Sam murmured, waking up slightly. 

 “Oh, Sam,” Ponk said, sadness weighing his voice down. “Don’t joke about that. You worried me, when you didn’t talk to me for a week, then I found out from Tubbo that the hunters were back. I was so worried that I’d get there too late, and you’d be gone. Hell, before I found out, I thought you were breaking up with me.”

 “I’d never do that. Don’t be sad.” Sam said tiredly, but Ponk wasn’t done.

 “And then, and then I found out this morning that you’d gone against some, some fucking god, and you won, and you’d adopted Purpled, and I found out all the shit that he’d gone through and how you reacted, and I’m scared.”

 “Of what? I’ll protect you, Ponkie.”

 “I’m scared that one day you’ll go up against some big bad villain and you won’t make it out alive, Sammy. You take on so much, and what if I can’t help you?”

 Sam looked up, and saw that Ponk was crying softly. “Oh, Ponk. I’m always going to come back, because I have a reason to. I’ve got you to come back to, I’ve got my boys. I’ll fight with everything I’ve got to make it out alive.”

 “But what if that isn't enough?” Ponk stressed. “I joke all the time, and I mess around, but I’m scared. I don’t want to lose you.”

 “You won’t.” Sam assured him, pulling Ponk back into a hug. “Stay the night?” He asked again.

 “Okay,” Ponk relented, sniffling. “But I’ve got to go home in the morning. Are you going to let me go?”

 Sam smiled sleepily and pulled Ponk closer, burying his head in his shoulder. “No promises. I love you.”

 “I love you too, you big sap.”

 _______

 Tubbo woke up last the next morning. His head hurt, like he had a headache, and his mouth was dry. He wasn’t aware that he’d woken up last, as he was still curled up in the nest and didn’t really want to do… anything. His head hurt too much.

 He let out a little whine, burrowing his head into the blankets as the light hit his face.

 “Tubbo? You up, man?” Who was that? That was Tommy, right?

 “Tommy?” He murmured. “My head hurts.”

 The voice chuckled. “Not Tommy. I’m Ranboo. I dunno, you need an advil, or something?”

 “I don’t know,” Tubbo groaned. “Make it stop.”

 He heard a slight humming. “Maybe I should go get Sam.”

 “No,” Tubbo pouted, curling up even more. “Get Tommy. I want Tommy.”

 Footsteps echoed away from him, and Tubbo moved one of his arms under his head. His fingers brushed against his ear, and-

 “What?” He sat up, poking at the back of his ear, momentarily blocking out the pain of his head. “What?”

 Sam walked into the room, “What d’you mean? Anything wrong? Ranboo said your head hurt, or something.”

 “Sam,” Tubbo started, hands still covering his ears. “Why am I growing fur?”

 A look of sudden surprise was painted across Sam’s face before it settled on a grimace. “Well, Tubbo, you’re a hybrid.”

 Tubbo looked up quickly, wincing at the pounding in his head. “I’m a hybrid? How do you know?”

 “When I visited Dream he mentioned it,” Sam mumbled a bit, before speaking a little louder. “Anyway, it’s probably going to hurt. I’ll send someone to go grab Tommy, since most of us were born with our hybrid features rather than growing them.”

 Tubbo thought Sam spoke more, but he wasn’t listening. His head was still hurting, and the pain was still increasing. He wanted Tommy. He missed Tommy, where was he?

 How had he gotten on the couch? Was he crying? Oh. His head hurt a lot. “Tommy?” He sniffled, too far gone to hate how vulnerable his voice was.

 “I’m here, Tubs. I’m here.”

 “What’s going on?” He managed, trying to turn to his side but yelping when the pain spiked.

 “You’re probably growing something.” Tommy said nonchalantly, putting a hand into Tubbo’s hair. 

 Tommy’s hands put pressure on the side of his head. “Ow,” Tubbo cried, and Tommy rushed an apology. It was quiet for a moment. “What am I growing?”

 “I can’t tell yet.” Tommy hesitated. “Your ears look pretty cool, though. They’ve gotten all long and furry.”

 “My ears are furry?” Tubbo didn’t quite catch Tommy’s reply as he fell asleep despite the pounding in his head.

 _________

 The next time Tubbo woke up, he was alone. He was still on the couch, but daylight streamed through the windows and the house was silent. Where was everyone?

 His head felt much better, but his mouth was still dry, so he pried himself off of the blankets and padded into the kitchen for a glass of water. He turned the faucet on and yawned as the water poured out, reaching up to scratch his head.

 His hand hit something smooth and solid, right above his ear.

 Tubbo turned off the faucet as his eyebrows furrowed, walking over to the bathroom, glass still in his clutches. No one was in the halls, and he frowned as he pushed the bathroom door open. 

 His gaze raised to the mirror, and the glass slipped from his fingers to shatter on the ground. He didn’t register the water that soaked through his socks, but he stared, unblinking, as his eyes filled with tears. He stumbled backwards, yelping as he fell into the tub and sobs racked his body.

 “Tubbo?” Tommy’s voice called from down the hall. “I heard a crash, are you alright?” The voice got louder and Tubbo’s cries did, too. Tommy’s head popped through the door frame. “Tubbo?”

 In the corner of the shower, Tubbo was huddling with his legs pressed against his chest and head ducked down. When he spoke, it came out soft and trembling. “We promised.”

 “What?” Tommy started, but was cut off by Tubbo.

 “We promised that you wouldn’t be the next Wilbur, and I wouldn’t be the next Schlatt.”

 “Yeah?” Tommy said, tilting his head, crouching down in front of Tubbo and holding his hands out, palms up. “And we kept it. We’re fine, okay? We’re safe, and nothing is going to happen. Let’s get clean-”

 “Then why have I grown horns?” Tubbo cried, tears streaming down his face. “I was finally able to move on, and now I’ve got a permanent reminder of him. He promised he wasn’t my father, Tommy, but what if he really did lie about everything?”

 “Oh, Tubbo.” Tommy said softly. “Schlatt’s not your father.”

 “How can you be sure?” Tubbo asked, but he moved into Tommy’s arm for a hug. His chin rested on Tommy’s shoulder.

 “Because,” Tommy reasoned, “Your horns aren’t the same. His curved around his ears, right? Yours stick up a little. And your ears!” Tommy smiled, and lightly flicked one of Tubbo’s ears. “You’ve got some yellow fur growing. I’d bet good money that you’re a moobloom.”

 “You bet good money for stupid reasons, though, Tommy.” Tubbo murmured, falling asleep again as Tommy’s wings wrapped around him.

 Tommy went to reply, but Tubbo had fallen asleep. “You’re lucky that you’re my best friend, bitch.” He grumbled, picking up Tubbo to move him to the couch again. He’d clean up the bathroom too, but Tubbo was more important.

 His best friend was more important.

 Family was more important.

 More important than anything.

[roger-that-cap]

once upon a december

summary: you had no idea who you were, how you got to where you were, or even your real age. all you knew was that you needed to go to auren, and something there would help you find the family that you always secretly craved. little did you know, you’d find family far before you actually got to auren.

warnings: backstory vibes, incorrect stitching and terribly incorrect making of clothing as usual with this one, 

word count: 3.7k

part three!

Sam was a man who was rarely unprepared, and it was becoming increasingly obvious to you. He had already anticipated the group’s need for clothes, so he had plenty of fabric and told you that you had free reign over it, and you doubted that you had smiled bigger all year. 

  You sat on his furniture with your legs crossed as you meticulously embroidered a coat for yourself, smiling gently as you wove the thread. The fire was warm next to you as you worked quietly and diligently, an air of peace settling in the room that wasn’t broken even when the men came busting back in after they checked on the horses. 

  “I finished your pants,” you mused lightly. You tilted your head towards the short pile of folded clothes and then looked up at Steve and Bucky. “I think I got the measurements right.” 

  “I’m sure you did perfectly,” Bucky said. 

“I can do yours next if you want, Steve.” He looked at you for a second, then you saw him nod his head sharply before turning on his heel and walking right back out of the doors, like he was never there in the first place. 

Your mouth dropped open a bit at his blatant rudeness, and how it had been going on the entire time you two were acquainted. “Why doesn't he like me?” 

Bucky looked taken aback. “He doesn’t not like you, Y/N.” 

“You don’t have to lie to spare my feelings, Bucky. I know he hates me.” He winced. 

There was a moment of thick silence as Sam came back into the room, not sensing the awkwardness until he opened his own mouth and then shut it, getting ready to listen to whatever the other knight was about to say. “I’m afraid you remind him—me too, really— of the girl he used to know,” he said softly, the heat of the fire warming your skin. “The three of us used to be close.” 

“How close?” 

Like he was sifting through memories and thinking of the ones you were allowed to know and not know, he was silent and in his own head for a moment. “Let’s just say that Steve is the strongest person I know, and he’s still broken up about it. And it happened years ago, five-or maybe six-now.”

“They were best friends?”

“Yes,” James, or Bucky, confirmed. “They were close to the point that everyone who knows Steve knows that had the timing been right, he and that girl would have been much more than friends.” 

You made a face that signaled that you understood. You looked into the fire for a moment, and then tilted your head in thought. Steve hated you because you looked like his lost love, whatever happened to her. Besides him being standoffish and not really speaking much, he never went out of his way to be rude to you, and that gave you hope at fixing whatever went wrong. Or maybe you couldn’t fix it. 

“He doesn’t dislike you,” Bucky confirmed, like he could hear your thoughts churning. “He just doesn’t know how to speak to someone who looks so much like… her.” 

“Do we really look the same?” You asked, still staring into the fire, even when you felt Bucky’s stare come onto your face, eyeing your side profile. 

“Yes, actually,” He said, and you nodded. “You look eerily similar to her. And even some of the things you do…” he trailed off, shaking his head. His hair bounced softly with the movement, and you briefly wondered how he kept his hair so healthy. 

“What… what happened?” 

His eyes widened momentarily, almost like he had heard you ask the most obvious question on the planet. “What happened to Steve?” So, everyone on the planet knew what exactly happened to Steve Rogers, then. 

That was a question for another day. “What actually happened to her? Alexandra, right?” 

“Ah,” He said, looking towards Steve, who you could see through the open door gathering wood for the fire. “I can’t tell you that.”

Your mouth got ahead of your brain, and before you knew it, your tone was nearing towards demanding. “Why not?” 

  He grimaced and leaned closer. “Because…” he trailed off when he saw Steve walking towards them again. “No one truly knows.” 

For the rest of the night as you started on a thick blanket for Sam (dark blue, which he had requested after being so flattered that you even thought to make him one), you thought about the girl. And of course, Steve. 

 As weird as it was, you felt like Steve wasn’t who he used to be. You didn’t know him before, but behind the hard exterior was fluffy cotton. You knew that he was much softer than what he was showing you, and that he had been hardened up by the years, a sad condition that nearly everyone went through. 

  But how did no one know if the girl was alive or not? If she had run away or been taken? If she just skipped out and forgot to write a note? It was a mystery, and you absolutely loved mysteries. But you couldn’t even begin to imagine not knowing what happened to a best friend after six years of silence. You understood Steve’s apprehension and anger towards you then, even though looking like someone else wasn’t your fault, and you knew it. But he had a problem with you, and that didn’t make for a good trip at all.  

 So you were intent on fixing it. 

§§

You woke up before everyone else, and you did it on purpose. You were supposed to be heading out within a few hours, and the headstart gave you plenty of time. You had fallen asleep on the couch and woken up with a blanket tossed over you, and you guessed that Bucky did it. You stood up, got your dry shoes on, went out to the horses, and then went to look at the hunting weapons. 

You didn’t know how to use any of them. At all. 

“Okay, which one am I most likely to get lucky with?” You muttered, and then your eyes rested on a nicely polished bow and arrow. “Okay, attack from afar, sounds like a good plan.” 

  You had no idea what Steve’s love language was, but you wanted him to know that you weren’t there to haunt his memory. You were sure that he was the type to be glad to see someone had done something for him, though, so you were going to go with that. You were going to kill the day’s game for him. 

  You hoisted yourself up on the horse that was oddly familiar with you and didn’t make a sound other than a pleased, chortling noise and went on your way, bow and arrows strapped to your back. 

  When you saw the first rabbit after half an hour, you nearly fell off of your horse. Your breathing hitched and you quietly set up the weapon as best as you could, feeling it slide into place, and then, something in your mind just clicked. Like an itch that you didn’t even know had been scratched. You breathed in, breathed out, pulled back and let it go, only for you to miss by about an inch. The rabbit took off. 

 You groaned. 

For the next three animals you saw, the outcome was the same. You would get irritatingly close, they would run, and you never saw that one again. You were honestly pleased with yourself for getting so close, but you couldn’t give yourself any praise until you got something.

   There was a noise from behind you, and then your bow was cocked and you shot right at the squirrel behind you, hitting it right in the center and killing it instantly. You put a hand over your mouth when you realized that you had actually gotten the animal, and you did a little dance as you rushed over to it, taking the arrow out. 

  “Thank you so much, little buddy. You won’t go to waste.” You grimaced as you put him in the little bag that you brought, closing it up and praying that the smell wouldn’t smack you in the face when you opened it again. 

  On your way back, you ran into a rabbit. You shot at it, hit it, and then got off of the horse to get it and put it in your bag, wiping off the bloody arrow in the snow. “Thank you, bunny.” You were about thirty minutes away from reaching the house again when you saw something brown move out of the corner of your eye. You stopped the horse and it stomped its foot, but that didn’t phase the deer that was about twenty feet away, just staring at a tree. 

  You were shocked. The Goddess of the Hunt, whoever she was, was really looking out for you. You had so many chances in the beginning, and now you had an opportunity to go for a deer? It was big enough to last the four of you days, if you were smart with it. You looked at your bag that was tinting red, and you grimaced at it. 

Did you have enough as it was? Yes. Had you always been greedy and a little ambitious? Absolutely. 

  You sighed quietly to yourself, shaking your head at your own antics. You had the bow in your hands, the arrow pulled back, and then you hesitated. 

 You really didn’t want to have the deer hurting for any longer than it had to. You wanted it to be so fast that it didn’t even feel it, really. You breathed in and out steadily as you tried to think about where the heart of a deer would be at, and then you thought about going for the head. That would almost guarantee a quick death, and you knew where its brain was at. But it was a smaller target. 

 Come on, you just hit a squirrel, you said to yourself inside of your head, breathing in and out again to focus. You had to get this deer. They were scarce around here, and you knew that it would solidify a friendship between you and Steve. 

You didn’t know why you craved it so much, only that you did. And you usually got what you wanted, if you could help it. 

 You aimed for the head, and it was standing still, not even taking notice of you at all. That was good. You took another steadying breath, cocked it again, and then let it go. It whistled in the air for only a few seconds before plunging right into its head, and you watched it fall to the side, dead instantly. 

  Your jaw slacked and left your mouth open. You blinked once, twice, three times, and then you shook your head and got off of the horse, who was making noise now at the sight of you getting big game. You walked towards it slowly, as if you were afraid that it was going to come back and get you. “How the hell am I going to get this back?” You muttered to yourself after looking at just how big it was. 

  You felt weird about picking up an animal that big while it was dead, and you almost gagged at the thought of handling it. But you had no choice. You killed it, so now it was your responsibility to take it back and make use of it, because you weren’t wasting any animal like that. 

 “Okay, bud, work with me,” you said as you prepared to lift it on top of the horse, knees buckling with the weight of it at your first try. “Fuck.” You muttered. You grunted again as you used all of your strength to put the deer on the horse, laying it across so that it took up all the room sideways. You’d have to walk. “Alright. Now, to the cabin.” 

  The walk back was silent. The sun was high up in the sky now, and you had no doubt that they had woken up already. They were usually up before you were, gone for a second and then back within a few minutes. 

 You walked past trees that you had seen before on the way out, and it reassured you of your good sense of direction. You hummed softly to yourself as you started to hear shouting by familiar voices in the distance, their panicking somehow now hitting you like it was hitting them. 

  Your steps were bouncy as you came out of the tree line, a smile on your face. You saw Bucky whip his head around and stare at you with wide eyes. “W-where were you?” 

  Your smile dropped. “I went outside.” 

“You can’t just leave like that,” he said exasperatedly, rubbing his hand with his face. “You’ve got Steve going feral.” 

 Despite the news of him being angry, your heart jumped at the thought of him seeing what you had worked hard for. “Where is he?”

“What the hell is on the horse?” He asked softly, stepping forward. His face fell when he finally allowed himself to recognize the large animal. “Did you- did you buy a deer?” 

 You made a face. “No, I don’t have money.” You grinned when you took the bag and handed it his way. He opened it and looked pleasantly surprised at the contents. “I hunted them.”

“I’m going to go out and find her,” you heard Steve shout from inside, not angry, just telling someone- who you assumed was Sam. You frowned as you listened to him stomping towards the back door, watching him freeze when he saw you. “What the- What happened?” 

 “I… went outside?” 

“You can’t just do that,” Steve grumbled, stepping closer to you. “Not everyone you come across is going to be a good person. Especially not when it’s barely gotten light outside, Y’N. You can’t go out by yourself.” 

 “You do,” you retaliated. 

“Well, I’m a trained knight.” And stronger and taller than the average man in these parts, for sure, you knew, but you weren’t going to validate what he said. “And you’re a woman.” 

“Yes, I happen to be that,” you said, rolling your eyes at him. You took a deep breath when you remembered what you had gone out for in the first place, and you gently took the bag from Bucky and took a step towards Steve, who was still infuriated. “I got these for you.” 

  His look of irritation dropped. “What?” He looked inside of the bag and it was obvious that he recognized the weapon that killed them. “You know how to shoot?” 

“I just wanted to clear the air.” You said softly, taking a step back. “I know we didn’t start off too well, and we’re not too hot at the moment, either. I know you like to hunt and have food like this, so I brought you something.” 

    By now, Sam was standing next to Bucky, wide eyed at the exchange that you meant to be a lot more pleasant than it was going. You weren’t even focused on them, and neither was Steve. It was just the two of you in the cold, trying to understand each other and succeeding every few seconds. 

  “That was… very kind of you.” Steve said, his usually loud, naturally commanding voice almost as tender as yours. “You didn’t have to do that.” 

“I got a deer,” you blurted, and his brows scrunched together in confusion.  “I don’t know how, but I did.” You saw his eyes travel to the deer, lying dead on the horse. He looked pleasantly shocked. “I hope this can, uh, fix things.” 

 He tore his eyes away from the deer. “I’m sorry for making you feel like the only way you could get me to like you was for you to bribe me.” You started to frown. “This wasn’t necessary, but it was very kind of you. Thank you, Al-Y/N.”

You pretended like you didn’t hear the way he was about to call you Alexandra, for his sake and yours. You smiled gently at him and reached up to pat him on his shoulder. “It was my privilege and pleasure.” You headed towards Sam’s back door just before you could see the way that they all tensed up and looked at Steve, who got paler by the second, and looked like he had seen a ghost. 

§§

 You had more fabric in your bag, a stronger pair of scissors, more needles, and more thread as you rode on the back of Bucky’s horse. You figured that Steve still needed his space, regardless of how much he was grateful for your efforts. He had skinned the deer and cut it up earlier, a soft smile on his face the whole time he did it. 

  Apparently, you were still three weeks away from reaching the other kingdom. You didn’t question it. You had no doubt that picking you up made them a little slower, anyway. That, and the fact, that you got distracted with the simplest things. 

   Honestly, you couldn’t help it. There were so many things that you hadn’t seen before, and something as similar as a half frozen creek excited you for that reason. White birds flying through the air and landing on the snow that matched their wings made you stop the horse so you wouldn’t disturb them. And of course you wanted to touch the hanging berries that were a bold red. You had seen everything and nothing in the world, and you were checking things off one at a time. 

  The days were quite boring, really. No one really spoke, and when they did, you let the men have their time. You figured that you had absolutely nothing to contribute when it came to the topic of knighthood or old battles or their favorite times where they used their favorite swords. So, you just looked at the ground and at your cloth and at the sky, the hooves of the horse marking time for you. 

 It was the nights that made the difference, where you grew closer to them all. It was always cold, and cold meant lonely. So, you started conversation, every night, and it would go on for hours until someone was too tired to still hear mindless or not so mindless chatter. 

  One night, the fifth night, you sighed and looked up towards the stars, since it had stopped snowing. “You guys are clearly from Auren.” There was no answer. “Why do you three live all the way out here?” 

  It was a known fact that the two kingdoms were opposite. If you were from Yuran, you never wanted to travel to Auren. If you were from Auren, it was extremely rare that anyone would leave for Yuran for anything but business. Now, for Auren knights to live in Yuran? Something was up. 

  The silence was thick. You decided to let it cook, assuming that one of them was going to say something, even if it was a lie. Then, you heard a heavy sigh, and then Bucky’s voice. “The three of us were exiled.” 

Your heart stopped in your chest for a moment. What could they have done that put them in exile? To exile a Knight was a huge deal, and it took a lot to get through. Knights were fan favorites. “Oh.” 

“We’re not criminals,” Sam cleared up quickly, and you could sense his nervousness in the dim light of the stars. “We just… had different opinions than everyone else.” 

  “So, you’re rebels?” You asked softly. 

“No! We just did something that was unauthorized, thinking that we would succeed.” 

  You should have been terrified. “If you don’t mind me asking…?” 

Like everyone was waiting on a specific person to give clearance to admitting their crime, you waited on an answer. It was Steve who delivered it. “We launched a search for the princess.” 

  You grew up in Yuran. You had the barest of knowledge about Auren, besides the fact that you wanted to go. You knew that just like in Yuran, they had a democracy. The Yuran line was the Pierce family, and the Auren line was the Starks. That’s all that you knew, really. 

  “Um, who?” There was silence. “I’m sorry, we didn’t really get prime education at the orphanage. And they always told us that Auren wasn’t our business, so I know nothing about it, really.” 

  “Well, you know about the raid of the castle, right?” When you looked lost, he gave you a look. “The huge one that happened a while back. Five years ago.”

Hadn’t you just said that you knew close to nothing? “Uh…” 

  “One night, about half a decade ago, the castle was raided. The goal was to kill the entire royal family, and unfortunately, they got a few of them. The King and Queen survived, but the Princess was missing. She was their only child, their adopted one at that, and so the kingdom was in distress. It was pronounced that the Princess was probably dead after weeks of no ransom notes, no boasting, no nothing. And so, the King decreed that he wanted no one to stir things up, because it hurt his heart to be full of hope and then shot down over and over again.” 

  You could imagine how terrible that felt. The thought of someone’s only child and heir to disappear after an attack was terrifying. Lucas was practically yours, and you couldn’t imagine that happening with you and him. You felt horrible for the monarchs that you never knew. 

 Bucky was speaking now. “But, Steve, Sam, and I, didn’t take no for an answer. We did it ourselves, nearly got killed, and got into plenty of fights that had mixed results. That’s how I lost my arm, by the way.” He added, and you nodded in the darkness at the bluntness of his statement. “The King caught wind of what we were doing while he was planning her funeral with no body, and he was so angry that he casted us out on the spot. We weren’t even allowed to go to the service.” 

 You blinked in momentary silence. “Wow.” 

A beat of silence that was as painful as a dying heart’s last beat passed between the four of you. “Yeah.” It took a few seconds to craft the right sentence up in your mind, to indirectly tell them that the new information didn’t make them look like any sort of criminals. 

 “You… I think that what you did was very honorable.” You said quietly, and you felt the tension in the air shift to something lighter, ever so slowly. “If the Princess were to hear that you fought so hard to bring her home, I’m sure that she would be very grateful.” 

 “I hope so,” Sam said, and you heard him turning over on his side, a clear indicator that he wanted the conversation to be over. “I really hope so.” And so you let it rest. 

[deltas-writing-corner]

Courtship: Respect

Fandom: Twisted Wonderland (Malleus x GN!reader)

Warnings:  Mentions and depictions of smoking/tobacco usage

Next chapter | AO3 version

Slight revisions and full version posted on: 5/4/2021

The alarm clock on your phone is loud and annoying, but it’s the only sound that will wake you up without fail so you can get a head start on your more demanding days, like today.

Groggy and neck a bit strained, a sign that you’ve slept on it wrong, you carefully push yourself up and off your bed. You come across your first hurdle of the day. A few wolf cubs had settled on your chest and your sides during the night. You try carefully to move them off of you and to the side of their mother, who has settled near your feet and isn’t afraid to growl or snap her jaw should you even think of shifting or moving away from her. Unfortunately, the pups seem determined to stick by your side despite your efforts. Luckily the pack’s alpha, Gunter, is settled right behind your head and acted as your pillow for the night. He must be why your neck feels stiff as hell.

You reach back and start petting behind his ear, rubbing into the bunch of dotted scars beneath his coarse hair. You feel his body stretch and shake as he wakes up as well. A small whine comes out of him as he gives out an enormous yawn. It makes you yawn as well.

“Ready to start the day?” you whisper to him.

He huffs with a bit of attitude as if to say, “Not really, but what choice do I have?”

You redirect his attention to his pups, preventing you from sitting up without disturbing everyone else. With silent understanding, he removes himself from underneath your head and carefully steps over one of his brothers, who has graciously allowed you to use him as an armrest somewhere during the night. After another good morning stretch, Gunter begins the slow and steady process of picking the pups up from the scruffs off their necks and setting them elsewhere on your bed.

While he does this, you grab your phone and do a quick sweep of all your notifications. You have a few emails, one a weekly newsletter about current and future school events, most of it spam. You have a couple of dozen messages from Ace and Deuce detailing an argument over whether the former ate the latter’s piece of strawberry shortcake they were saving for after dinner. Apparently, they thought to ask you to be their mediator since it was clear they weren’t going anywhere arguing and pointing fingers back and forth at each other.

Unfortunately for them, they messaged you right after you conked out. You were exhausted yesterday, having to deal with an especially rambunctious and mischievous Grim. You were also scrambling to gather the reading materials needed for one of your classes before the other students can snag them. The most recent and urgent incident is figuring out what to do now that the only generator that powers up all of Ramshackle is going out or outright failing to even start up at all. You also have a decently sized garden to tend to, and the next large harvest is today. Once everything has been properly collected, washed, and either stored away in your pantry or given to Sam so he can sell and make a profit on your behalf and his own (it’s a 60/40 split and you had to fight tooth and nail for that 60), you have to replant everything once again after you’ve tilled the soil…

To say that there’s a lot on your plate is an understatement.

Free from your furry prison, you’re finally able to sit up and move your limbs freely. Something slightly damp presses against your bare shoulder, calling for your attention. Gunter, still clearly tired (expected of anyone, human or wolf, having to wake up at six o’clock in the morning), is now awaiting proper payment for his services.

“I got some dried venison in the kitchen,” you offer. The way his one good eye pops wide open and his tail begins to rapidly wag, the deer jerky will suffice.

You give the top of his head one last rub before standing up and heading straight for your bathroom to take a quick shower. Since the availability of electricity has been scarce lately, so is the availability of heating throughout the dorm. Unlike the ghosts, who can’t differentiate between hot and cold (unless it’s magically sourced), you can. Unlike the ghosts who are already dead, you will die in this late winter cold. Grim has better control of his blue flames compared to when you first met him, so he can now essentially be his own heater. He seemed a bit too comfortable keeping himself warm and letting you freeze to death, considering you’re the only reason he’s enrolled in this school.

You make do with what you have and your situation. Even when you gathered all the untorn and clean blankets and piled them on top of you last night, the cold still found its way underneath your cocoon. Gunter, the leader of a small bunch of wolves you had been taking care of during your first few weeks in Twisted Wonderland, must have seen you struggling to stave off the cold and settled himself next to you during the night followed by his brother, his sister, and finally Gunter’s mate and their pups.

Of course, with three full-grown wolves and four chubby wolf babies as your immediate heat sources, you overheated in no time and had to throw off all your covers and strip down to your underclothes in the middle of the night since your pajamas had quickly gotten soaked in sweat (and most definitely covered in their thick fur). A cold shower is just what you need to clean up after a long night drenched in sweat.

You also need to clean your sheets, but without electricity, your washer and dryer are out of order for the time being…

Dammit.

Cold showers suck, but once the ice-cold water hits your back, it woke you the hell up. You probably spent only five minutes in there before you quickly rinsed off and got out because of how unbearable the ice water was.

Once you’re properly toweled dried, you head to your closet and change. You put on clothes you don’t mind getting covered in dirt and sweat; a simple wool sweatshirt and some overalls lined with thick fleece. You also put on a pair of knitted crew socks and secure them to your leg with a pair of garters.

Right as you snap the final metal clasp on the knotted fabric, you feel a familiar bump on your shoulder. Gunter is giving you his best pleading face he can manage. Most people likely wouldn’t fall for it, what with the many scars littering across his body and face, making him look scary rather than cute. You feel a little tug in your heart. Luckily, you’re all dressed up and ready to start your day, so you quickly straighten up and usher him downstairs to give him his well-deserved treat. You grab your phone before you exit your room so you can peruse it on your way.

As you read over old texts and useless emails, a new notification comes in. It’s another message. As surprised as you are to receive a message so early in the morning (Ace and Deuce are likely still snoring and drooling into their pillows at this hour), it is the sender of the text that makes your slowed strides halt completely.

Good morning. I hope you had a pleasant and well-deserved night of rest. I’m currently getting ready to head over to the Ramshackle dorm to help you with your harvesting, as I promised. The coat you’ve made and gifted me during the holidays also fits perfectly and is by far the most comfortable piece of clothing I now own.

Thank you again for your most generous gift. I will inform you when I have arrived.

Yours truly,

Malleus Draconia

You can’t help but smack your palm on your forehead. You’re not annoyed or exasperated, it’s quite the opposite, actually. You’re happy that Malleus’s charm can somehow manifest even within a text message. In fact, this isn’t the first time he’s sent you a message formatted and written like a formal letter. If someone were to look at the small messaging history between you two, they’d see that a great majority of it is just Malleus sending you these long strings of text. They would also find your messages, or rather, your poor and embarrassing attempts at mimicking his language and style (he says he gets a laugh out of them, so maybe they’re as bad as you think). There’s also always a follow-up message, gently reminding and encouraging him to relax and not worry about offending you for speaking casually for you.

His response is always the same, and it makes your stomach feel strangely fuzzy.

You have earned my respect, now I must strive to earn yours.

It’s only been a little over a month since he dropped the bombshell that was his desire for your friendship to evolve into a proper, romantic relationship. To say it surprised you is another understatement. You were thoroughly flabbergasted once your mind finally registered his words as genuine. To hear him say “I love you” and direct such a powerful statement towards you was truly the last thing you expected since arriving in this strange world.

But through all the outer uncertainties there was one thing you were certain of, your inner uncertainties. Malleus is a dear friend of yours. Even amongst Ace or Deuce, two individuals who have been with you since the beginning and nearly every overblot incident that has come your way, Malleus holds a special place in your heart as your dearest friend.

But a friend is all he’s ever been in your mind. There was truly never an instance where you pondered or even held some amount of desire or expectation that your friendship could evolve into something more. You felt like a total prick during the end of his confession, asking him if you could sit on his words for a while and come back to him when you have a more certain and final answer to give. Watching the hope and nervousness in his eyes turn into one of pure and utter sadness and even embarrassment, yet he willed himself to conceal his heartbroken emotions back for your sake. It hurt like hell. What was supposed to be an exciting and relaxing end-of-winter-break party in Scarabia’s dorm (and an apology party for Jamil’s actions against you), turned awkward. Neither of you stayed any longer once you went your separate ways.

Despite what had happened, when you received a proper smartphone (and a proper phone plan to boot) as a gift for Christmas, one of the first things you did was transfer all your old contacts into the new device. The first person you messaged was Malleus, wanting to check in on him after your last encounter and to wish him a happy holiday. He answered back in a matter of minutes, much to your surprise. While he’s not the most tech-savvy, your major concern was whether he was holding up well after what happened and if you guys were going to remain as friends. You went on a whole tangent, trying your best to not sound so desperate and ensure that your response is in no way his fault because it most certainly is not. If there’s anyone to blame, it’s you.

Gunter suddenly tenses up. His fur instinctually puffs out, trying to appear bigger in anticipation of whatever threat he’s detected in the kitchen. Metallic clanking and clashing come from underneath the kitchen island where you store all the pots, pans, and heavy-duty appliances. A loud and harsh crash riles up Gunter enough that he feels the need to growl at whatever is underneath the cupboard.

You quietly move past him and wave your arm, signaling him to move back a bit. He listens to your orders and takes a few slow steps back. You position yourself on the side of the cabinet, fingertips pressing onto the top of the door to prepare to open.

“On my mark,” you whisper to Gunter. “One... Two…Three!”

You yank the door open, and Gunter quickly launches himself towards the potential threat. Though, not a second passes before he’s suddenly skidding across the floor, trying to immediately halt himself. He barely avoids hitting his head against the wood and giving himself a nasty bruise. When you ask him what’s wrong, he sticks his head into the cabinet and pulls out the apparent intruder.

It’s Blossom, a young fawn you rescued from the rose gardens of the Heartslaybul dorm. It was during the preparation of the unbirthday party near the start of the school year that subsequently led to dorm leader Riddle’s overblot. Cater assigned Grimm, Ace, Deuce, and yourself to paint the roses red with him. On top of rose painting duty, Cater was also on the lookout for a supposed ‘rose thief’ who had been snagging some roses from their garden right from under their noses. The scoundrel they were looking for was the fawn before you. From the way he still wobbled on his feet, he wasn’t even a month old when you initially rescued him. He’s lucky you found him when you did. His front leg was caught in a rusted and dull, but full-sized bear trap they set up in case the thief was a wild animal.

“What are you doing in there?” you ask the little troublemaker. “Probably trying to find a snack to chew on, huh?”

Blossom thrashes, trying to break free from Gunter’s hold on his scruff. He of course fails, but not without giving out a distressed scream and trying to plead for forgiveness by giving you his best innocent look. You shake your head before looking up at the small clock hung up on the wall above the refrigerator. It runs on battery so you have to worry about the time no longer being correct when the house lacks power.

It’s 6:15, still way too early. You tell Gunter to let go of Blossom and he does it without argument. Blossom quickly runs up to you, using your own body as a foothold to jump up into your arms. Once you have a hold of him, he bombards your face with little licks and nuzzles of his snout. While this action is normal and you would gladly accept it, you know better than to think it’s not the fawn’s attempts at trying to distract you from his misdeed.

“If you’re looking for the sugared flower petals, you won’t have any luck down there,” you tell him. He immediately stops his loving ministrations and gives out a disappointingly snort before relaxing in your arms.

You chuckle and give him a few apologetic pets on the head as you walk over to one of the upper cupboards and rummage around the various jars, trying to locate the dried venison for Gunter. You also grab a jar placed far in the back with the aforementioned candied rose petals Blossom was most definitely looking for. The moment you open the jar and the heavy scent of sweetness and floral whiffs in the air, Blossom begins to excitedly thrash about in your arms and tries to stick his head into the container. Luckily, the small nubs on his head, his newly budding antlers, stop him from reaching too deep.

You spend the next few minutes feeding your companions their early morning treat. The doorbell rings as you let Blossom lick the last specks of sugar off of your now damp palm. After rinsing your hands off and drying them, you head to the door. You open it and take in the sight of a newly arrived Malleus, dressed in a simple black dress shirt and a pair of loose-fitting linen pants you made for him when he expressed discomfort over his PE uniform the last time he helped you in your garden.

“Good morning!” you greet him as brightly as you can without being too loud.

“A good morning to you as well,” he greets back. Unlike you, who is still groggy and slow, he seems properly energized despite the time. You’re jealous. You’ve been waking up at the crack of dawn for years, at least a decade now, yet your body isn’t used to the early routine. Though compared to the hundreds of years Malleus has on you, you probably won’t show any sign of improvement until your hairs are gray.

“Have you eaten yet?” Malleus asks.

You shake your head. “The electricity is out, so I can’t use the stove or open the fridge too often.”

“Crowley still hasn’t replaced your generator?”

“No,” you frown. “Every time I try to bring it up he either gives an outlandish excuse or just flat out tells me I don’t need a new one.”

His eyebrows pressed together, clearly upset as you are at the headmaster’s failure as your caretaker. You reassure him it’s fine. Everyone in the dorm has been saving money for emergencies like this, and it just so happens that the money you’ll make for selling the produce you collect today will bring in just enough to buy a brand new generator. You’ll be out of electricity for another week, two at most, but have enough firewood and nonperishable foods to last until then.

“You should at least make yourself some coffee,” Malleus urges. “It’s bad to work on an empty stomach. You've said so yourself.”

“I will once Grim and the ghosts wake up,” you reassure. “For now, let’s head to the back and get started. There’s a lot to harvest, so the sooner we start, the sooner we’ll finish up.”

He’s clearly unhappy at your dismal of his concerns. You know that being so nonchalant towards a fae is rude, but you don’t want to worry him with your own issues. You also have no desire to eat or drink, not this early in the morning at least. If you tell him as much, he’ll probably freak out like he did last time, thinking you were unwell and forcing you to lie in bed for the rest of the day.

Yes, you could have pushed back and argued that you were fine, but it’s very hard to tell him “no” when his intentions are purely out of concern for your well-being. Better to let him hover over you and see that you’re fine than to leave him stewing in his anxieties in silence.

“What have you been growing this season?” Malleus asks as he tugs on the loaned gardening gloves you handed him.

“The usual spread. Some potatoes, cabbage, and carrots. The only fresh additions I planted are some peas and kale. Oh, and broccoli!”

“Did the crops hold well when you were gone?”

“They did thanks to the ghosts. The heat from the fire faeries around the campus also made them easier to protect from the cold,” you explain. “I should probably give them some type of exotic wood as a little thank you gift.”

“You can never go wrong with a bit of mahogany,” Malleus says as he ties back his hair.

You hand him a straw hat, one that you weaved to accommodate for his black horns. “I’ll keep that in mind. Thank you.”

“Your welcome,” he smiles at you before turning back to your garden. “So where shall we start first?”

“I’ll work on picking the cabbage heads. You can cut off the pea pods and we’ll go from there.”

“Very well. I’ll follow your lead.”

It’s 8 a.m. You know this because Ace and Deuce are woken up at this hour by Riddle and one of the first things they do is bombard you with text messages which usually forces you to turn your phone on silent mode. Despite it being late winter, you’re already working up a sweat from the repetitive and demanding motions of picking and carrying around baskets full of vegetables and cleaning them. Malleus is no better, hand continuously raising to his face to wipe away the constant wetness clinging to his forehead. You know he’s not used to manual labor like you are, so you try to bring him a pail of water every so often so he can stay properly hydrated.

“Oh my, you’re already up?”

You turn around to see who’s speaking to you and see one of the ghosts that live with you and Grim in Ramshackle floating towards you.

“Good morning!” you greet him. “Did you need something?”

“No no,” he shakes his head. “I just came to check up on my bees and saw you already hard at work.”

The ghost (Franklin is his name, but you all call him Frankie for short by his insistence), affectionately ruffles your hair with his large white palm. He’s one of the tamer ghosts, but he’s still capable of pulling a prank on you or his fellow housemates now and then. You and he have been cultivating and maintaining a small beehive since October, but he does most of the work and maintenance since he has more experience in the ways of beekeeping than you from when he was alive.

Frankie does a quick once over of the garden, his scanning gaze doubling back at seeing Malleus carefully rinse a couple of heads of broccoli.

“How long has he been here?”

“Since 6:30,” you answer back. “Why?”

“No one gets up that early unless it’s for someone they fancy,” he says rather nonchalantly, but the way he quickly side-eyes you show that he’s clearly talking about you. You try your best to appear unaffected and give a “Is that right?” type of hum, but your efforts are in vain since he just laughs at you.

“If even you know, that means he’s got it bad.”

You say nothing back because you honestly don’t know what to say, or if you should. You’re content to just go back to plucking potatoes out from the ground, but Frankie doesn’t seem to want to leave you alone just yet. He asks you to come with him to the greenhouse where the hive is being kept. The small glass enclosure also houses some flowers and herbs you use for cooking or medicine.

You quickly close the door behind you once you enter, reveling in the warmer air that hits your face. While Frankie lights his cigar and gets a heavy cloud of smoke going (his personal method of keeping the bees calm), he has you open the top and carefully pull out the panels one by one while he checks for any signs of a decaying hive and ensures the queen is alive and healthy. One of your initial worries about beekeeping was getting stung, but Frankie reassured you it’ll only happen if you purposely upset the bees or fail to care for the hives consistently. Now, you gladly let the buzzing honeybees wander around your bare skin.

As Frankie pulls out his cigar from between his lips and taps off the ashes into the respective ashtray, he looks over at you and asks, “Is everything ok?”

You give him a confused expression as you snap the cover for the hive back into place. “I’m fine?”

“You sure? Because if you ask me, you don’t seem like it.”

“I mean, I already have a pile of schoolwork I need to finish and a rundown dorm to take care of. I’m as ok as anyone in my position can be-“

“I’m not talking about any of that,” he interrupts. “I’m talking about you. Forget about Grim and your studies. How are you doing?”

“I’m fine,” you answer again.

“Are you sure?”

Well, when he puts it that way, even he must be able to see that you’re clearly not doing alright. In fact, you haven’t been alright since you were literally kidnapped and held against your will in the Scarabia dorm. Luckily everything worked out fine for everyone else, but not so much for you. You’ve noticed that your appetite is waning and you wake up multiple times during the night because you don’t feel safe, even in your own room.

Malleus’s confession unfortunately was another wrench being thrown at you. With your hands already so full of this and that, you’re struggling to figure out what needs a priority and which issues you need to either drop entirely or find someone trustworthy to take care of it in your stead. It’s hard to ask people for help when they either find a convenient reason to say no or you feel as if you can’t trust them to do something as simple as watering your plants. The only person you feel you can trust and ask for help is Malleus, and things aren’t exactly as they were between the two of you.

“Talk to me kiddo,” Frankie prods. “What’s been eating at you?”

He lifts his ashtray and makes to snuff out his cigar so he can focus on speaking to you, but you hastily reach over and stop him. You take the smoke from him and bring it up to your lips and puff a few grey clouds. Strangely enough, it tastes rather pleasant, floral, and creamy. You didn’t expect to taste like this because of the way it smells, like soil that was just freshly rained on.

“Sorry,” you hand it back to him. “I haven’t eaten and I’m practically running on fumes.”

“That’s alright,” he says, handing it back to you. “You look like you need it more than me.”

Malleus carefully blows small bits of green fire onto his freezing fingertips, trying to warm them up after being drenched in the icy water from the water pump. He looks over his shoulder, over the stalks of peas, towards you. You’re still in the greenhouse and frantically moving your lips. He can see your eyes are glistening with a fresh layer of… tears? You don’t allow a single drop to get past your lids, wiping them just at the last second before they can pass over the threshold.

He’s only ever seen you cry one other time, when he came to your rescue in Scarabia over the break. He initially thought he frightened you with his aggressive display of magic. Once the dust settled and the blot on Jamil was expunged, no one was more shocked than he was when you boldly ran straight towards him and jumped into his arms. It was all he ever wanted, what his mind dreamed of every single time he closed his eyes. He could no longer brush off the fluttering in his stomach as the mere excitement of making and spending time with his first genuine friend. He was determined to keep his newfound affections for you with him under lock and key, not willing to risk ruining your close-knit friendship with his selfish and potentially one-sided desires.

Your desperate embrace, your toughie exterior lowering to that of a sniveling and shaking human, gave Malleus the impression that the only reason you would display such vulnerability before him was that you reciprocated his sentiments. It gave him a sense of confidence he never knew he was lacking, usually so sure of himself most other times. It made his chest burn with an aching desire to say “to hell with it all” and spill his heart right then and there.

When you extended the invitation you received from Kalim to him, he saw it as his proper opportunity to let his affections be known. He was upset (according to Lilia, more than usual) that he had to take Sebek and Silver along with him for the usual security, but he was determined to get them distracted long enough so he can pull you aside and confess to you without fear of interruption or letting his personal affairs be known to anyone else, at least, for as long as he can keep something so monumental under wraps.

As a prince, he has been taught to look at the long term for each of his decisions, as they carry substantial weight. The long term of pursuing a relationship with you meant having to deal with the prejudices and stigma against humans that still live within the hearts of his people. For once in his life, he didn’t want to think like an heir. As he watches you continue to talk to one of Ramshackle’s ghosts with increasing frustration, he realizes his love utterly blinded him back then. The only long-term his rose-tinted mind could comprehend was of the happy moments he had long conjured in his head becoming a reality.

You didn’t explicitly reject him, however; he knows your behavior well enough to know that once his feelings were laid bare before you, you would not take them into your arms and hand yours over in return. Arms crossed and avoidance of eye contact, you do this when you’re nervous or unsure, sometimes both. He held onto the self-indulgent hope that you’d show him what you look like when flustered. Perhaps you’d stutter?

You did stutter when you spoke up, but they were not the words that he wanted, that he thought he was, going to hear.

“Malleus...I’m so sorry…”

“Ah, you’re here early!”

“It’s just that…I don’t think I can…”

“Hey! Are you listening to me? You better not be ignoring me on purpose!”

“It’s not that I’m telling you I don’t feel the same way, but I can’t exactly say that I do. It’s just... I’ve never- “

“Tsu-no-ta-rou!” Grim’s shrill voice, still a bit riddled with drowsiness, still pierce Malleus’s eardrums and nearly causes him to drop the vegetable in his hand. “Pay attention to me when I’m speaking!”

“Quiet,” he growls at the monster. “If you need your master, they’re in the greenhouse. Though, you might want to come back another time.”

“Huh? Why’s that?”

Malleus lifts Grim from the back of his fuzzy robe (you must have made it and gifted it to him during the holidays) and points to you. Frankie has one of his translucent hands on your shoulder, squeezing it comfortingly now and then while he speaks. You were no longer wiping your face so furiously, allowing your tears to fall and drip off of your jaw and wet your shirt as you listened to your fellow dorm resident.

“What happened? Did you smash all the tomatoes again?” Grim cranes his neck to look at Malleus accusingly.

“No, I didn’t. Those are out of season.”

“Maybe it’s about what happened at Scarabia,” Grim muses. “They haven’t been sleepin’ too good since we came back, y’know?”

Malleus nearly drops the cat. “They haven’t?”

“Nah,” the cat answers, far too casually and dismissively for the fae’s liking.

“This is news to me,” Malleus says, almost whispering to himself. He’s sad, almost offended, at the fact that you haven’t told him you’ve been having some difficulties this whole time. You normally keep him up to date with your personal life. He’s even more offended once he realizes that you’ve been worrying and reassuring him that your friendship with him isn’t ruined after what’s happened.

There’s a small voice in the back of his mind, conniving and twisted, that feeds into his already prevalent belief that your unwillingness to share with him your personal problems anymore is a sign that he hasn’t earned your respect. It’s a ridiculous explanation, but no amount of reassuring from either you or himself is going to stop his Mind from asking such a multi-sided question. Surely, if you thought admirably of him, you’d continue to allow him to bear witness to your moments of weakness and vulnerability. He feels close to you, connected to you in a way he’s never felt. He can be slow and downright miss some references to your jokes and behavior. You always put on a face of understanding, but is he so lost that your patience has worn paper-thin?

Are his feelings for you truly one-sided? Is he still jumping to conclusions too soon and just needs to give you more time and space? Did he just set a course for a ruined friendship or could his hastiness have been a fruitful gamble?

If it’s not iron that kills him, it’s the uncertainty within his heart and mind.

A shrill whistle pierces through the air and Malleus’s eardrums. Grim hisses at the sudden noise and the hairs on his neck stand up. Even Frankie and you can hear and turn your heads towards the source despite still being in the middle of a conversation. The one who whistled was another one of the ghosts who live in Ramshackle. Johnathan is his name, usually shortened to Johnny. His sunken cheekbones make him look unassuming, but you’ve rightly warned Malleus never to turn your back on that one for too long. It’s a miracle that you can keep up with all their shenanigans.

“I got the generator to start up and made some coffee!” Johnny happily announces. “Come get it while it and the dorm are nice and warm!”

“I’ll have a cup or two, so long as there’s a ton of cream and sugar!” Grim says whilst smiling. “And I ain’t skimping this time on the sugar!”

“You better if you know what’s good for you,” you sternly say, now out of the greenhouse along with Frankie. “We’re short on sugar and I’m not stocking up till next weekend.”

“Whaaaat?!” Grim exclaims, his lower jaw almost reaching the floor. “Since when did you become such a cheapskate?”

Everyone, including Malleus, did a sharp intake of breath as soon as the words passed the cat’s mouth. Everyone turns their head towards you, awaiting your reaction to Grim’s comment. This isn’t the first time Grim has gotten lippy with you and, given his nature as a mischievous little monster (a common trait between Ramshackle’s residents, Malleus is now noticing), it won’t be his last no matter how badly you scare or pull a fast one under his clawed feet. Even when your face is all puffy and wet with semi-dried tears, the look of “oh you’re in it now” is still so panic-inducing to everyone, ghosts, and feline alike. To the sole Fae present, he thinks of you as nothing short of adorable and wants nothing more than to wipe your messy face clean.

“Well, if you want more sugar there is one way you can get some more.”

“W-W-What is it?” Grim says, pudgy body shaking and sinking into the comfort and small safety of his fuzzy robe.

You approach him and bend down to grab him by the back of his neck, lifting him so he’s at your eye level before deadpanning, “Get a job, Make some money, and then buy your own.”

Once you set Grim down, he scrambles back into the home with an almost comical amount of fear in his eyes. He screams about how he’s never getting a job even if it kills him and his continued determination to find the small money vault you have hidden around the dorm and spend it all on canned tuna. Johnny, Frankie, and you all give a unison chant of good luck to him before he disappears completely.

“Has he made any progress in his search?” Malleus asks.

“Our money vault isn’t even in the house, so no,” Johnny answers, resulting in you and Frankie cackling and high-five one another.

With the power back on, you announce that it was time for a well-deserved break. It’s your turn to make breakfast and you immediately begin to ask everyone for their preferences. Frankie cuts you off and insists he take over your duties for the day. You normally would protest and insist to whoever was offering to cover for you it wasn’t a problem for you at all. “I enjoy doing [insert chore], so it’s fine!” is your usual go-to reasoning, but not this time.

Malleus notices the way you make to protest as usual, but you quickly back down and just let Frankie go ahead inside to take over for you. In normal Ramshackle fashion, Frankie mentions the cigar you were puffing and waving around earlier and says that you owe him another one, particularly an artisanal one that he’s recently read about in the local newspaper and has been aching to try.

“You got any more highly specific goods you want me to fight tooth and nail for?” you sneer.

“No, just the cigar will do,” he says before turning around to head back inside. Before he can close the door behind him all the way he pulls it back and says, “If you get it sometime this week I’ll buy a new bag of sugar.”

You whisper an impressive string of curses under your breath. Malleus has to restrain the urge to laugh at your colorful vocabulary.

“In that case, I hope your schedule is free tomorrow night. I’ll have it by then.”

Frankie gives you a thumbs up before heading back inside. Once the door behind him clicks shut, you turn towards Malleus and he physically feels his body shift from somewhat relaxed to stiff and proper. You notice this and crinkle your nose a bit, something to do when you find something endearing or as a way of silently giggling. Malleus watches with such an unnecessary amount of focus as you reach up to adjust his straw hat and wipe a bit of dirt off the collar of his shirt.

“I’m sorry for leaving you hanging back there,” you say as you pick off a stray leaf that somehow got tangled in his dark locks. “I’m also sorry you had to see me crying like that. I’ve just been so tired lately.”

There it is again. That damn twisting ache right in his heart.

“It’s fine,” he reassures you. “But if it isn’t too rude of me to ask, is your lack of sleep really all that’s wrong with you?”

You give out a long sigh. “I’m guessing Grim told you a bit of what’s been happening since winter break?”

“He has.”

Your arms cross and the ground suddenly becomes more interesting. You’re unsure, but the way your eyebrows press together is a sign that you’re conflicted. Malleus feels his frostbitten hands accumulate a layer of sweat as you silently mull over your thoughts. Despite the pain and hesitance in his heart, he wills himself to grasp you by the arm and pull you into an awkward hug. He knows it’s not exactly what you might need at the moment, and he was fully preparing you to push him away. He’s relieved when you bring your arms around his torso and reciprocate the embrace.

“I’m tired,” you sigh

“You haven’t been resting well, so it makes sense.“

“No,” you shake your head, the tips of your hair tickling Malleus’s neck. “It’s not just a lack of sleep that’s making me feel exhausted. After what happened with Scarabia, especially with Jamil, I don’t feel safe anymore.”

“Are you afraid?” he asks. To think of you as fearful is an entirely foreign concept for him when you’ve only ever been confident and certain of yourself since the first time he met you.

“Yeah, I am,” you admit without skipping a beat.

Considering what you told him, Malleus thinks your fear is justified. You have no defense against magic…

He fills a strain in his neck as his entire body suddenly seized up. You notice this and pull away to ask him what’s wrong. “Nothing,” he quickly dismisses, but you don’t let him go silent on you.

“If,” he hesitates. He’s thinking too rashly already, yet he’s still so compelled to act upon his thoughts. “Should anyone attempt to do you harm, I swear upon my name and title that I will do whatever it takes to protect you.”

He means every word, but you seem to take it far too casually than he would have liked. You press your face against his shoulder and laugh against his skin, your breath bringing him some much-needed temporary warmth. Such an ordinary action, yet it causes another pang within his heart. It settles next to the one that arose before, but he bites his tongue and endures it for your sake.

“Maybe you could play that electric violin for whoever comes after me,” you jest.

As embarrassing as it is to hear that you know about that incident (he’ll have to reprimand Lilia for telling you about that), he can’t help but laugh along with you. If making a bunch of teenagers’ foam from the mouth amuses you, then so be it.

“Thank you for offering to get your hands dirty for my sake,” you say. “That’s one thing I respect about you. You take care of the people you care for.”

His body goes still once again. “Is that right?” is all his mind can wrap around and say.

“Yes, oh Wise and Great Lord Malleus. I do, in fact, respect you.”

He cringes at that title. It’s something he has heard Sebek try to enforce you to refer to Malleus as, which you never do purely so you can get a rise out of his loyal guard. Before he can ask you to never call him that again, a bunch of howl’s ring out, and the two of you pull away from each other. The wolf’s howling is usually a sign that food is ready, which you seem rather eager to get to as you interlock your arm with his and drag him inside with you.

He looks back at his basket of still dirty vegetables. “What about-“

“It’s alright! I’m not throwing a fuss over a few broccoli heads!”

Crispy bacon, over easy and scrambled eggs, and a mountain of sizzling hash browns. Once everyone grabs a plate and sits down at the dining table (Malleus sticks close to you, hoping he can sit next to you), they grab whatever pieces of food they want in whichever quantity. Somewhere in the next room over, a faint melody plays through the speaker of an old record player. The vintage singer has a rather cheeky attitude in her vocals but with the accompanying music, it all comes together harmoniously. It’s perfect for a rather excitable breakfast.

It seems you never told the ghosts too many details about your sudden disappearance during the break. You downplay the true extent of your dilemma as you willingly giving your time and effort to help a desperate Jamil figure out what was causing his normally kind dorm leader to have a sudden personality switch. The ghosts listen carefully, and as you gradually get to the big climax that is Jamil’s betrayal and overblot, followed by Malleus’s sudden appearance, they’re all practically hanging on the edge of their seats. Your tale even intrigues the wolves and Blossom. They gather and settle near the legs of your chair, ushering you to continue your story by whining and scratching your ankle.

You don’t exaggerate Malleus’s part in your tale, something he greatly appreciates. You tell them how things happened just as they did: Grey clouds suddenly covering the sky and the occasional peak of lightning through their fogginess. Just when it seems like Jamil has the upper hand and is going to put an end to Grim and you, as well as Jade, Floyd, and Azul of Octavinelle, Malleus appears out of nowhere and effortlessly zaps the blot right out of the vice dorm leader of Scarabia.

“That deserves some praise,” Benjamin, the third of your ghostly residents, raises his half-filled mug of coffee and extends it towards the middle of the table. “To Malleus!”

Everyone, including you and Grim, raises your glasses and repeats his chant. “To Malleus!”

“To me, I suppose,” Malleus half-heartedly raises his own cup. “It really wasn’t much effort, or any praise really.”

He catches you looking at him in his peripheral and he feels a lump form in this throat that he immediately swallows. “I simply did what I believed you would have done for me if our positions were reversed.”

“Well, you’re not wrong there,” you say after swallowing a hefty mouthful of scrambled eggs. “But it’s nice knowing you have my back. It makes me feel safe.”

“Safe?” Malleus is surprised to hear you say this, considering what you told him earlier. “I make you feel safe?”

Now it’s your turn to be surprised. “Y-Yeah. I guess you do.”

“You guess?”

“You do,” you say, more definitively this time. “I promise. If you didn’t you’d know.”

He can’t help but laugh. “I can only imagine what interacting with you would be like then.”

“Probably not that good, or not at all. I steer clear of people I don’t particularly like.”

His eyebrows raise in intrigue as he sips his now lukewarm coffee. “What makes you dislike someone?”

“I dislike people I have no respect for,” you say casually. Malleus thinks you might be joking or poking fun at him, but how you take the time to look up to him while you busy yourself with feeding Gunter a few bits of bacon clearly means you’re trying to tell him something secretly. It’s definitely something along the lines of, “I don’t know where this mindset of me not respecting you came from, but it’s a load of bullshit and you need to get that thought out of your head.”

Even within his head, your language is still so vulgar and blunt. Only you would talk to him in such a rude manner.

But he respects that part about you.

[bangtan-pugh-bug]

Scott Lang x reader

Chapter 1

This is going to be a series I’m not sure where it’s gonna go but we shall see! This is quite an angsty chapter but expect light heartedness after this. Smut. If I’m feeling frisky I might bring in more mcu men for the reader to have a relationship with but I think it’s just gonna be Scott. Atleast for now. He’s insanely underrated. anyway hope you enjoy :)

You grumpily hiked up your tights and felt them rip at your thighs. For fucks sake. Leaning over to straighten them over your toes just made the hole larger. Brooklyn baby had come on your Spotify playlist, which was rich seeing as you were dressing sexy in hopes of impressing a divorced 51 year old. How sweet.

‘That’s what you’re wearing?’ Tony’s voice interrupted your music video moment.

Tony knew about your ‘crush’ on Scott. He wasn’t supposed to. No one was. Somehow you’d let yourself spill everything to the playboy at one of his parties. You’d told him how your heart had raced so much the first time you met Scott Lang you had to excuse yourself and check for pains up your arm. You told him about how much you wanted to fuck him. Be held by him. How he’d almost become a priority and you knew how fucked that was. How obsessed you were becoming. How any attention from him felt important. It was embarrassing but time made you less guilty. Impatience made you flirtier and boredom made you stupid.

‘Yes. What do you think?’

Tony had arrived just as you had gotten your skin tight dress to go over your tits. No easy task. You gave him a quick spin in your revealing outfit and heals. A slight mischievous grin formed on your face. He knew what you were doing.

‘I think Scott might have a heart attack.’

That made you laugh excitedly.

‘You’re not supposed to want that Y/N.’ Tony’s tone was warning you but he couldn’t help but smile at your so called ‘antics’. He couldn’t help but route for you. Despite the age gap. He’d dated many younger women in his time and you and Scott would make a hilarious endearing couple. To say the least.

‘Well,’ you sighed, fiddling with your bra strap before looking up at him. ‘I’m not wishing him anything bad. He’s my friend. I just want him to have a good time tonight.’ Was he your friend though? The two of you spent time together alone sometimes but he didn’t know a lot about you. Not as much as you knew about him.

‘Oh how noble of you.’ Tony smirked.

You knew how you sounded. Maybe you’d be happier if your type was young men. Men/boys like the ones that smiled at you on nights out and went to University and hadn’t grown up in the 70s. No. That just wasn’t you. It was naive and the whole thing made you feel younger and older, braver and more anxious at the same time. Scott had such a strong affect on you. He was everything you admired in a person. Intelligent. Caring. Hilarious (he’d made you cry laughing several times). Honest, loyal and sexier than anyone you’d ever interacted with. When you’d first met him he smiled at you so brightly you weren’t sure if you’d imagined it. Everyone liked him. How could they not?

All you could focus on as you finally went downstairs was how much you wanted to talk to Scott and be near him.

‘Don’t get too drunk and pass out on me okay?’

You ignored Tony’s unreasonable request and scanned Stark Tower for Scott. Wanda looked gorgeous in her classic red stood beside a tipsy smiling Clint. There was a Thor, already requesting drinking games, and two soldiers shamelessly flirting. Lucky. Nat was pouring herself and Bruce a drink whilst Vision stared at one of Tony’s odd abstract paintings. Where was he?

‘Who’re you looking for?’

Oh. You must have said that last part out loud.

‘You got a drink yet?’

Scott. You instantly smiled. It was so childish. He’d asked you two questions and you were just stood gazing. Scott moved closer to you looking for an answer. He smelt of the Earth and oil. It took a lot for you to not just sink your face into his clothes and fuck he looked good too. As always. ‘I was looking f- you know I’m a bit cold..’ you trailed off not sure what your plan had been in the first place.

Sometimes speaking to him was easy, on those days you’d think of him as a friend, but if you thought a bit too much you’d go over the edge and turn pretty useless.

As if he hadn’t noticed before, Scott took your appearance in. He seemed slightly shocked at first but not as taken aback as Tony assumed he’d be. Bit disappointing. Maybe you hadn’t looked as ‘sexy’ as you’d hoped. You caught his gaze pause at your legs and hips. A slight smile crept up on you - you had a feeling Scott Lang wasn’t a chest man. Not that it really mattered. One glance didn’t mean much, Tony had stared at you inappropriately more than once and Banner.

‘I mean- you aren’t really wearing a lot. I have a jacket if you want something warmer on..’ just like you Scott trailed off. Wearing his jacket sounded appealing but being kissed by him would be so much better. Deep in inappropriate thoughts about the ‘friend’ in front of your face, you sighed. God this would all be easier if you were atleast tipsy. You were especially anxious that night which you just hated because Tony’s parties were normally when you let loose. Thor had had to peel you off the floor last time while you mumbled something about how ordering fast food was more nerve wracking than ordering from sex shops.

‘Y/N!’ Thor’s booming voice cut between you and Scott as did his massive frame. You didn’t mind. He was like a huge teddy and just as inviting. Scott greeted him but you could sense his discomfort. The former criminal wasn’t overly fond of people he didn’t know much about. You were an exception. He knew enough to know you weren’t a threat and enough to like you. Thor on the other hand- well Scott had seen him lift Nat, Wanda and you onto his shoulder pretty easily. He’d also met Loki and had a tendency to judge people off their family. One of his bad habits.

‘Starks got these drinks but they’re not just drinks... they’re full of colours. Rainbows Y/N,’ he slurred his words but the man was so excited about colours it was adorable, you happily humoured him.

‘No way! rainbows!’

‘Yes yes! I don’t know what’s in them.’

‘Yeah maybe it’s just vodka.’ Scott raised his eyebrows and then walked off grumpily. You didn’t blame him, Thor tended to take everyone’s lime light, but he could have been nicer. It wasn’t as if the two of you had been chatting for long, or about anything serious. He saved that for his ex wife and you could only imagine how those interactions went.

Then you realised what day it was. Shit. Scott had told you his anniversary was coming up so he might be more serious that usual. The poor man was probably ripping his hair out wondering where he’d gone wrong. All you could do was selfishly hope he didn’t want his ex wife back. You couldn’t even remember her name despite him reminding you. What you did know was that a loud party was either, in his mind, the best place for him to be or the worst and going off what you’d seen so far you suspected the latter.

‘Have any of you seen Scott?’ You paved your way through the dance floor where you cracked a smile at Sam’s dad dancing and Nat’s horrified expression. No one had.

‘Bruce?’ You looked at the scientist with worried but hopeful eyes. ‘Have you seen Scott anywhere?’ Not only did his seem worried too but he actually looked as if he felt sorry for you. Why? Maybe he suspected things. Out of everyone Tony invited, Bruce was the most diplomatic and the most observant and you were not exactly subtle (Tony liked to remind you of that).

After pleading with Bruce to let you know where he was you went to the roof and found Scott. He was sat on the edge, his legs dangling over like he was Parker. Did not bode well.

‘Scott?’ Your breath seemed to clog before it reached your lungs when he turned around to meet your eyes and say your name. It never seemed to feel old hearing it. Y/N. Y/N. Y/N. You straightened your short dress, the cold air reaching deep into your skin. Damn this man and his dramatic going-outside-when-sad routine.

At first you brain told you to leave before you overstayed your ‘uninvitedness’ (if that wasn’t a word your brain had invented it) but your instincts told you to stay. You were stood rigid on the opposite side of the roof to Scott. But he was close enough for you to see his face clearly. Pretty. Pretty but sad. The same could objectively be said about you.

‘I thought you might want company.. but I can g-‘ before you could finish Scott smiled his usual welcoming smile. It told you to stay. You approached him as if he was a frightened deer and it felt strange to do so. After all he had fought Thanos and many powerful beings whilst your arguments seemed to just be with technology.

‘Company’s good.’

You paused as you thought about whether or not to sit down beside him. Sit and you risk falling to your death. Sit and you risk saying the wrong thing to an emotional Scott and wanting to jump to your death. Stay stood up and feel too far away. He seemed to sense your predicament.

‘Sit. You’re not gonna fall.’

But what if you did?

‘Y/N I won’t let you fall. I haven’t bumped up your life insurance.’ You laughed, slightly too much as usual. It was finally dark. Normally darkness didn’t sit well with you. It made you nervous and anxious for everything you hadn’t done for the next day. It made you overthink. Why did the night do that to you and everyone you knew? But from Stark Tower’s roof you could see the entire city and it’s bright unnatural lights. They weren’t as pretty as fireflies or that one scene in Tangled that made Bruce cry but it was still nice.

‘I don’t even understand how life insurance works to be honest.’

Scott widened his eyes at your comment but he was facing the view of New York. Not you. You focused on it too and fought the urge to talk about it. ‘I forget how young you are sometimes.’ That was a stinging thought. His eyebrows were knitted together and his dark eyes were blank. His lips were slightly agape making his expression a mixture of realisation and sorrow. He was probably thinking about his ex wife as he looked at New York’s views. There was a long weighted pause where both of you remained still and watched the city.

‘She was-‘ just as it felt like Scott could fully open up to you he stopped himself. His eyes met yours (finally) and he suddenly cracked his sorrowful expression into a wide but brief smile. ‘Should we go back?’ You didn’t answer. ‘I don’t loveee the idea that the cake might be gone.’ He stood up and stretched his hand out for you to grab. You took it after a moment of hesitation. ‘There was cake?’ Both of you had returned to your childish selves. Enough maturity and worrying. It was meant to be a fun night! You looked down at your dress remembering why you’d dressed so ‘sexily’ in the first place. How could you still be so naive ?

Scott was sad about his ex wife. His 45 year old ex wife. You must have seemed high school aged to the man. Why just why couldn’t you fancy someone younger and more available? Sigh.

[steves-on-a-plane]

Volunteer

for @thefanficfaerie​‘s OTP Challenge (2020)        Words: 1264 Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader        Prompt: Winter Wonderland: Day 10 - Volunteer Summary: Steve & Reader arrive at the compound to help the rest of the team with the Avengers’ annual toy drive. 

“Well, look who finally decided to show up after all the work is done!” Tony commented as you and Steve joined him in the main conference room of the Compound.

“Charity work is never done, Tony.” Steve disagreed.

“We stopped to get more wrapping paper. Bruce texted me that you were running low.” You excitedly showed Tony the five rolls of wrapping paper you’d bought on your way over. Tony inspected each design before noticing a problem.

“Did they not have any Iron Man wrapping paper?” He frowned.

“Oh no, they did, but I assumed you had provided plenty of that.” You assured him. “Try not to have too much fun without me.” You told Steve. You kissed him on the cheek before leaving him alone with Tony to finish decorating the conference room.

Just down the hall in another room Bruce, Thor and Sam were wrapping presents. They each greeted you with smiles as you passed out the spare rolls of wrapping paper. Once the supplies were divvied up, you made room for yourself on the floor and got to work.

“I can’t believe he’s not here yet.” You heard Clint complain as he and Nat entered the room.

“Santa guy still missing?” Sam asked. He glanced down at his watch. “He’s cutting it awful close.”

“What kind of a low life skips out on playing Santa at a charity event?” Nat wondered aloud.

“The kind that only accepts their very large service fee in full and upfront apparently.” Bruce sighed. “Anyone know what the backup plan is if this guy doesn’t show?”

“I got a Santa suit in the trunk of my car.” Sam offered. “I play Santa for the family every year back home. I’ll go get it. Plus, then I can see how Barnes and Rhodey are making out with the reindeer.”

“Reindeer?” You repeated.

“Stark rented out a petting zoo for the kids.” Clint explained. “Rhodey and Bucky were in charge of setting the whole thing up out back. Why don’t you go with Wilson and take a look? Romanoff and I can help with the wrapping.”

“C’mon, [Y/N], I have a feeling those two need all the help they can get.” You followed Sam through the halls of the compound to the back lawn.

Once outside you could see, and smell, the multiple pens that had been set up. There was a pen of Alpacas, each one wearing a knit sweater. Across from them was a small gathering of rabbits. The rabbits varied from angora rabbits with long fur to English lops with long floppy ears. Another pen housed a herd of goats and a fifth had two donkeys who happily munched from a hay bale. Twinkling Christmas lights had been strung above everything to create a soft warm glow.

“Wilson, give us a hand!” Bucky shouted from three yards away. He and Rhodey were standing together by a supply shed next two a seventh pen full of caribou.

“Sorry man, I gotta do a thing.” Sam shrugged before heading to the parking lot.

“I can help.” You offered joining Rhodey and Bucky at the shed.

“We have to put one of these,” Rhodey gestured to freestanding hand sanitizer pump, “and one of these,“ He pointed to a gumball machine type of device that was full of feed. “Inside of every pen and a extra sanitizing station on the outside of every pen.”

“Ok, no problem.” You told them. You picked up one of the feed machines and began carrying it away.

“No problem, she says.” Bucky laughed as he followed behind you with a hand sanitizer station. You entered the reindeer enclosure since it was the closest to you. As you carried the machine inside the rattle of the feed alerted the deer, within seconds they all started approaching you. You paid them no mind and set the machine in the center of the pen. “How did you do that?” he demanded, following you out of the pen.

“I just carried a machine, Buck.” You laughed. “Same as you.”

“Yeah, except when he tried that earlier with the goats, three of them ganged up on him and knocked him to the ground.” Rhodey laughed.

“Wait till I tell Steve you got beat up by goats. He’ll be sad he missed it. Actually, I’m kind of sad I missed that.” You laughed. “I was going to do the rabbits next. You think you can handle that Buck?”

“Ha, ha.” Bucky rolled his eyes. “We get it you’re like a Disney Princess or whatever.”

“Alright, team, how’s it looking out here?” Tony asked. He and Steve had now arrived on the back lawn. “Event starts in ten minutes. The kids’ll be here soon.”

“We’re just about done.” Rhodey updated him as he climbed out of the Alpaca pen.

“Great, everybody suit up and let’s get the show on the road!” Tony clapped his hands before going back inside. After making sure everything at the petting zoo was set up, Rhodey and Bucky followed after him.

“Guess I better go get changed too.” Steve told you. “Oh wait!” He unzipped his winter jacket to reveal the top half of his Cap suit.

“But you left your shield and cowl in the car.” You reminded him.

“You’re right. I’d be lost without you.” He winked before jogging over to the car.

Back inside, Steve and Tony had completely transformed the conference room into a winter wonderland. Instead of a single large table that had been present when you arrived, there were now three smaller two person tables, each with a red or green tablecloth over it. A large Christmas tree that had been set up and decorated prior, had been moved to the front of the room. Piled under the tree were the hundreds of donated presents that the others had been wrapping for the past two days. A red carpet ran up the center of the room, leading to a large plush red armchair.

Sam sat in the red armchair, looking very fitting in his role as Santa Claus. His infectious smile shone through even the fake beard and false reading glasses. The rest of the team milled around the room dressed in their uniforms eagerly waiting for their young visitors.

“Nice engagement ring, [Y/N].” Tony whispered to you. “Thought we wouldn’t notice, but I did.”

“Todays is about the kids, Tony.” You whispered back. “I didn’t want to take away the attention.”

“We’ll have a party later then.” Tony commented. “But for what it’s worth, I know he’s crazy about you and I can’t think of two people more perfect for each other.”

You didn’t have a chance to thank him, because in that instant the door to the conference room opened and about a dozen children entered the room, each one of them absolutely ecstatic to be there. You weren’t sure if the kids were more excited to see the Avengers or Santa. Each child had a chance to tell Santa Sam what they wanted for Christmas before selecting a present from under the tree. Once each of the twelve kids had had their turn, they were ushered outside to the petting zoo and a new group of kids entered.

This continued until all two hundred and fifty kids had been able to meet Santa and the Avengers. After their time with Santa, the rest of the team and the petting zoo was over the children and their caregivers were loaded back into their various vans and buses and the 2020 Avengers’ Toy Drive was officially complete.

[enochianribs]

until it no longer hurts. (cabin/wing fic). read it here, or under the cut.

(accompanying playlist / aesthetic board (thanks @disableddean)

CHAPTER 3. (formatting is lost via tumblr text post fyi)

ch.1 / ch.2

As he lays there, unconscious to the world, and all those things that go bump in the night, his life sorts itself cleanly into two: before and after—   not for the first time.

In fact, there were several times before this. There was before the fire, before the loss of his mother, before John started hunting, before Jess died, before Sammy went to rehab, before Dean picked up that knife. 

Before before before.  

The question has hung in front of him for quite some time now.

What happens after? 

What happens to him, when all is said and done?

The bed is warm and soft and he sinks into it. A hand presses against his chest, pins him down and muscle memory tells him to go for the knife, fingers flexing outward and then curling in, his nails catching on the sheet. 

This is safe. 

Here in this moment, no one can touch him. The tiny flowers on the sheets molt before his eyes, little petals rising out of the fabric and blooming. They're feather light against his bare skin, and the weight of his body is crushing them. He makes a noise of upset, and a hand comes down to press a finger to his mouth, hushing him gently. 

<It's okay.> 

Slowly, he wakes. The warmth from the finger still lingers against his lips, but the bed is hard where his face presses against it, eyelashes fluttering, his eyes open just a crack. The wood of the table greets him, and the sunlight is just now poking through the blinds once again, casting the same lines across the pine knots, along the curves of his outstretched forearm and across where his head faces towards the sun. 

"It's okay." He murmurs, and for an incredibly brief moment he is perplexed by why the words slip from between his lips, until one of his knuckles grazes bare skin. 

His evening comes back. 

Before. 

Before Wings. 

Slowly, Dean sits upright, suddenly entirely aware of the being lying on his table, and his heart beats in his mouth and his fingers catch on something, pulling him even further from the comfort and haze of his dream. He ducks his head in, looking down at where his hand is stuck. His fingers are still woven between Wings', his own a shade lighter.

Dean sits very still.  

He’s afraid to make a sound and wake him up, so he stays there for a moment, assessing the situation he’s willingly walked himself into.

The stranger’s chest rises and lowers every few seconds, almost imperceptibly so.  The gauze is brown from oxidized blood, but it doesn't appear to have been soaked through in the night, proving Dean's improvised medic work satisfactory. The stitches held. 

Huh, Dean thinks. He should be thankful for the live or die experiences thrust upon him by his father's recklessness. 

Half the time, Dean's afraid he took pages out of John's book.

And that would be okay. Well, it wouldn’t—  but he—  he could cope with that. He could work through it. He’s beginning to understand that even as the world ended, it would still spin, and day would come and the night would consume and he’d be okay. 

It’s unspeakably comforting, the feeling of fingers tucked between his own, the way Dean’s calloused palm presses against another, like a bond is forming quietly between a man waking from his dream and another still ensnared. 

“It’s okay.” Dean says one more time, the words an impulse.

Wings stirs, his upper lip twitching a hairsbreadth, and Dean braces for the cry of pain that always comes with waking, even if it’s not aloud. Anticipating the event horizon of his world ending with Wings consciousness, Dean grabs a glass of water, and the bottle of alcohol, and a rag before coming to stand next to his head, his thighs pressed against the edge of the table. 

He stares down at him, and his head feels clearer than it did last night. The stranger’s hair is unruly, unkempt, and Dean can’t tell how long it’s been like that—  how long this winged man has been living in the forest. The locks are nearly as dark as his wings, but the sunlight exposes their truthful deep brown color. It’s tangled here and there, and Dean has to try and restrain himself from carding his fingers through it to work out the knots. A residual caretaking instinct he has had yet no luck fighting.

When they were kids, Sammy always refused to brush his hair, and it was never really a problem when it was just him and Sam. But school begged a shred of presentability from the two, lest child services were called, so he kept up Sam’s appearance for him. Dean kept them fed, schooled, he took care of them both, though Sam always came first. 

Should have always come first. 

Now Dean’s here with someone else’s blood under his fingernails, and there’s a hunter on the loose who probably has it out for them both. And he’s not even a real hunter. He's just some guy with a gun and a penchant for killing things.

    Dean’s officially in over his head. 

Dark smudges look like they’ve been pressed underneath his eyes with two uncaring thumbs, and a distinct line of his cheekbones drags in a swoop across either side of his face. His lips are full but chapped and Dean wonders why he cares, but the urge to dab a spot of lotion against them nearly overpowers him. 

He’s trying hard to ignore the wings. 

There’s finding a human man and then there is finding a man with wings, real wings, with muscle and tendons and quivering feathers, and yep there it is, that edge of panic. 

The word hangs over his head but Dean refuses to use it. His mother’s bedtime stories aren’t real.

Demons are. He knows that now, though they are few and far between. But the a-- no. 

Dean shakes his head.

There's never been any proof. 

He rocks his weight from foot to foot, debating his best course of action. Minutes pass, but the man doesn’t stir again, so finally Dean sucks it up and takes his hand and pats it against his cheek, gently. His skin feels rough against the surprising softness, even the barest hint of stubble is nearly feather soft.  

He comes to sit on the edge of the table.

“Hey.” He murmurs, uselessly.  “Wake up?”

Please wake up.

Wings’ head moves, only slightly, pressing against his hand. Dean freezes like a deer in headlights, caught touching when he should have only been looking. Heat crawls up his cheeks and his stomach flips. 

“Fucking hell, Dean.” He mutters, pulling his hand away and he cocks his head, unsure if he really heard a quiet, sad noise leave the man still lying seemingly unconscious on his table. 

A warm, steady hand snakes out and grabs his wrist. Dean swallows his own quiet noise. It takes everything to look up again, scared of what he’s going to see.

When they lock eyes that fear melts.  

Wings flexing underneath his back, extending as far as they can go until the longest feathers graze the floor and the farthest tip brushes the wall near the dining table, the stranger looks up at him with clear eyes. His lips move rapidly, as he soundlessly repeats something over and over. One side of his face clenches up in pain as he tries to sit up.

Dust particles drift from the rafters like nothing is amiss, little bokehs proving that what Dean sees is real. He still doesn’t believe it.  

“Hey, hey, hey,” he keeps his voice low, holding his breath and extending his hands, palms out, as a friendly act. “I’m not—  I’m not gonna hurt you, just, you gotta let me get—” 

    Before Dean’s fingers even lift the bandaging to inspect the damage, there’s a forearm against his throat, and he’s pinned against the table by strong arms and they form an iron cage to hold him there. Two strong legs straddle him. Whatever he was going to say dies in his throat. 

    “Wings—” 

    The stranger barks something out, the syllables harsh and completely foreign, staring down at Dean with a combustion-prone concoction of fear, confusion and leftover adrenaline mixing behind the blue. 

    “Please I—” 

The arm presses against his windpipe even harder, and Dean meets the icy stare. Wings tilts his head, and his eyes narrow, his lips hanging open slightly, like he wants to say something. 

“I’m trying to help you.” 

    The pressure lessens a fraction, and Dean takes the opportunity to whip his arm up, hand sliding between him and Wings’ own, and he pushes him away and back a short inch, but it’s enough to throw the smaller man. Finally free, his throat drags in a breath but he doesn’t plan on giving wings another opening, so he brings his knee up from under the other man, using it as a brace to prevent him from overpowering him again. 

    He says the first thing that flies through his pea-brain. “Who are you?” Lord help him, he may just be the stupidest man alive. “What do I call you?” Asking him to introduce himself seems like the dumbest possible direction for the scene playing out. 

    With the quilt long gone, the stranger is fully indecent again, and Dean’s trying very hard to ignore it, because it’s the icing on the unreal cake. Fire creeps up his cheeks regardless and Dean squirms. 

A black arm brings itself up and around Wing’s body curling as though it was a protective stance. It reminds him of a knight with a shield. Everything else about his posture screams prey animal, and Dean can tell when the ghost of a fight is reverberating through someone’s muscle memory.

What the fuck did Campbell do to him? 

To top it all off, Dean realizes he did a terrible job of cleaning the blood away from his mouth. The blue takes over his eyes as his pupil’s become pinpricks of something primal and it doubles with the dried blood smeared down the hollow of his throat. 

“Hey,” Dean’s voice is low and shaking and he feels just like he did when he spent all those years helpless, just a child yanked around. “Stay with me. C’mon.” 

The wing lowers, and as it does so it catches the light, and the entire wing is made up of feathers that look just like the ones sitting on his mantle, an oil slick in sunshine. Without thinking, Dean brings his hand to his thigh and squeezes it, thumb digging into the meat of it. The touch is meant to be grounding, though he’s not sure who for.

“You know me.” He hums, in a futile effort to comfort him. 

A flip must switch in the stranger’s mind, because he nods suddenly, pulling his weight off of Dean and settling down on his own legs, his wings larger than life, spread out in the room.

“Dean.” He says, and it sounds reverent, his voice rough, the syllable catching in his throat. He doesn’t seem to notice, but fresh scarlet blooms across the bandage. “Dean.”

Dean stays as still as a statue and he can’t recall ever saying his name, though that’s usually how it goes for most anything. Words pour out of his mouth ceaselessly, and he’s always embarrassing himself, dumping his scattered thoughts on poor unsuspecting souls: hey, did you know that Led Zeppelin were tolkien fans? Simply because he’d seen someone had walked past wearing a Tree of Gondor shirt. 

But Dean doesn’t remember saying his own name. His fathers harsh words rattle around inside his mind: kill first, figure out what it is later.

This thought has to wait, though, because the bullet wound seems to have caught up to him, and Wings slumps forward, his entire body going limp in Dean’s arms, his wings thumping down against the table. Dean drags his hands up his back, until his fingers are buried in the downy feathers that molt into his shoulder blades. Dean can’t be certain, but he feels warmer than last night, like he’d been sleeping next to a fire. 

Fuck, fuck fuck.

Dean has no idea how to treat an infection, not really. He can try and prevent one from happening, sure—  he’s done that what feels like hundreds of times. But if the infection takes hold it’s out of his hands and he’s going to be left with a dead winged man on his table, or a possibly alive winged man forced into the spotlight. 

Dean presses his fist to his mouth, and his body feels like a bow-string pulled too taut, threatening to snap. There’s no one who can help, and there’s no one he trusts.

    Dean sits there for nearly thirty minutes, ignoring where his friend’s blood has stained his shirt. The cabin smells like iron, and like feathers, which he hadn’t realized was a distinct scent until it filled up the room. His phone sits in his hands. 

    The texture of the rug on the floor blurs with the sound of the ragged breathing next to him. 

    His phone rings.

    His fingertips burn where they touched his warm, soon to be cold thigh.

    It rings again.

    “Hey.” Dean expects Sam’s voice on the other end, and blinks, confused when he’s greeted with a familiar short drawl that he can’t immediately place.  

    “Missouri says he’s gonna be fine, kid.”

    The voice belongs to Pamela. 

    “Who?” Dean stands up abruptly. Is she outside?

    “Your birdman.”

    Dean doesn’t acknowledge the remark. “Who?”

    Once again, Dean is privy to a conversation happening away from the phone. It sounds like another woman talking, and she sounds annoyed. 

    “Oh. Missouri. The ol’ wife.”

    “Wife?” He runs a quick calculation in his head and then raises his eyebrows. That tracks. 

    “Dean Winchester, are you listening to me.”

    Uh, no? 

“Yeah, yeah okay. I heard you. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

    Whatever she thinks she knows, she better not.

    Something that sounds, in a honey sweet and dainty voice, like ‘Give it here’ comes from the other end and then she’s speaking to him directly. 

    “Dean Winchester?” She asks.

    “Speaking.”

    “Mmkay, good. You better listen up, sweetheart because he’s gonna be fine, but I’m still sending Pam your way. She was a nurse before she retired early, so whatever is wrong with the wound, she should be able to help.”

    For once, Dean is rendered speechless, and utterly, utterly confused. 

    “You still there?”

    “Yeah.” Dean croaks. “Yeah, I’m still here.” He looks over at where Wings is laying. His skin should look sunkissed, but instead beads of sweat form along his tendons, and they’re pulled tight, his body tense even if he’s out cold. “How do you know about him?”

    “Pamela and I… we share some unique gifts. But that shouldn’t concern you right now. You’ve got a fallen angel dying in your living room. She’ll be there in about fifteen minutes, alright?” She doesn’t wait for his response. “Go dig up some of Rufus’ old stash. The good stuff.”

    “Why?” He feels deeply out of the loop. 

    “To calm your nerves. I can feel them from here. Alright now, I’m gonna hang up. Sit tight until she gets there.” 

▵▿▵

Knuckles rap against the door, and Dean nearly jumps out of his skin. From the time it took him to hang up to Pamela showing up at his door it had started to rain again. This time the storm was black, and he had a feeling there would be no sunset, just the dimming of the sky until the charcoal was pitch. He flips the porchlight on as he opens the door. 

Pamela’s black hair is caught under the strap of an army green duffel bag, and the rain drips down her forehead and off her chin, smearing her smokey eye shadow slightly. Standing next to her is a woman Dean hasn’t met yet. She stands tall, and if there is a height difference between her and Pamela, he can’t tell. Her ringlets are just as soaked as her wife's and her dark eyes catch the yellow of the porch light. Inexplicably, they're warm, and Dean lends himself to trusting them. 

“The psychic forgot her umbrella, huh?” Dean asks, stepping aside to let them in. 

Missouri makes  a face. 

“I was gonna say you’re the prettiest thing in these hills but…” Whatever she was going to say, dies as she takes in the sight strewn across the dining table. 

Pamela sets her duffle bag down in one of the seats pulled away from the table and then her arm goes limp as she stands there. Missouri stops by her side, the fingers of her hand trailing her arm until it rests stationary by Pamela’s, their pinkies intertwining. 

“Seeing and believing are truly two different things.” Missouri sounds almost reverent.

“Yeah.” Dean breathes, and, actually, he gets that. “Earlier, on the phone you called him a…” 

“An angel.”

There are a million questions he could ask but he settles on one. “How do you know?”

Pamela tears her gaze away for just a moment, to look over her shoulder at Dean. “That’s a long story for another night. Right now, we have an angel to save. You look terrible, by the way.”

“Mmhm. Dead on your feet. There’s nothing you can do to help right now. We’ll take care of your angel.”

“Have you eaten anything since you found him?” Pam asks. The duffle bag zipper slices through the ambient silence between words, and she rifles through it for a solid minute before she finally produces a pair of tweezers and what looks to be military grade cotton balls with a pleased grin.

His stomach makes a pathetic noise in response, however instead of making a move to eat something, he's standing there staring validly, wondering why these two women who live in the middle of nowhere are completely calm about Mr. Comatose being heaven sent.

It’s fairly obvious from the way their backs are turned to him now, heads leaning in close until they're almost touching so they can whisper in confidence, that he isn’t going to get any answers tonight. 

The exhaustion hits him like a tidal wave, breezing through his muscles, seeping straight into his bones and burrowing in his marrow. Pamela seems to have some left over hospital grade drugs in her nursing kit, and his new friend is completely subdued under the quiet blanket of sleep. 

“Dean.” He tears his gaze away from the middle distance, where it had gotten comfortable to see Pamela watching him, her eyes narrow with concern. “I don’t want to have to take care of you next. Eat something and get some rest. You’ve done enough. We’ll be out of your hair once we’re done.”

Dean shouldn’t trust them. But he does. He doesn’t have any other choice. Shuffling around, he shows Missouri the outlets, where Rufus’s first aid-kit (nearly an end-of-days cold war quantity) stash is shoved into the top three shelves of one of the three storage closets. Missouri promises to lock up and leave the key under the worn-through doormat, and Dean nods sleepily. 

Missouri pats his cheek, and for the briefest of moments, Dean misses home. He misses Sammy. His life had never been simple or easy or even nice, but at least it had been predictable. 

“He’s gonna be okay, sweetheart. I promise.”

▵▿▵

When he wakes, he’s in his bed and sleep-drunk, and there’s an empty space to his side, a starless void that he’d never been able to fill. In his living room lies the moon, and the stars, and the hopeful sliver of himself wonders if even the sun can be found there as well. The cabin is peaceful, a comforting fog of quiet wrapping him up. Sleep drags him under again, and he goes willingly. 

[imbellarosa]

did someone say they wanted a small, sad SPN 15x20 rewrite (of sorts)?? it’s under the cut. the point of this is to show that they could have made it (mostly) tragic without making it Completely Pointless. this one’s for @queenlokibeth and @treatlouwithkindness who are grieving with me and for @dependsonwhospitching and @belgianreader2 who have been WATCHING me grieve for this fandom they knows nothing about and being the best kind of friends and also for anyone who asked what my writing looked like! this is a bit of an unbeta’d mess but here it is! 

They keep going. The road is in front of them, and they keep going, and they don’t stop until they run out of gas. Dean blasts Led Zepplin until his ears hurt, until his throat is raw from shouting the lyrics. He had forgotten that Cas had left his mixtape in the car last time they’d driven out. A trench coat, too, as it had turned out, a clean one. Guess Cas had gotten used to having his shirt ripped too many times to not have a spare handy. 

 (“Why would he not bring another one,” he had asked about Star Trek once, after Kirk’s shirt had been ripped again. 

“Not the point, Cas,” Dean had rolled his eyes and taken a swig of his beer.)

Sam looks at him like he’s worried, talks to him like he thinks Dean might spontaneously combust at any second. Dean tries to not feel offended. It isn’t like Sam’s wrong, but he wishes that they could act like everything was normal, for a second - like they used to, before Demons and Angels and Apocalypses, and trials and falling and flying. Eileen calls on the third day and shatters the illusion. It’s not that Dean isn’t happy to hear from her - of course he is - but it reminds him that he is acutely alone, and that it’s always going to be that way. They make a sharp U-turn, and start driving in the direction of the coordinates Eileen gave them. 

They stop in a small town along the way, meet some vamps ( “fuckin’ vamps,” Dean grumbles as he decapitates the last one), and keep moving west. Around Pontiac, Illinois, Sam stops the car and gets out.

“Dean,” he sighs, “what are you planning?”

“What’d’ya mean,” he replies, knowing exactly what he means. 

“Really?” Sam looks at him. “You want me to believe that Cas is dead and you’re just - what? You’re just accepting it? That it’s fine?” 

“It’s not fine, Sam,” he snaps, then takes a deep breath, and tries again, “it’s not fine. But what do you want me to do? Man, we just went up against God, and we won. Haven’t we learned that every time we play with these big, cosmic pieces that things just get more screwed? We can’t do that again, Sam, Cas wouldn’t want us to do that again. He’d want us - you - to get that apple pie life. So let’s just. Let’s do that for him, okay?”

“And what about you, Dean,” Sam doesn’t quite seem to believe him. Hell, Dean doesn’t really believe himself yet. “What are you gonna do?” 

“I dunno,” Dean rubs the back of his neck and looks at the trench coat in the backseat. “I’ll probably go back to the bunker, find a new job. Hit the road for a while” - he glances at Sam, who’s hair is almost long enough to tie into a bun - “you and Eileen could come with, if you want.” 

Sam sighs and seems to consider it, but Dean knows what he’s gonna say even before he does. Dean has always known his brother better than himself. 

“Nah,” Sam glances at him, then at his phone, and then at the sunset. “I think I’m gonna go try that apple pie life for a while. Or at least get as close to it as two former hunters can get.” 

“Yeah,” Dean says. “Thought you might say that.” 

“Hey,” Sam grabs his forearm. “If you ever need anything - help on a case, or a place to stay - anything - just let me know.” 

“Yeah,” Dean turns and faces his brother, and it feels like goodbye, even though he knows it isn’t. 

                                                              *

They reach Vermont - where Eileen had popped up - and met her in front of a bed and breakfast by a lake. She said that she just...appeared there one day, without a phone or money or a place to go. She’d borrowed the owner’s phone and called Sam as soon as she could, and had done some hustling for starter money. Sam stares at her like she’s a miracle, which, Dean supposes, he is. It’s the second time she’s come back to him, and Dean can see that Sam knows the absolute unlikeliness.

“What. Uh, what happened,” Sam clears his throat and tries to rub the tears out of his eyes. “How did it..how are you here?”

Jack, she signs, he said. He said that everyone should be with their families. 

“So, uh,” Sam looks at her like she’s going to disappear any second, “everyone’s...they’re okay?”

Well, she shrugs and smiles, and Sam had missed that mischievous glint in her eye, they’re all probably a bit confused, but we’re ..

”not dead,” she finishes verbally. Dean looks away, frozen like a deer in the headlights, or a boy lost in a crowd.

Sam grabs her and he hugs her and she’s small and slight, bones and edges and he can feel the outline of a gun hidden in waistband and he wonders how and when she got ahold of that, but mostly, he holds her and when he breathes in her hair smells a bit like apples. He doesn’t notice he’s crying until she pulls away and reaches up to wipe his tears. 

“It’s okay,” she says, and then signs, I’m okay. 

“I missed you,” Sam says, “I just. I missed you.”

I was gone for a week, she signs and rolls her eyes theatrically, what would you do without me? 

“Uh,” Sam gives a watery chuckle, “Let’s never find out, okay?”

That’s when Dean clears his throat. It’s not that he doesn’t love his baby brother, that he isn’t over the moon for him, because of course he is, but...

“Everyone’s back,” he clears his throat and checks his phone, “all of you?”

“Dean,” Eileen says, and her voice is kind. Dean thinks that he should learn more sign language. If she has to speak his language, he figures he should learn hers, too. And then he thinks that that sounds like something Cas would have said, and he looks back at Eileen, who’s trying to meet his eyes. 

“Is Cas...” Dean trails off, because he can’t ask the question - he knows the answer.

“He gave me a message for you,” she says, and she moves out of Sam’s arms to stand in front of him. “He wanted me to tell you that he’s okay. That Jack pulled him out.”

“So where is he,” Dean growls, turning away. Out of the corner of his eyes, he can see Sam interpreting, and it strikes him just how much Sam loves this woman - this woman who was one of them, who had fought beside them, who had made her way back to them. He faces her again. “Where” - his voice breaks, and he almost wishes Sam weren’t here to see it - “where’s Cas?”

“He told me,” Eileen continues, signing as she speaks, “he told me to tell you that he meant what he said. He said that he wanted to come back and see you, but that his son needs him. That your son needs him. He said that Jack might be God now, but he’s still his son, and he needs help now more than ever. That maybe God needs family, too, to remind him to be kind. Cas” - Eileen is crying now, too, she can’t help it - “Cas said that you’d understand that. That he’s going to be waiting, and that it’ll be sooner than you expect. He says that he’s gonna see you again, and that he knows. He told me to tell you that he knows what you were gonna say. And that he’s always going to...have his ears on. 

“I don’t know what that means,” she finishes with a small shrug. “I’m sorry.”

And so Dean does the only thing he possibly can do. He gathers his sister, and he hugs her, too.

“Yeah,” he says, letting go. “yeah, I get it. Thanks. That, uh. That means a lot to me.”

Sam looks at him with those puppy dog eyes he’d had since he was a baby and Dean waves him away.

“Oh, don’t do that,” he says loudly, “Come on, Sammy, let’s go start the rest of our lives.”

They turn back, and go inside the inn. 

                                                             *

“Hey Cas,” Dean whispers into the dark, the moon just a hang nail crescent shape outside his window. A new lunar cycle. He’s got twenty days ‘til werewolf time. He wonders if he’ll ever stop keeping time with monsters. “Eileen says you have your ears on, so. I mean, here’s hoping she’s right. Uh. I get it. Believe me, man, I do, Jack needs you. Hell, one of the last things I told him was that he wasn’t family and I was wrong - I was so wrong. Tell him. Tell him that I miss him, too. That he’s always gonna be my kid, you know? Even if he is all powerful now. 

“Um. But. I miss you. I know that you’re up there, and I’ll see you again but that’s gonna be years from now, man, and I just don’t know how to wake up and not see you in the kitchen trying to figure out how the coffee machine works. I don’t know how to watch a movie without looking over to see if you got the joke. Damn. So much for no chick flick moments, huh? Eileen said. She said that you knew and I didn’t have to say anything, but that’s how we got in this mess to begin with, so uh. Here goes, I guess. You gotta know that you’re it for me, man. I’m not as good with words as you are, but at the end of the day, I guess I always kinda thought we were gonna grow old together, you, me, Sam, in the bunker watching bad movies and finding new cases and just...making it up as we go along.

“I thought that one day you’d just...I don’t know. Move in with me, I guess? And that would be that. I thought we had all the time in the world, and then we had no time, and I didn’t - I froze. I’m sorry that I was a coward. I’m sorry that I didn’t say this - any of this - when you were here to hear it. But, uh. Hope you’re hearing it now.”

Somewhere, a bee hums its way back to its hive, singing in tune with a prayer. Somewhere, a boy laughs loudly, looking down at his little brother and thinking I will always keep you safe. Somewhere, a car moves down the interstate, music at full blast, driver high on life. Somewhere, a writer writes, and the world does not change at all. And, outside his window, Dean sees a falling star, and pretends that it’s an angel with a crack in their chassis, making their way down to find someone who loves them. When he falls asleep, he does not dream. 

                                                             *

Dean goes back to the bunker. It’s big and empty, but it was Cas’ home, and so it’s his, too. Sam and Eileen go back with him, but he knows they won’t be there for too long.

“This will always be your home, Sammy,” he says when Sam loads his boxes onto an old trailer of Bobby’s, because Dean’s trying to say all the words he feels out loud these days. 

“I know, Dean,” Sam says, even if he doesn’t, and then he hugs his brother tightly, not for the last time, but for the last time in this moment, as the people they once were. When they meet again they won’t have grown together, and so they will be strangers, in some ways. 

Maybe, Dean thinks, that’s how it’s supposed to be. He watches Sam and Eileen climb into the truck and head North, and he calls them at the end of the day to make sure they haven’t run into trouble.

“You don’t need to come save me yet, Dean,” Sam scoffs, but he’s secretly relieved that they’ll always have this, and so he doesn’t hang up until Eileen shoots him that look that says ‘I’ll murder you if you don’t hurry up’, and he’s more scared of her than Dean, so he hangs up and keeps driving.

Sam doesn’t stop driving until they make their way into Texas, into a small town with a house that sits on a large lot of land, and has a storm cellar in the basement. They raid the local grocery store for all the salt they can find, put rosaries into the water tanks, and then they start unpacking their boxes. Sam thinks that he’s never gonna be out, not really, but he’s not gonna be in either. He needs this for a while - the trees and the long grass and the woman beside him and nothing that goes bump in the night. He sends a quick thank you to Jack and Cas and thinks that maybe they can start to heal. 

                                                              *

Dean watches movies on Thursday nights. At first they’re movies that he meant to show Cas but never got around to: Lord of the Rings, When Harry Met Sally, James Bond. Then he gets around to watching those dumb nature documentaries Cas would always put on when he thought no one was paying attention - Dean was always paying attention, and now that he realizes it he just...he feels so damn stupid. But he watches them anyways, because he thinks Cas would have enjoyed it if he’d sat down with him and watched a thing about bees, just once.

“The things I do for you, Cas,” he says out loud every time he picks a new one. “Gotta admit, though, that David Attenborough - he knows what he’s talking about.” 

He tries watching a horror movie once, but it hurts, looking at the demons on the screen and remembering Meg and Ruby and Crowley and Lucifer and Michael and Cas. It always comes back to Cas. 

“I just miss you, man,” he says to his room, his car, his cup of coffee. He keeps the dog named Miracle, and he thinks that Cas would have liked that, and he takes him on walks every morning and pretends that Cas is with him.

“I got a call from Jody last night,” he says to no one, though he puts headphones on so that people who see him don’t think he’s all sorts of wacko. He could just be on the phone. He wishes he was on the phone. “She says that Claire and Kaia are getting really serious. Says they want to move out and start hunting together, and she wanted to know what I thought of it. Can you believe that, Cas? Told her to give her a bit of space, and remind her that she’s family. You probably would have said it better, but. It’s the best I got. I’m not used to this whole...talking thing yet, okay? Claire’s 21 now, Cas. I feel so old. Maybe I’ll invite Jody and Donna and them for Thanksgiving. Sam and Eileen, too, of course, but we have more than enough space in the bunker.”

Dean will never stop saying ‘we’. 

                                                           *

Sam has a kid and names him Dean and Dean cries for hours when he finds out. He calls Claire and tells her to drag her ass over for a visit next month, he knows she and Kaia are busy saving the world, but to not forget about him in the meantime, and she agrees and tells him to get his ass off the phone and enjoy his nephew. 

“You’d love this,” Dean tells Cas, “he’s such a good kid. He never cries. Sam and Eileen almost thought something was wrong with him, Sam even took him to a priest to have him checked over, what with the...you know. But nah. He’s a perfectly normal kid - or, as normal as you can be, if you’re Sam’s kid, I guess.”

Dean laughs, then sighs, looking around Sam’s house, how he and Eileen have built a life and then babyproofed it. Sam hasn’t hunted a single monster in over nine months, and the world is still turning, somehow. Ten years ago, he never would have believed it. But now, well. He has faith.

“Tell Jack I said hi,” Dean whispers to Cas. “Tell him I miss him, too, and that this kid is gonna know all about him - you, too, you know. I’m never gonna shut up about you.”

An owl hoots outside of baby Dean’s window, and Dean chooses to believe that it’s Cas laughing at him. 

                                                                *

He gets old. Every Christmas, he sets up a small tree, and at the top of it, he puts an angel with a blue tie and a trench coat. He takes up Bobby’s phone banks, and suddenly he’s got Sheriff’s from all over the country asking him if he’s agent “Swift” or “Spears” and every time he hears the names, he smirks and glances upwards and says, “Yeah, hello, who am I speaking to?” 

Big Threats pop up, and before long he realizes that he’s built quite the network of hunters to deal with it, that he no longer needs to hit the road himself. So he starts buying up classic cars, and he fixes them up. Chevy’s, BMWs, Fords, you name it, he buys it, then he restores and sells them, and uses the money from the sale to buy the next one. He puts the extra cash back into the network of hunters, making sure they have fakes, supplies, and a safe place to go if they need it. And so, over the years, the bunker becomes a sort of Hunter Hub. A home base. 

Sometimes, couples would leave their kids with Dean while they went out on jobs, and he would tell them stories of when he was young. He’d tell them of his brother, who had brought about and then stopped the apocalypse, of the demon who became a friend, about Ellen and Jo and the Roadhouse, how it had been a place like his for people who needed it, he told them about Bobby, the man who raised him and loved him even though they weren’t blood, and he told them about Kevin and Charlie who had been so young and still fought so bravely and taught him so much. He’d show them the postcards that Charlie sent him - was still sending him - from her and Stevie’s world travels. And, of course, he’d tell them about Cas. Always Cas. The angel who saved him from hell, who revolted against heaven for the sake of the whole world (for Dean’s sake, because he loved him), who became a man and kept fighting anyways, though he didn’t know quite how. He told them about Cas and Metatron and Cas and Lucifer and Cas and Naomi and Cas, Cas, Cas, everywhere.

Sometimes, when the children were older, he’d show them pictures to go along with the stories. A copy of the last picture he has of Jo and Ellen, standing there with Bobby and Sam and him and Cas and he tries hard not to think about how its just him and Sam left. He shows them pictures of Cas in a cowboy hat and Jack in stupid sunglasses. He shows them pictures of Sam and Eileen, even though they don’t visit very often. 

(”I can’t, Dean,” Sam had said. “I can’t raise my kid how dad raised us. I have to be out.”

“I get that, Sam,” Dean had nodded, “But this is my life. I gotta do this, not just for me.”

“I know,” Sam had said, and then, “Hey.”

“Hmm?”

“Love you, jerk.”

“Bitch.”

And they had laughed, and Dean would go to their house for Christmas and the New Years and they would go to his for Thanksgiving, and he would meet up with Sam once a month in a small bar in Oklahoma, halfway between Kansas and Texas, and it would be good. Dean would never have believed it, before, but this was...good.)

                                                             *

Dean lives ‘til he’s eighty two, and he never once stops talking to Cas as though he was still around. Sam still prayed, sometimes, but not like that, never like that. Dean, ironically, was the most devout person most people knew. He always said that a parent should have faith in their kid, and as his kid was God, well. He had no choice but to be faithful. When he was older, his neighbors would laugh - what a crazy way of looking at the world! Dean would smile and wave them off and put his headphones in, ‘call’ his partner, and walk his dog. 

He dies quietly, one night, and, in the morning, the hunters that had been staying in the bunker find him in his bed, smiling, with an old mixtape on the nightstand. They call Sam, who is an old man himself, and he calls his son (who has kids of his own, Sam can hardly believe it). Dean Jr. (DJ, he’d decided when he was seven, and stuck to it ever since) picks his mom and dad up and takes them to the bunker, where they wrap dean in cloth, build a pyre, and then salt and burn him. A proper hunter’s funeral for a man who never stopped fighting. 

Claire and Kaia are there, and they bring their kids. Sam hugs them, and presses the keys to the bunker in Claire’s hand.

“You keep this place up,” he tells her with a smile, “Dean would have wanted that.”

She’s older now, well in her forties - the same age Dean had been when he’d started to run his home like a hostel for hunters - but Sam still sees the eight year old girl who’d loved her dad so much she let an angel possess her. He thinks, our bodies, possessed by light, and then he thinks about Cas properly for the first time in many years. Take care of my brother, he prays, and then turns to Claire and leads her inside. They have pie together. 

                                                           *

When Dean opens his eyes, he’s in the bunker. He feels lighter than he has in decades: his back doesn’t ache and his joints don’t creak, and he hears someone bustling around in the kitchen. Probably Claire, he thinks, and then moves to sit up before noticing his own hands. The wrinkles that had become so familiar are gone. As are the permanent grease stains from spending so much time under the hood of a car. His old hunting boots are by the door, and a plaid overshirt is bunched in the corner of the desk, like it had landed there when he’d tossed it off the night before. But...he was pretty sure he didn’t own that shirt anymore. He can hear a radio crackling from the living room, playing Ramble On. He hasn’t listened to that song since...well. In a long time. 

Slowly, he makes his way down to the kitchen, and stops dead when he reaches the door. 

“I,” he starts, and his voice is young and strong and nothing like he remembers it being when he went to bed. 

“Hello Dean,” Cas says, and then the bacon catches fire.

“Woah,” Dean exclaims, rushing over and crowding the stove - it used to be like that, he remembers, between cases - Cas never could figure out how to cook and Dean would always end up shooing him out of the kitchen. Can’t have you killin’ us here, Cas, he would say, and finish the meal for both of them. Then they would sit, have a beer, and not say much of anything at all. Dean had almost forgotten. He turns down the stove, tosses the burnt bacon, and clears his throat. “Well, guess it doesn’t matter if you burn the food here, ‘cuz I’m guessing you can’t kill us.”

“No,” Cas agrees, looking very much as lost and disbelieving as Dean feels. “We’re already dead - or, you are. My condolences.” 

“Nah,” Dean huffs a laugh, “it’s okay. My life was pretty good, you know? But it was probably my time - way past it, even.” 

“Your life was remarkable,” Cas looks at him solemnly. “Thank you for sharing it with me.”

“You could hear me?”

“Were you not certain of that,” Cas raises his eyebrows. 

“I had faith,” Dean hip checks him, and smiles. “Thanks for listening.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t be there,” Cas says softly.

“Jack needed you, I get that. And look,” Dean catches his eye and grins, “here we are anyways. Not like death ever stopped us.” 

They cook in silence for a moment.

“How long has it been, for you,” Dean asks him.

“A week,” Cas shrugs and looks away. “Maybe two. Time moves differently here.”

“It was forty years, for me,” Dean says.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not. My life....it was good, Cas. Maybe it wasn’t perfect, but I did alright. And I was never alone. I had family. I had you.” 

“Well,” Cas catches his hand and pulls it away from the new pan of eggs, “you certainly have me now.” 

The second pan of eggs burns, too.

[sylvie-writes]

Paint the Town

This goes out to my precious anon who requested some fluff with our loveable Steve. I apologize for the long wait! My power went out so no WiFi and some very bad reception. (So if it went through twice here’s why) anyhoo, I hope you enjoy it, nonnie!

If there was one way Steve could describe you, it would be that you are like a bright light in a dark room. Anytime Steve would see you, it’s like his day got better instantly. So after sparing Bucky and getting cleaned up, he ventured off to the kitchen to find you. He could only imagine that you were trying to flip pancakes or maybe even goofing off with Sam, but when he walked in to find you sitting at the counter gloomily eating a bowl of cereal, his heart sank deep into the pit of his stomach. How could his loveable (y/n) be sad when the day had just started?

Steve carefully walked to the counter, approaching you as if you were a baby deer, easily able to be frightened.

“Hi Darling.” You could feel Steve’s warm hands on your shoulders and his lips to the crown of your head. Attempting to muster up all your energy, you turned to Steve and gave him a small smile to which he frowned.

“Sweetheart, what’s wrong?” You didn’t feel like talking at the moment, so shaking your head would have to do.

Steve knew everything, he was your husband after all. He could tell when you were sick or upset or even when you were over the moon ecstatic! It hurt him to see you so downcast.

They say when you are in love you’ll do anything. Steven Grant Rogers wasn’t just your husband, he was your best friend. The man who would always have your back, the man who would love you unconditionally.

As you finished up the bowl of cereal, an idea came to Steve’s mind. You hadn’t even seen the look of excitement on his face while you got up to go clean the bowl. The running water and slow movements of the sponge kept you in a trance, making you jump when Steve wrapped his arms around your waist.

“I have an idea.” His lips were right up against your ear as he whispered, making you giggle and bringing a grin to his face.

One large hand reached over you to shut off the water, while the other went to grab the bowl and put it in the dishwasher. You turned around to be met with Steve’s broad chest and his beaming smile looking down on you. You couldn’t help but smile at his childlike enthusiasm, it was the first time today that you truly smiled.

Placing your smaller hands on his unusually, large biceps, you slowly rubbed your hands up and down in a soothing manner.

“How about I take you around Brooklyn today? Show you the places I went as a kid.” He playfully winked at you in a manner so you couldn’t reject his offer. Rolling your eyes, you agreed and he happily kissed your lips, catching you off guard.

When you both got in the car, he was talking faster than an auctioneer, spitting off the day's agenda. You couldn’t believe how this man, the one who was the literal definition of seriousness, was acting as if he were a child on Christmas morning. If the team had seen how the Captain was so let loose at the moment, you were positive they’d think that Steve had lost a few screws of his own.

“I can show you my old apartment, oh and this amazing place Bucky and I would go for lunch sometimes!”

Not even a second went by before you kissed his cheek, preventing him from babbling anymore.

“I’ve never seen you this excited for anything before, honey.” Steve’s face grew a faint hint of a blush. Lightly giggling at his reaction, you reached for his hand that wasn’t on the wheel.

Soon after, Steve pulled up to an old apartment building that looked vacant. He was quick to jump from the car and extended his hand out for yours, helping you out of. As you walked, you looked up at the old building, imagining your Steve living in his own timeline.

“I promise, doll, that back then, it looked a lot better.”

“I don’t doubt it, hon. The vintage charm, I think it’s cute!”

Steve cautiously led you up the old metal staircase until he reached the floor of his apartment. As Steve searched around for the brick that hid the key, you looked over the railing and out at Brooklyn. It may have been rundown now, but back then it was Steve’s home and your heart warmed at the thought.

“Ready?” Your husband held up the small key and you eagerly nodded, leaping forward to interlock your arm with his.

Upon entering the small apartment, you saw a humble little sofa covered by a ripped plastic wrap, a few wooden frames on the wall and a small kitchenette. The sun shone through the window and you could see the dust floating in the air.

“Sorry about the mess, but home sweet home!” The one thing about Steve was no matter the situation, he’d always try to be optimistic and you loved him immensely for that.

“It looks amazing for being empty for almost 70 years.” This time you gave him a playful wink and walked away to go look at the pictures on the wall.

You gasped as the picture presented a boyish Steve and young Bucky.

“Steve is that you? You’re absolutely adorable!” He couldn’t believe that you were gushing over him. If anything, he still expected for you to ridicule him like the women did way back when.

“I am glad you think that. You know how many girls rejected me?”

You turned around in disbelief to see Steve bashfully standing there with his hands in his pockets, like a puppy with its tail between its legs.

“Aww Stevie! That’s terrible.”

When you placed your hands on his face, it was a comforting mechanism, reminding him of how much you love you have for the man.

Because you threw the dog a bone, it perked up. Steve instantly regained his excitement and clasped your hand in his.

“Looking back, I kinda think it’s funny.” A shy smile grew on his face before he continued his thought. “How about we head to lunch and I’ll tell you the story on the way.”

“Sounds good!”

The pizzeria was just a few blocks away, so you both opted to walk. Currently, the weather was comfortable and you were able to enjoy the walk while laughing with Steve as he recalled the time Bucky invited him to the Stark Expo.

“Oh, I can’t even imagine how that must’ve felt!” In an attempt to sympathize with him, you squeezed his arm closer to you.

“Well, I mean if she hadn’t left me for Bucky, I wouldn’t have wandered off to recruitment and I wouldn’t be here with you.”

Steve always found a way to make you blush, even though you had known him for years. The man very well knew what he was doing and leaned down to kiss your nose. You couldn’t help but agree with what he had said. Part of you felt guilty for being glad that girl ditched him, but then again life would be so different if she hadn’t.

Your gentleman of a husband held open the door to the restaurant and you were instantly greeted with the intoxicating smell of oven cooked pizza.

You let Steve order since he was so giddy to take you there in the first place. To your surprise when a pepperoni pizza was placed on the table you were only a little disappointed till you took the first bite.

“Oh my god! Steve, this is amazing!”

Surprisingly, it wasn’t just any plain pepperoni pizza. You had set your expectations so low that when you took the first bite, it was an other worldly experience.

Steve laughed at your reaction and reached over to wipe the pizza sauce on your face. You slightly blushed once again, and he just smiled, resting his thumb on your chin. Steve bore into your eyes with a loving gaze which you returned. Honestly you both looked like lovesick fools, but who’s to judge when you both are so happy!

“Are you having a good time?” There was a look of worry on his face, afraid that he had let you down.

“Oh, sweetheart! I’m having the best time. Thank you for making today so much better!” A wave of relief washed over his face and he took your hand giving a kiss on the back of it.

That was when you realized Steven Grant Rogers would always be there for you. He was the little guy from Brooklyn who you could always rely on. His heart was always in the best place and he never failed to make your whole day enjoyable.

[buckyreaderrecs]

Bucky Barnes and the Girl With Too Much Power: Chapter 4/?

Summary:  Nobody knows about your power. You’ve never really wanted to use it, let alone hurt someone with it. But, someone has figured you out, and now they’re following you. There’s only one place you can go for help - The Avengers. Good news is they’re good people. Bad news is your power is entirely relevant to soft, sad, recovering, broody Bucky Barnes. Chapter 1. Chapter 2. Chapter 3. 

Chapter 4: You have to leave behind the life you knew. 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader Characters: Bucky Barnes, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov, Sam Wilson, Tony Stark, Wanda Maximoff, Peter Parker Additional tags: Bucky needs a hug, recovering Bucky, mostly canon compliant (Infinity War and Endgame didn’t happen, Stark Tower still exists), angst, possible future smut (who knows, not me), mutual pining, reader has powers / enhanced!reader, she/her pronouns, more tags/characters to be added with future chapters

Notes: I haven’t updated this fic in months and monthssss. Let me know if there are any continuity errors, and if this is still a fic worth me plugging away at. Thank you for any and all support! xo Rhi

Bucky Barnes and the Girl With Too Much Power Chapter 4/?

There was nothing comforting about having Stark-employed agents tailing you. Logically you knew that besides maybe a well-placed and patient sniper, nobody would be able to get close enough to hurt you. Not with spiders and witches and falcons watching over you. Certainly not with the last remaining Howling Commandos on your side.

Although you couldn't see him, even when you tried to covertly spot him, you could feel Bucky. You could feel him watching you and you knew it was him because it wasn't like before. It didn't make you feel sick with dread.

All of that was probably in your head though.

More tangible aspects of the situation were the beads of sweat rolling down your spine and pooling in the small of your back. Very real was the awkward pace you were keeping - definitely faster than a casual walk but a solid attempt to appear calm and normal.

It had been decided that you would walk the entire way home. It was doable, but you'd usually catch the bus. The people who wanted you would have to see the future to know when and where you'd catch a bus, but that wasn't outside the realm of possibility. Not anymore. So, you walked for 40 minutes.

…

Unless he wanted you to see him, Bucky Barnes was invisible. He'd always been good at camouflage, but programming by Hydra included 'how to disappear 101.' And under your power, it was like that again. Not a single soul saw Bucky as he followed you block by block. There wasn't even a gust of wind left in his wake to alert people that someone… something, had gone by.

Entirely focussed and keen eyed, Bucky watched your strange gait. If there was no power clouding his mind, he would have smirked a little; even Hydra couldn't take the sass out of him.

After he climbed through an unlocked bedroom window and landed on the floor behind you, Bucky stood up straight at attention. You were on your hands and knees, pulling things out of the bottom of a closet. There was a duffle bag in there somewhere, you were sure.

"Yes!" you whispered to yourself, standing and spinning around. The yelp that escaped your mouth sounded through Bucky's earpiece to the other Avengers situated in, on, and around your apartment building.

"Buck?" Steve asked, muscles already poised to move.

"Package is safe," Bucky replied, no emotion in his voice. The lack of it went unnoticed by Peter Parker - who was still too new and in awe to know Bucky beyond reputation and limited interaction. He didn't mean to, but Bucky had avoided Peter; he reminded him too much of pre-serum Steve. However, Wanda, Sam, and Steve all heard the tone, and all frowned to themselves from their respective positions. Nobody did anything though.

"You scared me," you said as soon as you yelped. When he didn't move, speak, or even shrug it off, you were reminded of your spell. A small, sad, "Oh," was uttered. "Stop. You can stop your… mission," you ordered him.

It didn't work. Maybe it wasn't specific enough. Without a lot of practice, you really weren't good at using your power when you actually needed to. You realised that you shouldn't have given Bucky a complex and prolonged order in the elevator.

"Ah… Relax. Be yourself…?" you tried. Bucky's blue eyes simply remained fixed on you and he went to speak, but you cut him off. "Oh! Ignore my previous order. Do not… feel compelled… to… Fuck. What did I tell you to do?"

"Make sure I get to my house safely. Help me get what I need, and bring me back here," Bucky said, repeating your command word-for-word. It was unnerving.

"Yeah… Don't… Don't do that. Unless you want to. Only do that if you want to."

When his posture gave (by only the slightest amount), you breathed out. It had worked, but you weren't sure exactly which part.

"Bucky?" you asked gently. Bucky smiled and it felt like rain in a drought. "You okay?"

He nodded, being much more used to giving non-verbal responses. Sam's voice was in his head though, encouraging him to speak, pushing his recovery forward faster than Steve's love alone could do. "Yeah, I'm fine…"

You could hear it in his slow drawl- that slight cognitive lag people sometimes experienced after your power left their minds and they were free again.

"I'm sorry,"

"No, darling', you don't have to keep saying that. It's alright,"

"But-"

"Please," he interrupted. He shook his head slightly, but it was enough for you to see he didn't want to talk about it. "You did good,"

"I just… walked," you replied.

"Yeah, but that isn't easy when you think someone's about to kill ya,"

"Wow. Reassuring. Thanks," you said sarcastically, moving around him to put the bag on the bed.

Bucky chuckled, then sat down next to the bag.

"Aren't you gonna, like, check the cupboards and stuff?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Christ, how unprofessional do you think we are?" From the dresser you were digging through, you looked over at him and shrugged in confusion. "Stark had people in here as soon as he figured out where here was,"

"Guessing that was pretty quick?"

"Yep," Bucky replied, popping the P sound purposefully.

"So, random people have been going through my stuff?" Looking around, nothing seemed out of place. It was unnerving, actually.

"Not random. People Stark trusts,"

"Do you trust them?"

But he hesitated and he saw that you'd seen. He couldn't but smile a little. "I don't not trust them."

Thinking for a couple seconds, you decided on, "Probably fair…"

Bucky nodded, and you continued to pack. He decided it wasn't worth telling you that in the very early hours of the morning, after the city was asleep and just before the sun woke up, he'd gone to your apartment too. Clues in the cupboards. Secrets under the seats. Anything really. Steve had been awake when Bucky slipped out. He'd thought maybe Bucky was checking for Hydra. Or possibly, Steve hoped, his best friend was driven by the fact that you looked a lot like a couple of the girls Bucky had charmed before the war meant anything to them.

Bucky followed you as you went room by room, filling the duffle, then a backpack, then an empty shopping bag.

"You planning on never coming back here?" he asked, mostly joking. When you stopped, moving like a deer in the headlights, Bucky realised. "Oh…"

"Am I? Am I coming back?" you asked, on the cusp of hopeful. The glimmer of it in your eyes killed Bucky.

"I don't know," he answered, voice a little too soft to be comforting.

Looking around your apartment, you tried to look brave. "I guess… it doesn't really matter. Hadn't really built much of a life anyway,"

"Of course it matters, Y/N."

Before you could say anything else, there was a loud knock on your door, followed by the shrill voice of your neighbour. "Y/N?! Did I just hear ya come home?! Where've ya been?!"

You and Bucky turned to each other at the same time, both expecting the other to do something.

"She's not gonna go away," you whispered.

"Make her," Bucky said.

"I don't want to use-"

"No," Bucky interrupted. "Just talk to her…" His tone implied the 'obviously.'

As soon as you swung the door open, Barb went to step in.

"Ah, sorry, Barb. Bit of a mess in here… Did you need… something?" you said, stopping her.

She eyed you suspiciously, tried to look past you. "You didn't come home last night,"

"Stayed at a friend's,"

"That's lovely… Which friend? That nice Lisa girl?"

"No, um, new friend. James."

Bucky almost laughed.

"A boy? I didn't realise you were dating." She emphasised the last word like it was taboo.

Normally, you'd be better at dealing with Barb; she meant well, but was incredibly nosey. Normally, you didn't answer all her rapid-fire questions immediately, but you were nervous.

"It's not like that. He's just a friend,"

"That you spent the night with,"

"Barb, it's 2020. We can be friends with guys now,"

"So defensive, Y/N! Must really like him," she said with a knowing smile.

"I'm just on my way out, actually,"

"Such a social butterfly all of a sudden. I was just coming over to see if you're alright,"

"I'm alright. And I appreciate it. I really do. I'm just… a bit busy right now,"

"Alright, alright," Barb said, holding her hands up in surrender. "I know when I'm not welcome-"

"No, Barb, it's not-"

"No, no, it's fine." She took a step backwards.

"Barb-"

"When will you be home then?"

Fuck.

You tried to look over your shoulder into your apartment as casually as possible. Glancing at Bucky, all he could offer was a shrug. You realised then that you would have to lie, really lie.

"Actually… Might be gone for a while. Got family upstate that need me."

Barb was quiet for a second, searching through everything she knew about you. "I hope everyone's alright," she settled on. She wanted to say that she didn't know you had family upstate… or any family at all, for that matter.

You'd lived in the apartment complex for five or so years. Barb had always looked out for you, especially since her kid went off to college. She'd met a couple of your friends, heard about work, but never once had you spoken about family. Barb hadn't pressed, although she very much wanted to. Something inside her was keeping her from doing so.

"Yeah, yep… They will be," you replied, nodding.

"Okay… Well, you'll have to come over for tea when you get back?"

"I will. Thanks, Barb."

She left.

Bucky watched you close the door, lock it out of habit.

Your eyes were full of tears. "I can't come back here," you whispered to him. "If someone is after me, I can't bring them here,"

"They probably already know where 'here' is," Bucky replied, almost immediately knowing it was the wrong thing to say. "But," he quickly added. "If they were gonna do anything, they'd done that already."

Bucky didn't believe that to be true at all. More likely, the people following you, upon discovering your sudden disappearance, would try to draw you out. If they knew Barb was a friend - it could make her a target.

You watched Bucky's expression. You read the lie. You didn't need to force the truth out though. You let the fact that he was trying to reassure you, reassure you.

"We'll keep surveillance here."

You nodded, moved slowly to continue packing.

Bucky stayed quiet, watched, tried to remember all the details of your apartment. Maybe they'd come in useful at some point.

"Okay, I'm ready," you announced.

"There's a car downstairs waiting for you," Bucky said.

"You're not coming?"

"I'll go out the way I came," he answered. When you didn't move, he added, "You'll be okay… Steve and everyone… they'll look after you." He wasn't lying that time. "Go."

Slinging bags over your shoulder, you nodded and left Bucky Barnes in the apartment you would never return to.

What would happen to the rest of your stuff? Would Stark pay for a storage unit? Pay your rent? What about work?

By the time you got to the car, you were again, on the verge of tears.

Upstairs, from a window of your apartment, Bucky watched you leave. He made a note to tell someone to teach you not to get into cars without checking if it was safe first. You hadn't even asked to see the driver's ID.

"She's aboard," Bucky relayed into coms.

"Copy that," Steve's voice came back. "Buck?"

Bucky was in his head.

For longer than Steve liked.

Chapter 5 is coming soon...

Tag list for this fic (open): @animegirlgeeky @brighteyedmichelle @howthehellisbucky @bitterstar88 @thatweirdwalangpake

Tag list for all my work (open): @bubbabarnes @browngirlmagic @lookalivefrosty @aynaraxas @vibraniumwitch @the--sad--hatter @fairislesheets - still won’t let me tag you?

[waytooinlovewithlokilaufeyson]

First Date

Peter Parker x Reader

Summary: Peter goes on his first date, but it’s not with you.

Warnings: None, just excessive cuteness.

A/N: This is my first Peter Parker story! I hope you all enjoy!! Feedback is always appreciated!

6:00 am. Your clock displays the numbers quite annoyingly as your alarm blares in your ear. You groan, throwing your arm over your eyes and hitting the snooze button. When the alarm goes off again, you’re about ready to throw the thing at the damn wall, but you get up, scrolling through your phone. 

“Good morning, Y/N”, FRIDAY greets, opening up your curtains, revealing the New York skyline and a too bright sun. 

You cover your eyes. “Ahhh, I’m meltinggg” you say dramatically as you sink back into the bed. After a few minutes, you finally get up, trying to tame your bed-head and throwing on a graphic tee and some jeans. 

When you walk to the kitchen to grab a quick breakfast, some of the Avengers are already awake and grabbing coffee or some food. 

“Good morning, sleepyhead”, Natasha greets you a little too cheerfully. You glare at her with your sleep-deprived eyes, and she smirks, whispering “I think someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed” to Bucky, who just rolls his eyes. You swear you hear her say “tough crowd” before heading out.

You grab a granola bar before grabbing your backpack and mentally preparing to go back to school. Peter waits for you by the elevator, awake and ready for a new day. “Goooood morning, Y/N”, he greets, eyes bright and awake, and he gives you a big toothy smile.

“Good morning, Pete”, you smile. Even though you feel like absolute death (and you can swear your eye bags could touch the ground), Peter’s happy (and cute) mood always got you in a better mood. 

You both walk to your high school, chatting about random things, before you walk up to the dreaded building. You walk up to your locker, which is conveniently by Peter and Ned’s, and grab your things (and perhaps your will to live). Peter and Ned talk excitedly about something, and you actually wonder how it is possible to be this excited at 7:00 am. 

You wave goodbye to Peter as you head to your advanced biology class and Peter and Ned shuffle over to calculus. 

~~

Lunch can’t come soon enough. You walk over with MJ, as you both had a class together before lunch. You see Ned, but frown when you don’t see Peter. “Where’s Pete, Ned?” you ask, setting your tray down.

Ned has a deer in the headlights look. “Icanttellyouthat” he rushes out, shushing you.  MJ cocks her eyebrow in confusion, and you lock eyes with Ned. He tries to look away, but you hold your intense gaze.

Ned finally cracks, looking away from you, making you grin. That tactic always works. “Peter is asking the new girl out on a date tonight, but you didn’t hear it from me.”

Your chest aches when you hear that. You’ve had the biggest crush on Peter Parker for a while now. He made you feel welcomed and wanted at the Avengers when you found out that you could turn invisible and pass through walls. He would watch silly movies with you until 3 am, he would help you with your homework (and you would help him with his), he would be there to make you laugh and smile. 

You swear you have a sour look on your face before you force a smile on your face. “Good for him”, you say, absolutely wanting to vanish right here and now. The rest of lunch flies by. Ned and MJ talk, but you drone them out, your ideas filled with Peter’s date tonight.

School ends a few hours later. You lean against your locker, holding your books close to your chest as you wait for Peter. When he comes, he is grinning ear to ear, and a faint blush paints his cheeks.

He’s so god damn cute, you think as you begin to smile. You then bitterly remind yourself that it’s not for you, and a frown sets itself on your face instead. 

When you start walking back, you start up a conversation.

“So, Pete, have any plans tonight?” you ask, full well knowing his plans, but also trying not to give Ned away.

He blushes again, and you swear your legs almost give out. “Uh, yeah, actually.”

Your stomach twists. “Whatcha gonna do?” you ask, looking everywhere but at him. 

“Um, you know the new girl? We’re going to that Italian place.” You put a fake smile on your face. You love that restaurant.

“Cool”, you state, almost crying out in relief when you realize you’re back at the tower. 

Before you part ways, you tell him a simple “have fun, but not too much fun, Mr. Parker” before practically locking yourself in your room.

You try to get work done at first, but your mind always went back to the date. You finally accepted defeat and opened up Netflix on your laptop. When your computer asks “are you still watching...”, you get up, stomach growling. It must have been around 8 pm, as the sun had set and the New York skyline lit up. 

You drag yourself into the kitchen, immediately going to the freezer and scavenging for ice cream. “Y/N?” you hear someone say. You turn around, spoon in your mouth as you clutch a gallon of ice cream in your hands. Wanda’s warm gaze welcomes you. 

“Hey, Wand”, you greet, opening up your ice cream and diving in.

She scrunches up her nose. “You’re sad, is it about Peter?”

You almost choke on your ice cream, totally forgetting that she could read minds. “No, yes, stay out of my head Wand”, you sputter out, hiding your face.

She gives you a sympathetic look. “Sorry, Y/N, no can do. Do you want to talk about it?”

You’re tempted just to go invisible and walk straight through the wall, but your resolve breaks down as you go sit by Wanda. “I just really like him, ya know?” you say, twiddling your thumbs. 

“I know, it’s practically all you think about”, she jokes, making you crack a smile. A warm silence passes over the two of you before she gets serious again. “Why don’t you tell him?”

You sigh. “It’s complicated.”

“Is it?” she asks, making the gears turn in your head.

Before you can comprehend what she said, you hear the elevator ding and you briefly see a flash before Peter’s door slamming shut. 

You quizzically look at Wanda, who nods her head towards Peter’s direction. “Go talk to him.”

You smile, wrapping her in a tight hug. She was only a few years older than you, but she was like your big sister, so wise and kind. “Thanks Wands”.

You take a deep breath before walking over to Peter’s door. Your knuckles rap on the door, and Peter answers with “I don’t want to talk about it!”.

“Pete?” you question softly, and you hear him shuffle around the room. “I don’t want to talk right now”, you hear him say, and although his voice is muffled by the door, you can hear that he’s been crying. 

Without much hesitation, you walk through the wall. Peter has clearly been crying hard, his hair messy and his eyes a deep red. He tries to turn away from you, but you just sit next to him on his bed.

“What happened Pete?” you ask softly, trying to make eye contact with him. He looks away.

“She stood me up.” Anger bubbles in your stomach. That wretch--, you think bitterly.

“I’m sorry, Pete”, you start, but he keeps talking. 

“I mean, why would I think that she would be interested in me of all people, honestly I’m just so stupid--”

“Stop”, you state firmly. Peter finally looks at you, a little in shock at your strong voice. “She’s a moron, an absolute idiot if she passed up a date with you Peter”, you tell him, the words just coming out. “She’s so stupid if she didn’t see what a great guy you are.” 

Your words catch up to you, and you slightly blush, but you meant every word you said. 

Peter looks at you, a few more tears slipping out. He sees your face, illuminated by the skyline, and his heart starts to beat faster, and he can feel yours beating strongly. He locks eyes with you, leaning closer to you instinctively. 

Before you know it, your lips are touching, and you feel like your heart is about to leap out of your chest. His lips are soft and gentle, and his hand rests on your cheek. 

The kiss only lasts a few seconds, and when you open your eyes, your heart does more somersaults as you see Peter’s eyes so full of admiration and love staring at you. Then, you see his expression turn sour.

“God, I’m a moron”, he says, running his hands though his fingers. Your gut wrenches, expecting him to regret kissing you. You’re almost about to cry before he keeps talking. “After all this time, how could I not see my feelings towards you?”

You give him a confused expression. “What?” you ask, clearly baffled. 

He gives you a soft smile. “You were always there for me. We watched so many dumb movies, spent so much time together. I always saw you in a special way, but I was scared of losing our friendship if I was wrong.” 

Peter gives you a nervous smile. “Please tell me I’m not wrong.”

You grab his hand, giving him a soft look. “You’re absolutely correct, Peter Parker”, you say before molding your lips on his again.

Bonus ending~

“What do you think’s going on?” Sam asks, pressing his head against Peter’s door.

“SHHHHHHHHH”, Natasha interrupts, pressing her head closer to the door. Practically the whole tower is outside of the door, taking turns listening through the door.

Everybody squeals when you open the door, your hand intertwined with Peter’s, Sam falling into the room, and everyone having the same deer in the headlights look.

It’s silent for a bit before Tony exclaims “I ship it!” and walking away, making you and Peter blush furiously. 

[the-wiresmarvelau]

T.H.E. W.I.R.E.S.

Peter and his Friends are allowed to design the compound and couldn’t help but riddle it with secret tunels and hallways. While Peter installs said hallways he makes some new acquaintences who he has to help and gets help from.

Chapter 1 Chapter 4

Chapter 5: arrangements 2

Peter picked out a small array of clothes from the ones they had gotten for Clint, Sam and Natasha.

Bringing the clothes to the room didn’t help the buzzing in his head though. So, he decided to take a walk to the small lake in the forest behind the compound.

As he stepped out, the sun had begun to set. Its warmth still lingered in the air, carrying the scent of dry earth and wildflowers

Breath after breath spread the dulled down electricity of summer throughout his whole body; and he savoured every last one of the sunrays reaching his skin.

Usually, he didn’t go for walks that much. Because for some reason.. birdsongs made him uneasy.

But right now, when coupled with such calming sensations and the contrast of how uncomfortable the compound felt right now, not even those alien tunes could bother him.

His spider sense in his head wasn’t gone perse, but it had calmed enough to be mistaken for a comfortable dizziness.

Strolling towards the forest, he cherished this moment of peace.

Bevor, he had thought that the only reason he was this wound up had been his concern for Loki.

Now he realised that it was pent up stress from the last few weeks. There had always been something to do.

Even though he knew he had enough time to get everything done; his perfectionism and anxiety to mess up seemed to have gotten the better of him.

Right this moment though? He felt a fragile, airy kind of contempt.

Trying to hold on to it for as long as possible as he made his way over to the treeline, he attempted to keep his thoughts empty and concentrate on all senses but his vision.

The ground beneath his feet was uneven and had only a minimal give to it.

Occasionally a stray fern or flower would stroke over his ankles and his clothes were soft on his skin, slowly building up warmth.

Behind him the faint, familiar hum of the arc reactors and electrical currents gave him a sense of safety, while the trees that rustled lazily in front of him seemed calm and reminded him of picnics with his aunt and uncle in the park.

He could hear woodpeckers, chip away at varying distances and wondered how many a normal person would be able to make out.

Only someone with enhanced senses would be able to hear the sloshing of the lake; of that he was sure.

But what about the cracking of twigs now and then? The beating wings and calls of baby birds, signalling their parents? Would Tony have been able to pick up on the grunting deer, somewhere to the right of him?

As he stepped under the first tree, he was greeted by the much colder, more humid air.

Moss cushioned his steps, swallowing all noise he made.

All but his breathing, which refreshed his lungs and grounded him, further.

Just as he thought that it would be helpful, if he opened his eyes again, the buzzing in his head flared up. Telling him to step to the side.

He did and at the same time opened his eyes. He had barely managed to avoid a collision with a tree.

Smiling to himself, he continued along, following the sound of water.

Arriving at his destination, his light mood seemed to shatter, like a bubble of hair thin glass. A cold shudder run down his spine as he found himself a tree with a large branch he could sit on.

In the dim evening light, the lake looked almost like a black void; reminding him of the deep, freezing cold water the vulture had dropped him in, and how he could have drowned if it wasn’t for Tony.

Peter owed this man, to whom he looked up to like he was a father, so much, that it stung; having to hide something so big from him.

A resigned sigh escaped his lips, when his spider sense suddenly concentrated more to one side, not telling him to do anything, but alerting him of some kind of presence.

‘Probably just some wild animal’ he thought. Not wanting to move and startle it.

But then, whatever it was, came closer and he got the impression that it probably wasn’t an animal.

His spider sense didn’t seem to register it as a threat though, and in his melancholic musings, he refused to move.

It was probably vision, wanting to check on him.

“Excuse me.” A female voice broke the silence, making him look in her direction.

“You are Spiderman, are you not?”

The woman he saw standing there was beautiful. A golden glow emanated from her, making everything about her look incredibly soft.

What struck him the most was how much she reminded him of his aunt May. With that kind look on her face. Eyes filled with worry but standing firm; No doubt in whether or not she did the right thing.

It was by no means hard to believe that she was a goddess.

Because of course, he knew who she was.

He had waited for her to arrive since he spoke to Mr. Loki.

“Uhm. Ma’am. Yes, I-. I’m spiderman.” He had to clear his throat bevor continuing. “I guess you’re here because of Mr- because of your son?”

In his head, Peter scolded himself for stumbling around his sentences, and almost faceplanting when he jumped down from the tree.

The goddess before him just smiled sweetly.

“Yes. He said you would find some place for him to stay.” she replied, politely ignorant of the teens nervousness; which put him at ease a little bit.

Nodding to himself, he answered “I have a room for him, hidden in the compound. Nobody will know he is here.” With his eyes he tried to convey as much earnestness as he could.

If this woman was anything like May, she would want to be sure that her son was in safe hands.

“We just have to somehow break him out. He said you would know how to?”

His answer was another one of those kind smiles, she seemed to give out plenty of.

How could the child of a woman as sweet and caring as this turn out trying to take over a planet. It was a puzzle with at least one missing piece; but he was determined to solve it non the less.

“Bringing him to Midgard is easy enough. Shall I bring him directly to the building?” It was clear that she was convinced he would say yes, but he shook his head.

“I think it’s better if you bring him here. His room is underground, and the nearest entrance is right over there.” He pointed to a big tree stump near where the forest gave way for a little gravel beach.

“It was mean to be a hidden bunker” He explained, blushing a little with how weird this must be for her.

She looked around, trying to memorize the place as detailed as possible before returning her gaze to Peter with a sigh.

"You can't imagine how grateful I am for your generosity. He has made his fair share of missteps but..

“he is a good boy at heart and I believe much can be attributed to his father’s treatment of him. I don't know what exactly happened when I wasn't around, but judging by the current situation, the animosity between them must have festered for quite some time now."

The young hero wasn't sure why she felt like she had to explain herself.

Without her, there was probably little to no chance of escape for her son, but she did help and it was clear to him that she cared.

“I’m sure he knows that.” He replied, not knowing what else he could say. “I will make sure that he is safe and has time and space to heal.” It was the least he could do in his opinion.

Frigga smiled again, her eyes fond and a little sad. Something about him told her that he was familiar with pain.

“He always had a good judgement of people. I’m just glad he will finally have a companion his age, you two are not so different from each other.”

A companion his age?

That statement confused Peter but bevor he could ask, the woman in front of him sighed and stood up a little straighter.

“Don’t worry if it takes a while for us to get back. I have to make sure that we can’t be traced back here. And it would probably be best, you prepare everything.”

Nodding the boy took a step in the direction of the entrance.

“When you arrive before I’m back out, just knock three times in the stump, leave a small pause, and knock twice. It will open and notify me.” He demonstrated the pattern but nothing happened.

The goddess raised a brow in question.

“Just need to put that into the system it’s for this occasion only... makes it easier.”

She nodded.

“We will meet again soon” she said before turning to the side and disappearing with a single step.

For a few seconds, he stood there, trying to get the whole conversation straight and not miss anything.

He still had no clue what she meant with the ‘his age’ thing but decided it wasn’t that important right now.

Loki’s Room was furnished, had electricity and a bath, he had fresh clothes…

What else did he need; like right now?

While he thought about it, he went over to other side of the stump and with his fingers found a small crack in the wood.

Pressing a plate at the top of it opened a panel in one of the roots, easy to miss if you didn’t look for it. He tapped in the code to open THE WIRES and was promptly met by the voice of Manuel.

“Sneaking in through the back door, are we? Does your father know you’re out this late?”

For some reason, the AI kept referring to Tony as his father; probably because of the rumours going around the tower.

Most of the data he had given him to learn speech from was security footage from the labs and living quarters.

“He wouldn’t be surprised now, would he?” Peter replied, before instructing Manuel on what to do when he got the signal.

While doing that, he remembered that his guest probably didn’t have nearly enough to eat in the past years, so he decided to make some eggs on toast, as well as bring some ingredients to the little kitchen nook for the god to be able to make himself something whenever he desired.

Most of the tracks back and forth were made by the service robot, while he made sure the eggs wouldn’t burn and that at least one of the ways into THE WIRES was open, so he could communicate with the AI in them.

The Gods hadn’t arrived yet, when he was done.

Placing everything to be kept warm into an insulated box and handing it off to the ever-busy robot, he made his way to the lab to finish of his watch.

KAREN was too much of a risk, and it was important that Manuel could always contact him.

This task didn’t take long either; the programming for it being rather simple.

Though he was sure that the older AI had noticed that his behaviour was weird; He hoped that she didn’t notice that he had given Manuel the possibility to override any protocols and contact attempts KAREN started from there and to ‘switch out’ at any time he entered THE WIRES.

Peter had just grabbed a (second) first aid kit and was on his way to their meeting place, when Manuel informed him that the two had knocked.

He checked that KAREN couldn’t hear through the watch, but the display pulsed a dark green, as opposed to her bright red.

“Don’t worry, I’ll ensure that she won’t find out.” Her counterpart assured. The boy gave a nod, but was too tense to speak, while running to greet the arriving Aesir.

They were taking the last step down the stairs when he came around the last corner; and the aspiring engineer was glad that he had decided to change to stairs after a short, initial drop with ladder.

Loki looked even worse, than when he had last seen him.

Running the last steps towards them, he gestured to the door near them, leading into the small storage room that served as front for the bunker.

Manuel had already opened the way for them.

Directly behind the opening was a narrow staircase, leading further down.

For the descent the super powered teenager carried the god bridal style, followed by his mother.

Every inch of exposed skin was coloured some variation of red, black, blue or yellow from bruises lacerations or gashes.

Dried blood clung to his skin in rivulets of crimson.

Fortunately, none of the wounds was actively bleeding.

The metal thread in his lips had been removed, but not after it had torn through his lips in several places. A golden glow held them together, which was probably some kind of healing spell.

When he got to the bottom of the stairs, he quickly but carefully, made his way over to the large, cushioned sleeping place encased in the wall to the right, at the opposite end of the room.

“I hate to leave him like this.” The god’s mother spoke up, “But I have to get back to Asgard, before my husband notices my absence.”

Her gaze spoke of the pain she felt at the prospect of leaving her boy alone like this.

Before the hero could answer she pulled out, what looked like some sort of fancy bowl or plate and placed it on the desk, next to the bed her son lay in.

“This will allow me to send you some healing elixirs, you will surely need. Never place anything in it, not even water to wash it. My boy can explain the rest to you once he awakes.”

And without another word she disappeared, the same way she had the first time.

Several moments went by in which Peter didn’t know what to do.

The unconscious form of the man on the bed looked almost dead, were it not for the irregular raise and fall of his chest.

He had forgotten to ask about the age comment she had made earlier.

Not that it mattered…

With a shake of his head, he turned towards the small bathroom, on the diagonally opposite side from the one the bed was in.

Soon he found several towels as well as a bowl of water, before covering the couch, in front of the bed with some of the towels and moving the thin, pale body onto it to start carefully washing the dried blood away.

Only where he could reach of course, but the sole fabric covering the god’s thin form, was a pair of shorts, so he got almost everything.

He worked in silence, grateful that Manuel kept quiet.

The whole day, he had been in strange moods and he didn’t want to have a shouting match with such a new AI, which would probably be the outcome of any comment right now.

After what felt like an endless but short while, he had washed away everything he could, leaving his guest looking only marginally better; but much more peaceful than before.

As expected, all clothes he had at brought from the others’ room were either too short or too wide.

Right now, too wide was a much better option, so he looked for the softest hoody he could find to slip over the ravenette’s torso.

When he had placed him back on the bed and covered him with a thin, but soft blanket; the teen put away the supplies he had used and sat down on the couch.

And again... he was at a loss for what to do.

Looking around the room, he cringed a bit at how unsymmetrical everything was. (visual)

The couch he sat on stood in front of a large shelf along one side, the shorter side of the L shape was against a wall.

In front of the longer side was as a sort of wall standing into the room, another shelf, this one made up of hexagonal shapes with a TV fastened onto it.

He had taken it from Bruce’s room, where it was meant as a reference to chemical structures, while in Loki’s it was more to hint on honeycombs.

Next to the shelf, in the corner between sofa and TV, was a seat made out of fabric hanging from the ceiling, looking almost like a hammock folded in half; held open by a wooden bar on the top.

Behind the honeycomb shelf was a closet, the door to the bathroom and another nook with two beds in it this time. They weren’t as big as the one Loki lay in right now and were positioned above one another.

The lower bed was open towards a narrow pathway on it’s left, where a small bedside table occupied the far back corner, while the upper bed could only be reached from the front and a small opening at the turn of the stairs; situated in the middle of the far wall from the couch.

Encircled by the stairs on two sides and the writing desk towards another, was the kitchen crowded into the wall.

On the desk was only the basic drawing supplies. And the bowl the goddess had left behind.

Curious, he made his way over to it. He was sure as hell not gonna leave the room until Loki woke up, might as well spend the time inspecting something, even though it probably wouldn’t tell him anything.

Hundreds of small ambers of varying colour made up the bowl like a mosaic, held together by gold, molten to perfectly encase the individual pieces which seemed to have been carved by hand.

Other than that, it didn’t look magical, but then again... He glanced over to the form on the bed and sighed.

The god didn’t look magical either. More like a porcelain doll, left in the care of an overly artistic toddler with red and blue crayons.

Just as he put down the bowl, the litte service robot came zooming back into the room; His wheels humming, eager to be of use.

Somehow the sound reminded Peter of bees, the diligence he had portrayed today furthered this imagery, so he send a text to Ned, asking if he could name the robot bumblebee and paint him accordingly.

After that he run out of ideas what to do.

Deciding to read a book, while he waited for his guest to wake up, he steeled down with a copy of Sherlock Holms.

At least there, everything worked out perfectly by the end of the stories.

Chapter 1 Chapter 4

[george-mackay-macfine]

Harassment

Requested

Synopsis: George helps you deal with a group of guys who won’t leave you alone. 

Word count: 1,889

Content warning: This contains mentions of harassment, sexual assult and abuse. Please read at your own discretion. 

“Well, I took a stroll on the old long walk of a day - I- ay- I- ay.” Dean and I sung, or rather screamed into the microphone jumping around the stage when Dean went roque and hopped off, trotting into the crowd as they clapped along with us. 

“I met a little girl and we stopped to talk of fine soft day -I -aye.” Dean winked at a girl who sat at the bar, playing with her drink. 

“And I ask you, friend, what’s a fella to do.” I sung following Dean of stage. He grabbed my hand and helped me onto the bar, following me up. We walked towards George and the rest of the 1917 cast and crew. “Cause her hair was black, and her eyes were blue.” I held my hand out towards Sam who was laughing at us. 

Dean and I’s theatrics continued through the middle of the song, trotting up and down the stage, holding onto each other, ourselves, and members of our audience before we hopped of the bar and back onto the small stage. 

“When I woke up I was all alone.” Dean wrapped an arm around my shoulders. I turned to look at him, turning my face into a sad frown. “I know who’d leave me right.” He laughed into his microphone. 

“With a broken heart and a ticket home.” I sang back to him. 

“And I ask you now, tell me what would you do?” We sand together. “If her hair was black and her eyes were blue.”  

“I’ve traveled around I’ve been all over this world, boy’s I ain’t ever seen nothin’ like a Galway girl.” Dean finished throwing an arm towards the audience for us to be greeted with a round of wild applause. Dean and I took a bow, hands thrown together between us. 

“Thank you.” Dean shouted into the microphone. “We’re going to be here until they kick us out.” I shook my head unable to stop laughing as we replaced our microphones. 

“I’ll be back in a minute, bathroom.” I called to Dean as I walked towards the bathroom. I shuffled past Dean and quickly used the bathrooms, as I was coming back out I was cornered by a group of three young guys. 

“Loved the song.” The first smirked at me. 

“Really loved it,” The second added. 

“Thanks.” I went to walk past them, only to have my escape blocked by the third. 

“How about a drink?” The third smirked down at me like I was a deer walking into the lions den. 

“No, thank you though.” I went to walk around again, the second blocking me this time. “I’m really sorry guy’s but I’m here with some friends.”

“We can be friendly.” Jerk number one smirked, his hand boldly touching my arm. “Really friendly,”

“No, thank you.” 

“C’mon, You’ll have fun.” I looked at them all, none of them took their eyes off me. 

“I don’t want any trouble.” 

“Trouble never looked so fine.” Jerk number two smirked at me. 

“I’m going to go.” I pushed between the two, only to have my body stopped between the pair. “Let me go,” I groaned pushing them. 

“But you look so good here, between us.” Jerk number three smirked down, I felt his hand go into my hair pulling it roughly. I let out a groan of pain. “Especially when you make that noise.” 

“How about you let us take you home?” Jerk number one let out a low whistle. 

“No, thanks.” I was beginning to panic as I struggled to find a way out. “Just let me through please, I have friend’s waiting for me.” 

“We can make it quick.” One of them whispered in my ear. “We’ll enjoy it.” 

“Y/N.” I heard a voice call. “Y/N where’d you go.” 

“George.” I called back, turning to look as George turned into the hallway. He stopped when he saw my situation. 

“Y/N, everyone is waiting we’re gonna leave.” He stepped towards me. 

“Y/N… Pretty name.” Jerk number two touched my arm. “I think she’s going to hang out with us, thanks though.” 

“Y/N, I’m serious everyone is waiting.” George stepped towards me again. 

“We’re serious mate, she’s not coming with you.” 

“I’m coming.” I pushed the guys away and walked towards George. When I was close enough to him I grabbed his hand, and let him pull me towards him. “Thank you.” I whispered as he pushed me in front of him. 

“What happened?” 

“Can we talk about it later?” 

“Of course.” George squeezed my hand. He lead me back to the group, I saw Dean sitting with the dark haired girl his arm wrapped around her waist as they chatted carefree. The rest of the cast and crew drank and laughed. “Wanna get out of here?” I nodded my head. “We’re gonna go get some food.” George announced to the party. 

“See you all tomorrow.” I waved my hand still firmly in Georges, being waved goodbye as we walked to the front door. 

_-_-_-_-_-_

“Thanks for letting me stay the night.” I whispered to George as I sat on the edge of his large king bed in his hotel room. “I really didn’t feel like being alone.” 

“What happened, in the bar?” I knew it’d come to this, and I knew George deserved answers. 

“I went to the bathroom, and when I came back those guys were there… They kept touching me and pulled my hair.” I felt tears well in my eyes as I remembered what happened. “They kept trying to get me to go home with them.” 

“And you didn’t want too…” The way George said it, I could tell everything was making sense to him. “I’m sorry, Y/N.” 

“That’s never happened before, at least not like that.” I wiped one of the tears off my cheek. “I’ve had guy’s touch me before, and grab me as I pass them, whistle at me on the street but it’s never been that close before.” 

“You deal with this sort of thing a lot.” I chuckled despite myself. 

“A lot of women do.” I looked up from the blanket to him.  

“If that ever happens again Y/N, I want you to remember… Women do not need to be polite to someone who is making them uncomfortable.” He stood up and walked around so he was sitting beside me, his hands enveloping mine. “If someone ever does this again I want you to scream, throw punches, get someones attention…” He reached up pushing some hair behind my ear. “Beat the all mighty fuck out of them,” 

A/N: This started out as a cute fluff idea, but upon seeing an article about a domestic violence case in Australia where a man set his wife and their three children on fire in their car, killed them all (And himself) I was motivated to remind people to stand up for yourselves, and seek help if you need it. 

Domestic violence, sexual assault and harassment is never acceptable. If you need help reach out, and get it. People want to help you. 

[j0elmill3r]

Somebody Else

Steve Rogers x Reader

Warnings; Swearing, FUCKING ANGST, yelling, break ups, Endgame!Steve [ew], real sad shit, Steve being a dick, Bucky being a real nice guy :)

word count; 2k

A/N; Usually, I don’t write this kind of thing but one of my moots needed some angst and who am I to deny someone some good old angst?

You could tell that when he got back, he would never stay with you. After seeing the real love of his life, you knew he would never be satisfied with you, and that was implying he ever was in the first place. You wished you could go back and listen to what your friends said, but you couldn’t, you were so head over heels for Captain America, you left everything and everyone behind for him, you were so naive. But there was still part of you that wished that Steve would come to his senses and realized that you loved him as much as Peggy ever could, and that once the nightmare was over, you could live the life you always wanted and give Steve all he ever wanted.

-

“And what do you plan on telling Y/N, your currently alive girlfriend?” You didn’t mean to eavesdrop, honest to God, you didn’t. But your name had been mentioned and you couldn’t help yourself. Your interest peaked when Bucky mentioned Steve telling you something. “You’re not seriously going to do this to her, are you?” Bucky asked Steve, who sighed and shook his head.

“When I saw her, Buck, I knew I had to go back. Hell, you could come with me,” Steve said, completely ignoring what Bucky was saying. “Look, Y/N, she’s beautiful and all, really, any guy would be happy to have her, but she’s not Peggy,” Steve continued. Your heart panged as Steve used your insecurities as an excuse to go back and leave you. Sighing and slumping your shoulders, you walked away from the room where Steve and Bucky were. 

“I cannot fucking believe you, Steve. You said you loved her,” Bucky said angrily. “And to do this to her, after she went to Peggy’s funeral with you. You better think of something to tell her, otherwise I’ll tell her,” Bucky grabbed his jacket and walked past Steve without so much as a goodbye, he was angry- no, infuriated. You didn’t deserve this, hell, no one did. As Bucky walked outside of the lake house, he saw you sitting on the steps, looking out into the water.

“Hey,” You said quietly as you looked behind you. “How are you doing?” It hurt you to act as if everything was okay, when everything was far from it. Bucky sighed as he sat down next to you.

“What did you hear?” He asked you. You turned to look at him as if he was crazy, raising your eyebrows.

“What do you mean?” You retorted. Bucky chuckled and shook his head.

“I’m not stupid, Y/N, I know you heard what me and Steve were talking about. So, I’ll ask again, what did you hear?” You sighed and ignored the tears burning in your eyes.

“Enough to know I’ll be single and broken hearted by tomorrow,” You said sadly. “I knew it was coming, but I guess I didn’t want to accept it,” 

“You can try to change his mind,” Bucky tried to cheer you up, but all he got from you was a dry and bitter laugh, one that was filled with pain.

“There’s no changing his mind, Bucky. You heard him, when he saw her, he had to go back for her,” You reminded the brunette super-soldier. “Was he going to tell me?” You asked him. You weren’t scared of much, but the answer to your question was one of the things that had you scared. Bucky couldn’t bear to look at your tear filled eyes.

“No, I don’t think so,” He admitted. You swallowed and nodded, feeling a deep pit grow in your stomach you could feel your heart falling into and shattering into a billion tiny pieces at the dark pit that was thousands of feet down. Bucky’s heart broke when he heard you let out a small sob, which you quickly tried to play off. “Do you need a minute?” Bucky asked. You nodded.

--

The small apartment you and Steve shared together felt different as you walked into it, maybe because you knew in the space of a few hours it would no longer be yours and Steve’s, but only yours. Steve was upstairs getting into bed while you had been out just walking and trying not to think about how you would deal with the loss of your boyfriend. 

“Y/N, is that you?!” Steve called from the shared bedroom. Looking up to where he was standing, you smiled sadly, but then made it happy, you couldn’t let him know that you knew, not yet. “You’re uncharacteristically quiet, Doll, what’s wrong?” He asked you, full of concern. It hurt, if he was so concerned, he wouldn’t be leaving. You walked up the stairs and wrapped your arms around Steve, kissing him in the process.

“Nothing, it’s just been a long couple of days. But, I need to ask you something,” You told him. Steve nodded and walked back to the bedroom, sitting on the bed and letting you get changed into your pyjamas, which was one of Steve’s old shirts. 

“What do you wanna talk about, doll?” He asked. You swallowed the lump growing in your throat and sighed, also ignoring the burning in your eyes.

“Have I done something wrong?! You asked him. Steve furrowed his eyebrows in confusion.

“No, why do you ask?” He countered. You sighed in exasperation.

“Then why are you leaving?” He was frozen. His face was the textbook definition of a deer caught in headlights.

“Y/N-”

“No. Don’t you fucking dare, Steve. When were you going to tell me? Or was I just supposed to never see you again?” You said angrily.

“Y/N, please, calm down and we can talk about this like adults,” Steve said. You laughed in his face at how ridiculous he was being, if he could only hear himself.

“Fuck off, Steve, I am not going to talk about this calmly. I just wanna know why, alright?” You asked him. 

“You know why, Y/N, this is Peggy,” Steve said.

“And this is us! I don’t know if you remember, Steve, but she’s dead! I went to her funeral with you 7 years ago and I remember you said after that I was the one you love,” You cried. Steve shook his head and scoffed.

“This is us? Y/N, there is no us, not any more. I didn’t want you to find out the way you did,” He said.

“You didn’t want me to find out, and that’s my problem. I dropped everything for you, I left behind my family and friends because I loved you so damn much, Steve. So much that when I heard you say what you said to Bucky, it felt like I was being stabbed with a hot knife through the heart by you yourself,” You ranted. “Why did you say that? And as an excuse to leave, Steve, really?” 

“Because it’s true, Y/N. You weren’t Peggy then, you aren’t Peggy now, and you won’t ever be Peggy,” He said calmly, but you could hear the venom in his voice.

“Did you ever mean anything you said?” You asked him quietly. It was another one of those questions that you feared, but already knew the answer to.

“No,” He looked up at you. “No, Y/N, I didn’t. And I’m sorry that I lead you on,”

“When did you stop loving me?” You tried your hardest to sound confident and like you weren’t breaking down completely inside, but it came out broken and defeated. 

“About 3 months ago,” He didn’t look at you, he knew what he had done, but he somehow couldn’t find it in him to feel sorry for what he did to you. All he knew was that he could go on with how his life was meant to go without having to worry about you.

“You’re not really sorry, Steve. I know you, and right now, God, I wish I didn’t. And what makes it worse, is the fact that if you came to me tomorrow and said that you changed your mind and realized that you were over Peggy, I would let you in. I would let you in quicker than ever, but I know that if it were vice versa, you wouldn’t,” You said dejectedly. “You can sleep here, I’ll go back to Bucky’s,” You pulled on a pair of shorts and grabbed your purse and phone. He said nothing as you went to leave.

“Wait, Y/N,” He called out. As you turned back to face him, you hoped that it would be to tell you that he was playing one sick joke on you and that he didn’t mean anything, and that he truly loved you. “Thank you,” “What for?” 

“Making me realize I never fell out of love with Peggy,” 

Your heart hit the bottom of that pit.

-

The night prior when you showed up outside of where Bucky was staying, he was more than concerned to see you standing there, tears streaming down your face and wearing only a t-shirt and a pair of gym shorts that were definitely a size too small for you. You explained everything to Bucky, throughout the tears you shed, he managed to make out most of what you said. Bucky was enraged at Steve, even more so than he already was. You stayed the night with Bucky, since you had passed out on the couch on his lap and he didn’t have the heart to move you, he also slept on the couch. He had convinced you to come with him and Sam to see Steve off.

“Don’t do anything stupid until I get back,” Steve warned Bucky. You knew of the joke, Bucky and Steve had told you about it at one of Tony’s parties, God, how you missed your billionaire best friend. Nat, too. She was the one who urged Steve to ask you out, you wished you had told her to leave it alone and there was nothing there, because now you knew there wasn’t.

“How can I? You’re taking all the stupid with you,” Bucky said. The pair hugged. “Gonna miss you pal,” Bucky told Steve, who didn’t say anything else. That pissed you off, he was Bucky’s best friend, how could he not say anything? Steve looked at you, and for a second, you could have sworn you saw guilt in his eyes. But quickly, he looked away from you and said nothing, not even a murmur of a goodbye. You closed your eyes, and when you opened them, Steve was gone.  Your heart hadn’t smashed when it hit the bottom of the pit, no, it just lay there, a small crack that over the period of about 12 hours had been growing and now, had smashed into millions, no longer thousands of pieces. Bucky took your hand in his flesh one, giving it a squeeze and mouthing a quick ‘are you okay’, to which you shook your head at, you were far from okay. Bucky saw that Sam and Bruce were bickering with each other, and led you away from what was happening.

“Bucky, I know I shouldn’t, but I still love him. And-and I don’t know if I can stop,” You cried. Bucky sat on the bench beside you and felt his heart break for you once again. 

“I know you love him, Y/N. And it’s going to be hard, but you have to get over him. Otherwise any time you think of him, it’s just going to hurt, plain and simple,” He told you. Taking a deep breath, you tried to nod, but it never came.

“It hurts, so fucking much,” Bucky nodded.

“I don’t wanna imagine how bad it does, doll, but it’s gonna get better. I promise, it does,” He assured you. “You can stay with me and Sam, if you want,” He offered. You looked up at him and smiled.

“Yeah, okay,” You agreed. Sam walked back over, a round bag in his hands. You knew Steve had gone through with it. Sam smiled at you apologetically, a smile that you returned. All you had to do now was pick up the pieces of your heart.

--

Permanent Taglist; Open!

@rushmannatalia@ellaorelizabeth@supermoonchildbroski @stat89posts​@sadconfusedgirl@mycupoffanfictionreplies@thefaescottage @an-adventureland@rororo06 @xxaamzxx@joycesld@feminist-fan-girl@nixphomaniac​  @our-whitetulips-us@yungblud01@asonofpeter@coolest-avenger​ @stat89posts@supernaturallover2002 @jenniferroseee​ @thecenturyofmusic @roxybefab @justrandom02

[pookapics]

Sugar, Butter and Flour - A CEO!Steve Rogers x Baker!Reader (Christmas Series) Chapter 5 - Memories As Sweet As Apple Crumble

Warnings - MOSTLY FLUFFY AND SO SWEET IT’LL ROT YOUR TEETH BUT DOES MENTIONS :- Character death (Peggy Carter) and Steve Rogers being sad. 

Word Count -  4552

A/N - This series will be completed by the end of January! Sorry for the delay! December was extremely busy due to university deadlines I had due!

Masterlist - https://protectthelesbians.tumblr.com/post/189337379588/are-you-wanting-a-heart-warming-fan-fiction-just

____________________________________________

The cold, winter breeze pounded against the window-panes, shaking and creaking against the brute force. Slipping off your soaking wet shoes as you turned to Steve “Before I drag you into the kitchen, I’m going to get out of these clothes.” peeling up the edge of your sodden wet sleeve from your arm “I’m completely and utterly soaked.” With a quick glance to Steve again, you spoke up “You’re probably soaked too, I might have some of my dad’s clothes which you can borrow.” You offered which made Steve perk up “You would be a lifesaver because if I keep these clothes on any longer I will become a prune.” his words made you giggle “Well lets fetch you some clothes then.” Leading Steve towards the staircase which connected the bakery to your apartment, the perfect location for you. When reaching the top of the staircase, Steve hunched down as not to bang his head against the low door frame as you unlocked the door to your apartment. The door opened to reveal the small apartment, which made Steve pause. This small space reminded him so much of his childhood home back in Brooklyn.

The walls of the apartment, though small, was littered with hundreds of cracks tracing up to the ceiling, even the wallpaper had become discoloured with age, peeling at the edges and corners. But Steve still felt a sense of home and comfort which exuded from how you worked with what you were given with this space. Photographs covered the larger cracks, the decor upon the walls made the room more spacious than it was. Placing your wet shoes under the radiator, you turned to Steve “Let me put yours under too to dry.” Steve agreed and kicked his shoes off, his once pristine leather shoes now ruined from the snow, socks soaked right through to his skin as well, gently placing the shoes beside one another under the radiator, both pairs of socks lay atop the radiator to dry. 

“I’ll go find those clothes.” you turned on your heel, walking off to what Steve rightly assumed was the bedroom, leaving him standing there in the living-room, his bare feet nestled in the soft carpet. Taking another look at the walls, Steve smiled at the photograph’s which ranged from (YN)’s childhood to more recent times. His eyes locked on a particular photograph, you were standing in the middle of the frame in front of the bakery. The paint on the door and sign looked fresh and crisp, a red shining ribbon covering the front door. Your face was covered with the biggest smile, so bright and full of joy. 

“That was our grand opening, one of the best moments of my life.”

Steve quickly turned to see (YN) standing there, the clothes for him nestled in the crook of her elbow, you too were looking at the photograph which Steve had been gazing at for some time. Steve just listened as you spoke again “Just fresh out of culinary school and my apprenticeship under my mentor just completed, I was so lucky with finding this space and starting my business. I was truly blessed.” reflecting on that happy memory of that day, it felt like only yesterday when you opened the front doors to ‘Fairy-Cakes Bakery’. Breaking from your nostalgic haze and turning back to look at Steve, a smile on your face “Here. found some of my dad’s winter pajamas he left here.” holding the clothes out for him to take. The two sets of fingers brushed gently together as Steve softly took the clothes from her hands, the simple touch felt like a current of energy running up both of your arms and straight to your chest, a warm feeling growing there. Pulling your hands away from him, cheeks a soft pink as you smiled “I’ll leave you to get changed.” walking back to the bedroom to get changed yourself and of course to give Steve some privacy. 

Closing your bedroom door behind you, you immediately began to shake your hands around as to try and get rid of the tingly feeling they had in them, the tingly feeling which had gone straight to your chest after brushing hands with Steve, palms sweaty. After letting the tingly feeling fade, you set out to get changed into your warm pajamas, which so happened to be one of your Christmas onesies. Throwing your wet clothes into the washing basket, they made a thud when hitting the basket, your skin happy to be feeling the warmth which was coming from the radiator in the room. Grabbing the onesie, sliding it up your legs and letting out a squeak as you stumbled putting it on, falling onto your bed.

“You alright in there?” Steve called out from the living-room, you got back up “Y-Yeah!” stumbling with your words as you continued to pull the onesie up your body, getting back up to your feet, zipping up the front of the onesie, the hood of the onesie cradling your neck. With the onesie on and fluffy socks in hand, ready to be slid on, slowly regaining the warmth you lost from being outside. Fluffy socks slid onto your feet with ease, your toes no longer feeling like icicles, it was time to head back to the living-room. Pushing your bedroom door open, your eyes looked around for Steve and you found him, for sure. You definitely could not miss him with what you were seeing.

Steve was in the midst of removing his wet shirt to put the pajama shirt on, his toned chest exposed, he seemed to not have noticed you come in. You tried not to squeak but you couldn’t keep it contained “A-Ah!? Sorry! Didn’t realise you were still getting changed!” Steve looked up as you squeaked, looking like a deer in headlights for a moment. Immediately, you avert your gaze and tried your hardest not to picture his bare chest in your head, cheeks growing as red as strawberry jelly. Steve just stared at you for a moment before letting out a boisterous laugh “Oh my god (YN), its okay! It was just an accident.” he continued to chuckle as he pulled on the red pajama shirt before walking over to you. But you still remained stood by your bedroom door, gaze averted and your hands covering your eyes and your reddened cheeks.

Steve was now stood beside you, his hand on your shoulder as he tried to turn you to face him, your hands still plastered across your face to cover your eyes and cheeks ”Hey. Come on you can look at me now, I’m fully changed.” he teased and tried to pull your hands from your face but you wouldn’t budge, Steve just smiled “Oh Sweetheart come on, look at me please.” his voice like melted butter, which in turn made you melt and pull your hands from your face to peek an eye open. Looking into his serene, ocean blue eyes, your cheeks were still tinted pink out of embarrassment but it began to soften as Steve smiled tenderly and spoke again “There we go, now I get to see your face.” pushing a strand of hair behind your ear softly. A smile broke onto your face, giggling faintly “Still. Sorry for walking in on you.” twiddling your fingers as you spoke, making him chuckle once again “Sweetheart, when you have a kid, you get used to getting interrupted when getting changed.” Having no embarrassment about the situation, which in turn made your own level of embarrassment drop a little, not feeling as much shame as the initial moment did. You took this moment to gently pull up the hood of your onesie, now revealing the theme of the onesie, antlers flopping around as well as a tiny pair of ears, Steve just seemed to look at you in awe for a moment and smiled. The two of you stood in the living-room, both stood wearing fluffy socks, only centimeters apart “Uhm time to head down to the kitchen?” you asked to which Steve nodded “Time for me to show you how much of a failure at baking I am.” he joked which made you smile “Oh come off it! Let's head down.” slapping him on the chest gently as a joke before walking over to the door, the tail on the reindeer onesie wagging side to side as you walked. 

Gently descending down the staircase down to the bakery, Steve walked behind you and entered the bakery once again. The windows covered in snow, which was piling up outside and especially on his car “Thank goodness Sarah’s with Bucky tonight.” thinking of how his daughter was spending the night with Bucky and Sam, the number one babysitters. Nodding, you looked at Steve “She’s probably cuddled up on the couch with Bucky watching a movie.” you noted and smiled, tying your apron as you slid it over your head. Steve smiled “Buck’s probably snoring, after being forced to watch Frozen for the third time that day.” a grin on his face as he thought of his daughter and Bucky’s uncle and niece bond. Smiling to yourself, you picked one of the larger aprons off the peg “Oi mister!, its apron time for you!” waggling it in front of his face for a moment before he took it from you “Alright Alright.” he slid it over his head, the strap pulled across his head of thick, blonde hair and the ‘dad-beard’, his hair now slightly ruffled as he tied the straps at the back “There. Better?” You gave him a thumbs up and pulled your phone out from one of the onesie’s pockets “Now for some music!”

The iconic voice of Bing Crosby began to serenade you and Steve as your phone connected to your speaker, having music on just made everything feel right. The rhythm made you sway side to side gently to the music “Music sorted! Now for the recipe!” You ushered Steve into the kitchen, an area of the bakery he’d never been into, always staying clear of it when here. Cracking your knuckles and pushing up your sleeves to your onesie up your forearms 

“Now. Tonight I’m teaching you how to make a simple apple crumble.” you were determined to teach him this recipe and would not admit failure ever. Steve already looked baffled just at naming the recipe “I promise Steve, this is easy and delicious.” placing a hand on his forearm, reassuring him you’d help him along, not throwing him to the wolves just yet. Taking his hand “Come on, let's go to the storage room and fetch ingredients!” his fingers interlocked with yours as you led him round back to storage where you kept various ingredients, always making sure that on any given day you could make something just by what was in storage.

The two of you walked through storage and picked up 4 granny smith apples from the storage room, using 4 for good measure and as not to be too frugal with the filling. Steve held the apples in his arms, you checked each one for bruising and any imperfections, choosing the best 4 out of the basket. Gathering the rest of ingredients came easy enough, grabbing sugar, butter and flour as you walked back to the kitchen with Steve. Placing the ingredients down on the counter, you turned to wash your hands, guiding Steve to do the same which he did. Stood side by side, washing your hands, preparing to start this recipe together. After drying off your hands, you walked back to the counter “First things first with apple crumble, we need to peel, core and dice them.” starting the first step off with something Steve could definitely do. 

Giving Steve a paring knife, you started on your own apples as you split the work evenly. You immediately began peeling the skin off the apple with ease and coring it out with ease, listening to the sweet voice of Bing Crosby which played through the speakers. Glancing over to Steve, you could tell he was struggling with the paring knife “Here, let me show you.” speaking gently as your hands covered his, showing him the technique slowly so he could pick it up easier “There! You’ve got it now. Keep going!” happy to see him get better at it, returning to your own apples but turning to watch Steve happily, a smile on his face. 

He no longer looked as baffled as he was before.

Chopping up the apples, you perked up when Steve called your name “Are these the right size?” showing you the diced apples “Yep! Perfect size!” You finished chopping up your own and placed them in a pot “Now we need to soften these in sugar on the hob.” The two of you worked in perfect unison, with you guiding him through the steps. He listened intently to each word and watched you as you were in your element. Pouring sugar atop the apples as well as some water, you gently cooked the apples through still they were soft and almost golden from the sugar which melted beautifully before gently spooning the softened apples into a dish, smoothing them out so they lined the whole tray at the bottom. Leaving the tray to sit, the two of you turned your attention to the ‘crumble’ which you needed to sprinkle on top of the sweet apple mixture. Combining sugar, butter and flour together, letting Steve cream the sugar and butter together before adding the flour, it began to form the breadcrumb like texture which was needed for this recipe. 

With Steve sprinkling the crumble on top of the apples, you checked the oven was nicely pre-heated and ready for the apple crumble to go in. Ushering Steve over, he gently placed the apple crumble into the oven and left it to cook. It would take a further half an hour for the crumble to cook, the two of you looked at one another “Clean up time?” Steve asked to which you nodded and began clearing up, Steve working alongside you. Cleaning the counters and putting back the packaged ingredients into storage, the packet of flour still on the counter to be taken back to storage. Things in the kitchen were beginning to look much cleaner, that was until Steve decided to dust off his apron.

“STEVE!” 

Steve looked up and saw that the flour he’d dusted off himself had flown and covered your hair, leaving a white caste, Steve’s facial expressions matched the one you’d given him when you walked in on him. You were unimpressed, you were covered in flour and now had your arms crossed. Steve gave an awkward smile “Whoops. Sorry.” You blinked before giving Steve a mischievous smile “Sorry aint gonna cut it mister.” You reached for the packet of flour on the counter and scooped up a handful, ready to attack. Steve had his hands raised in defence, knowing that with that handful of flour, an full-out war would commence “Woah! Woah! Sweetheart we can solve this in a civil manner!” ready to bolt “Oh don’t sweetheart me Steve, this is revenge!” You rushed at him, he tried to block you but failed miserably, flour covered his hair and beard as well as his shirt. Steve stared down at you in shock, his eyelashes dusted with flour, his hand rose to wipe the flour from his eyes as he went silent before chuckling

 “Oh this is war, Sweetheart…” 

You squeaked and attempted to run away from him, but this time he was quick to snatch a handful of flour from the counter and doused you in it, holding you in place “AH! RUDE!” You laughed and escaped his grip “Excuse me you’re the rude one here!” He was hit with another flour bomb, his shirt covered. 

The battle was glorious, flour flying left right and center around the kitchen, the two of you laughing like children, trying to outwit each other. The flour in the air looked as if it were snowing inside, the Christmas lights which decorated the ceiling dusted with flecks of white. The two of you ran straight into each other with handfuls of flour, trying to attack but ended up running into Steve’s arms. You were both panting from running around the kitchen, your flour-covered hands on Steve’s shoulders, laughing tiredly. Steve’s head was rested atop yours, laughing gently as you were there in his arms.

“I’ll be home for Christmas~”

The speaker began to play Bing Crosby’s rendition of ‘I’ll be home for Christmas’, the soft tune made the two of you look into each other's eyes, as if both sharing the same thought. Steve reached up to take your hand in his, your other hand rested upon his shoulder gently. The music swept the two of you into its spell as you began to softly slow-dance. Steve’s other hand gently rested upon your waist, pulling you closer to him. Relishing in the moment, you rested your head upon his chest, swept up into the dance and closing your eyes, tender smiles on both your faces. Dancing together around the kitchen, moving in unison, just like you had done when baking, elegant but sweet. Steve rested his chin upon yours, swaying and doing gentle turns together, moving as one “I’m sorry if I’m rusty at this, Sweetheart. I haven’t danced in a long-time.” You hummed “No. You’re perfect Steve. Truly.” Steve’s heartbeat quickened, he knew you would feel it with your head rested upon his chest, he just hoped it wasn’t too obvious. With a gentle sigh, you spoke again “When was the last time you danced like this?” Steve froze for a moment. 

“5 years ago. May 6th 2015.” He remembered it off the top of his head “The day Sarah was born.” You were confused, blinking your eyes open and lifting your head to look at Steve as he continued “The day Sarah was born, I was dancing with my wife, Peggy.” Your eyes were locked on him, you listened and didn’t say a word “To help with her contractions, me and Peggy danced in the hospital room to music, that was the last time.” Steve sighed sadly, his eyes glazed over and watery, but you stayed silent. This was his time to tell his story “It was a day like this when I lost her, Sarah was 7 months old. Her first Christmas.” He still slow-danced with you as he retold the story, retold the memory which had been lingering in his heart for so long.

“Peggy, a hard-worker at heart went back to work when Sarah was 5 months and we’d moved her to formula, I was at home with Sarah on paternity.” His hand on your waist tightened as he continued to tell the story, the hand which you had on his shoulder began to rub gentle circles into his shoulder, to comfort him, “She was on the highway, on her way back from a company meeting, the snow was coming down hard…” he began to choke up 

“A driver crashed into her head-on.” He paused before continuing,  “I lost her that day 5 years ago and left to raise Sarah, my little Sarah… Christmas is so hard for me, just reminds me of what I lost. What Sarah lost.” A tear trickled down Steve’s cheek, his tired eyes watery, letting down a big barrier which he’d been holding up for 5 years, putting on the strongest face for Sarah. But here you were, letting him push that wall down and letting him cry and you now understood why he was a “Grinch” at Christmas. 

He was dealing with grief, a grief which stopped him from enjoying the most wonderful time, a constant reminder of what he lost.

 Gently, you wiped the tear from his cheek, raising your hand from his shoulder to brush it away, your hand upon his cheek, he leaned into your touch and closed his eyes, “You are the strongest man I’ve ever met Steve. You’ve raised such a beautiful and wonderful girl, Peggy would be so proud of you.” you had tears in your own eyes, trying to reassure him and console him. Steve nodded and opened his watery eyes to stare down at you in such awe and adoration “Thank you. Thank you for everything.” His forehead pressed against yours ever so gently, noses brushing together softly, the two of you drawn in as you stared into each other’s eyes. His deep, blue eyes filled with such sorrow but also hope. 

Lips were centimeters apart.

 With only a little step, you would be able to brush lips with his, breathing in and out in time with one another. Your eyes began to flutter open and closed, lashes gently fluttering. Your eyes closed shut as Steve prepared to take a step closer, when suddenly...

!*BING*!

The two of you were pulled out of the spell which the music had put you under, the timer for the apple crumble was ringing, your faces were so close but gently you pulled back “I-I’ll go take that out.” your eyes opening once more and looking up to Steve, who nodded and gently removed his hands from you, watching as you walked over to the oven. Turning your back to him, you could feel your heart pounding in your chest, oven mitts covering your hands as your mind reeled. 

You almost kissed Steve. So close.

Trying to slow down you breathing, you took out the crumble, the crumble on top was a beautiful shade of gold, steam coming off it. Turning around to look at Steve, you carried the crumble over to the counter where Steve was stood, his hand gripping the edge of it slightly. Placing it down on the counter and meekly looking up at Steve “Shall we taste our efforts?” Your voice shy and your lips trembling, as if the adrenaline from the flour fight and the dance had all but worn off, Steve nodded and cracked a smile, you smiled back at him “Vanilla ice cream or custard?” you asked to which he quickly responded “Ice cream please.” You scuttled off to the storage room, opening the freezer to take out the ice cream but also to cool yourself down, your body warm especially your nose and cheeks. 

Holding the carton of ice-cream in your arms, you were ready to head back in to see Steve. Carrying it back in with you, you put a smile on your face as you walked into the kitchen “Let's get our portion and we can head upstairs, watch a movie maybe?” You suggested, he grinned and nodded. Grabbing a couple of bowls, you began to ladle out portions of the crumble, breaking the crunchy crumble to reveal the steaming apples which were shining from the sugar coating, it looked divine. Taking two portions, you began to scoop vanilla ice cream into the bowls.

You turned to Steve “Want to taste your creation?” asking him happily, to which he nodded, taking a spoonful. Half of the spoon loaded with the beautiful crumble and the other covered with smooth vanilla ice cream which complimented it perfectly. He finished the spoonful and paused for a moment “That’s amazing!” His eyes lit up again which made your heart soar “And you made it! I told you you could bake!” Steve smiled at your words “I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you though, you’re truly an angel.” The compliment made your heart flutter “How about you take these up and I’ll lock up for the night?” offering and smiling to which he agreed “I’ll see you upstairs then.” He carried the two bowls and headed upstairs.

As soon as he disappeared from sight, you pressed a hand to your heart. This man was killing you, he just knew what to say which could make your heart soar and knees buckle. This man was perfect, sent to you by angels. And that near kiss was lingering in your head. You didn’t want to push Steve, he had lost his wife 5 years ago. Was he ready to move on and would he want to move on with you? That was a question for later. 

Right now, you needed to lock up.

Keys in hand, you locked the windows and the doors and made sure all the fairy lights were switched off. Checking each of the fobs on the oven and appliances, making sure they were all off, taking the time to carefully store the crumble in the fridge. You walked through the kitchen once more and switched off the light as you walked towards the stairs. Step by step, you walked up the stairs and opened the door, Steve was sitting on your couch with the bowls of crumble in hand, smiling. Running a hand through your hair for a moment, you smiled “I’ll grab some blankets.” Opening a cupboard and pulling out an old blanket, big enough for the two of you, once used to cover your double-bed. Draping it across Steve’s lap and across the couch, you got under the blanket and curled your legs underneath you, Steve placing your bowl of crumble in your lap, the ice cream hadn’t fully melted and the crumble still nice and warm. The two of you, sat on the couch together with bowls of crumble in your laps, switching on the TV to find the movie channel. You didn’t really care what was on, since there was a seemingly comfortable silence growing. 

No words needed to be spoken between the two of you as the night went on.

Apple crumble was devoured, the bowls on the coffee-table as ‘Miracle on 34th Street’ played on the tv, snow still falling outside but much softer as the storm subsided. During the 3rd act of the film, your eyes had started to close. You didn’t fight the need to sleep, you gave in easily and gently you rested your head upon Steve’s shoulder as the final moments of the film played out on screen. Steve simply wrapped his arm around your waist, staring down at you in awe and seemingly wonder struck, he moved so you could rest your head on his chest. 

Which you did.

Face nuzzled into his chest, his arm wrapped around your waist. He brushed the hair away from your face and smiled as you nuzzled deeper into his chest, his thumb brushing against your flour-covered cheek. His heart pounding in his chest, he reached down to peck your forehead softly before pulling back.

 The only sounds he could hear being the sound of the tv and of your gentle breathing. Firstly, he switched the TV off and gently held you close to him, letting his eyes close.

As he began to drift off, he muttered something under his breath which was not only a promise to you but a promise to himself that he tiredly hoped he would have the courage to follow through with. His voice soft and comforting, a smile on his face as he fell deep into sleep, your head on his chest. 

“I’ll tell you soon, I promise… Sweet dreams, Sweetheart.”

END OF CHAPTER 5 ---------------------------------------------------------------------

TAGLIST! - @chuckennuggets1213​ @imsonick​ @nervousstrangersandwich​ @justthatfangirloverthere​ @sheadre​ @125bluemachine125​ @giggleberts​ @kind-sober-fullydressed​ @fluffyirwinie​ @kaithezaftig​ @ilovesupersoldiers​ @royale-skeleton-key​ @mcuwillbethedeathofme​ @https://coldmuffinbanditshoe.tumblr.com/ @amberkay284​ @willowtree42095​ @clarinette07​