#while they strain against it trying to bash open empty boxes

[warpedlegacywrites]

Rook, eyeing the wrecked ship floating just off the walkway in the Crossroads: I bet I could make that jump.

Harding: Rook, no.

Rook, already jumping: Rook YES!

[lupin-for-president]

Pretty Pink Paper

(Jeddy)

—

James Sirius knew it was foolish, falling in love with his blue-haired best friend, who also happened to be seven whole years older than him. It was the type of situation that would only end up hurting James in the end, he knew that better than anyone.

But he just couldn’t help it.

It was impossible for him not to fall in love Teddy—especially with the way Teddy acted around him. The way Teddy spoke to him. The way Teddy touched him. The way Teddy smiled at him. The way Teddy looked at him.

Teddy treated James like he was the most important person on the entire earth.

And James drank it up like honey.

Everything about Teddy was so addicting to him. There wasn’t a single thing about the scrawny little punk that James didn’t wholeheartedly love and adore.

The way Teddy always laughed —a little too hard— when James would be the one to tell him a cheesy joke.

How Teddy would always match his eye color to his outfit and make sure to ask James’ opinion on it before leaving the house.

The way Teddy’s nose would scrunch up whenever James would be applying his blush and eyeliner for him, muttering a “Hold still, Ted” as he held the cap between his teeth.

How Teddy’s arms felt draped loosely over James as he leaned over to show the boy how to play a certain piano chord correctly.

The way Teddy would struggle to stay awake throughout an entire movie —no matter the time of day— and always ended up falling asleep on James’ shoulder.

How Teddy would use any spare minute of his free time to teach James more new tricks to do on his broom so that he could impress his friends.

The way Teddy would stick out his lip —and beg and plead— until James finally caved in and played with or braided his hair, Teddy smiling smugly at the tiny victory.

How everytime Teddy was upset, the first person he would go to would be James, and he would bury his face into his chest and cry until he felt better.

The way Teddy would interrupt James’ reading by running into his room and playing air guitar while singing at the top of his lungs.

How Teddy made a chocolate cupcake for James’ birthday every single year —refusing help from anyone else in the house— and ended up burning it each and every time.

The way Teddy ruffled a hand through James’ messy brown hair every time he walked past him, flashing him a cheeky closed eye grin as he did so.

How Teddy was always there, no matter what.

It wasn’t James’ fault that he fell in love with Teddy. It was the cruel fault of the universe for having put someone so exceptionally perfect into his life, then expecting him not to be affected by it.

It was James’ fault, however, that Teddy happened to find out about these feelings.

Teddy shouldn’t have been sneaking around in James’ room, sure, but James was the one that had forgotten to put the old, tattered brown shoebox back in its hiding place under his bed.

That exact brown shoebox was the very gateway to the most extreme form of embarrassment that James Sirius had ever had the displeasure of facing throughout his entire sixteen years of life.

It was the shoebox full of his love letters, all of which were —very blatantly— addressed to Teddy.

He had just celebrated his birthday a week prior and he was more than thrilled to be lounging at home during his summer break from Hogwarts. He and Teddy had been basically inseparable since the beginning of summer —not that that was anything new— and James was genuinely very happy.

That is, until he came back up to his room from having grabbed a plate of cookies in the kitchen, only to find Teddy —sitting on the edge of James’ bed, a brown shoebox in his lap, and pink slips of paper in his hands— with furrowed brows and his lip tucked between his teeth.

Teddy hadn’t heard James come in at first. In fact, he didn’t even know he had entered the room until the sound of glass shattering pierced through the air, James having dropped his plate full of cookies due to the sudden trembling of his hands.

A small piece of James was hoping —praying— to whatever gods above that maybe Teddy hadn’t really read any of the letters at all. But from the wide eyed, red faced look that Teddy gave him upon getting caught, what little hope James had flickering inside him was immediately distinguished.

He felt sick, nauseous, and insanely lightheaded as he bolted out of the door, making a beeline for the bathroom. A singe of pain surged up from the bottom of his foot as he realized he had stepped on a shard of the broken plate during his hasty escape, but he didn’t dare pause to check it.

He could hear the heavy footsteps following quickly after him —and the faint shouting, too— though it was muffled from the pounding of his heartbeat ringing in his eardrums. As soon as he made it to the bathroom, he shut the door and pushed his foot up against it, turning the lock just in time to be greeted by a chorus of loud banging.

“Jamie! Jamie, open up!” Teddy shouted from the other side, hands bashing against the wood.

James couldn’t answer due to him falling to his knees in front of the toilet and emptying out the contents of what was —most likely— his breakfast from earlier. He didn’t stop hurling until there was absolutely nothing left, his forehead drenched in sweat as he panted to catch his breath.

“Open the door, Jamie! Come on, it’s me. Just open the door, we can talk this out!” Teddy blurted, his hard knocks not missing a beat.

“Go away,” James answered back weakly, his voice strained.

Rivers were trailing down his cheeks now, dripping into the corners of his cracked lips. As the sobs wracked through his body, he pulled his knees up firm against his chest, fingers digging deep into his upper arms as he tried to calm himself down. A small pool of blood started forming under his right foot from the cut, which only caused his blood pressure to spike even more as he glanced down at it.

It had been a while since he had experienced a panic attack that was this bad. It had actually been almost a full year, in fact.

Normally, the only thing that would successfully calm him down was if Teddy cupped his face firmly in his hands and whispered countless soothing words to him as he forced him to maintain eye contact. Teddy would always constantly switch the color of his irises —sometimes even making them swirl— in order to make James’ attention focus on anything else but the initial cause of the attack.

But this time, Teddy was the cause of it.

And now James was having to calm himself back down all on his own.

And it wasn’t working.

And he couldn’t breathe.

And his chest hurt so bad.

And all he could think of was the sight of Teddy.

Brown shoebox sitting in his lap.

Pink slips of paper in his hands.

Reading each and every one of James’ sinful and foolish desires.

And the thought of Teddy being absolutely disgusted with James for even daring to think about him in even the slightest bit of a romantic way plagued James’ poor mind.

It was all too much.

And the world felt like it was spinning.

And the only thing keeping him rooted was the pain from his nails digging into his skin and the sound of Teddy’s worried screams.

It felt like it went on for hours.

But that’s because it did.

Ginny finally came home from training four hours later to find a shaking and stressed Teddy, tear tracks tattooing his flushed cheeks as he hysterically explained what had happened and how he had tried to use a spell to unlock the bathroom door but that he couldn’t even think straight enough to use it and James had been quiet for a long time now and he was so bloody worried that he had done something while locked in there by himself and he couldn’t break into the bathroom to check on him and his mind was reaming with the worst possibilities and—

Ginny cut him off with a hug, giving his torso a quick squeeze before pulling back and asking which bathroom James had locked himself in. Teddy shakily informed her it was the guest bathroom on the second floor, and the two of them raced up the stairs to see what could be done.

Of course, Ginny was able to cast the spell perfectly on her first try —it was a spell she had learned in her first year at Hogwarts after all— and the pair both let out the greatest sigh of relief when the door creaked open to reveal a sleeping James, seemingly unharmed apart from the gash on the bottom of his foot.

Ginny crouched down beside him, pressing a hand to his forehead gently before brushing away some of the hair in his eyes.

Teddy recognized that helpless and drained look of James’ unconscious body instantly. It was a look only he was exceptionally familiar with. He had seen it quite often —more often than he would like— whenever he would cradle James after he had tired himself out from an attack, immediately falling asleep against Teddy’s chest. Teddy was always the one there to make everything better.

But this time, that wasn’t the case.

“It’s all my fault,” Teddy whispered, his voice raw, “This is all my fault.”

“Teddy, honey, no,” Ginny shook her head, standing up to place a hand on Teddy’s flushed cheek. “It was an accident. You didn’t know what was going to be in that box.”

“It doesn’t matter what was in the fucking box,” he breathed, shaking his head, “I shouldn’t have been snooping through his stuff anyways. If I hadn’t, then he wouldn’t have caught me, and then he wouldn’t have had a panic attack without anyone here to—”

“Teddy,” Ginny cut him off, “We can play the blame game later, alright?”

“But—”

“No.” She shook her head. “Not right now. Please, can you just carry James to his room? Then you need to go get some rest, too. Before Harry comes home with questions as to what’s going on with his sons.”

Teddy stared at her for a moment before nodding, stepping around her and towards James’ sleeping form.

Regardless of being a grown man, he still found himself always listening to Ginny’s orders, no matter what.

He knelt down and looped an arm under James’ legs, his other wrapping securely around his back. He rose to his feet slowly, not wanting to wake the snoozing boy in his arms. Much to his surprise, James subconsciously buried his face into the front of Teddy’s sweater, releasing an incomprehensible string of murmurs before relaxing in Teddy’s arms once again.

Teddy nearly started crying again right there.

He silently brushed past Ginny and down the hallway, towards James’ bedroom. Upon entering, he made sure to stay clear of the broken glass littering the doorway.

He laid James down in bed gently, pulling his wand out of his back pocket and waving it strategically at the wound on James’ foot, watching as it immediately scarred up, all traces of blood vanishing. He then turned towards the broken plate and crumbled cookies on the floor, flicking his wand to gather the remnants up and —ever so gracefully— discarding them into the trash can.

Running a hand through his bright blue hair, he turned back to James, his eyes trailing all across his young, peaceful face. He tugged the blankets up over his sleeping form, tucking him in nice and warm. Brushing his fingertips along James’ forehead, Teddy leant down, moving the messy brown curls away to expose his smooth tan skin.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered —hardly above a whisper— as his lips ghosted against James’ forehead, “I am so sorry, James Sirius.”

When he pulled away, the cause of this entire dilemma caught in the corner of his eye. The brown shoebox that was still placed on the corner of James’ bed. Teddy knew he shouldn’t, but he couldn’t help but to reach out for it anyways, his hand diving in and grabbing the first piece of pretty pink paper that was sitting right on top.

All at once, Teddy felt his world shatter as his eyes took in the messy scrawl. He even had to place a hand over his mouth to muffle the sob that threatened to break through, a single tear descending from the corner of his eye.

The last part of the love letter read:

“One of these days you’re going to find all of these, and I need you to promise me something when that time comes. Please, don’t blame yourself for the attack I have afterwards, because I can assure you it isn’t your fault.”

Teddy shoved the note into his pocket before closing the box and sliding it back under James’ bed. Sending one last glance to his sleeping best friend, he silently left the room, doing his best not to blame himself for everything that had happened.

Just like James had asked.

[dawnbutterfly]

@soullessadam Alright, here’s a first draft, just to see what you think. ^^

There was silence in the cardboard interior of the box, broken only by the quiet shuffling of one of its residents. In one corner, an animate puppet, Buddy, sat twiddling his cloth thumbs. In the other, a young man, Adam, slouched, head bowed and unmoving. Buddy looked up at the young man, smiling a dangerously lovestruck smile. “You haven’t said anything for a while, dear.” Buddy said. Silence answered him. Buddy shifted, his eyes somehow growing a little duller. “Are you hungry? Thirsty? You know I can get you anything you want.” Buddy said. Silence answered him. Buddy’s smile seemed to strain, stretching wider, thinner, flatter. “Adam!” He called, sounding frustrated. Silence answered him. Buddy’s smile faded entirely, and he stood up. Slowly, he approached the young man, seeing not a hint of movement from him the whole while. “Adam…?” He asked as he reached the young man, his voice wavering. He couldn’t see any movement at all, not even breathing. “Hey, Adam! Wake up, buddy!” Buddy said, voice strained, as he grasped the man’s shoulders and gave him a shake. It was only then he finally caught a look at the blankness in the young man’s eyes. Buddy stared at Adam for a long time, his face frozen in a strange, neutral expression, as though he expected the young man to simply start breathing again, say it was all a joke. Soon, however, it became clear that no such joke was being played. “Adam!?” Buddy almost shouted, shaking him by the shoulders again. “Come on, this isn’t funny!” But only silence answered him. Buddy’s hands slowly slipped from Adam’s shoulders, who slumped forward, and then fell over onto his side, yet unmoving. Buddy grasped at his head, hysteria setting into his expression as he stared at the lifeless body of his beloved. “No… no no no! This can’t happen!” He shouted frantically. “How did this happen!? How could he die while I was watching him!?” Buddy frantically looked around, as though searching for some other entity, some cause to his beloveds death, but he only saw the same four blank walls of his box. Buddy fell to his rope knees, hands grasping at the cloth of his head, almost tearing at it like hair. “No no no no no! You can’t leave me!” He screamed. “I won’t let you go!” Suddenly, Buddy’s eyes flashed with inspiration. “I won’t let you go…!” He mumbled again. Quickly, Buddy pulled a book from seemingly nowhere, a twisted miracle that could both save a life, and damn it. He frantically flipped through the pages until he came to a chapter of the darkest of arts. “It’s ok, Adam… I can fix this…” Buddy said, chuckling half-madly to himself. Standing before Adam’s corpse, Buddy followed the instructions of the book, casting a spell to pull one back from the peaceful sleep of death. As the magic took hold, Adam’s body twitched and spasmed, and then slowly sat back up. A bright smile crossed Buddy’s face once again, only to again fade as he saw the same blank, dead look in his beloveds eyes. “Adam…?” He asked, approaching the young man. Adam, or what was left of him, slowly looked up at Buddy. No spark of life shone in his eyes, no signs of thought revealed themselves in his body. Buddy nearly dropped his book, staring at the hollow puppet his beloved had become. “No… that’s not right…!” He said, grip tightening on the edges of the book. “That’s not Adam! I want Adam!” Furiously, Buddy tore through more pages of the book, finally arriving at a different method of retrieving a soul. Performing its rituals, Buddy called upon the very powers of heaven to return his one and only love to him. But the angel who indeed arrived did not bear the news he desired. “Adam is gone.” The being of light said, its tone clean and cold. Buddy gritted his teeth in anger. “Of course he’s gone! I summoned you to bring him back, you idiot!” He nearly screamed at the angel. “No. His soul is no longer in the heavens. He cannot be brought back here.” The angel said. If the cloth of Buddy’s face could go pale, it would have. “What do you mean he’s not in heaven anymore!?” He demanded. “A new incarnation plays host to his soul.” The angel said. “He is beyond our reach. That is all.” With those words, the angel vanished, leaving Buddy alone, with only the puppet corpse of his love to keep him company. Buddy dropped his book, his face contorted in rage, sorrow, and hatred. He screamed as loud as he could, bashing his fists against the walls of his box, demanding to the whole universe to have Adam back. But only silence answered him. Collapsing in a heap on the ground, Buddy could only sob into the floor of his home. Without the one and only person he had ever loved, who had ever showed him kindness and compassion, the whole world felt empty to him. “I don’t need a world where he doesn’t exist…” He mumbled from his place on the ground. Pushing himself to a sitting position, he dragged himself to his book, and opened it to the first page… ⁂ Hours, perhaps days later, Buddy lay on the ground, seemingly broken in every way but the one he desired. No matter how many times he tried, no matter what weapons or devices or apocalyptic forces he wrought upon himself, he could not bring an end to his existence. He stared up at the top of his box, his eyes nearly as blank as those of Adam’s corpse, still sitting idly in the corner, sustained by necromantic magic. He had nothing left. He could not end his own suffering, nor could he bring Adam back to him. The separation, so permanent, so final, had driven him all but catatonic. What he would give to go to the heavens, to watch his beloved from afar if nothing else… Buddy’s eyes brightened just a little. The heavens… that angel… they knew where Adam was now… so they could… He quickly sat up, eyes fixed on his book. He flipped back to a familiar page, eyes narrow and dangerously focused. In not but a moment, the same angel once again descended from its gateway of light, down into the box in front of Buddy. “Adam remains out of our reach.” The angel said. “Summoning me additional times will not change this.” “If you can’t bring him to me, then you’re going to bring me to him.” Buddy said coldly. “Take me to Adam, now.” “I cannot.” The angel said. “That would violate celestial law.” Buddy glared at the angel. “Sounds to me like you can, but won’t.” He said. The angel remained silent for a moment. “In either case, it is something that will not happen.” It finally said. Buddy stared at the angel for a good few moments, before a wide grin spread across his face. “I don’t think you understand…” He said, summoning from his book a large, high-tech looking weapon that sparked dangerously. “Nothing will stand between me and my beloved.” “It would be foolish to try to harm a heavenl-” The angel started, but was suddenly cut off by a large blast of electricity from Buddy’s weapon, which coursed through its body and and saw it fall to the floor, twitching in agony. Buddy loomed over the downed creature, which stared up at him with an unparalleled look of shock and horror. “You are under my box’s jurisdiction…” He said dangerously, aiming the weapon at the angel once again. “Let’s see how many times I have to kill you before you give me what I want…”

[itmighthavebeenintentional]

Walk Me Home - Ch 3

Summary: Twenty-four years ago, Kimberly Harper met a boy who changed the course of her entire life before up and leaving one night. She spent years moving past the memories, building a stable, satisfying career as professor of folklore and mythology at the local university. Then the accidents start, and she’s forced to seek help among her hunter contacts. All it takes is a knock on her office door to send Kimber’s carefully built emotional walls crumbling to the ground.

Featuring: Teen Winchesters, high school romance, reunions, misunderstandings, high intensity emotional turmoil, Dean’s love of pie, Dean being adorable, Sam being adorable and maybe a bit nosy eventually, much group adorkable-ness, show-style investigation, mention of our favorite werewolf, gratuitous and obvious love of fall, DID I MENTION ROMANCE, fluff, smut, tension. 

Warnings: Show level violence, show level parental neglect (let’s not John bash, I’m just saying), show-style witchcraft, show-level mental manipulation, stalking, bit of angst, sexual content (higher than show level),swearing, general yearning

Word Count: 3422

Author’s Note: Mega thanks to @mskathywriteswords​ , @fangirlxwritesx67​, and @cracksinthewalls​ for editing, revision, flailing, and generally knocking sense into me when I’m being stubborn. You all made this story way better than it started it, and I love you. Thanks to everyone who read/reblogged/liked the first chapter. I hope you enjoy the story as much as I do. 

@thoughtslikeaminefield​ , babe, I love you, and I love this story so much.

Keep in Mind: There are a lot of flashbacks. I tried to write current events in present tense and flashbacks in past tense. Here’s hoping I got everything right!

Please read/heed the warnings. 18+ ONLY. 

In Case You Missed It: Ch 1 | Ch 2 ItMightHaveBeenIntentional’s Masterlist

Chapter 3

“Breathe, sweetheart, take a deep breath and hold it. Watch me, follow my breathing.” Dean’s hands, warm and solid against her clammy skin, hold her face so she has no choice but to look right at him. 

His eyes pierce the haze of fear that locks her lungs, and she pulls in her first shaking breath since she spotted the doll. She must have screamed, because one moment she was alone with the damned thing, and the next he was by her side, pulling her out of the room.

“Come with me, we’re getting out of here. Right now.” In a habit that miraculously stayed with her since she first knew him, Kimber stumbles after Dean, her fingers clutching his with a level of desperation that would leave her shamed if she had the thought capacity to care right now.

They’re out the front door, in his car, and speeding away before she even realizes he’s on the phone. 

“Yeah, Sam, I saw the doll on her bed. Front door was definitely locked when we got there, but I didn’t get a chance to check the windows or back door. She’s talked to the cops before this, they didn’t do shit then, but maybe now that the bastard actually went in her house. I’m taking her back to the motel.” 

He’s silent for a long moment, listening intently, his lips pressed thin and tense. Her face is wet, and she realizes she’s crying. She takes a moment to wipe away the tears streaming from her eyes, discreetly clearing her throat. She has a strange, disconnected moment of panic when she realizes she left her purse in the house and the door unlocked, but she shoves the words back down her throat so fast she nearly chokes.

That horrible...thing...on her bed, and she’s worried about her purse?!

Priorities, Kimber, she scolds herself. Dean is talking when she comes back to the moment, and she catches him mid-sentence.

“-agree with Kimber, I think it’s probably a witch. Gonna check for hex bags, ask her about anybody that might have a motive. We’ll go over her house when you get here, but I’m gonna try to keep her out of sight in the meantime. Don’t have a tail, but I’ll keep an eye on the way to the motel. See ya in the morning.”

He hangs up, eyes flicking over to Kimber then back to the road.

“How you holdin’ up?” The genuine concern in his voice breaks through the worst of her panic, giving her something other than her growing dread to focus on.

“I...I’ve been better. I mean, I know that nothing actually happened, but...Dean, I-”

“Oh, no, I totally get it,” he says, his eyebrows rising high on his forehead. “Fucking dolls, I hate ‘em. That creepy shit absolutely ain’t right. Anyway, we had no idea if someone was still at your place. Better to high-tail it, regroup, and plan than get stuck in a shootout with somethin’ that might not even go down with a bullet or five in it. You heard me talkin’ to Sam?”

She nods, doing her best to hide her sniffling. Without a word, he opens the glove box, pulls out a napkin, and hands it to her. She takes it gratefully, failing in her attempt to discreetly blow her nose while boxed into a moving vehicle.

“Thanks. The thing is, though, as far as I know, nobody has a motive to want to hurt me.”

This time he only lifts one eyebrow. “You, a college professor in a highly specialized academic area that’s typically full of eccentrics at best and nutbags at worst, have no students with chips on their shoulders? No jealous colleagues? Never forgot to tip the barista or leave a Christmas bonus for the janitors? Really?”

Her face heats up. She’s thinking like a scared kid, and she should know better. She may not be a hunter, but she knows the lore, knows the signs, and she really should know better.

“Okay, you’re right, you’re right. I’m not thinking clearly. Just...gimme a sec to get my head on straight.” 

She sucks in a sharp, deep breath through her nose, focusing on a droplet of water that’s sliding down her window. She presses air slowly from her lungs, watching the drop gain speed as it joins with more water dotting the outside of the glass, repeating the process until the raindrop slips off the window and her thoughts are focused again.

“I haven’t actually had to fail anyone in my classes lately, but I suppose someone could have held a grudge from previous semesters or just not been satisfied with a lower passing grade. As far as I know, no one in the department is jealous of my position. I’m not really anything special, literally just a glorified storyteller. I’m not on any boards or committees, I haven’t received any awards in a few semesters. No particular nutbags lately, but…”

She frowns as he pulls the car into a motel parking lot. Something is tugging at the back of her mind, an almost non-incident from a few Thursdays ago. She’d dismissed the conversation as random but harmless, but even the smallest details could be life or death. She’s been shown this over and over in her dealings with hunters. It’s about time she learned from other people’s mistakes.

“There was something, a few weeks ago, but I can’t quite remember,” she says, frustrated at how inadequate her memory is proving at the moment. The vestiges of panic still cling to the edges of her mind, leaving her thoughts scrambled and disjointed. 

“Think on it. Let’s get checked in, get somethin’ to eat, and you can tell me then,” Dean offers. 

She smiles her appreciation at the reprieve and climbs out of the car to follow Dean into the motel office. She uses the time Dean spends, first talking and then arguing with the clerk, to jog her memory, trying to recall everything she can about her encounter at the end of a self-defense class the previous month. 

It had seemed so harmless at the time, and nothing odd happened afterwards. At least, not that night. But as she stands next to Dean, straining her memory, she realizes Helen’s accident was just two days later. Her unseen watcher trailed her for the first time a week after Helen’s fall. Then Professor Lawrence a few days after that, and just last week Allen and the stapler.

She feels the heat of shame flooding her face. She’s a researcher by profession. How did she never put the pattern together? People have been hurt, nearly died, because she was too stupid to connect some dots? 

“I connect dots for a goddamn living,” she mutters to herself, earning her an odd glance from Dean. He turns back to the clerk, who shrugs.

“Take it or leave, sir.”

“Fine,” Dean growls, shoving a credit card at the man. Five minutes later, Dean unlocks the door to a room with two queen-size beds whose decor calls strongly back to a decade long past and best forgotten.

“I think they decorated this place before we were born,” she murmurs, earning her a tired smile from Dean. “At least it’s clean?”

He nods, tossing his bag on the bed nearest the window. “Sorry we have to share, they’re full up. Some sort of convention in town?” 

She hesitates, her stomach fluttering uneasily at the thought of a wall between her and Dean. “I don’t mind. I think...maybe it’s safer this way, in one room. I would offer to get dinner, since you paid for the room, but…” She trails off, empty hands spread at her sides. 

“Not a problem,” he says, dropping down on the bed and reaching for the phone. “Know anywhere good that delivers?”

 Forty minutes and two cheeseburger combos later, Dean lifts her reprieve and presses her for information again. The food helped ground Kimber’s jittery brain, and she’s thinking clearly for the first time since she spotted the doll.

“A few weeks ago, after self-defense class concluded, a guy came up to me. I’d never noticed him before, I thought he was new, but he said he’d seen me a few times and wanted to know if i would go get coffee with him. I wouldn’t have said yes, regardless, because...I mean, picking up dates at a self-defense class? Feels kinda predatory.”

Dean nods, lips pursed as he listens. He’s stretched out on his bed while she’s opted to sit in one of the two chairs by the table a few feet away. Kimber scrubs her face with her hands before running them back through her hair. 

“I just...I got this weird vibe off him, though, Dean. He may have found me attractive, I don’t know, but I seriously doubt it. He didn’t really want to ask me out. I have no clue why he asked; I could tell he wasn’t into me. He wouldn’t meet my eyes, his face was kind of stoney the whole time? Almost like someone put him up to it even though he really didn’t want to?”

Dean frowns, just as perplexed as she is.

She sighs, resting her chin in her palms and elbows on her knees. “I know. He was acting just a little too off. On top of that, I didn’t know him at all, so I turned him down. I wasn’t rude, at least I don’t think I was. He just accepted it, though; he didn’t push or even look upset. He didn’t really look anything at all. He just left. I didn’t see him in class again after that, and, honestly, I’m certain I had never seen him before.”

Dean rubbed the stubble on his chin thoughtfully, eyebrows furrowed. “I don’t...I mean, yeah, maybe. A strong maybe,” he conceded. “But we need more information. Even if that guy is our perp, we need to find out more about what’s actually going on. Sam can help me look over your place tomorrow; you and I can search your office. We should check out the other accident scenes. Did anyone else in your class see the guy or talk to him?”

“Maybe the teacher?” Kimber offers, stifling a yawn. She’s weary to the bone and suspects she may still be feeling the after-effects of shock. She stands, intending to hit the shower in the bathroom, when she remembers just how quickly they had to leave her house.

“Um...Dean, I didn’t get to...we left my place so quickly. Do you have anything to wear that I could...borrow?” She doesn’t mean to sound so hesitant and vulnerable, but her emotional filter is fading with her energy, and she doesn’t have it in her to put up a tough front.

His eyes widen, and he jumps up from the bed to rifle through his sports bag. He reaches out, holding what looks like a white t-shirt and pajama pants. She takes a step towards him to accept them just as he moves over to meet her, and they both stop just shy of a full-body collision.

His fingers brush her skin as she accepts the clothes, and she’s annoyed at how her hands tremble from the brief touch. Her eyes flick up to find him watching her, his color high and lips parted. His hands close more solidly around hers, fingers rough and welcome against her wrists. Her pulse quickens, and that cold spot near her heart ratchets up a couple more degrees. 

His pupils dilate in response, black circles swallowing the mossy irises. Dean’s tongue flashes over his lower lip as he swallows convulsively, and her eyes track the movement. She wonders for the span of a single breath if he still tastes the way she remembers. It would be so easy to find out; just step in, drop the clothes.

All she has to do, really, is reach out.

…

Her fingers paused halfway between them, hesitating. He glanced up from his plate of pie, eyeing her curiously. Feeling suddenly, deliciously brave, she brushed her thumb over his lower lip, swiping a bit of whipped cream he’d unknowingly smeared there. She sucked her thumb for just a moment, self-consciously looking away as her cheeks blazed red. 

She’d never been so forward before, brazen even, and while she was proud of her courage, she was still shocked she’d had such nerve. She risked a peek at him across the table just in time to see him flick his own tongue over the exact spot her thumb had just been. He caught his lower lip under his teeth, grinning at her, somehow looking just as flushed and off-balance as she felt.

“You, uh...taste good,” he murmured, eyes shining. She couldn’t help the giggle that bubbled up at his sweet, simple sincerity. 

“You do, too.”

They had finished tutoring early, and it was only their second week. Dean was keeping up just fine in class, so she was more than happy to accept his invitation for a snack at the nearby diner. The day was pretty warm for mid-September, and they were technically still supposed to be at the library, so she asked if he’d like to maybe take a walk and talk some more.

“You’re just using me for my stories,” he said with a mock pout as they strolled down the sidewalk. “Is that all I am to you? A source of entertainment?”

“Dean, you’re the best show on. I wouldn’t even skip the reruns.” She felt so light around him, so comfortable and giddy all at once, like he was sucking the oxygen from her atmosphere while giving it right back to her all at once.

Just when she felt like her chest might burst holding all this inside, she reached out and linked her fingers through his. She felt a slight falter in his stride (or maybe she imagined it), and they walked on. She asked him about his family. He told her less about his Dad, more about his little brother, and nothing about his mom, but mostly he asked questions.

What did she like to read? Where was the best pie in town, because that place was not it. Where did she have her favorite birthday party growing up? What did she want to do when she graduated? Favorite family vacation? Favorite holiday? Was it as awesome being an only child as it seemed, or were there actually drawbacks he didn’t know about? What did she really think of his jacket, be honest?

Eventually, they found themselves back at her house, not quite time for her to be home yet. She was reluctant to say good-bye, and if his grip on her hand was any indication, so was he.

“I know!” she said suddenly. She tugged his arm, leading the way around her house and into the backyard. Neither of her parents were home from work, so she didn’t have to worry about their well-meaning interrogation as to why she was dragging the new boy around by the arm.

“Ta-da!” She spread her arms wide, grinning as she indicated the treehouse she and her dad had built together only a few years earlier. “Best craftsmanship, all the comforts of home, minus electricity, heat, air conditioning, and plumbing!”

“You mean it’ll hold us both, and there's some pillows and blankets up there?” He laughed, his grin growing as she glowed back at him. 

“You get me so well!” she squealed, grabbing his hand and tugging him forward again. “Come on!”

Though the structure swayed ever so slightly, it didn’t embarrass her by creaking, and there was plenty of room for the two of them to prop up against one of the walls, stretching their legs out on the nest of cushions and blankets she kept up there during good weather.

Rather than settling down, her heart began to beat against her ribs so loudly she was certain Dean could hear it. Her shoulder brushed his, and she could feel every minute shift of his body. Her nostrils flared a little as she steeled herself and turned to meet his intent gaze.

“I would really love to kiss you right now,” he said, his voice low and velvet soft. 

“Does that usually work on girls?” she asked breathlessly, her eyes glued to his impossibly lush mouth.

“Why, is it working on you?” The raw want in his voice was unmistakable, even to her inexperienced ears. No boy had ever looked at her the way Dean was right now, as if he’d never seen anyone else he’d rather kiss. He reached up, slid his fingers into her hair, thumb brushing her cheekbone.

“Yeah, it, um...it really is.”

He tasted of cherry pie and coffee. Years later, she would recognize that kiss as the moment her dependency on the caffeinated beverage began, but at the time, she wouldn’t have recognized her own mother. His lips moved gently, so tenderly it stole her breath and made some random spot in her chest clench painfully. 

She turned, leaning across him, almost on her knees. Her fingers slid over the impossibly silky bristles on the back of his neck. He shivered under her touch, lips parting from hers as he sucked in a sharp pull of air. 

“Kimber,” he murmured, eyes closed. She nudged the tip of his nose with her own, her eyes fluttering shut as she pressed the smallest of kisses to the corner of his lips. Dean’s breath caught, and then he pulled her up into his lap suddenly, tilting her head just so before claiming her mouth again.

She didn’t know how long they sat in the treehouse exactly like that, learning each other’s contours and tastes, trading kisses and caresses but nothing more, until she heard the front door of the house close. 

Kimber jerked upright, shocked as if she’d been dashed with a bucket of ice water. She’d honestly forgotten there was a whole world that existed outside the two of them in the treehouse. The sun was much lower in the sky, almost gone in fact.

“It’s almost dark, Dean, I have to go inside.” She spoke reluctantly, the words pulled out against her will. She didn’t ever want to be responsible, even indirectly, for telling Dean he had to leave.

Dean’s chest rose and fell rapidly, one hand holding tight to her waist as the other began to reluctantly untangle from her hair. He leaned forward, brushed her lips with his one last time before wordlessly encouraging her to put herself to rights.

Kimber checked the backyard to make sure the coast was clear before leading Dean down the ladder to the ground. 

“If you go that way,” she said, pointing out a thin spot in the hedge at the far side of her yard, “it’ll take you right out to Evergreen Drive. One more block over, and you’ll be on the same street as the school.” He nodded, glancing in the direction before turning back to her. 

God, his eyes. 

She was frozen to the spot and on fire all at once. In all her seventeen years, she’d never felt anything as intense as Dean just looking at her. How did he do that?

“I think I’m going to, uh...need a few more study sessions,” he said softly. “We might need to really get...in depth with the material.” This time his smile was a little shy, a lot less cocky than the first time she worked with him. And yet there was a mischievous glint in his eyes that let her know Dean Winchester would absolutely be worth every bit of trouble he got her into.

“I’ll see you at school tomorrow,” she said, intentionally not addressing his statement. For one thing, she didn’t think she could match his level of casual innuendo without sounding like a complete idiot. For another, she didn’t trust herself to respond without turning bright red. 

She turned towards her house when Dean seized her hand, yanked her carefully back, and caught her face between both of his palms. This time the kiss was blazing, not a trace of the gentleness from the last hour, and when he finally released her, she stood dazed and shaken, staring at him completely unfocused.

“See ya,” he said. He grinned as he released her and turned, loping across her yard with an easy grace before disappearing into the hedge. ...

Chapter 4

[helpinghanikan]

A little Help

Avengers (And Matt Murdock) x Reader

Sum: Not everything can be done by one person; from saving a life to fixing a problem, we all need a hand sometimes. 

AN: Gonna be honest, the Thor one sucks but I didn’t want to leave him out. I’m sorry. 

Steve Rogers:

           Somebody was finally smart enough to shoot Captain America in the legs. Bullet cutting through skin but not strong enough to break through his bones. Instead two shots lodging themselves in the thick of his calf and behind his knee. Enough to take him out for the moment, but in a few days he’d be walking again.

           This wasn’t in a few days, though. This was the same moment, when your man screamed and there was no but you and an empty parking garage to hear.

           It’s actually pretty funny to think about how you institutionally moved. Taking up the dropped shield that was used as nothing more then a prop that day, holding it in front of you and telling your man to get back.

           It was just supposed to be a few poses to finish up those education videos Steve promised to do. By the time both of you got away it was late at night and both your stomachs were rumbling.

           “I can see their boots, that’s it.” Steve says behind you.

           You’ve taken shelter between two cars. Steve flat on his back, trying to look under the car. You, holding the shield up while crouching on untrained legs. The vault door to Steve that could probably be taken out by anyone with above average training.

           “There’s only one? Is he coming?” You whisper, legs starting to quiver from the strain.

           “Yes,” Steve is whispering now. It’s hard to hear everything that he is saying. “Stay down, it’ll be okay.”

           Steve was only a half decent liar. Had you been looking at him he would have smiled. Try and confirm that everything is going to be okay, even with blood going through his fingers, he’d try and lie. And you would lie right back. Smile at him, nod and then do what you are going to do anyway.

           It wasn’t until the dickhead was close enough that you heard her shoes on the concrete. In that woman’s point of view, she probably only heard Steve’s breathing. Imaging how you were going to scream after she put metal through the Captain’s eye.

           You only saw the woman’s face without blood for a brief second. Long enough for the shield to bash forward and up, slamming against her nose. Breaking the thing and practically snapping it back into her head. Another hit, this one aimed, and she falls backwards. Clutching her face and screaming profanity.

           Steve was on the phone with help, finally getting to act the part of a civilian doing their best. While you got to be the hero, kicking Dickhead’s gun away and starting a small wrestle to keep her down. She wasn’t a hired or professional assassin by any means, just an extremist who didn’t seem to really know what she was killing for.

           Nothing you couldn’t sit on and keep from hurting anyone.

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

Tony Stark:

         When you experiment on yourself you either become a brave idiot or the reason for a new safety manual. Somehow Tony has proven himself to be both. At least he has learned to have some sort of babysitter when he does these things.

           “You have life insurance right?” You ask over the intercom.

           “No one would accept me as a client,” Tony speaks through the experimental armor.

           His voice coming off as deeper, more static-y. Supposedly this was a going to be a special type of armor. Thick and tough enough that it would be used in the event of either going into the center of the earth, or into the sun. Consider all events that absolutely no one expects keep happening in this world, the idea wasn’t nearly as crazy as you’d think.

           He stands in the gray armor. Legs shoulder width apart, standing on a platform where five cannons of raw heat are waiting to be fired. All this was behind the thick booth you hid away in. Ready to turn the dial, colors ranging from yellow to red, and then green.

           “You ready, Babe?” Tony asks.

           “I’m not the one about to become an oven, just say the word.” You reply, hand on the dial.

           “Let’s start slow, get an even roast going.”

           The dial starts to slowly leave the green range. Watching his helmet tilt up, ready to take the flames that starts slowly, then burst out faster then water as it increases.

           It’s hard to see the armor while staring through the glass. What you were watching wasn’t even glass. It was a screen showing the feed from cameras outside the box. Positioned just enough so it seemed to be glass. It was safer this way, basically being in another room from the lava Tony calls flames.

           “How are you doing?” You have to practically yell.

           “Getting a little toasty, still looking good, though!” He yells back.

           That optimism only lasted for a few seconds before your ‘glass’ started to get wonky.

           “Still looking good?” You ask.

           There was no response, but there was static.

           “Tony?”

           More static.

           The dial was immediately dialed back to green. Even pushing harder as though that would cool it down faster. Unfortunately, there was no override code to get out of the box, you could leave but you could not enter the heat chamber, not until it cools enough.

           That didn’t stop you from pulling on the door. Like when your mom isn’t fast enough unlocking the car and your passive aggressively demanding to be let in. Only in this case you were yelling at the computer when it would respond with “please be patient while the chambers cools.”, “please be patient while the chamber cools”, “please be patient while the chamber cools”, “please-,”

           “Shut the FUCK up!” you scream at the automated voice.

           Eventually the voice finally stopped, a little chirping beep and your were right into the chamber. Although cooled to acceptable degrees you were still slapped with the heat after only going in a few steps. “Hang on, hang on,” You’re yelling at nothing. Jerking your free hand away from the metal that was already messing with you just by being close. “Tony, hang on.”

           The helmet was the easiest part of the armor to remove. Your hands are singed by trying to grab it. Having to pull it quickly and tossing it just as fast across the chamber.

           How many could say that they know how a baked potato feels? Well, you can add Tony to that list. His entire face was flushed, a nice pink color. Between gasps and pants he looked up at you, nodding his head to your silent questions.

           He gave one thumbs down. The universal sign that the armor would need more work.

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

Thor:

           If Thor didn’t have glasses before he should think about getting checked out soon. Staring so close to the phone his nose was practically touching it. Your eyebrows matched his, knitted together in both confusion and annoyance.

           Looking to Bruce was no help.

           “Yeah, that’s your turn.” He says, going back to his magazine.

           There was no way you were going to be able to look over his shoulder. Instead standing next to him and trying to catch a glance.

            “What are you trying to do?” you asked after several seconds of seeing nothing.

           “Trying to return to the game Bruce showed me.” Thor turns the phone towards you. “I accidentally went out and cannot return.”

           You’re staring at the home screen of his phone. Taking it in for a few seconds and then exclaiming. “This is not English; did you do this on purpose?”

           Thor shakes his head. “It was an accident when I was trying to return to the game. I can still read it, I do not know how to change it back, though.”

           “You have to go through, like, four screens. How did you do this on accident?”

           In the end it seemed you had a bigger problem with the phone then Thor did.

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

Bucky Barnes:

         You sit with your legs spread on the living room floor. A black arm with gold lining resting between them, held up by one thigh so it’s hand is in the air.

           A mix of cleaning supplies sat on the coffee table next you. From glasses cleaner to car wax, you even dug around under the sink. This thing wasn’t like a pair of shoes that came with instructions on how to clean it. The only thing either you or Bucky knew for sure was “don’t put it in the washing machine,”. And even that was still up for discussion.

           “Thank you, for this.” Bucky says, a cool bottle gently nudging against your shoulder.

           He holds two ciders in his one hand. A small juggle when you take yours, but he had a handle on it. He wouldn’t be driving a car anytime soon, he still had the arm on most of the time, but he was getting the hang of it. This just meant any cleaning was up to other people. You being the only one who doesn’t want the story behind every little smudge on the thing.

           “I’m going to add this to my bill,” You say, poking at the very little gap between the plates dirt tends to find its way into. That it sometimes comes back as red you don’t think about it too much. “Minus a drink.”

           There’s a domestic bliss to this entire scene. Looking off to the side where Bucky sits in one of the living room chairs. His hair is finally short, his face shaven and his head tilted against his shoulder. There was something playing on the TV, but he wasn’t really watching it. Instead keeping his eyes quarter open to watch you.

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

Natasha Romanoff:

         It was a weird request but not weird enough to refuse. Rereading the text from the “unknown” number Nat insisted on being named in your phone.

           Do me a favor; get on the elevator, go down a floor.

           After a few seconds, not even long enough to get your shoes on, she sends another.

           Pretty please?

           You were on the second highest floor of your building. Walking out of it in the middle of the night, when you felt the need to tiptoe around your apartment.

           The walls were thankfully thick, but the doors were not. Through the wood you could hear TVs, talking, a few moans and one particular pair softly yelling. There had yet to be anything more then an argument from them, nothing that warranted intervention. When you walk past that door again you were likely to hear moans more then arguments.

           I got you. You sent back, hitting the elevator button and waiting.

           Natasha was a serious woman who cared about her friends and loved ones. She’s been on many, too many, missions and knows how to get in and out without being seen. The best way to get in and out without being noticed was to simply act like you belong. Although she is a very serious spy, she does like to have fun with her skills.

           You had to remind yourself of this when the top hatch of the elevator is popped open. First a pair of overpriced boots, then a beige jacket covered in black dirt and sludge, finally red hair and a smile without lipstick.

           You didn’t have to say or ask anything. Your face was enough for her to get the confusion.

           “I got stuck,” She says.

           “You got dirty. You know I can buzz you in, right?” You say, reaching past her, hitting your floor’s button. “Or I could open a window.”

           “Where’s the fun in that?” She asks, kissing your cheek and leaving a smudge.

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

T’challa:

         In so many ways T’challa is on the same level as Steve Rogers. He couldn’t hold back a helicopter, but he could lap the world as good as him. Less experienced in military strategies, but his abilities aren’t any indications of that. And while you can hear Rogers walk down the hallway, it’s amazing the amount of times T’challa has made people jump out of their skin but just appearing next to them.

           But alcohol was where T’challa had to throw the towel. Something he had yet to do.

           “Does this even do anything to you?” You ask holding up the empty bottle.

           Rogers just shrug with a smile. Drinking down his glass, taking all that’s left of whatever they had been drinking. “I was hoping it would’ve worn off from the forties, guess not.”

           In one of the rare moments T’challa was in the states you typically wouldn’t be able to see him until the next morning. Getting a message from Rogers about a change of plans was a pleasant surprise. Seeing your man face first into a table was less so.

           “Can we borrow a room?” You ask, checking T’challa’s pulse.

           “There’s a guest room down the hall,” Steve says.

           T’challa was thick mess of muscle and dead weight. Too heavy to carry, just wrapping around your arms around his front, pulling him out of the chair. Struggling to keep him up enough for his feet to do their damn job.

           He’s hasn’t made any noise the entire struggle. When he finally looks at you he smiles, “hi,” he says. Face pressing into your shoulder, legs threatening to give up.

           With one arm over your shoulder and the other over Rogers T’challa leaned hard on your side. In his drunken haze he probably thought he was giving you a regular, charming, kiss on the cheek. Rather then the actual slobbering he was giving your neck.

           “Did I win?” He asks.

           You have to give the man credit. Being able to know what language to speak in even when he was off his ass drunk.

           “Yes, Dear, you wiped the floor with him.” You say, ignoring the smile Steve still had.

           An alcohol smelled breath blew into your ear. “Yay,” he says, pushing harder against you. If it weren’t for Steve both T’challa and you would have slumped into the wall.

           “I got it from here,” You say over T’challa’s shoulder after reaching the bedroom door.

           It was probably a bad idea to let Rogers off the hook so quickly. As soon as the door opened you stepped backwards to keep with the momentum. Taking a few more steps until you could safely toss him onto the bed. He landing with a groan, reaching back for a pillow or something equally soft to replace your absents.

           “I’m coming for James Barnes next,” He slurs against the pillow.

           “I’ll be sure to warn him.” You say, pulling both his shoes off. Tucking them under the bed.

           He didn’t hear you, already muttering in his sleep.

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

Pietro Maximoff:

           Volunteers were gathered from every corner of S.H.I.E.L.D, those qualified or could even pretend to be qualified were grabbed and told to get on the ship. This was how you got pulled along with doctors and those who can lift over fifty pounds.

           ‘Do you know how to sew stitches?’

           ‘No…’

           ‘Do you know what gauze is?’

           ‘Yeah, I think so.’

           ‘Great, come on.’

           Although briefed on the ride in it was incredibly confusion after walking off. Essentially your job was to do what the people who knew what they were doing told you. You seemed to be the only one who made it more then a few steps before being grabbed. Left alone long enough to hear the somewhat-Russian-sounding language from the survivors and see the next ‘Life-boat’ returns with more survivors.  

           There are so many injured and panicked that you didn’t notice one being carried in. The agent carrying him had only to yell twice to get two doctors on him. One taking his shoulders the other his feet, setting him gently on the nearest bed.

           “Gauze and swabs, go.” One of the two doctors points at you while giving the order.

           Not being told how much was needed, you just grabbed an arm full of each from the shelves. Standing off the to the side, pretending to be a shelf to have it’s things taken from. A few arms even reached over your shoulder to grab what you were holding.

           The patient was a young man; his shirt cut open with surgical scissors, head tilted so far back it was almost off the table. His chest was hard to look at, with more craters then the moon, just a glance and your face was beginning to lose color. Luckily a shelf didn’t have to move, just stand still and stare. The moon moved with steady breathing. White turning red just by touching it’s surface that did next to nothing to change the color.

           The moon’s surface surged forward with a gasp. Silver hair fluffing with a hacking voice towards the ceiling of the ship.

           Neither of the doctors try to touch him. Whether it’s from their blood covered hands getting into his face, or that he could wreck what little sterile environment was made. Both pressing down on the wounds.

           “Now that he’s awake keep him that way.” The same doctor snapped. “Hey!”

           A little color has come back from being yelled at. Snapping your head towards her. Not saying that you understood but nodding when she jerks her head towards the patient.

           Another shelf took over your duties. Practically tossing the things onto it in passing, standing at the head of the table to look down at your patient.

           Just as the glance had told you, his hair was silver. Although you were right above him, he looked everywhere but you. Half-lidded eyes rolling back and forth across the room, his mouth moving but nothing coming out.

           “Hey, hi,” You whisper down to his.

           Your hands cup his head, now staring right up at you. The same wide-eyed look a cat has after being caught. He blinks just as slowly, only when you smile down at him.

           “Hey, you gotta stay awake. You gotta stay awake for me, okay?” You say.

           He now has a smile that matches yours. Staring up at you and beginning to talk softly, practically muttering with a dopey smile on his face. Even if you got closer and listened carefully you wouldn’t have been able to understand him. Resorting back to his mother language. You didn’t need to glance up to know that the happy drugs were just added.

           His arms are starting to move with his cheery talk. Just little wiggling that are stopped by the doctors. The man keeps trying to raise his head, trying to see what was keeping his hands down. Your hand gently pressing against his forehead, pushing it back down onto the bed. Now staring back up at you he speaks directly in his mother language.

           “Yeah, just stay awake. This will be fine,” You look down to the doctors. Now pulling stitching what could be done. “Everything is fine.”

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

Peter Parker:

           If it weren’t for May you would have stayed longer. The plan was to pray to your respected deity that May had to stay late work, long enough that you “accidentally” fall asleep on the couch. And since it’s so late May invites you to spend the night, with your parents permission, forbidding you from Peter for the rest of the night. She’d then go into her room and you and Peter can continue.

           Instead May came home on time. Unintentionally ruing the moment when she opens the door. Intentionally making it worse by not bringing it up but just smiling at you and looking away when you look back. You lost the psychological war fare by proclaiming how late it was getting and that it was time to go.  

           Usually you left Peter’s before sundown or spend your little saving for a car or taxi. It was only a handful of times that Peter walked you home. The excuse you always gave was “then who’s going to walk you home after?”.

           Nine out of ten times walking in numbers is enough to be safe. There is always an exception that makes the rule, though. This is especially true when your bodyguard is a high school teenager in a science graphic tee.

           Grip on your hair and flash of metal more annoyed then terrified. You’d never say it out loud, but Peter was to blame for the situation. Taking you by the hand, guiding the both of you through an alley he claims to take all the time. It had seemed to be empty, only passing by a smoker at the entry way you didn’t look twice at.

           Dickhead mugger was loudly whispering to Peter. Trying to be quiet but also making sure you knew he was serious. All it really did was fill your ear with spit.

           You were really only half aware that Peter was looking at you during the hostage taking. Just as aware that his hand reached out although too far away to do anything physically. No offense to Peter but you had to help yourself.

           Although not heroic it’s always smart to scream when you’re under attack. Screaming to fit the situation you reached back to his face, finding the side of his head. Thumbs pressing deep and hard into his eye socket. Even as Dickhead screamed you kept pressing, pressing until something gave and you were let go.

           It was your turn to grab Peter’s hand after that. Running straight out from the alley, dragging your boy along with you. Making it past the subway until Peter urged you to slow down.

           You weren’t nearly as panicked as you should have been. Peter making the deep breath gesture in the hopes you take the hint. Instead you make the mistake of looking down to your hands. A bloody red thumb making you really freak out.

        ��                                       --------------

Stephen Strange:

           Something was wrong before you ever entered the sanctum. It wasn’t the odd silence as the sanctum was never really silent. There was always some sort of whispering coming right out of the walls or a rattle from the artifacts although there was no wind.

           Walking through the building you pass by Wong at a next by a bookshelf. His head slowly rocks while reading, listening to his headphones. He makes a slight glance upwards as you pass, just to acknowledge you while you wave. Not bothering to stop and have a one-sided conversation until you touch something, and he makes you leave.

           If Stephen hadn’t called out to you when you first enter he was probably busy. Leaving you to walk through the sanctum, leaving your jacket on a chair and bag tossed on a chair passing by.

           It was a little past noon when you cross his bedroom’s doorway. Being greeted by the bare back of your man. At one point he was wearing his oddly average looking flannel robe, by now gravity had dragged it down from it’s place on his shoulders. Cloth gathering at the small of his back and wrists. If it weren’t for the ragged breathing and sweat he could have been a statue.

           “Working out for once?” You ask, bag and jacket tossed on the bed.

           No response.

           “Stephen? You there?” Usually he’d snap out of the meditation when you entered the room. Other times he’d take a few seconds into minutes to finish up and then return.

           Kneeling in front of him his breathing is still going crazy. His wrists are buried in the robe sleeves, so instead you reach towards his neck. You didn’t need to be a doctor to know how to find someone’s pulse.

           Before finding the bumping vein he catches your wrist. An iron made of ice grip that was probably making your bones crack under the skin. His eyes were open but there was nothing in them. No pupil or color just discolored white that still stared right into you.

           Although the first hand still holds like he’s trying to break your bones, the other is gentle. Resting above your wrist and sliding up your sleeve. Thumb gently touching the skin,

           “Stephen, stop.” You said.

           His gentle thumb dug into your skin. His nail cutting into your skin.

           “Stephen, no. Stephen.” His grip is too strong to pull away.

           In understandable self-defense your free hand pulls back. Slamming upward against his nose with the base of your hand. His head jerked backed with the break of his nose, but he gave no noise of being in pain. Head coming back to look at you with blood starting to dribble out of his nose and down his lip. Twist of your other hand and you’re free, scrambling back.

           “WONG! WONG HELP!” You yell getting to your feet as Stephen goes back into the lotus position.

           It takes a little more yelling before slamming feet come up the stairs. Wong stopping at the door way, giving you two seconds to explain before he would starting asking questions.

           “Something wrong, he’s not waking up and his eyes are fucked.” You rapid fire explain, pulling your sleeve up. Finding that Stephen did break the skin with his nail. “What’s happening?”

           Just like a regular medical emergency it’s best to get out of the way so those qualified can work. Taking a step back as Wong almost jumps over the gap between Stephen and bed, quickly sitting in front of him and closing his own eyes.

           It’s hard to watch an event when it’s happening on an entirely other plane of existence. Sitting on the end of the bed, looking between them as though you could catch a speck of what was going on. The only hint you got that anything was actually happening was how Wong was gathering sweat on his brow, mirroring the damaged wizard in front of him.

           In the end you lasted maybe two minutes imaging whatever battle or conversation was going on. Grabbing the bucket that was really nothing more than decorative and getting into the bathroom. It felt like forever before the thing was completely filled from the sink. Only made worse by the lack of noise, practically ruining the panic that was almost strangling anyone involved in this entire event.

           In the entire event the only yelling or anything close coming to a battle cry came from you in tossing the bucket’s contents. The entire room was soaked in your attempt to just hit Stephen. Drenching the back of Wong, destroying the bed sheets and any paper that was left out in the area.

           Both Wong and Stephen gasp and cough as through they had been drowning. Stephen, after holding his throat for a second, pulled his robe about himself. Looking to Wong and then up to you.

           He doesn’t say thank you, he only nods. Later on, both you and Wong would interrogate him, he’d try and explain it, but you’d really never understand. Just standing there, ready with your bucket.

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

Matt Murdock:

         It isn’t uncommon for those born and raised in a city to never learn how to swim. When you don’t live next to a large body of water or are willing to drag yourself to the closest pool, there was really no point.

           Matt was not one of those people. Being submerged completely in water was not the best situation to be in but he could swim enough to live. But that was Dare-Devil who could swim, not Matt Murdock. When freezing water rushed into his mouth and his glasses were gone into the water he really wished there weren’t as many witnesses, or that it was night time, at least.

           Hearing the crack of wood while walking around the docks wasn’t out of the ordinary. Hearing it so prominently under your girlfriend’s foot was. In the few seconds that sound gave him he grabbed you around the center, a small twirl and setting you on the other side. His stability giving out under his foot wasn’t unexpected. But the water was no less cold, and the fall was no less terrifying.

           It’s harder for him to hear through the water. Reaching towards the surface, pulling himself up just enough to not die. The water in his mouth keeping him safe from pulling the cliché line: “help me! I can’t swim!”

           In the end it didn’t matter that Matt had kept you from falling in. Right away knowing that the next weight hitting the water was his angel.

           “Matt, Matt you need to calm down. Please stop flailing.” You say, grabbing around his center to keep him from bashing into you.

           Swimming with clothes on is hard enough, even worse while pulling a man in equally heavy clothes. Dragging him through the water, guiding his hands to the ladder. He could pull himself up after that, pushing back to sit and wait for you to fret over him.

           Seconds after Matt has disappeared anyone official on the dock was gone. Nothing like the words “fall” and “lawyer” to get people moving.  

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

Carol Danvers:

           On one of the few “date nights” you sit side by side at the bar. Carol sitting with a hand on your knee, the other holding her glass. She uses it to gesture while talking about some story or another, telling you about how she learned the newest way of swearing from some alien language.

           The words seem to be unpronounceable to you, even Carol seemed to have a little difficulty. The more cranberry vodkas she drank, the less she was able to pronounce the words that consisted of a guttural sound and a whistle.

           By the third a real problem arose. Knocking back the last of the liquid, now consisting of melted ice, little bit of flavored vodka and the lime, her hand goes to her throat when the glass is empty. It was hard to think that such a powerful being could be brought to panic by a lime wedge.

           She tried to hide it at first, coughing into the corner of her elbow. When the coughing stopped she grabbed her throat, standing tall and knocking the stool to the floor. You didn’t bother asking if she was okay. Her grip on your forearm was all you needed to know something was really going wrong. Your own stool joining hers, slamming to ground as you went behind her.

           Choking wasn’t anything new to this bar. A sign showing the steps to the Heimlich maneuver was strategically placed among the other trash the owner called decoration.

           Wrapping your arms around her center from behind wasn’t anything new, either. One hand over the other, pulling back under her ribs with force, doing this again and again. Blonde hair, smelling like industrial shampoo, fluffs back into your face. Any small attempt at opening your mouth to try and soothe Carol was stopped by a mouthful of hair.

           Heimlich maneuver doesn’t always work. Leaning back from her back, one still around her center. The other pulling back and slapping open handed between her shoulder blades. In a crude explanation, it was like burping an adult.

           The lime doesn’t shoot out like in the movies. Just comes out with a few hearty coughs into Carol’s hand. She grabs the bar when you let her go, leaning forward against the edge. Still coughing while everyone was still just watching.

[rayroute-clear-saeran-text-sound]

I Can’t Hear What You Say (V x Reader)

This one’s shorter than normal, I didn’t have many ideas and didn’t want to ramble. Please suggest things to write in my ask box! 

I looked to my left, relieved to see Y/n still sleeping soundly. My chest ached, at first a dull pain but it had advanced to a tight stabbing sensation. In addition to the drug, I was feeling this way because of guilt. Not only guilt for what I did to Rika and Saeran, but the fact that I had dragged such an innocent and sweet girl like Y/n into my mess. She was picking up the pieces of everything I had destroyed, and I needed her to stop. She would be in even more danger than she already was in if she continued. I rubbed my eyes, vision bleary. My eyes were getting worse by the day, but it wasn't helping that I was tired.

"There's no time to be tired." I murmured to no one in particular. Something had to be done about Rika and Mint Eye, and I can only think of one solution. I had to go to Rika, if she could have me, destroy me completely like I know she wants to, just maybe she will let everyone go. Somehow, despite the severity of the situation she was caught in the middle of, Y/n was deep in sleep with a rather peaceful expression on her face. A sigh slipped past my lips; her presence was calming to me. I had to wrench my gaze away from her, because the longer I stared, the more I would be convinced that there was another life for me, that I didn't have to go to Rika. Sucking in a harsh breath, I pushed myself out of the bed I was lying in. My head began to pound after standing on my own two feet, and I felt a slight vertigo coming on. I passed Y/n dozing in the chair beside the bed, pausing for a moment as I did so.

"Mmm, V..." She mumbled drowsily into her arm. She was still deep in sleep, but I still tensed regardless. She was dreaming about me, I suppose. Whatever it was, I hoped it was sweeter than the reality we were living. I turned swiftly away from her and walked to the door, making sure to do so quietly. Peeking out of the door, I noticed that it was a rare moment when everyone including Luciel was asleep. Taking my chance, I crept out of the cabin quietly. I know they would be upset at first, but it was the only way to stop Rika and save everyone.

Stepping out into the chilled air of the surrounding woods, my headache began to worsen. Clenching my bottom lip in my teeth, I powered through for what felt like fifteen minutes, but in reality, it was probably only five, maybe a bit closer to ten. Dark spots danced in my vision as I leaned back against a tree, trying to support my body and take some weight off of my shaking legs. I screwed my eyes shut and grasped a fistful of my mint locks, the pain in my head escalating until it felt like someone was repeatedly bashing my skull in. My legs finally gave out, and I could barely feel myself sink into the dewy grass. I began coughing up nothing, feeling suffocated. Apparently, the drug wasn't completely out of my system. 

Am I going to die out here...? I'm sorry, Rika...I'm sorry, Saeran and Luciel...I'm sorry...Y/n... I thought dimly, feeling my grip on the world loosen again, everything fading to grey. It felt no different than falling into the abyss. Would Y/n be okay? Luciel would take care of her, wouldn't he? A wild, primitive sense of fear began to take over, and for the first time in my life, I was afraid to die. 

2nd Person        

Your eyes fluttered open as you shot up in your chair, and you noticed that your neck and back was dripping in cold sweat. Your hair was also sticky with it, and you felt your heart hammering. You vaguely wondered if you had a nightmare, but you knew that to be false. You dimly remember your dream being a nice one. You pictured a happy ending, everyone getting out safe and sound. Even Ray was with you all in your dream, finally free from his shackles of being exploited. V was in it too, and you were both happy.

"V..." You tapped your chin, acknowledging that off feeling with new context. Your breath caught in your throat as you turned to the bed next to you, finding it empty. That sinking feeling in your stomach worsened, clutching your shirt to keep you grounded. You had a sickening feeling that he wasn't up getting a late night glass of water. "I need to find him." You hopped up from your chair, stumbling while trying to gain your balance. Although your mind was wide awake and in panic mode, your body still had yet to wake up. You threw open the door, seeing Seven and Vanderwood asleep; Vanderwood on the couch, Seven in the chair, slumped over onto the desk, drooling on his computer. You didn't have the time to pull them from sleep, and you knew you would waste precious minutes explaining to them the severity of the situation. Dashing out of the cabin and into the frigid night air, your voice trembled as you broke the serenity. "V! V, where are you?!" You called hopelessly, throat tearing itself up from screaming at the top of your lungs without warming your voice up. You were met with deadly silence. Your bare feet were becoming dusted with dirt as they beat down on the ground with every stride. You took off running into the woods, knowing that he could be anywhere at that point. You could hear your gasps for breath ringing in your own ears. "V!" You desperately shrieked his name once more, praying to anything and everything that there would be something. You knew he left to go back to Rika. You couldn't helped being hurt, knowing that he would always love her in some way. You had somehow fallen in love with him, a love that you felt was one sided. Now not only were you despairingly looking for a man that was probably long gone, you were feeling sorry for yourself.         "Y/n...?!" You thought you heard a soft cry for you carried on the night breeze, and you hoped you were right.          "Yes! V!" You strained your ears to hear the faint calls, whipping your head in every direction. After deciding on a direction to go, you attempted to follow the voice. Branches lashed your face as you pressed on faster towards the voice. You distantly felt warm trickles of blood running down your cheeks as you rustled through the bushes and trees, tripping on tree roots. You felt a sharp pain shoot up from your ankle, but that was the least of your worries. You pushed on, ignoring the stinging agony that was present with every step. You came crashing through a pair of bushes, having to skid quickly to a stop in order to not fall on the figure. After taking in more details, you saw V lying in a heap in front of a large evergreen tree. You were on your knees in an instant. "V? Can you hear me?" His head lolled slightly as he tried to look up into your eyes. You were aware of how out of focus they looked. He held a trembling hand out to you, brushing it against your face, partially dried blood streaking his fingertips. He narrowed his eyes, confusion present in his mint irises. 

"Rika...?" His lip quivered as he addressed you, and you felt a piece of your heart break. Shaking your head, feeling tears drip down your cheeks, you cupped his face in your delicate hands.

"No...no, V, it's Y/n. Rika isn't here, she can't hurt you anymore." A tremor cut through your words, and you cursed yourself for not being stronger. 

"Rika..." He murmured, trying to sit up, coughing while he did so. "I will love you like the sun, if that's what you wish." You watched droplets of water slip down his face, mirroring your own tears. "In return, please let that boy go...and don't hurt Y/n. Please." You squeezed your eyes shut as his hands found their way into yours. You knew he was too far gone at the moment to listen to whatever you were saying. You weren't quite sure what reality he had stepped into, or if you could drag him out. A concentrated expression ghosted his face as he looked down to your intertwined hands. "No...I can't do that. I'm sorry, but I just can't love you anymore." Moonlight glinted off of the teardrops clinging to his long eyelashes, creating constellations that settled there. "I'm afraid I'm in love with someone else...but I can't love her either, because I'll end up destroying her too." His delusional ramblings continued as you released one of his hands and pulled your phone out of your pocket, attempting to open the messenger. 

"C'mon, c'mon..." You murmured anxiously, silently cussing out the weak signal. Eventually it did let you log on, and you immediately dialed Seven. You hoped that he would pick up, or at least someone would. To your relief, the line clicked into connection halfway through the last ring. "A little too close for comfort there." You breathed out.

"If you needed something, you could have just came out into the living room." Vanderwood's gruff response indicated that he was not happy being woken up, but you could honestly care less.

"We have an emergency! Get Seven, I don't care if he's sleeping or in the middle of taking a piss, grab him right now!" You could hear Seven's incoherent mumbles as Vanderwood shook him awake.

"Mmm, five more minutes, Madam."

"Get your ass up, Y/n said it's an emergency!" You heard a smack on the other end of the line. "Where are you exactly?" 

"Um, I'll hang up and send my location."

"No, the hacker is still monitoring the chatroom. Just try to describe it." Your mind was blank, as all you remembered was running in a mad frenzy. 

"I think I just went straight? Maybe? I'm not sure. I can yell for you though." You heard a deep sigh from the other end of the call as well as the cabin door opening and closing.

"Okay, can you tell me what happened?" His voice was calm and steady, clearing your head. You were grateful to have someone like Vanderwood on your side, as he had been one of the biggest helpers in your mission to save V and stop Mint Eye. V moaned in pain, vice grip on your hand tightening. Your heart wrenched at the sound, but you kept your attention with Vanderwood.

"I woke up with the feeling that something was wrong, and V was gone. I ran out to find him, and oh god, Vanderwood, he's completely out of his mind." You couldn't help the sob that escaped you. You had been strong all this time, but someone once told you that the taller you stand the easier you are to break. You thought you had reached that point. Vanderwood cursed under his breath, and you could hear two sets of thudding footsteps as the two agents picked up a sprint. V began tugging at the hem of your shirt, trying to get your attention. "Okay...I have to go. When I hear you yelling, I'll respond." You hung up, turning back to V. 

"Y/n...?" You released a breath you had no idea that you were holding. He seemed to recognize you this time, although he was still wildly out of it. "You're hurt." He lightly caressed your cheeks which were smeared with thin lines of dried blood, and faintly touched your swelling ankle, "I'm sorry, it's all my fault."

"No, no, I'll be okay." A small chuckle escaped you, not understanding how he could still worry for you in the condition he was in. "You'll be okay too...Vanderwood and Seven, they're on their way. We’ll be okay." Once again, he seemed to not be giving your words the least bit of thought; he had his own agenda.

"I know I'm a hypocrite, and you'll think of me as selfish afterwards if you haven't already, but just in case..." He seemed to be preparing for the worst in his mind. In his defense, his body probably felt like it was eroding away due to the toxicity of the drugs in his system.  "Y/n...I know I can't be your sun, but I want to be something to you." His eyes found themselves able to focus on yours, his hand never freeing itself from your own.

"V, you already are something to me. You can get better and make your own future. I'll help you." A smile worked its way onto his face, his gaze snapping in and out of focus.

"Thank you...I don't deserve you, Y/n. But I would like to be selfish with you for a moment...may I?" You felt your lips give way to your own soft smile. 

"Yes, of course, V." You were sure that he wasn't completely lucid. If he was, he wouldn't have gently pressed his lips to your own, tangling his fingers in your hair like he did. Your own hands found their way to his striking mint locks. 

"Y/n!" You were forced to pull away by Seven's distant screams. After gaining your breath again, you responded, voice becoming hoarse from all of the previous yelling.

"Guys! We're here!"

"Marco!" You broke out in a giggle despite the situation, imagining Seven's nervous grin as he began a game in order to find you.

"Polo!" You shrieked back, a relieved laughter shaking your body as his shouts became louder and closer. The redhead finally burst through the bushes, tailed by Vanderwood. Both of their chests were heaving as they approached the two of you. You attempted to push yourself up, momentarily forgetting about your ankle. The intense pain flared immediately, causing you to stumble back to the ground. "Ugh...I guess I busted it worse than I thought." You mumbled, embarrassed that you could have injured yourself in such a way. Vanderwood moved to V and walked with him, supporting him as if he were a drunk who had lost all control of balance. Seven helped you up, and allowed you to lean into him heavily. 

"We need to get him back for more detox asap." Vanderwood moved with V faster, leaving you and Seven in the dust. You hissed as you tried to push yourself quicker, the stinging sensation jolting through your leg. 

"We'll still be out here by morning at this rate." Seven chuckled awkwardly as he picked you up bridle style, running to catch up with Vanderwood and V. The fire in your ankle cooled to a dull ache, and in any other circumstance you would have protested and insisted you could walk. 

"Thanks..." You murmured as Seven walked side by side with V and Vanderwood. V reached out to you, grasping for your hand like a lifeline. You took it, still being held by Seven. V brought your hand to his lips, planting miniscule kisses on your knuckles.

"We'll be okay, Y/n." V spoke softly, using your own words, making you smile.

[sarcasmfics]

Stuck In The Middle: Chapter 9

Summary: Sarah is a scholarship recipient working at Stark Industries. Her job? To break the super-serum! But when she falls, literally, into the arms of those super soldiers, will she lose their trust when her work is stolen? At this point, it’s PG (some swearing), smut to follow, but mostly fluff and some anxiety(AO3 link here) BuckyxOFCxSteve, BuckyxSteve, OFC, OFC!scientist, poly relationship

CW: Nothing really, just a lot of fluff and some good ol’ 1940s dancing!

Chapter 9:

The boutique was a pleasant reprieve from the busy Manhattan streets that Wanda had led me through earlier. I’d received my first paycheck from Stark and wanted to find something cute to wear for mine and Steve’s date.

“Dinner and maybe dancing?” He’d asked and I paused. Steve didn’t seem like the club type of guy, but I agreed. When I went to Wanda for help, she smiled and laughed a bit.

“Trust me, Sarah,” she said, smoothing out her red dress, “he’s not taking you to a modern club. You’ll be dancing, but not at a bar.”

“So where are we going?” I replied.

“I’m not going to tell you that!” Then, she paused. “Do you have any dresses?”

We wandered through the boutique, the third one so far, picking out a few dresses and found the dressing rooms. The first two didn’t fit- apparently the store didn’t sell clothing over a certain size, but that was fine; the dresses weren’t my favorite. The third, however, fit perfectly. Wanda zipped me up and I stepped out to look in the full length mirror.

“I like this one,” I smiled, smoothing out the A-line skirt. It reached down to just above my knees, the skirt hugging the curves of my waist. The top was accentuated by a sweetheart neckline, cinched in the middle, and short sleeves. “You don’t think the color is too boring?” The solid dark blue was accentuated with white finishes across the bodice, waistline, and hems.

“Not at all.” She shook her head and the store clerk agreed. “Do you have shoes?”

“Flats,” I replied.

“Then you’re set?” I nodded, smiling at my reflection. How long had it been since I’d dressed up?

Later that afternoon, I sat with my mirror at my desk, carefully applying a thin line of eyeliner across the tops of my eyes. Thankfully, I’d brought a bit of makeup with me. Pinning my hair half back, I slid my flats on just as there was a knock at my door. I opened it, stepping back to let Steve in, who held a bouquet of colorful daisies in his hand.

“Hey,” I smiled, feeling a blush spread up my cheeks as he took in my appearance.

“Hey,” he replied, finally leaning in for a kiss. “You look beautiful.”

“Thanks!”

“These are for you,” he held the flowers out, watching with a smile as I smelled them.

“They’re so pretty! Thank you, Steve!” I grabbed the now empty vase and filled it with water, depositing my new flowers back into the windowsill. “So dinner and dancing?”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “I uh… thought you’d like that?”

“I didn’t peg you as the club type of guy.” I said, collecting my phone and purse.

“Don’t worry, we’re not going to a club. It’s… well it’s nice. How’s that?”

“It sounds nice,” I smiled. “Ready?”

“Yes ma’am.” I couldn’t help but giggle at his response. I locked up and followed him to the elevator.

As we approached the doors, he offered his arm and I accepted. It was so much different than holding hands; it felt so much more intimate, but gave me enough room to walk comfortably beside him. The city streets were busy as usual, but he steered us through the crowds easily.

After a little while we arrived at a small restaurant. The host immediately recognized Steve, shaking his hand with a big smile. Something told me, however, that he wasn’t recognized for his superhero status, but as a regular. As we followed him into the restaurant, I immediately understood- tables surrounded an open dance floor in a horseshoe shape with a small stage completing the circle. On the stage, a band played an old swing song. A few couples populated the dance floor, moving perfectly in sync with each other.

Ever the gentleman, Steve pulled out my chair and tucked me in, taking a seat opposite me. “What do you think?”

“Wow!” I turned toward him, feeling my cheeks strain with a huge smile. “I’m glad Wanda took me shopping.”

“You look beautiful,” Steve replied. “And I’m glad you like it.”

“How did you find this place?”

“Actually,” he smiled, rubbing the back of his neck, “I knew his father when he owned it. Back before the war.”

“Seriously?” He nodded.

“His dad helped me out a few times,” he began, but paused when the waiter came by to take our drink orders. When he left, we glanced down at the menu.

“What do you recommend?” I asked, eyeing the lemon chicken.

“I usually go for the pasta with meat sauce,” he replied, “but their food is great. What are you thinking?”

“That lemon chicken looks good,” I smiled. “I’ve been dying for some lately.” When the waiter returned, we placed our food orders.

On the stage, the band switched to a slower song, and Steve looked up at me, smiling bashfully. Slowly, he came to my side of the table and held out his hand. “Would you like to dance?”

I could feel the blush spreading up my neck as I nodded and took his hand following him to the dance floor where he took my hand in his, the other resting just above my waist. We were an awkward distance away from each other, and I stepped toward him, hoping I wasn’t invading him too much, but he only smiled down at me to pull me almost flush against him. “I don’t dance much,” I began, chuckling. “I’ve actually never danced like this before.”

“I’ve got you,” he replied, a warm smile tugging at his lips. “Just let me take the lead and you’ll be fine.”

“I think I can do that.” We danced in content quiet, enjoying the music as he swayed us gently side to side. After a little while, he shifted his weight, guiding me around, but not without my feet getting tangled a few times.

“Here, step like this.” Slowly, at first, he guided my steps until I got the simple ones down, and he pulled me back against him, guiding me a bit more smoothly this time. This was dancing. This was intimate, romantic, but not too pushy. Sure, we were nearly pressed against each other, but our movements were in sync, and being so close to him allowed a whole new version of intimacy I’d never experienced before. The music was loud enough to carry through the restaurant, but not so loud that we had to shout. Instead, the closeness was good, as he could tilt his head just a bit and speak to me with ease. When the song ended, we separated just a bit to applaud the band. “What do you say, want to try another?”

“Sure,” I replied, and he brought me back to him as the band began a more upbeat song.

“Follow my lead and step like this,” he said, demonstrating. After a few tries, I got the basic steps down and he guided me across the floor, pushing me out to spin, then pulling me back against him. I couldn’t help the laugh that escaped me; this was definitely a new experience. The song finished with minimal foot injury, and he lead me back to the table where our food was waiting.

“Steve, thank you so much! I’ve never done anything like this before!” Across the table, a light blush spread across his cheeks.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it,” he replied. “I was worried you wouldn’t at first.”

“Why? Steve if this is something that you love to do, then I want to learn as much as I can about it. Besides, why did people stop dancing like this?”

“Thanks. That really means a lot,” he replied. “And I agree. I’m still trying to figure out why people don’t like this!”

Like Steve promised, the food was amazing. I made sure to get a box to take the rest back, especially since I knew I wanted to dance some more. When we’d finished, Steve asked for another dance and I was happy oblige. It was another upbeat one, but he kept his movements simple, spinning me every so often and laughing as as I laughed.

When another slow song began, we moved closer, and I laid my head on his chest, smiling contently. We swayed side to side, his cheek resting gently on my head. We were wrapped up in each other, the restaurant just background noise. When he pressed a kiss to my head, I looked up and he pressed his lips against mine. In that moment, I realized two things: one, I was definitely falling hard for Steve, and two, modern dating had officially been ruined for me.

“What are you thinking about?” He asked, searching my face.

“You never finished your story,” I replied. “You were telling me how you knew the owner?”

“Oh yeah,” he said, glancing behind me for a moment to take in the room. “Yeah, I knew his dad. He gave me a job a few times to help with the rent. My ma and I weren’t very well off and I was working some odd jobs to help out. I used to bus, or sweep up at night. I’d check in with him a few times a week and he’d always find something for me to do.” He chuckled to himself, remembering something. “Buck and I used to come here all the time. He used to tear this place up; there was always a line of girls waiting to dance with him. Sarah, if you want to really learn how to dance, you’ll ask Buck.”

“Really?” I asked and he nodded. “He never seemed like the dancing type to me.” Steve shook his head.

“He wasn’t for a while, especially after… everything. But one night, I was cleaning up at home and playing some music when he grabbed me and we just danced. Even after the music was over, we stayed together. It wasn’t like the old days when he’d taught me a few steps in my apartment. It was different, like Bucky had really come back to me.”

“You love him so much.” Steve nodded, trying to hide the bashful smile on his face. “Why are you embarrassed?”

“We’re on a date and I’m talking about Buck,” he shrugged. “Feels wrong.”

“I like hearing the stories you guys have,” I replied. “And you… I don’t know.”

“What is it?”

“You just get this look on your face when you talk about him,” I shrugged, staring at his chest. “I don’t know. It’s just… I can tell how much you love him, and how much he means to you. And I think it’s really amazing to love someone as much as you love him. So I don’t mind you talking about him; he’s part of this whole ‘us’ thing.”

He tipped my chin up, bringing my gaze to him and kissed me, longer this time, his lips moving against mine in a way that he hadn’t before. When he finally pulled away, he looked down at me and sighed. “You’re really special, Sarah.” After a pause, he added: “Did I tell you how beautiful you look?”

“Only about a dozen times,” I chuckled. “But I’m not complaining.”

We finished two more upbeat dances before heading out, Steve shaking the owner’s hand again. On the street, he took my arm once more and guided me through the city. Even though we weren’t in one of the busier areas, as Steve assured me, I was still amazed at the sheer volume of people and the noise and lights of the city. I’d seen it on TV, but experiencing it was completely different.

“What kind of ice cream do you like?” He asked, glancing down at me.

“Cookies and cream. All the way.” I replied. “You?”

“Swirl,” he replied. “Want to get some?” We crossed the street and made our way up to the window, Steve placing the order as I turned around, looking up at the ridiculously tall buildings. After a bit of walking, we found a place to sit and eat our dessert.

It was late by the time we made it back to the tower, and my feet were aching from all the walking and dancing, but I didn’t mind. As we made our way up the elevator, Steve glanced down at his phone and sighed.

“What’s wrong?”

“Briefing tomorrow morning,” he replied, sliding the phone back into his pocket. “I’ve got a recon mission. I’ll probably be gone for a few days.” The elevator doors opened and we made our way toward my door.

“Is it dangerous?” I asked and he shook his head.

“Nah,” he shrugged. “I’m just going to check some things out, look around, see what I can see. Routine kind of thing. I’m just going to miss you, that’s all.”

“I’ll be here when you get back,” I replied. “Just promise me something?”

“Of course.”

“Be safe.”

“I always am,” he replied, but I laughed. “What?”

“From what Bucky tells me, you’re not.” Steve rolled his eyes and I playfully smacked his arm. “Come on, promise me you’ll be safe.”

“I will, I promise,” he finally nodded. “I had a really nice time tonight.”

“Me too,” I replied. “I’ve never been on a date like that before. Thank you for taking me.”

“Thank you for coming out.” Gently, he pulled me toward him and pressed his lips against mine once more, one hand holding my arm, the other coming up to cup my face, his fingers running through my hair. I did the same, feeling the light stubble on his jaw against my palms. After a bit, he pulled away, but not before giving me one last kiss. “Good night, Sarah.”

“Good night,” I replied. “Be safe.”

“I will.”

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OK, if there’s a way to my  heart, it’s through dancing. I hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! Steve’s on a mission and things are going to get a bit more serious!!