#‘they are my colleague. i have a normal amount of respect for them and their position.’ | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

bronx-bomber87 · 1 year ago

Text

Happy Saturday! First off Hallelujah the actors strike is over. Now it’s just semantics and such before we get our ship back on our screens. Just saw the SAG board approved the deal with 86% percent in favor on Friday. All that is left is getting it ratified and an episode order. We’re on the right track I can not wait. Been too damn long since we’ve been excited about some new content.

Till then I shall continue my rewatch. Hoping to line it up ending it whenever a premiere date appears. So fingers crossed on that. Once we do have that might amp it up to 3 reviews a week instead of 2. This one is not a huge content heavy one for them. It's shorter than normal, but it is Lucy’s first ep as his aide. They’re riding back together. I love it so much. Absence makes the heart grow fonder they say. Some good moments peppered in this one. Sassy married moments we all love. Off we go.

4x04 Red Hot

We start off with our lovely duo at the end of roll call. Tim coming in hot and sassy. Calling her Gofer right off the bat. Asking if she’s ready to go? He had to know he was gonna get a sassy reply calling her that first thing. Man knows what he’s doing. Tim loves their little dance and banter. So he lights the fire and waits for the results. (Also good Tall/Smol shots here my fav.)

Lucy matching said sass with some of her own. A little flirting mixed in cause they can't help it. Not showing an ounce of fear with his 'authority' haha Tim picking up on that right away. Flirting right back saying he’s sensing a lack of fear in his authority.

Oh Timothy you lost that long ago my love. You have her utmost respect but the fear? Yeah that went bye bye some time ago heh Some pre-shift foreplay going on here. We know they’re both just excited to be riding together again. It’s all over their body language and this flirty exchange.

Her ‘Yes, sir.’ So cute basically saying for her 'You don’t scare me.' LOL Lucy's body language is everything with that flirty smile. She has no problem roasting him. Tim loves it despite the words coming out of his mouth. Sunshine x Grumpy ride again. I'm so happy for it. Missed it since 3x09 that’s a long time apart for them. We’ve had lovely moments in between but nothing better than them riding together. Plus they needed time to miss one another.

They’re so obvious together. Grey hears their exchange and is holding back a chuckle as he comes up to Tim. Wade knew long before they did...That is a fact. They continuously forget everyone can hear them. It’s so funny. Carrying on like a married couple in front of their colleagues.

Lucy and Tim end up joining Nolan on his missing wife call. (So happy they’re riding together. Making my heart happy) His call has gotten more complicated because well it’s John’s call….Nolan tells them she was drugged and the people claiming to know her we're speaking Russian. So they all go back to the house where the call originated.

No one is there when they arrive. They notice the house seems off... Like it’s staged and no one actually lives there. John noting it feels a lot smaller on the inside. Tim saying it’s like a reverse Tardis...Lucy’s reaction is so damn funny. Props to Melissa for the facial expression here. I’m dying. Tim already sensing her judgement cuts it off. She doesn’t even have to say what she’s thinking. He just knows and defends himself.

S4 is the fruit of all that rapport building. We get to see the end result constantly. Watch how close they are. That silent communication coming through, the comfortability and playfulness. Not even trying to hide it anymore. The amount of sass in Tim's reply. My god she has rubbed off on this man. I love it sfm I can’t stand it. Such flirty dorks in front of Nolan it’s the absolute best. So nice to have them together on cases again. I missed it.

They get a report the car was torched but no sign of the woman over the radio. Nolan opens the cabinet and sees an impressive setup. A panel with cyrilic buttons they can't read. Goes into contractor mode saying they have 500 MCM wires. Running 400 amp service out of this place. Lucy not knowing what that means but wanting to save face says her line above. Also knows Tim may not either so she throws him under the bus LOL

It’s so cute and cheeky. The theme of this episode for them is sass. 100%. The way Tim looks at her plus his little leg stamp. LMAO His reaction saying 'Seriously Lucy?' He’s not even mad about it so much as in awe of her being so damn fresh at this point. Doesn’t even fight her giving him shit anymore. Just accepts it. Smitten man right here. Front and center.

Nolan goes on to say a normal household doesn’t tend to go past 200. Whatever they’re powering is big because just the minimum can power a house and a/c under that. Nolan starts messing around with the panel like an idiot and trips something. Because well it's Nolan. Like an unattended child. It locks down the entire house and they pull their guns in case.

Tim’s reply is the best. ‘I don’t know what it says so I push it?’ LMAO Roasting John like a marshmallow. Sassy Tim has come out to play and I’m dying. A tv turns on showing surveillance of the entire neighborhood. John asks if human traffickers normally are this sophisticated? Tim replies no…It’s a safe house.

Lucy’s interest is piqued of course. Asking if it’s for spies? Tim gives her a small peak into his past. Which you know she will eat up like crazy. Always craving to know about it. Hell me too. Any morsel we can get from Tim’s past I’m all about. Lucy in wifey mode tries to get it out of him. The when and where? You can see the absolute curiosity all over her face. He just drops a bomb like that and expects her not to try and dig a little deeper?

Tim is classic in his reply. Saying it’s classified and that is that for his answer. I'm sure he was wanting to impress her with that reply. When really she's just annoyed at him haha Lucy’s reaction is so damn funny. She is offended he won’t just share his classified past with her in front of Nolan LOL That wifey look in the second gif. Ha. Look at them just flirting away no problem in front of John. That’s not an issue but asking about his past is. These two... Also when they talk in this scene it’s like Nolan isn’t even there. I love this about them. They only pay attention to one another when they get like this. I just love their banter. It’s fantastic.

Nolan discovers a panel after hitting another button. It leads to a whole other hidden part of the house. It’s clearly where they were torturing her. They dig a little deeper and find more surveillance camera's set up. Looks like they tried destroying everything before they took off. There is still some paper work and such lying around. Looks like they didn't get everything. Tim wants them to take pictures of everything before the feds show up. Because they’ll ice them out ASAP. I love when he’s a sexy leader directing everyone. yum. gimme.

This next section when the feds finally show up is primo. Mike Weston introduces himself and Tim knows right away he’s CIA. The feds are with him though. Reason being Weston has to work with them since he isn't allowed to work domestically. Tim has some serious smug husband energy going on in this scene. Watching his girl square off and win with this guy. Lying on his behalf it’s amazing. Lucy handles herself like the bad ass he knows her to be. Coming up with this on the fly. That UC training kicking in right here.

The immense amount of pride on his face is everything. He didn’t even have to tell her to lie she just did for him. Their silent communication once again is out of this world. He just stands there proud af. Like yeah that’s my girl. Doesn’t have to say a damn word. Knows she’s got this covered. Smugly smiling at this guy trying to get them to do their job. Knowing they secured the scene and got all the photos they needed. Part of that smugness is from knowing they’re not sharing. Lucy shutting them down completely and he just stands there happy as a clam while she handles the situation.

Lucy is bummed they’re taking over. Nolan reminds them she touched his hood. Tim says they can get a true ID. Try and solve this thing before the feds and CIA know what hit them. I love this. They get a hit in the database. She’s a Russian citizen here on a NGO visa. Tim saying it’s perfect cover for a Russian agent.

Lucy with her social media skills found her Instagram page. Linking her to an Air Force major named Lyle Marks. Who she was apparently dating. Nolan says she was probably dating him just to get to secret information. Lucy calls him a cynic heh I love it. Then says yeah that’s probably the most likely scenario…

That he works for drone command and hasn’t shown up for work today. Tim says no need to loop in Weston. If they’re onto something good he will find them. They show up to Mark's house and find him tortured and killed. Weston of course shows up right after they find his body. Just like Tim said. He’s so smart. Beauty and Brains.

The fact that a soldier was killed this can’t be contained any longer. Weston realizes he’s going to need their help. Especially since this is on US soil. He brings them back to his fancy spy van. So they can have a private conversation protected. Tim gets right down to business. Asking what they know about Katerina? Mike tells them they believe her to be a FSB case officer. Just like Tim said earlier. Sexy how smart he is. Intelligence is attractive af.

Apparently she went rogue during her mission. She was supposed to be recruiting intelligence assets for Russia. It’s why those two guys came into the country after her. Rather her die than be in the hands of the CIA after she escaped. Tim asks if they knew about the relationship with officer Marks? Weston replies no or they would’ve stepped in weeks ago.

Also let’s note the lack of space with them in this scene. The Grand Canyon between John and Tim. The smallest sliver between Tim and Lucy. Another theme of this season. Personal Space? Never heard of her…

This next part is more of that proud/smug hubby energy from Tim. The way she dismantles Mike is glorious. Trying to say she’s naive and espionage isn’t a romance novel. She crushes him with some solid ass logic. Lucy owns this guy not once but twice in the same day. Lucy came to play and it's so fun to watch her confidence. The way she handles herself now. So self-assured it's just as glorious to watch as Tim's growth.

I love the look on Tim’s face. (also him licking his lips I see that tongue sir. Mmm.) His reaction is 'Wifey is right and you are dead to rights sir.' He couldn’t be prouder of her confidence with this man. Held her own from the jump. The growth here is amazing. Lucy just confidently owning her moments. Tim backing her without a second of hesitation. True partners. Nolan gives a 'Told you so' look too but it’s not as important as Tim’s LOL Weston concedes and says she has a fair point…

That being said Mike said he’s read her file. That isn’t the type of person she is. They ask why she was dating Marks then? Weston says he ran the entire west coast drone command. That he had the keys to the entire program. Tim then poses if she wasn’t stealing secrets or planning to defect then what’s her play? Mike says doesn’t know..and that scares the hell out of him

That’s their last scene together for the ep sadly. We find out with just John and Bailey she killed Marks. He issued a drone strike that killed her brother. The flash drive Nolan finds in his shop is what she wants. She wants to kill everyone else on the list of the mission. Sadly Lucy’s love theory is kaput after that haha That's all she wrote for this one. Short but sweet one for them.

Side notes-non chenford

I love Lucy reaching out to Aaron to be his support through training. He fights her at first then gives in and calls her when he has bad experience with an old friend. Aaron does stick his foot in his mouth about Jackson. Poor Lucy still hurts her talk about him.

Then they bond over it. He talks about Patrick and says it still gets him too. How it sneaks up on you. You could be having normal day and something triggers it. Aaron tells her it’s nice to have someone to talk to. Love this friendship being built.

Thanks as always to those who read these reviews and show your support through likes, comments and reblogs. It’s my fuel haha so thank you. Shall see you all in 4x05

60 notes · View notes

half-an-hour-hence · 1 year ago

Text

Mega long list of OTP questions about Jamiemalcolm

1. Who is the most affectionate?

I think it would probably have to be Jamie, especially towards the beginning of their relationship. PDA is a no, so any display of affection is carried out in the privacy of one of their homes (or very occasionally in the office when no one is around). In particular, Jamie likes to bury his head in Malcolm’s neck when they’re sleeping (Malcolm won’t admit he likes it).

2. Big spoon/little spoon?

Usually the big spoon ends up being Jamie, mainly because Malcolm gets dragged into spooning anyway. Very occasionally it’s the other way around, but only when Jamie is too exhausted to complain.

3. Most common argument?

Outside of whinging about their respective problems with each other in a professional setting, it’s normally about their relationship. Malcolm has several truck loads worth of internalised homophobia, and I’m willing to bet that Jamie has a fair amount of religious trauma on top of his internalised homophobia. So it’s nigh on impossible for them to have a discussion about whatever it is that they are without the whole conversation exploding into an argument almost immediately.

4. Favourite non-sexual activity?

Just being in one another’s company. After all the arguments (with either each other or their colleagues) have died down and they need a minute’s silence so they don’t lose their voices, it’s nice for them to enjoy the fact that they actually have someone to go to when they’re stressed, someone who understands completely the amount of shit they’ve had to put up with and someone who (sort of) knows how to help deal with it. Specific examples include early mornings basking in the pre-dawn silence just holding one another, or working on paperwork in the evenings in Malcolm’s kitchen, sharing a bottle of wine and resisting the urge to rip their respective papers up.

5. Who is most likely to carry the other?

They would never, unless it was a life or death situation - but Jamie would carry Malcolm because he’s practically a string bean and weighs literally nothing. Jamie - on the other hand - is deceptively heavy, despite his lack of height. So Malcolm couldn’t carry him even if he wanted to.

6. What is their favourite feature of their partner’s?

Jamie - my pathetic little guy - would answer simply that he just really likes Malcolm’s face. Like pretty much all of his facial features drive him wild. His eyes and how they can shift, that ice cold stare seamlessly melting whenever they focus back on Jamie, and how it’s so subtle that only he notices. The shape of his nose - nobody will ever know how long he’s stared at the how the moonlight sneaking in through the cracks in the curtains highlight all the bumps and ridges that make it so unique. And his lips. Just thinking about how soft they are makes Jamie’s stomach flip. But if we ask Malcolm, he’d say his favourite thing about Jamie would have to be his intelligence, as well as his ability to manipulate and to scare the living shit out of people. He loves seeing him at work, using his intellect to sort out political problems, and then seeing him whenever they get the opportunity to dip their toes into the waters of domesticity, applying the same logic to everyday problems. (He also really likes his ass, but he’d rather die than admit that out loud. Jamie probably knows though.)

7. What’s the first thing that changes when they realise they have feelings for each other?

I - like a lot of people, I have discovered - think that they began their relationship as more of an ‘arrangement’ - ie, they sleep together one night and decide to keep sleeping together because they enjoy it so much, and then live in denial for some time by telling themselves that it’s just sex and they aren’t gay. Spoiler alert: they are. So when they realise that it’s not just sex but feelings as well, they do the classic thing: they distance themselves away from each other because they’re scared as fuck. I think they figure it out at the same time, so they both try and fool the other by saying they just need some time to themselves.

8. Nicknames? And if so, how did they originate?

Obviously Jamie calls Malcolm ‘Malc’. And any variation of an insult containing the word ‘cunt’ is thrown around when necessary. But I can’t see them using pet names or anything if I’m honest (unless Malcolm calling Jamie a gremlin counts).

9. Who worries the most?

Malcolm. He’s paranoid as fuck that someone will catch him and Jamie. They’ll be in bed or something and the floorboards will creak slightly outside the door, and Malcolm will sit bolt upright and say some ominous shit like ‘they’re in the house’, and Jamie will roll over half asleep to tell him to ‘stop fretting, you fucking maniac, it’s three in the morning. It’s probably just some demon coming to drag your miserable prune-like husk of a body down to hell. Now shut the fuck up before I shove a fucking lamp down your throat.’

10. Who remembers what the other one always orders at a restaurant?

Malcolm, because he has impeccable memory and Jamie can’t even remember what he had for breakfast in the morning.

11. Who tops?

Listen. It really depends. I personally think that it was Jamie for the longest time, because a) he got a kick out of reducing Malcom to jelly, and b) Malcolm asked for it, and Malcolm Tucker begging to be fucked was NOT something Jamie was going to pass up on. But after a while - and a lot of nagging from Malcolm - they switched, and THAT was arguably better (mostly due to the absolutely delicious sounds Jamie makes). So in conclusion, they switch.

12. Who initiates kisses?

Again, depends. If it’s purely romantic, then it’s usually Jamie. If it’s with sexual intent in mind, then it could be either.

13. Who reaches for the other’s hand first?

You know what? Honestly I think Malcolm. In regards to their relationship, I think hand holding would predominantly be a sign of reassurance, rather than being necessarily affectionate. For instance, during the trial, when Malcolm went back home and Jamie was waiting for him, they actually managed to have a conversation about it in the kitchen sitting around the table. Malcolm kind of subconsciously reached for Jamie’s hand for support then, because he really didn’t want to lose his job or go down.

14. Who kisses the hardest?

Sober? Jamie. After a few drinks? Malcolm. I’m right.

15. Who wakes up first?

Malcolm. In the early days of their relationship, he would wake up early to get out of the house before Jamie woke up because he was neck deep in denial and scared shitless. But now when he wakes up early he just goes downstairs to make coffee and read the paper until he hears Jamie’s fuck-off loud alarm to go off.

16. Who wants to stay in bed just a little longer?

It takes about half an hour for Jamie to wake up after his first alarm goes off. He can’t resist pressing the snooze button, especially in the winter when it’s fucking freezing and the bed’s so warm. Eventually Malcolm gets annoyed by the sound of the alarm so he rips the duvet off of Jamie and tells him to get up.

17. Who says I love you first?

Jamie. It’s not something that he hadn’t planned; he works in politics - half of his job is to know how to not let things slip out unexpectedly. He organises it so he says it on one of the rare occasions where he and Malcolm have the same day off, just in case those three words are enough to finish the old fucker off, and so that he would have the entire day to acclimatise to the fact that someone actually loves him. It wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say that Malcolm did look as though he was having a heart attack after it was said, and Jamie was correct in predicting that he needed the rest of the day to take it in. It wasn’t said back immediately - in fact it took Malcolm a few more months to reciprocate the sentiment - however the most important thing was that Jamie meant it.

18. Who leaves little notes in the other’s lunch? (Bonus: what does it usually say?)

I think they both do, which is why Malcolm and Jamie eat their lunches far away from everyone else’s prying eyes. The content of the notes depends on how their evening/morning went. Sometimes they contain the most outrageous combination of expletives ever read by another human being, but on rarer occasions they read something along the lines of, ‘hope your day isn’t too shitty - but if it is you can slag off the useless cunts when you get back’.

19. Who tells their family/friends about their relationship first?

They don’t. They both reckon it’s too dangerous to explicitly mention that they’re seeing each other, even to their own families. However, they have told their loved ones (Jamie’s whole extended family plus a few mates, and Malcolm’s sister, brother-in-law, their kids and his mother) that they are dating someone, just to put them all out of their misery. The only person who actually knows about their relationship is Sam, Malcolm’s PA.

20. What do their family/friends think of their relationship?

Everyone is happy that both Jamie and Malcolm are dating someone. They - as most people do - tend to ask rather intrusive questions, which both take great care to answer incredibly vaguely. Malcolm’s mother keeps asking him when he’ll get married, a question that he wilfully ignores. Sam tends to smile knowingly at them whenever they walk by together, which Jamie severely dislikes.

21. Who is most likely to start dancing with the other?

I really have no clue as to why, but I think Malcolm would secretly enjoy a bit of slow dancing. But he only allows himself to ask Jamie to dance when he’s had several drinks. These attempts are only successful if a) they are completely alone, and b) Jamie has had at least twice the amount of alcohol that Malcolm has. Therefore, it’s not exactly the best dancing in the world (Malcolm is able to keep his composure, but Jamie CANNOT stop tripping over his own feet) but they are able to have a laugh about how ridiculous it is.

22. Who cooks more/who is better at cooking?

Malcolm cooks whenever he has the opportunity to, however most of the time he’s too busy. It’s a skill he was taught by his mother, and when he was younger he would always find the time between study sessions to cook or bake with her. Now, though, he’s forced to order takeaway most days because otherwise he won’t have the time to deal with DOSAC’s latest cock-up. Jamie has never even attempted to cook anything in his life, and likely never will.

23. Who comes up with cheesy pick up lines?

Jamie, but he only uses them ironically and at times when Malcolm can’t possibly perceive it as unironic.

24. Who whispers inappropriate things in the other’s ear at inappropriate times?

Again, most likely to be Jamie. Inappropriate notes, one or two whispered prepositions during a gathering, that kind of thing. I mean, you all saw him in Rise Of The Nutters. Say what you like about that gesture in the meeting meaning to be directed towards Julius, but there was no rational explanation for that suggestive eyebrow waggle towards Malcolm other than homosexuality.

25. Who needs more assurance?

Professionally, neither need assurance about anything, and quite frankly would be offended if anyone offered any. However, in regards to their relationship, Malcolm definitely needs assurance that they’re not going to be caught and ridiculed by the press.

26. What would be their theme song?

Not so much of a theme song for their relationship, but a song I associate with both of them as individuals is Evil Eye by Franz Ferdinand. It just reminds me of the way they work, and implies their respective ruthlessness.

27. Who would sing their child back to sleep?

I’m sorry but I genuinely cannot fathom them having kids. But I think if they were babysitting or something Jamie would be forced to sing the kid to sleep. Malcolm would then subsequently take the piss out of him for the foreseeable future.

28. What do they do when they’re away from each other?

The only time they don’t see each other is when they’re visiting their families. Jamie tends to take one or two trips a year up to Scotland for a few days to Motherwell where most of his family lives. It usually involves quite a lot of outdoor activities, movie nights and screaming kids wherever he goes. Although it’s not exactly relaxing, he does enjoy spending time with his family. Malcolm sometimes goes to his sister’s house for dinner, where the same thing happens every time; he tries (and fails) to talk to his nephew (14) as he plays on his PlayStation, rants about the state of the government to his sister and her husband, and ends up taking about twenty of his niece’s (5) drawings home (he then picks the best ones and puts them on his fridge). Neither Jamie nor Malcolm has these family gatherings happen at around the same time, so they also spend the night alone in their respective homes until the other comes back.

29. One headcanon about this OTP that breaks your heart

I’m not sure why, but I’m convinced that at some point Malcolm has a stress induced heart attack after a particularly heated shouting match, and after he’s shut himself up in his office. Nobody hears him collapse, and it’s Sam who discovers him lying on the floor, dead. She phones an ambulance and they managed to get his heart beating again, but for the next few days it’s not entirely clear whether he would survive or not. While this is happening, Jamie’s going out of his fucking mind with fear, his temper worse than ever at work. He spends his evenings by Malcolm’s bedside, too worried to do anything except stare at his comatose body. Of course, Malcolm pulls through eventually, but GOD this makes me think about the opportunity for exploring explicit emotional turmoil for Jamie and learning about how much their relationship actually means to him.

30. One headcanon about this OTP that mends it

I don’t think they got married - I don’t even think that they got eloped (mostly due to not wanting the public/press to find out about their relationship). But what did happened was that Jamie brought them wedding rings as a joke and they just started wearing them, initially as a diversion tactic so that people would stop trying to make assumptions about their personal lives, but it eventually grew into a symbol of their love for each other. After a few drinks at home one weekend, Jamie suggested that they could do a fake ceremony - and so they did (all the while hideously drunk and unable to stop giggling as they tried to put the rings back on each other’s fingers). So they aren’t technically legally married, but they are to themselves and to everyone at work. They take the rings off when visiting family so they don’t get verbally harassed about not being invited to the wedding.

#malcolm tucker #jamie macdonald #the thick of it #ttoi #malcolm x jamie #otp headcanons #jamiemalcolm

42 notes · View notes

everything-is-as-it-was · 2 years ago

Text

A thought about Derek Morgan

I made a recent post about Morgan wearing a suit and then I got to thinking about Why. Like, obviously we see later he's more comfortable in more casual clothes, and they offer him more mobility since he's usually the one to give chase if an unsub runs, plus he has to take care of all of the Kicking In Doors business.

So... why the suit, dude?

And it made me think of what a friend of mine said when I asked him why he wouldn't go to the grocery store in sweatpants. Because he said if a black man goes out in more causal clothes, all people might see is a thug. They judge him based on his skin color and clothes and don't bother to take another look. He said he needed to wear "proper" clothes just to be treated normally.

And thinking back to Morgan, let's be honest, he was the Token Black Guy in the beginning. When he got into the FBI, he likely had to prove himself a lot more than any of his colleagues. In general, he probably would have been judged for his clothing a lot more if he wore something causal, than, say, Garcia. And of course it's not fair, but he probably thought he HAD to wear a suit to be treated with the proper amount of respect in the FBI. (I'm not saying that's the case for the members within the BAU, but in general.)

But as the seasons go on, we see him become SO much more comfortable with his (now) family at the BAU, opening up to them about his past trauma, banter with Garcia, etc. And he loses the suit.

I guess my hypothesis here is that in the beginning he wore a suit to make sure he got the respect he deserved. Because he'd had experiences before where people stopped looking when they saw his clothes and the color of his skin. But as he began to get to know the people in the BAU more, they became like family to him and he knew they really saw him, he began to wear what he wanted and not that terrible suit.

Disclaimer: I am white and I'm not trying to make assumptions about the Black Experience in America. I'm going off of what a Black friend of mine told me and thought it probably applied to CM.

#lets be honest all of the clothes in S1 sucked so bad lmao #criminal minds #derek morgan #penelope garcia #criminal minds analysis #tv analysis

37 notes · View notes

waugh-bao · 1 year ago

Note

I think what I’ve realized about why the auction bothers me (aside from it meaning Charlie is truly gone) is because people are touching his stuff. I remember listening to Desert Island Discs and he said he hates when maids come into his room. I completely understood what he meant. I am the same way and I was a bit surprised when the host thought it was strange and Charlie knew she thought it was strange. I thought it was normal. So now, people are interfering with his stuff and I feel upset on his behalf. If people came over and started rummaging through my books I’d be anxious. I know it is only right that these books and memorabilia go to other fans to enjoy but there’s that emotional “hey don’t touch that! That’s Charlie’s book!” component.

That said, there are some beautiful things I would love to have but out of my price range I’m afraid. I did order the catalog though. I can afford that. Haha

That’s a very good point!

I can see it from both perspectives, honestly.

In my other, irl incarnation I’m a baby historian (ie a PhD student) and I spend a disproportionate amount of time rifling around in other people’s lives, especially their letters. I’m an early modernist, so most of the people whose things I touch have been dead for a few centuries, but I still have serious discussions with colleagues and older scholars about the degrees of privacy we afford our subjects and how to respect our actors as people. So I do try to put a lot of consciousness into treating my subjects thoughts and objects the best way I can, and I’m sure the family and the staff at Christie’s have made an effort to do that for Charlie.

On the other hand, I have friends and friends of friends that work or have worked in those types of prestigious auction houses, I’ve spent some time around the high end art world myself, and my takeaways from it have been quite negative. Putting someone’s life or life’s work up for bid is never very pretty, at the end of the day. And personally, I do wish that an effort had been made to pass the music/instrument collection or the book collection off intact to an appropriate institution, either a university or a museum. While I don’t begrudge individuals getting to enjoy the objects, keeping them as a whole collection and donating (or selling) them to an institution with the requisite preservation expertise, funds for upkeep, and ability to offer them for scholars or display them for public view would have given Charlie’s efforts more significance in the long term. But that’s all just conjecture, of course, and the family mostly likely had good reasons for the choices they’ve made.

#it mostly just makes me sad to be honest #so I’ve been avoiding that content on his Instagram #but I do appreciate that Christie’s put together a little talk with Dave Green and Paul Sexton to discuss the collection as a part of #Charlie’s life #it always makes me happy to see Dave #the rolling stones #charlie watts #old married band #ask response #anonymous

3 notes · View notes

angels-heap · 1 year ago

Note

Is it too late to request 3, and 22 for the ask game?

It is not! :D

3. screenshot or description of the worst take you've seen on tumblr

Hoo boy. If we limit our scope to bad takes about fictional characters and fandom bullshit (as opposed to things that Actually Matter)... obviously "Free//mance is a pedo ship" will forever take the cake, but off the top of my head, here are two more solid contenders:

I am begging you people to develop media literacy and respect existing character dynamics and maybe, like, talk to people who have experienced normal familial relationships and study them. You don't have to ship these characters, but the word you're looking for is "friends!"

22. your favorite part of canon that everyone else ignores

Lauren.

But in all seriousness, I wish more people talked about Gordon's stasis and the impact his temporal displacement would have on his psyche, his relationships, the people around him, etc. outside of the contexts of shipping discourse and "waaaah Gordon and Barney love each other soo much and he was gone for 20 years and it's so sad :(." (I say as someone who's written 2 fics in that genre, but still.)

There's so much potential there!! Like, just think about the sheer amount of stuff he missed; there's the war and other plot-relevant stuff, but also scientific innovation, large fractions of his colleagues' lives, the evolution of a whole new set of societal norms and expectations but must feel completely alien to him, etc. etc. And conversely, he's probably the last living person who clearly remembers 80s-00s historical events, pop culture, societal norms, and a thousand other little details that other survivors are probably dying to revisit through his eyes. I could think, read, and write about this stuff forever and it kills me that so much fan content only scratches the surface.

#asks #ignoringtree #someone made a comment once that Gordon could resolve decades-long disputes about mundane shit #like the second verse of some half-forgotten pop song #and that gets me really emotional for some reason

6 notes · View notes

thecalmerllama · 8 months ago

Text

Also !!! If I can add to this !!! The amount of Anti-Adam's I have seen who's base argument it "well, I would have respected the decision if they chose someone else" (normally meaning Marc Martel) is so rooted in homophobia I can't even begin to describe it !

I'm not playing a 'gay' card here, don't get me wrong, but half the Queen fans who are so against Queen touring with Adam are the same Mary Austin stans who keep trying to perpetuate the idea that Freddie Mercury was bisexual (and this isn't Bi erasure, shoutout to all my bi followers I love you dearly) instead of a proud gay man; which not only he, but his close friends, ex lovers and bandmates constantly refer to him as. The amount of middle aged women in the comment section of instagram constantly thirsting over Freddie should make the fandom more disgusted than it does, and it's those same women that complain about Adam (an *openly* gay man) taking the role of front man on the Q+AL tours, constantly saying that other people would do a better job and claiming that Brian and Roger are doing it for the money.

If you view Freddie as the only true asset to the Queen legacy, you aren't a Queen fan. End of the conversation.

And if I recall, I never see any complaints about the 2005 tours with Paul Rodgers. So what's the issue with Adam? And why is the fandom so obsessed with the BAND'S decision to choose him? Because the BAND chose him, and they're not just colleagues but FRIENDS also.

And Queenies, my dear royal family, the video of Freddie in *every* Queen crack is that interview in Brazil where he says "I'm not the leader of the group, I'm just the lead singer". Freddie would *love* Adam and I'm sick of people trying to say he'd hate them for this.

If Queen touring with Adam Lambert bothers you so much, then unfollow Brian and Roger and the Queen pages on social media, ignore the tour and keep your mouth shut, because they don't f*cking want you involved in the fandom.

It royally pisses me off when people complain about Brian and Roger continuing with Adam Lambert.

Freddie Mercury was not Queen. Queen is not Freddie Mercury.

Brian wrote at least 63 Queen songs. Roger wrote at least 31. John wrote at least 23. They have every right to do what they want with it.

Not only that, but people tend to forget that Freddie didn’t found Queen. He changed the name to Queen, but Brian and Roger were already there. That group has always been Brian and Roger’s.

Don’t twist my words, I’m well aware that a large part of Queen’s success is because of Freddie and his charisma and talent. I’m not stupid. But I think it’s ignorant to suggest that they should just not tour anymore and not perform the music that’s shaped their lives??

Brian would go crazy if he didn’t tour. His life is his work, and vice versa. Anyone who knows anything about him would know how important it is for his well-being to keep working.

As for them “replacing” Freddie—fucking where, bitch? They’re not touring as Queen. They’re touring as Queen + Adam Lambert. John is still involved in the business aspects, regardless of the fact that he doesn’t speak to Brian and Roger anymore.

Plus, Spike has been working with them since 1984, at least, as a second guitarist, keyboardist, and technician. And Neil is a BEAST of a bassist on his own.

So comments like “I respect that Zeppelin backed down after Bonham’s death, but I can’t say the same about Queen”, implying there’s a loss of respect for the simple fact that musicians want to continue doing their job, despite the fact that they didn’t even perform as Queen again for YEARS, is plain ignorance. Nothing more, nothing less.

So again… Queen is, and always has been, so much more than just Freddie Mercury. And he would say the exact same.

#queen #queen band #freddie mercury #roger taylor #brian may #john deacon #adam lambert #queen and adam lambert #Q+AL #Queen tour #rant

248 notes · View notes

silverbladexyz · 2 years ago

Note

are open but are you totally ok? but I had a request. vampire dazai!x fem reader . take ur time to write it.if u don't want to just dm me

Hiiii neko! Welcome back :) and yep, it's fine ^-^. Now let's get on to this fic :)

The image does not belong to me. It belongs to it's original owner.

TW: Mentions of suicide, mentions of death, Dazai biting himself, scars

Most people who knew you only knew you as a smart and capable girl.

You were only a normal girl who worked at the Armed Detective Agency, solving many hard cases and protecting the city of Yokohama. Even when you didn't have an ability, your quick mind and combat skills made up for it. Your colleagues liked and respected you, and soon you caught the attention of the suicidal maniac.

Dazai had flirted with you a lot, asking for your hand in a double suicide multiple times. You had befriended him after working with him on multiple cases, even hanging out with him multiple times after work. His charming and energetic personality had quickly drawn you to him, and it wasn’t long before you started developing feelings for him. And my my, did they grow quickly.

He seemed to like you back, but you didn’t want to fully believe that. Reading Dazai was nearly impossible, but you were smart enough and observant enough to know that he didn’t want to risk hurting you by being any closer with you, because he himself had a lot of enemies from his past. It still didn’t stop you from flirting back with him however. Everytime you did, you hoped that he couldn’t hear how loud your heart pounded.

But one night, everything had changed.

~~~

You had worked overtime, and you had to walk back home in the dark. You weren’t afraid, since you could defend yourself, but it still didn’t stop from giving you a few chills down your spine. You picked up your pace, willing your legs to move faster.

You were taking a shortcut back home. It wasn’t well known, mainly because of how shady it was, but due to the amount of times that you had taken it you knew it like the back of your hand. The moon shone big and blue in the night sky, casting it’s light onto everything in it’s path. You quickly walked past an alleyway, where a familiar dark figure was standing there with their wrist to their mouth.

A familiar dark figure with a wrist held to their mouth??

You whirred around and went into the alleyway, the moonlight illuminating the person underneath. Catching a glimpse of brown clothing, you approached them cautiously and saw that it was... Dazai??

His eyes were red like rubies, and two sharp fangs were pieced in his wrist, blood flowing out of the wound. There were multiple other bite scars littered around the same wrist, and those were normally covered by the bandages that wrapped his skin. From all of this, you had quickly deduced what was happening.

“Dazai...?” You faintly said. He turned his head in a flash, eyes widening when he saw you. Quickly, he took his wrist out of his mouth, blood dribbling down the wound and his fangs as he flashed a carefree smile at you. But you knew that smile so well that you knew it was fake.

“Oh! Y/N-chan! Did you miss me so much that you came out at night to visit me?~” Even when his voice was energetic and casual, Dazai’s body said otherwise; his pupils were dilated and trembling, his entire body shaking as if it couldn’t contain something. You stepped closer, and he immediately took a step back.

He needs blood other than his.

Before he could say something, you spoke. You didn’t know what possessed you to do it. Maybe it was because of your concern for him, for those numerous scars littered on his body and that hungry look in his eyes as he thirsted for another person’s blood. Or maybe because it was of your love for him, that you would even sacrifice yourself for him if it meant him living for another day.

“Dazai. Drink from me. Now.”

His eyes widened as he took a few more steps back. You stepped forward more, only for Dazai to hold out his palm in a ‘stop’ motion. You stopped, not wanting to upset him further. His breaths came out raggedly, as if he had trouble breathing. Or trouble controlling his desire for fresh, human blood.

“Y/N... what are you doing here? Go home, it isn’t safe for you while I’m like this. I could hurt you, possibly even kill you!” Dazai rasped. His mouth was dry, sweat forming on his skin from having to hold himself back from attacking you. You shook your head, taking another step forward.

“I don’t care if you hurt me or kill me. What matters to me is that you’re healthy and living. So drink from me right now, or else I’m not leaving and we both know what that would lead to.” Were it any other situation, you would’ve blushed a bit when you said that. But now was not the time.

Dazai’s eyes flickered back and forth between your neck and your face. The struggle was clear in him, red pupils clashing against brown as he fought to control his desires. But even Dazai Osamu himself wasn’t invincible.

You felt the slightest prick on your wrist as his fangs pierced your skin. Red liquid flowed out of the wound, Dazai’s tongue slowly licking it. It didn’t hurt as much as you expected; or maybe because Dazai was being extra careful and gentle.

Your blood seemed to work like magic. With every passing second, Dazai himself looked much more healthier. His complexion was better, his breathing stable, and he looked much stronger. With a last lick, Dazai pulled his mouth away from your wrist and let out a soft sigh of content.

You let a few moments pass by before speaking.

“So... how long have you been hiding this for?”

“All my life,” Dazai answered, wiping his mouth with his hand. “Let’s say that I got into an accident during one of my suicide attempts... and then bibbity bobbity boo I emerged as a vampire! Who had super strength and speed and even good looks! Although it makes me harder to kill...” He pouted, however you could see the pain and loneliness in his eyes. The pain and loneliness of something that wasn’t human.

“But... I thought your ability could cancel out any other ability? How did you turn into a vampire then if it was by a suicide attempt?” Dazai shrugged as he put his hands in his pockets. Evidently it was a mystery that even he couldn’t figure out.

“Well, never mind that. You’ve been feeding on your own blood. Isn’t that particularly bad for you as your own ability contradicts your vampirism? And it seems that your own blood might not provide as much nutrition.��

“You catch on fast.” The suicidal maniac leaned against the alleyway wall, looking like any young man who certainly was not feeding on you earlier. In the moonlight, his eyes still shone the slightest red, but his pupils had turned mostly brown.

“Vampires who feed on their own body don’t last very long... although that wouldn’t seem half as bad. It’s just a painful and disgusting death by malnutrition and starvation, not to mention the possibility of humans finding out about the vampire species.” You frowned at the fact that there could be more vampires lurking in the shadows of Yokohama.

“So can you turn into a bat? Are you allergic to silver and garlic? How many humans have you fed off? Could you actually feed off other vampires?” Dazai laughed a bit at the speed on which you shot your questions at.

“Unfortunately, I cannot turn into a bat. I’m not allergic to garlic, however silver does cause skin irritation for me. I haven’t fed off a lot of humans since a vampire has their own unique taste for blood; you’re the first one I’ve come across that suits my tastes in a long time. And as for feeding off other vampires, it is possible, just that I haven’t seen one for ages.” You gave a silent sight of relief.

“Oh, and I forgot one thing.” You tilted your head. Dazai looked at you with a small smile.

“When vampires feed off a human and the human blood actually suits their taste, I guess you can say that they are destined together. Kind of like soulmates, don’t you think?”

Your face burst into the deepest shade of red when you grasped the hidden meaning behind Dazai’s words.

~~~

“We’ve secured the target and arrested him. He should be at the 4th alleyway near the crime scene with the cops.” You reported to Kunikida over the phone, walking back to your shared apartment with Dazai. Your brown-haired boyfriend sidled up to you, slipping his arm around your waist. It was nearly feeding time for him, but you weren’t afraid that he would hurt you since he always managed to be gentle.

“Y/N-chan!~ I’m getting hungry, can we please stop by near our house to eat something?” He whined. You whacked him lightly, but you smiled. Dazai smiled back, his brown eyes meeting yours.

“I swear, all you ever think about is your appetite. But don’t worry, there should be somewhere we could stop by so you could fill that greedy hunger of yours.” He laughed, sliding his other arm across your front so to pull you into a sort-of side hug. Even though the hug was gentle, you could still sense the slightest tension in it. Dazai would need blood in the next 10-15 minutes or else it wouldn’t be pretty.

After checking that nobody was around, you pulled Dazai into an alleyway. He loosened his arms from your waist as you unbuttoned your collar. The familiar feeling of his canines returned against your neck, the slight prick of the skin and the flowing sensation of your blood. Your arms came up around his neck as his encircled around your waist again, and your bodies moved slightly as if you two were dancing slowly.

Perhaps you two were destined together afterall.

Falls onto the floor because of how bad this was shfjfjifisjf

@nekokinax @pixyys @pianotross @i-just-like-goats @yuugen-benni @xxelfmamaxx @yukitomybeloved @irethepotato @arisu-chan4646 @ashthemadwriter

#bsd x reader #bungou stray dogs x reader #dazai x reader #vampire dazai x reader

179 notes · View notes

ohulancutash · 1 month ago

Text

I have a theory about 'the rise in ADHD/autism diagnoses' that I've not seen anyone else suggesting - though I may just have missed it - and I believe it absolutely can, and I think does, coexist with the left-handedness-parrallel thing.

We mostly all agree to some level about the social model of disability, right? i.e. more or less, some things are not inherently disabling, but society is structured in such a way that it obstructs people with those traits from being able to engage equally or at all. It is society disabling people with those potentially neutral traits. If we all had Delayed Sleep Phase Disorder life would just start way later in the day and no one would be disabled by it.

So given that society does not stand still, doesn't that allow for new disabling symptoms to 'appear', for new disabilities to 'appear', and for the boundaries to shift on what people with potentially disabling traits can deal with in society?

I think management culture has got worse. Worker's rights have got better, definitely not disputing that, but managerial culture has got worse. I have a little to back this up, mostly anecdotes, but one of the anecdoters is a doctor I know who says (entirely unprompted by me, he scares me too much for me to share this theory with) an alarmingly increasing proportion of his patients with mental health concerns are citing bad managers, and more of them are being pushed out of their jobs and unable to - disabled from - work because of bad managers. I know the reasons I was pushed out of my career were bad managers, bullying, micromanaging, not respecting me as a human being or my rights or needs as a worker, and even well-meaning but pushing me through a work culture that has got worse because it is more menial and with more expectation to work every second instead of at a rate that humans can do. My general understanding was that when my grandparents were in their jobs - office workers on one side and very working class leatherworkers and retail staff and painters on the other - they were expected to get a more human amount of work done in the day, chatting to your colleagues was neither anathema nor mandated, getting up to make yourself a cup of tea or have a breather of some kind was normal, training you up so you genuinely learned from a position and could build a career was just the obvious and ubiquitous thing you would do, and imo way fewer jobs seemed to be working for vast organisations where you were hired or fired or paid or had leave approved by someone you'd never met and who saw you more as a number than a person. I'm not saying they didn't have problems, I'm not saying they were perfect, but I am saying anecdotally that we also seem to have problems now that were not as prevalent in our recent history.

I think a bunch of other things have got worse in our society too, or changed in a way that is theoretically neutral, but I believe favour neurotypical people more. Or are at least calculated to scam the general public in a way calibrated to neurotypical people's ability to cope.

With all this in mind, my theory is that of course more people will be disabled by their ADHD and autism symptoms if society has gotten crueller, if more perfection and conformity is demanded, if more punishing workloads are inflicted, if burnout is seen as compulsary, if less empathy is extended to those who work differently or are struggling because upper management no longer need to be confronted by the humanity of their employees. I would say conservatively approximately none of my grandparents were neurotypical, and I specifically think they all had either ADHD, autism or the combo, and within the bounds of other marginalisations they all had pretty stable lives, particularly professionally. And my dyslexic, single parent, wonderful, almost certainly also autistic and ADHD Nan who had the hardest life and worked as a shop assistant, and then a nurse, and then an artist, still lived in a functional enough society that she raised two children, not in riches but not in abject poverty, and could buy the house that they lived in, and her life could get better and be full and stable and happy.

I'd like to think that my brain works pretty similarly to my Nan's, although I am not dyslexic, but I only made it a few years of being bullied, harrassed and worked to the exposed bones of my brain before I crashed out of my career to survive, and most of those jobs didn't cover my rent anyway. Most of my grandparents' working cultures were not disabling to them. My Nan's working culture didn't necessarily give her neurodivergent, single parent self equal footing to advance and thrive, but she was able to live well and happily. I have a very similar brain, I probably got it from them, and my working culture has disabled me so thoroughly that even now I'm out of it I'm fucked. And the same is true of the rest of society. This post is already long enough. My brain wasn't built for this many howling cars on the road or moving house every year or only being able to count as a worthwhile friend if you can handle fucking whatsapp or having to travel across the country semi-regularly to go to your community's events. This is a vent, not an exhaustive list. These things weren't disabling to my grandparents because by and large they didn't have to experience them either at all, or at least not whilst people expected them to be capitalistically productive.

This seems to be the screaming into the void site of the social medias, so in the interests of getting it out my system:

I feel crap. I don't think I'm well set up to function spectacularly in a society that works and I just have no idea how to make anything get better on any scale when living in a country where everything is so fucked up in every sector and at every resolution.

#I am now breaking tumblr so time to finish up in a final post

2 notes · View notes

fouryearsofshades · 3 years ago

Text

Hanfu movement is about MODERN ethnic clothing. What is the authentic “han” clothing? Who is going to decide for everyone? There are millions of Chinese around the world. Who could say something and everyone would follow? You? Me? The China government? Come on the moment China government said something it will be on the news that a totalitarian regime is mandating how people should dress.

Korean, Japan, Vietnam and England did not have such a tragic discontinuation of wearing their style when they all have their “modernization” period of pain. Also, have you considered the amount of Chinese involved in the situation? Also the geographical differences, the culture background and the resulted fashion preference of those people? Having only one (1) style of clothing actually is not the norm. Like the Dai people could have very different clothing depending on their villages. And the related Thai women in Thailand have at least... 7 different blouses? And those are modern invention too. Less than 100 years.

I live in a country where wearing traditional clothing, at least for women (pretty sure this is a relic from the colonialism period - men wore the European clothes while the women wore the ethnic clothes to show “fusion”, “respect” etc.), is very normal, even for work. For example, Indians. What is the traditional clothing of an Indian woman? A sari, you may say. But in my experience, most people don’t wear sari to work. I asked my teacher why. She said she did not like showing the waist. I only had one colleague who regularly wears Sari to work. But she is also a priest. Also I am quite sure that she only wears Sari when she is going to the temple on that day. What does the other wear usually? Usually they wear a tunic plus a trousers. There are many many many different types of tunic and I did not follow them. Each type of tunic are most likely came from different region (so the bottom to match is actually slightly different, but again, I did not follow). I remember back in high school, once they showed about 20 different types of Indian clothing, each from different regions, or different kingdoms historically. And that was put together by one (1) schoolmate. I am sure there is much more variants in Indian traditional clothing.

In addition, clothing from each dynasty reflected their characteristics. And modern Chinese needs something that reflect them. So why stick to a dynasty when you have so many to chose from? Looking back at different periods of time was also what people did back in the days (Ming dynasty), but they did not have the technology nor the archeological discoveries that we can access nowadays. Also people from different regions have different needs. Certain styles would be more prominent in certain regions. And those not suitable for people will fall into disuse. Like, quju was rather popular a decade ago, but only a handful of people are into it now, because the construction of the clothing does not match modern needs.

So forming a modern Han clothing is still an ongoing process. It has only been, like, 20 years? It takes time to come to a conscious. Many people just started to wear hanfu recently. It takes time to build up their taste and wardrobe. Historically, it took a few decades for Ming dynasty to settle into their own style. Chill. People will come to a conclusion. Give them time. Give yourself time.

If one don’t want to sit it up one could always wear the cheongsam. Even then there are so many different cuts to choose from. XP There is also non-cheongsam Chinese traditional clothing but people probably don’t recognize them and only really old grannies wear them nowadays. And most of them switched to buttons, at least in my region.

On the other hand, please consider cultivating your own social experience. And only hang out with friends or circles that decided on the style you also liked. I know there are people who are firmly focus on late late Ming style. There are also a lot of events and gatherings that are style-limited. YOU CAN MAKE YOUR OWN CALL. Don’t let the others decide for you. If you wear hanfu, you are one of the movement. Development your own circle if you like certain style. Consider becoming an influencer if you want people to follow your way. (Also, some people are only in for the money and know no shit about hanfu. So beware.)

Lastly, the online filter bubble is actually very strong if one picks the right people to follow. Like, a couple months ago I asked my friend what did she think about the fashion trend this year because I couldn’t see one. She said, definitely heziqun, especially for the newbies. For me, I have seen nearly zero news and updates on heziqun since Qinghuige time because I only followed a selection of people and bots on weibo. Since anyone wearing hanfu as daily wear for a few years knew heziqun is a recent invention (less than 3 years) as the whole structure is ridiculous and tedious to wear, so heziqun isn’t something those people would consider. Therefore I don’t see them on my dash. There were a couple of beidaiqun. Meh. Tang style is a wild place. Don’t go into Tang style if you want 100% historical accurate style. Or don’t even go into general hanfu fashion but only follow that handful of research and reconstruction blogs.

TLDR: There is no one that has the authenticity in Hanfu Movement to decide what specific style people should stick to. Make your own decision and hang out with people of like mind if you don’t want to see a variation of styles appearing in one place.

#hanfu #rants #long post #either be proactive or just go with the flow #like if you are the host you can decide the theme #otherwise you can't decide what the other guests would wear #well i am sure you can gossips with your friends #but you can't go up to a stranger and tell them they should wear not this but that

183 notes · View notes

ltbarnes · 3 years ago

Text

You Flower, You Feast

Summary: Ever since you began your work as an agent, John Walker has treated you like shit and you have no idea why. Sending you to watch over Sergeant Barnes and his work should have been a punishment—turns out it was anything but.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x agent!reader x Sam Wilson, John Walker x reader

Word count: 9.2k

Warnings: smut, language, unprotected sex, M/F/M threesome, oral (f receiving), unconsented kissing, John Walker attempting enemies to lovers, mentions of violence, blood, workplace bullying-ish

A/N: Porn with a lot of plot leading up to it. Once again proving my ability to only write stories with an unnecessary amount of backstory. Also, thank you for 100 followers!! I only had three two weeks ago so this feels a little surreal

Masterlist

You've been here for six months. Five of them has been spent avoiding John Walker at every cost, to whichever extent you can. It's nearly impossible, but you try. It seems like somehow fate seems to be working against your will whenever you're teamed up.

He's an asshole. There's no other way to put it, and normally you would give people the benefit of the doubt before judging them. At least you try, not always successfully, but Agent Walker is entitled, arrogant, reckless and rude. You've known that since the very first day you stepped inside the compound.

Being new to the team would come with negative consequences. It always does, being the odd one out. When people gave you a hard time you knew not to take it personally, and you didn't for a long time, until John started deliberately targeting you with his undermining comments that question both your integrity and ability to do your job.

You knew he had some type of problem with you, not just as a professional but as a person, when he made it a point to keep you in the jet while the rest of the team went in to ambush the arms dealer base outside of Munich four months ago. It happened again, when he refused to let you come along to a high risk mission that you had spent weeks preparing for. You were better suited to carry out that mission than anyone. And if you were doubting your own capability to perform your duties, maybe you would understand, but you know that you're doing a good job. You are a good agent.

Shit went to the fan when he put you on 'elderly duty'. Overseeing Sergeant Barnes' government mandatory duties was clearly meant to be some form of punishment, or a point to prove that you weren't welcome with the big guys. But James is quite nice to hang out with when he's not brooding or complaining like a child before each appointment with Dr. Raynor. The first week was tense, it was clear that he was neither comfortable with that kind of surveillance or human contact in general, but eventually he warmed up just a little when he had staked you out enough.

You accompany him to the therapy appointments, he brings you a cup of coffee. Your attempts to tell him that it's not necessary always get shut down with a grunt. You ask him how it went and he never tells you anything except that his doctor is passive aggressive. You tell him that she only means well. He tells you that she might mean well but she has a damn peculiar way of showing it. You laugh and shake your head, he gives you that unsure smirk that you're sure might have swept a few ladies off their feet back in the days.

You like Bucky. Maybe more so than what’s professional. He treats you like an equal, with a level of respect your other colleagues can't find it in themselves to give you. There's an exception or two with exceptionally bright and painfully handsome Sam Wilson. And Mr. Gallagher over at IT. But your mostly male team counts you out time and time again. You haven't been on anything but recon missions for months, and each time you try to change that decision you end up with a warning. You're sick of it.

"The guys treatin' you right over at the compound?" Bucky asks, another attempt of deflecting the attention from himself while you stroll down the quiet street. Another appointment and a coffee later, you've managed to slip into conversation.

"You know they're not," you mumble, staring straight ahead of you at the naked trees lining the road.

"No?" Bucky asks. It's a sigh, but you're not sure if it's disappointment in them or in you for not letting it go.

"Got pulled aside again by Walker. Another one of his warnings." You breathe out heavily through your nose to calm down the frustration brewing inside of you at merely the mention of his name. "I don't know what's wrong. I only ever ask nicely, never stir up any trouble because I know they will only find a way to shun me out for it. I can't do my job if I'm going to get scolded each time I ask for a chance to do it."

It's quiet for a few seconds. You wonder if he secretly agrees with them, that you're not good enough for the position you've landed. The realization that you care about what he thinks of you more than all of the men back at the compound combined is unnerving. When or why he became someone you strive to please is entirely unbeknownst to you. He just is.

"You're a good agent, Y/n. Don't let them take that away from you," Bucky says. It's short and precise and probably what you needed to hear.

"Thank you, Bucky." You glance over at him for merely a second to see his stare focused in front of him. Cold and intense, like always.

"Know it sucks to not be able to get credit for all the things you help us with. I'm sorry it has to be that way," he adds.

"It's alright. If it means helping people, I don't really care about the recognition. It feels a little more important now that our missions are secret, you know?" You glance up at him with smile. "I kind of have an upper-hand. Walker doesn't know that I'm probably doing more action-hero stuff than he is."

The corners of his lips quirk up just slightly, gaze still stuck in front of him, but anything you can get out of him is enough.

"Are you coming to the gala tonight?" You ask.

"Unfortunately," he mutters and you smile. It's an environment you've yet to see him in, and it both intrigues and intimidates you. You're not sure you want to know what kind of emotion that would pull out of you.

"I'll see you there, James. And stay out of trouble. You know there's a heap of paper work waiting for me if you break the rules," you say while rummaging through your pockets for the car keys.

"You know I ain't about to do that to you," Bucky nearly mumbles with a shy smile. "Take care, Y/n," he says, hands in his pockets and you throw a smile over your shoulder as you walk to your car.

Bucky stands outside of the door, following your figure until your black SUV has pulled out of the parking lot, out onto the street. A sigh escapes him as he climbs the stairs. Goddamn Agent Y/l/n.

You're already tired an hour in. Your heels are digging into the soles of your feet, constantly worried if the dress actually looks good on you or not, small talk with arrogant old men that can't stop commenting on how interesting it is that you're an agent. It's exhausting and you're uncomfortable.

You've felt the stare of Walker on you ever since you stepped foot into the ballroom. If it's disgust or irritation you don't know, but the distant attention is disturbing and irks you each time you're reminded. And the slight buzz of alcohol in your blood stream almost makes you go up to him and ask what his problem is, but the arrival of the only two people you both admire and can endure stops your impulsive plan.

"Oh, thank god," you mumble under your breath as you push yourself through the crowd.

"Y/n," Sam says with a smile on his face, reaching his arms out before pressing a kiss to your cheek. It leaves tingles behind that you are embarrassed to admit reminds you of some dumb schoolgirl crush.

"You have no idea how glad I am that you two are here," you groan while accepting his embrace. "These people are exhausting," you whisper while moving towards Bucky, pressing a kiss to his cheek that leaves him slightly surprised and very stiff.

You let your eyes travel down his black suit, perfectly clinging to his body though you doubt he's had it tailored. "Well, don't you clean up well, Sergeant."

Bucky gives you a stale nod in answer. It's the most you can get out of him and you think that's okay. You know how he is.

"You look stunning, Y/n," Sam goads, placing his hands on your shoulders while taking in your dress.

You take a spin, turning around slowly while raising your glass into the air. "You like what you see, Wilson? I spent three days pondering over this dress," you say with a bright smile.

"Well, you chose right, sweetheart," Sam says while patting you on the bicep. "Now, where is the alcohol?"

Sam is walking away towards the bar before you have the chance to answer, leaving you with James who looks slightly out of place despite his handsome exterior. He really does look nice tonight, more so than you'd like to admit. He always wears black, but somehow this suit looks especially good on his absolutely ripped arms. You almost wish he'd let his vibranium one out, just for tonight. But maybe it's for the best hidden. You might have ogled it a little too much.

"Do you want a drink, James?" You ask, glancing between the bartender and your empty glass.

"It's not gonna do anything, but if I'm gonna have to talk to these people I can at least pretend," he says in an unusual joking manner. "You know, you're the only who keeps calling me James."

You smile to yourself, not daring to read into the comment as much as you want to, before heading away from the corner you've found yourself in with Bucky in tow, a hand hovering over the small of your back. The barely there contact heats the surface of your skin, aching for his fingers to splay across your back instead of ghosting over it. Goddamnit, you crave his touch and the switch in feelings leaves you bothered and anxious.

Leaning your forearms against the bar, standing on your tiptoes to appear taller than the men surrounding you, your hand waves over the bartender with a confidence Bucky can't imagine himself having. In the 40's, maybe. Now he'd just wait until the bartender asked him instead.

You order him a whiskey on the rocks. He wonders if you remember it from the time you found him in a bar when he'd skipped his appointment with Dr. Raynor. It was his sister's birthday and he felt like shit. Being scolded by his therapist wasn't something he could tolerate that day.

Turning around with two glasses in your hands, you hold the amber liquid out towards Bucky. "I had a memory you ordered this sometime. Hope it's okay," you say once he takes it from your hand, fingers brushing against each other and you have to suppress the gasp fighting to escape you.

"'S good," he mutters, even though he wants to tell you that he's grateful you remembered such a trivial detail about him. Thank you the way you deserve for once.

Eyes glancing over the bustling crowd in front of you, ignoring the host talking about whichever donor they've decided to honor tonight, the two of you stand in comfortable silence while sipping on your drinks. It's what you like most about Bucky. You can just exist without pressure or expectations. Nothing is obligated and nothing has to be said. You hope he feels that safety from you too.

The small bubble is disturbed once two higher-ups in the organization starts conversation with Bucky that leaves him glancing pleadingly over at you. You scrunch your nose with a smile, shaking your head while taking a sip of your drink. Engaging in mindless conversation has reached its limit for tonight.

"I'm gonna go look for Sam," you mouth to Bucky while he sends a light glare your way.

With a shake of your head and a giddy smile, you wave through the crowd while letting your eyes roam around for the person you're looking for.

You spot his bright smile, leaning back in laughter that only Sam can force out while in conversation with painfully boring people. He's beautiful. When his thick arm raises to sling around someone's shoulder, you find yourself wishing it was encasing you instead.

Giving out apologies to whoever you push through, you're nearly there when your arm is grasped gently. You stop in your tracks, turning around to face the tall, blonde man you'd rather not interact with at all.

You furrow your brows in confusion until they quickly turn into irritation. "What?" You seethe, wrangling your arm out of his grip.

"Y/n," John sighs, like your attitude towards him is somehow unwarranted. You glare up at him, tugging on your dress in discomfort. "You look...you look nice tonight," he says, rubbing his chin with the palm of his hand while glancing over the crowd.

You don't know what to say to that. In any other case you would have said thank you, complimented him back because despite how much you resent him he does look handsome. Now you only breathe out deeply, letting your gaze fall to your tortured feet squeezed into those heels.

"John..." you sigh.

"Can we just—can we talk for a minute? Alone?" He asks, nodding towards the exit that leads into the hallway.

"That depends on what you're about to say. Are you going to scold me again for doing my job?" You ask. You can't help the underlying resentment in your words. You try to be nice to everyone, no matter how much they haven't earned it, but it's damn hard when it comes to John.

"No," he says, shaking his head. "Please, just come with me."

"I'll listen. But I'm only doing this because you're my superior, not because you've earned it," you say.

John sighs before he places a hand on your back, leading you out of the ballroom while you resist the urge to shrug him off. You're annoyed that you followed with him so easily, and fearful of whatever the topic of conversation might be. He seemed calm, on the verge of regretful when asking you, but you never really know what he's thinking. He always switches tempers on you within a second, looking like he might compliment you before he suddenly insults you in front of the entire team. It's infuriating.

You gulp when he leads you into a secluded room. It's an office you realize, with a desk and old mahogany drawers. You focus on the intricate design of the antique furniture while John closes the door behind him.

Turning around, you cross your arms over your stomach while glancing up at him. He almost looks nervous. "Spit it out, John," you say, leaning against the desk.

He breathes out deeply. One second passes, two, three. You almost open your mouth again when he decides to speak up. "I've been unfair to you, Y/n," he says, not meeting your eyes. "And I apologize for that."

Your eyes widen. An apology from Captain John Walker was not something you expected to receive in the near future. You clear your throat, looking down at the hardwood floor. "Well, I appreciate that. But you do know that an apology isn't gonna make it all good?"

"Yeah, I know that. I know," he murmurs. "Y/n, I—fuck," he sighs. "The reason why I've been acting like this around you is complicated."

"Complicated?" You raise an eyebrow. You pause to take a breath, too agitated to look at him. John walks towards you slowly, a step closer with each word. "I haven't felt like I had a legitimate place in this team even once since I arrived. That's not okay, do you understand that? To treat a colleague differently just because they—"

Loss of air, wet lips against yours, pressed against the desk. Your limbs tense and breathing stagger, eyes wide open in shock while John's hands comes to engulf your face.

Pushing against his chest, you gasp as he takes a step back.

"Oh, god," you breathe out, turning your head away from him.

John nearly heaves in front of you, intense gaze focused on your face while you try to register the kiss somewhere in your mind. "I'm fucking crazy about you, sweetheart," John says, running his thumb along the line of your jaw.

You let your eyelids fall shut. A trace of scotch lingers on your lips from where John met yours, leaving behind a trail of the night's intake that you're sure must have affected his sudden admission.

The space between you and John suddenly feels suffocating. You step aside, pacing towards the other side of the room while leaning your face into your hands.

"Y/n, say something," John pleads, turning around until he faces you. You shake your head frantically.

"No. That's not how this works," you breathe out, taking a step back from him as he gazes down at you. With a shake of your head, fingers running over your lips where his just touched, you breathe out.

He furrows his brows, lowering his hand with disappointment adorning his face. "You don't get to be absolutely awful to me and then expect me to like you. You can't just kiss me after spending months trying to undermine and insult my character every single day."

Your head tilts up towards the roof, a sigh escaping your lips out of frustration.

"You just—you drive me crazy, Y/n. I can't fucking think when you're around," he says. His hands have traveled up to his hair, tugging at his roots.

"That's not an excuse," you repeat. "You don't like me. Not really."

"I fucking love you, Y/n!" He turns around abruptly, throwing his hands out in front of him. His jaw clenches down, staring at you intensely enough to make you take a step back. Your back meets the table behind you, hands shooting out to catch your stumble.

"You don't even respect me!" You answer. "How can you even say that? I've spent months crying over your behavior, and then you have the nerve to say you love me? This is not love, John."

"You don't know what I'm feeling, Y/n," he seethes. A deep breath escapes him, hands positioned on his hips as he shakes his head with a groan. "I fucking—I can't stop thinking about you. Everytime you walk past or open that fucking mouth—"

"Stop. Just stop, John," you say. "I just...if you liked me, why didn't you just say so from the beginning?" You look up at his dark gaze. "I can't trust you now, do you understand that?"

He takes a step forward. "Sweetheart, I can make it up to you," he says, reaching his hand out to your cheek.

You turn your head away. "You're not listening to me." The words come out quiet, in a near whisper. His fingers linger on your skin.

"Just give me a chance, babe—" He cuts himself off by crashing his lips to yours once more, met by reluctance from you as you try to push him away from your body. "We would be so good together," he mumbles through the kiss.

Your sputtering goes unnoticed until a hard shove leaves him stumbling a step back. Heavy breaths and hand clutching your chest, you try to recover from the intrusion.

"C'mon, Y/n," John pleads, his hands resting on your shoulders.

"John," you breathe out. "You have to stop. I'm sorry, but I don't feel the same right now." You can't help the watering of your eyes, out of frustration, out of anger. There is a part of you that fears John in this moment. He's too stubborn.

His eyes narrow, a scoff sounding from his mouth as his eyebrows rise in what seems like disbelief. "I didn't think you were this narrow-minded," he says while running his palm over his chin. "You're fucking someone else, aren't you? That...Barnes guy," he seethes.

You stutter on a breath, finding yourself letting out a scoff of your own in response. "That's not the case. And wether or not I'm sleeping with someone shouldn't matter when it comes to justifying my feelings. I don't need a reason, John."

"Then what is it, god damnit?!" He shouts, slamming his hand down on the table surface beside him. You inch backwards, jumping so slightly that it's barely noticeable.

You take a deep breath, subconsciously making yourself smaller because the temper of John Walker is unpredictable. You don't know where you have him, and you can't put anything past him either. "I don't want to talk to you about this anymore," you breathe out.

Softly and shakily you make your way past John, feeling his burning gaze follow your every step as you walk towards the door. A hand grasps your arm tightly, turning you around to meet John's furious gaze.

"Don't you walk away from me, Y/n," he says sternly. The grip around your arm is sure to be bruising.

"Let go of me, John," you grit out through your teeth to your best ability, tears forming streaks down your face while slowly ruining your carefully applied makeup.

"I'm not done talking to you. You're not giving me a chance to explain myself."

"John. Let me go."

He stares you down, jaw clenched so tightly he might shatter his teeth. He lets you go with a shove, scoffing to himself before turning around.

Your sweaty fingers slip on the doorhandle once before you manage to press it down, gently cracking the door open before you glance around to make sure no one sees you walking out of the room. You don't want to talk about why you were in there to someone in the moment. In fact, you don't want to talk to anyone about anything right now.

Wrapping your arms around yourself, with unstoppable tears cascading down your cheeks, you hastily make your way to the lobby. To safety. Your mind is already clouded with anxious thoughts about the near future. John has taken every possibility of being upright mean to you these past few months, and you can't imagine a rejection would better the situation. You had no idea he liked you, at all. And in the office just now, you found yourself fearing him. Yeah, this isn't going to end well.

You sniffle ridiculously much to get rid of the tears, to pull yourself together enough to get yourself out of there without suspicion. You even manage to seem relatively normal when you get your coat from the wardrobe. The clock on your phone shows 11:53 pm. It's not particularly early to be leaving, though you suspect the majority of the guests will remain until the early hours of morning.

As best as you can on stiletto heels, you walk towards the exit, willing away your emotions while clutching your coat to your body. Your left arm is sore. There's going to be a bruise in the shape of John's fingers when you wake up, you're sure of it. The cold winter air gushes as soon as you near the door, enough to make you doubt your decision to go outside.

"You leavin'?" A voice speaks up behind you. And you know it, you do, even though it sounds slightly out of breath.

Stopping in your tracks and lowering your head without ever turning around, you answer. "Yeah. I need to get up early in the morning," you lie. You don't want to come face to face with Bucky right now, flaunt your tear-streaked cheeks with black mascara stains under your eyes.

"And you were going without saying goodbye?" He asks. You hear the sound of him coming closer. You pray that he won't. He sounds disappointed.

You remain silent. What truthful answer can you give that is not revealing your true motivation behind departing without a word?

"We got worried for a second there, Y/n. Said you were gonna find Sam." His voice comes from only a feet behind you.

"I went to the bathroom." You swallow, trying to dry away the smudged mascara underneath your eyes.

In the corner of your eye you see Sam walking into the lobby, eyes roaming around until he finds your figure next to Bucky.

"Hey, we've been lookin' for you, Princess," Sam says, jogging down the marble stairs until he's by the two of you. He walks around, standing in front of you with a relieved smile until it turns into a frown.

His finger comes to rest under your chin, tilting it up so you're forced to look him in the eyes. Big, brown eyes that are so fucking soft and hardened at the same time.

"You've been crying," he notes, glancing down your red-rimmed eyes and slight sheen of salty tears remaining on your skin.

You glance away, turning your head until his fingers slip away from your skin. You nod, because there's no point in lying when the evidence lays right in front of them. Bucky turns you around by the shoulders, roaming his eyes over your face while you clutch onto your coat. "It's stupid. I think I had too much to drink," you say with an attempt of a smile that appears quite unconvincing.

"Don't say it's stupid. Anythin' that made my best girl cry 's not stupid. Why don't you tell us so we can make it better?" Bucky asks, crouching down just slightly. You've never heard him speaking words so soft, with that goddamn smile on his face.

You shake your head, letting your finger run underneath your eyes in attempt to get the black makeup lingering on your skin. "You can't. It's—god, it feels like it'll never end."

"What?" Sam asks, stern face but gentle voice.

"They won't leave me alone. And now everything with John and god—"

"He’s been bothering you again?” Bucky asks, tightening his grip on your shoulder with a puff of air escaping his nose. You almost see his pupils narrow, arm whirring in badly contained restraint.

"He told me he loved me, Bucky. That all these months he's been a fucking asshole because he loves me." Once more the water pools in your eyes. "I can't believe he expected me to just kiss him back after everything. Having an angry outburst because I don't feel the same isn't gonna make me stay, dragging me away from the door—"

"Woah, woah, woah. Wait a damn minute, sweetheart," Sam says, holding his hand out in front of him while he takes a deep breath, his jaw line defined by the hard clench. "You telling me he kissed you? He hurt you?"

You glance up at him, his hand taking a hold of your arm while Bucky's rests on your shoulder. "No, not really. It's a little sore where he grabbed me. A bruise, maybe. But...I'm okay."

"That jerk says he loves you? Goddamn fucker," Bucky grumbles under his breath, removing his hands from you before starting to walk towards the ballroom with haste steps.

"Bucky, where are you going?" You ask, turning around with a longing frown while following after him, Sam right behind you with a hand on the small of your back and your coat now in his other.

"Talking to that fucking punk."

"I can't believe you did that."

You're leaning over Bucky, cotton dabbing against the bleeding cut on his forehead gently, despite his protests that it would be gone in the morning. He's sitting by Sam's kitchen table, said man leaning against the counter with arms crossed around his shirt-clad chest. You discarded your heels as soon as you stepped inside the door, now padding around his floor barefoot.

"It's against your pardon, James. You're goddamn lucky no one else saw you." You purse your lips in concentration, angry frown in between your eyebrows.

Bucky sits quietly with his brooding expression, glancing up at you every other second.

"And you got hurt. I don't want you to do things like this for my sake."

"I didn't know he would throw a chair at me," he mutters in response. Sam's holding the back of his hand against his mouth to hide the grin wanting to come up on his face. "I was only gonna talk."

"There's no chance in hell you were gonna 'talk'. Nobody believes that," Sam says with an eyebrow raised in amusent, earning a silent scoff from Bucky. "Just got lucky John threw the first punch."

"There was only one punch involved. Ain't my fault he knocked himself out against a table," Bucky mumbles.

"Sure, James,” you mumble, the corner of your lips quirking up just slightly. The sight leaves him trailing his vibranium fingers against your hips, soft circles encompassing his entire attention.

"Why do you keep callin' me James?" Bucky asks.

You walk away towards the sink, throwing away the now red cotton in the trash can while the gazes of the two men remain on your figure, that black, long dress still clinging to your curves. "It's your name. It's nice, I think it suits you."

When you glance up again, you're met with Bucky's blue eyes staring at you so intensely you're forced to retreat your gaze. He's always staring at things, people, ever since you first met him. But the way he's watching you in this moment leaves you urging to squirm.

"Is something wrong?" You ask hesitantly, leaning up until you're standing straight again.

Bucky shakes his head, parting his lips to let his tongue run over his bottom lip so quickly you barely catch it. Your breath hitches, eyes focused on his mouth. "Come here, darling," he says, sitting up straighter in his chair while you slowly make your way towards him.

You shiver involuntarily when his arms snake around your waist, pulling you down into his lap with his chest resting against your back. It feels wrong and so familiar at the same time, having his body pressed up against yours while Sam stares at you from where he stands by the counter.

"Thank you, doll. For patching me up," Bucky mumbles, mouth resting against the skin in the crook of your neck.

You lean your head to the side, eyes fluttering shut with a breathy sigh while his lips press a kiss to your shoulder.

"No—no problem," you stutter out.

"Been watching you all night, sweet girl. Couldn't keep my eyes off you in this goddamn dress." Bucky's right hand sneaks around your waist, smoothing down the fabric until his fingers are splaying across your upper thigh. "Know Sam's been looking too. Wants you just as much."

Your eyes flutter open, flickering over to Sam's burning gaze. His hands are gripping the counter tightly, restraining himself. You gasp as Bucky's hand travels upwards, palming your breast gently through the fabric of your dress while the eye contact remains between you and Sam.

It's not until your eyes travel down the length of his body, letting your gaze linger on his thick thighs and arms, that you slowly raise up from your seat in Bucky's lap. You hear a soft breath of protest when your warmth disappears, but your eyes are focused on Sam as you walk up to him.

He smirks down at you, letting his hands run down your waist when you crane your neck to look up at him. And when you raise yourself up on your toes, mouth hovering just above his, you let out a needy whimper that leaves him no choice but to attach his lips to yours.

Hands encasing your face, pulling you flush against him while running his tongue along your lower lip, he grunts into your mouth. When you pull away from him there's a smile on your face, hand resting against his neck.

"God knows I wanna have my way with you right here, but you deserve the luxury of my first class bed," he says, pressing a peck against your lips with a giddy smile.

"Oh, how thoughtful of you, Wilson," you answer through a smiling scrunch of your nose.

He grabs a hold of your hand, leading you out of the kitchen towards his bedroom with the sound of Bucky's boots following the two of you.

His room is cold as he opens the door, letting you step inside with his hand on the small of your back. For once the low temperature doesn't faze you, meeting your heated skin with resistance.

You turn around to meet the gazes of Sam and Bucky, letting your hands clasp together behind your back while you glance up at them with a small smile on your lips.

"Don't you look at us that way, Princess. Not gonna be able to hold back if you look all pretty," Sam says while Bucky makes his way around you.

Bucky's hands brushes along the skin of the back of your neck, trailing down until his fingers latch around the zipper. Small goosebumps spread across your skin when the zipper is dragged down all the way to the base of your back, sleeves slowly gliding down your arms.

And then you're standing there, half-naked in front of your two men and you've never felt more exposed nor desired. You see it, in the way Sam's gaze travels down your body. Feel it in the way Bucky's breathing picks up behind you.

Bucky's warm breath sounds into your ear. Sharp intakes of breath interrupt your silence when his knuckles brush by your exposed neck.

Your focus wrestles between Bucky's surprisingly gentle fingers and Sam's lustful gaze on your bare skin. He slowly drags the straps of your bra down your arms, lingering once they've fallen down completely. Bucky unclasps it behind your back, letting it fall to the floor to reveal your bare breasts.

Your arm is grabbed softly, turned until the now purple bruise shows on your skin. You shake your head, silently telling them to let it go. You don't want the remnants of John's hands on you to dictate how this moment is going to pan out. You don't want to think about him it all.

And it's not on purpose, you promise it isn't, when a small whimper escapes your lips as Sam's thumb brushes over your now pebbled nipple softly. The rough and calloused skin on his fingers contrasts against the sensitive, creating sweet friction that affects you more than you would like to admit. Enough for you to lean into Bucky's hard chest, resting your head on his shoulder.

"Fuck, you're so pretty," Bucky breathes out through an appreciative murmur, watching your body from where his chin rests against the crook of your neck. "Wanted you for so long, doll."

You breathe in sharply, pushing back into him only to be met with the stale fabric of his suit trousers.

"This isn't fair," you say, raising an eyebrow as you pointedly look down at Sam's body.

"Huh, sweetheart?" Sam says with a knowing grin, basking in your hungry gaze. "Wanna see more?"

"You know I do." You lean back against Bucky, feeling his arms wrap around you until he's holding you in an embrace from behind.

Your breath hitches as Sam's dress shirt is unbuttoned to reveal his toned torso. You reach your hand out, earning an amused smirk from Sam as he saunters towards you. Fingers running over his hardened abdomen, you sigh in content while taking in a shaky breath.

"Get rid of this, will you?" You breathe out, letting your fingers tug on the shirt impatiently.

"That's my girl," Sam says through a grin while ridding the shirt from his arms until he's standing bare in front of you.

You begin to feel you've stared at him a second too long when you slowly turn around, meeting Bucky's eyes. Letting your palms run down his chest, you find the top button and work your way down until it's open.

Just when you're about to push it down his shoulders, Bucky's hand grips around your wrist. A deep sigh and a concerned glance from your way leaves you to stop your movements.

"Just—it's bad. My shoulder," Bucky mumbles, averting his gaze.

"It doesn't matter. Not to me," you breathe out, giving him a reassuring smile. "Everyone has scars, Bucky, I do too. Yours are just a little more noticeable. There's nothing I will find underneath your shirt that would make me want you any less."

He nods, glancing down at you for a second before he lets your hand go. And when your gaze remains just as hungry as before his torso was bare, he lets go of his pent up breath.

You press a chaste kiss against his lips, pulling back far too soon for his liking. Just a second isn't enough, it never will be. Your hands rest against his bare chest, letting your soft touch travel over his left shoulder until it glides down the black vibranium, tracing the golden ridges. Bucky watches you intently, following the invisible trail you leave behind until he slowly backs towards the bed.

You squeal when he lifts you up by your waist, carrying you with him until he lowers his back down on top of the sheets, your hips straddling his taught abdomen.

And that goddamn giggle you let out as you sit on top of him, smiling down with the brightest smile he's ever seen, makes him ache to have your skin touching his every second of every waken day. You belong in his arms, by his side. Wether or not Sam has that part of you as well doesn't matter. It's not hard to see that now.

Sam climbs onto the bed, positioning himself behind your back with his hands running down its length. Shuddering and aching for more, you arch against his palm.

Your clothed core presses against Bucky's muscles, wetness seeping through the thin lace, betraying your need without a word escaping your lips.

"Take these off for me, will you?" Bucky asks, hooking a finger under the band. He had a thought of ripping the fabric off of you, tearing the lace in two. But he's seen the prices, walking past lingerie stores on his way home. His girl shouldn't have to spend money on new things for his sake.

You nod, raising yourself onto your knees while Sam helps you up into a standing position. Your fingers latch onto the band of your underwear, gently and slowly dragging it down your legs until the fabric pools at your feet. You lift them one at a time, stepping out of them before they're grabbed by Sam. He puts the lacy number in his back pocket, ignoring your intrigued yet shy glance by running his hand down your bare thigh.

Just as gently as you stood up, you kneel down until you're straddling Bucky once more. You're only staring down at him, admiring his plump lips and chiseled structure. You could sit right here, tracing his features with your gaze for seven lifetimes if only life would be so kind to grant you that privilege.

And though you adore Bucky's face so, he has less than enough patience for admiring his appearance. His lack of patience manifests in the way his arms pull your body up his torso, up until you hover just above his face.

Oh, how he's longed for this.

"I know, baby. I know," Bucky chuckles huskily, voice raspy and deeper than your longing for his tongue to stay on you. You whine, eyelids falling shut and a bead of sweat travelling down your forehead. "I gotta breathe, darling." He pauses, the room so silent everyone can hear the small puff of air making its way out of his nose.

A smooth, though warm, hand rubs up your back, rough pads of his fingers tracing patterns. Sam's lips barely touches your skin, lingering only.

"Sorry," you whisper, moving down just a few inches until you're resting on his hard abdomen, heavy breaths escaping your lips while you try to come down from the high you almost reached.

A small squeak escapes as your thighs are grabbed by strong arms. One chiseled and filled with scars, one cold and made out of vibranium. "I wasn't done with you," Bucky grumbles under his breath with a glare so icy your breath stutters inside of your chest.

Another squeal sounds through the room as Bucky pulls your body back to rest above his face, lips wrapping around your clit in possessive manner, because how dare you scramble away from him before he is finished? This is not about you—this is about him and his time with your sweet pussy. He hasn't tasted a doll since the 40's, that's an awfully long time to go starved. The whines and moans that course out of your mouth is just a side benefit, accompanying the weight of you writhing above him as he makes you come undone on his tongue. God, he loves this. Every second of it. What did he ever do before this night?

"Oh, god," you gasp as your back falls against Sam's chest once more. Bucky's hands remain steadily on your thighs, parting them, holding them in place while he continues coaxing you towards your unraveling.

"Come on, baby," Sam purrs in your ear. "Take what Bucky gives you."

His hands rest on your shoulders, gently guiding you down on Bucky's tongue. You hurdle forward as Bucky sucks your clit into his mouth, nearly biting down on it and you can't stop the embarrassingly loud moan from escaping you when he has the audacity to do this to you.

"Fuck, James," you seethe, trapping your lower lip between your teeth. "Can't—god, it feels so good," you breathe out.

"Attagirl, there you go. Looking so pretty riding Bucky's face," Sam rasps behind you. His voice is like smooth honey in your ears. It makes you wonder if it's really possible for words to affect someone like the way his does to your body?

Bucky groans underneath you, bucking his hips up to somehow ease the throbbing need despite knowing he's only going to be met with air. The taste of you devours him, takes up every space in his mind and the only thing he can envision for his future is your body shaking above his as you come. He wants it, needs it so desperately.

A harrumphed whimper slips out from your lips, gentle humming sounding from your mouth. Your legs shake so lightly, but Bucky notices, he feels them closing in around his head and he has to tighten his hold around your thighs to stop them from suffocating him. As much as he would love succumbing his life to your pleasure, it would mean that he would never get to chance to have you again.

He dips the tip of his tongue inside of you, again and again and your breathing is so erratic he would fear for your health if he didn't know he was the reason behind it. It makes him crazy, mind blurred before he presses himself up closer to your pussy.

And when your head falls back on Sam's shoulder, back arching and hips bucking, they know that you're done. A string of incoherent mumbles through moans follows your orgasm, pulling a smirk from Bucky's lip as he laps up the aftermaths of your climax. Sweet and tangy, perfectly you.

Your chest heaves with effort once you finally come down from the high. Bucky's as gentle as ever when he slides you down his torso, leaving a trail of wetness behind while he sits up with you in his lap.

He can do nothing but stare at you as you try to regain a relatively normal state, but you're not sure if it's possible. How do you recover from that? You can't even find the strength to open your eyes.

Sam's lips find their way to the crook of your neck, gently sucking your skin in between his lips while tilting your head with his hand. The saltiness of the light sheen of sweat on your skin is addictive.

"So good, baby. So good for us," he mumbles in between the kisses, creating a path from your neck down your right shoulder. You hum in answer.

You barely have time to catch your breath until you're manhandled off of Bucky, his hands lifting you onto Sam's lap. Your arms enclose around his neck, one hand pressing you into his chest while he moves up the bed until he's resting against the headboard.

"Take off those slacks of his, doll," Bucky orders, sitting down in the chair beside the bed with legs spread wide and back leaning against it.

You glance up at Sam with a closed-mouth smile, scooting off of him while fumbling with the zipper. He bucks his hips up, letting you drag his trousers down his legs until you're able to toss them aside.

Soft hands run up and down his thighs, feeling every ridge and valley of scars and muscle underneath your palms. You believe his legs might be your favorite thing in the world.

Your fingers travel upwards, tracing the hem of his black boxers until he nods for you to get rid of them.

They're thrown aside, landing together with his expensive suit slacks on the floor before you move to straddle him once more.

The nearly silent gasp from your lips as you glance down at his throbbing cock does not go unnoticed by anyone. Your gaze turns concerned, staring down at his more than impressive girth.

"Sam," you breathe out.

"We'll make it fit, sweet girl. You can take it," Sam says, letting his hand run through your hair. "You'll take what I give you."

You gulp, nodding in what you can only decipher as either anticipation or worry. You're nearly aching for how much you need him to fill you up, clenching around air while his hand closes around himself, thumb running over the bead of precum leaking from his tip.

"Go on," Bucky urges on from where he sits, hand palming his growing bulge through his boxers. "Wanna see you sink down on his cock, think you can do that for me, darling?"

You nod, whimpering while Sam guides his tip up and down your folds. "Would do anything for you," you breathe out, hand steadying yourself on Sam's shoulder.

Your head falls back in a quiet gasp, lips falling open as his cock pushes inside of you, hands guiding your hips down against his while you slowly sink down.

"Take your time, Princess," Sam reassures, holding onto you tightly.

You whimper as he bottoms out, your hips flush against each other while he fills you up completely. You've never felt as completed as in this moment, Sam fully sheathed inside of you. You begin to suspect he might belong with you like this.

"There you go," he groans, your hips slowly beginning to move against his. "Taking me so well."

His words are strained, forcing himself to tell you just how good you feel wrapped around him even though he can barely talk. You deserve to know, deserve every goddamn praise he can give you after being deprived of it for so long. What those assholes couldn't give you, he will provide tenfold. He and Bucky are never gonna let punks put you on anything but a pedestal again.

"Feel so good, Sam," you say, head thrown back in pleasure while he looks at where your bodies meet, his length disappearing inside of your walls.

"You were meant to be filled with cock, weren't you?" Bucky asks, hand wrapped around his own while stroking it slowly. "Look at you, filled up by him so perfectly. There you go, sweetheart."

His praises send you preening under his lustful gaze, rolling your hips down on Sam's cock faster while his hands guide you to meet his thrusts. Big hands splay across your ass, fingers pressing into the supple flesh, creating traces of him on your skin.

"Gonna keep you full of me like this, always," Sam seethes, snapping his hips up against yours, coaxing a sudden moan out of you that forces your fingers to grip his shoulder tightly.

You whine, forehead coming to rest on his shoulder while you let Sam take control of your movements. "I got you, Princess. I got you."

You're flipped around, back resting against the warm sheets before Sam hooks your right leg around his waist. His thrusts increase in pace, easing in and out of you with the filthy sound of your slick being pushed inside of you filling the room along with your moans and whimpers, heavy breaths and pants.

Bucky fucks his own fist to the sight of you panting underneath Sam, taking what he gives you so well. His sweet girl looking so filthy in front of him, only for them.

"Bucky," you breathe out, calling out for him.

Ain't no chance in hell he's not gonna listen to his doll when you beg for him so prettily. He walks up to the side of the bed, brushing your hair away from your eyes.

"Yeah?" He smiles, groaning quietly as he forces himself to stop his hand moving around his length.

"Want you to come on me," you say.

And god, he's done for. Those filthy words on your lips feels like a sin only he is allowed to partake in.

He only lets out a grunt in answer, pumping his length faster while your breath speeds up along with Sam's thrusts. Both of you are close, he can feel it, hear it. Hear how your heart picks up in pace just slightly, how your blood runs faster through your veins, how a moan is building up inside of your chest.

"Can I fill you up?" Sam grits out through his teeth, voice muffled by the crook of your neck and your hands running down his back, clinging onto him desperately.

"Please," you whine. "'I’m on the pill," you assure him.

Sam raises his chest from yours, gazing down at your breasts when he comes with a snarl, fingers digging into your hips and movements riding out his high, pushing his release inside of you.

"Fuck, taking all of me, every fucking drop," he groans, feeling your spasming walls clench around his cock through your own orgasm.

It's the image of your lips parted in pleasure, head thrown back on the pillow and back arching that leads Bucky to his release, letting his cum land on your breasts that he could spend forever in between.

The room is silent, save for your chorus of heavy breaths. An exhausted though giddy smile sneaks up on your face, covered by the palms of your hands as you roll over on your side. You're spent and sore, muscles aching deliciously and you never want to feel any other way.

Sam's arm comes up around your waist, dragging you into his chest with a content hum from his lips. "Did so well for us," he mumbles against your skin, letting his lips trail down your shoulder. You reach your hand up, resting it against his heated cheek.

Bucky disappears into the adjoining bathroom, and you find yourself missing his presence even if he's not by your side for only a few seconds. He comes back with a towel in his hand, kneeling down beside the bed before he motions you closer with his fingers.

You lean your head against your hand, watching his arms guide the towel over your chest, drying away his cum from your skin. His lips are slightly swollen, red and puffy and glistening. So is his cheeks, and you fear you've never seen anything more handsome than the sight in front of you. His only competition is the man pressed up against your back.

When the stiff fabric of it reaches your swollen core, you wince over the contact. "Sorry, sweet girl. Just needa' clean you up," Bucky says, pressing his lips against the inside of your wrist.

You chuckle tiredly, glancing back at Sam to see a prideful grin on his face. "Yeah, yeah. You're big and all that," you mumble with an eye roll.

Bucky throws the towel in to the bathroom, sauntering over to the bed while motioning Sam to move over.

The bed sinks down profoundly when Bucky sits down against the headboard, dragging you up until your back rests against his chiseled chest. Sam adjusts his position, laying his head in your lap with his hands clasped over his chest.

Bucky's fingers run through your hair, your fingers tracing circles in Sam's, scraping gently across his scalp.

You hear the intake of breath, lips parting to speak before the words even come out. "Walker—you don't feel the same, do you?" Bucky asks hesitantly.

You shake your head against his chest. "No. I don't think I ever could," you admit. "Even if I wasn't head over heels for you two."

"That's our good girl. Doesn't deserve you anyway, that punk," Bucky mutters. You let out a tired chuckle.

"I don't even know how I'm gonna go back to work on Monday, act like it never happened. He'll give me hell for it."

It's silent for a few seconds, minds buzzing in contemplation. "We'll have you transferred. It's not hard to do, especially when you're so competent. Been helping us solve all kinds of problems the past six months," Sam says.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Can't have him near you anyway, not after what he did," he answers. "He won't bother you anymore." His hand comes to squeeze your thigh in reassurance.

So, in comfortable silence, you've found yourself a small sliver of peace in the arms of your men. A small sliver of peace in the world of violence you've found yourselves in.

But it's enough. It always will be.

203 notes · View notes

zooophagous · 2 years ago

Text

Every living thing, and even a few unliving ones, have this much in common. Their bodies rely on a rythm, a cycle, a pattern of behavior that forms the blueprint of their entire existence. For one Herr Luther Strauss, the routine of daily existence had been painfully, dramatically upended, but the new normal foisted upon him was orderly and quiet and easy for the vampire to slip into without much fuss.

8:30 p.m. sunset. Arise. Bathe and dress. 8:45 p.m. Feed. The same thing every time. Then an hour or so of whatever research Van Helsing had in store. Then at about 10:00 p.m. came a free hour to spend as he pleased (typically, reading, though Troy had a new 'Switch' he had been teaching the luddite vampire to play) 11:00 p.m. had him in the gymnasium, 12:30 a.m. in the showers once more (vampires did not sweat much, but what he did sweat was foul) and then at 12:45 it was time for classes, chores or whatever was left to tend to.

It was a simple life. Methodical. Predictable. It suited him just fine. Much of his former life was spent worrying about where his next meal would come from, to have them handed to him cut out much of the quiet desperation from existence. As much as he hated to admit it, being institutionalized had been... comfortable.

Tonight was another such night. His daily feed had been delivered to him in the cafeteria, by an orderly, as per usual. The small vial of human blood that made up his ration was warm to the touch and fresh. Good. It was always better fresh. He raised it to his mouth and took a small sip.

He wrinkled his nose. Something was off about it today. He ventured another taste to help him put his finger on it. It made his throught hitch, and he coughed once and sat it aside, scooting it across the table with his claw. The label on the vial as always was marked for who the contents came from. Ursula tonight. He frowned. Ursula didn't much like him. Surely she wouldn't dare slip anything into...

As if on cue, a somewhat mocking voice came from behind him.

"Not hungry, Strauss?"

He grunted and turned to face her with a stoic expression.

"Frau Harker. Your usual offering is more foul than usual this evening."

"Yes, I was curious if it would work. Had to see you taste it."

"What did you do to my food?"

"Nothing. It was more of what I did to my OWN food. There's always been some heresay in the vampire hunting world, if eating copious amounts of garlic would make you less palateable to a vampire. Nobody ever had means to really test it, so I thought I'd put it to the test. You've furthered the interest of science, congratulations." She grinned.

Strauss curled his lip in annoyance and showed the barest tips of his fangs. "Garlic. Ah. That would explain the unpleasant smell that surrounds you. I thought it was bad, even for you." He snipped. "I eat but once a day, perhaps warn me before you tamper with it. You do not want to see a vampire when he is peckish."

"Ha!" Ursula chirped and tossed her hands up playfully. "Oh, as if you'll try anything. I know damn well you're too afraid of me to step out of line. Not that that's unusual dear, vampires are naturally quite cowardly." She smiled, bemused.

"Afraid of you." He said flatly and rose to his feet. At over six foot six, he towered over the much shorter hunter. "That is funny. I'm feeding off of you for breakfast. Does a human fear a piece of toast with jam? If I wanted to, I could crumble you just as easily." He growled.

"Now Strauss. I know you haven't forgotten who it is you're talking to. You're alive because I allow it. Not only can I bring you down, I can make it hurt the entire time. You best show some damn respect or-"

"Or what?" He took an aggressive step forward that made her stumble back in surprise.

"Or you'll finally stop playing cat-and-mouse and kill me, hmm? You've wanted to since the moment you saw me, harmlessly sleeping in my grave. I know it burns you up, seeing me with your friends, with your colleagues, with your neice-"

"DON'T you talk about them. You think you mean anything to anyone here? You're a glorified lab rat. And you can be tested on at my will and desposed of as soon as you outlive your usefulness. Try me again, Strauss."

"Oh trust me, Ursula Harker, I am quite aware that despite my strength, I have no chance at fighting my way out of the institute successfully. If I tried, I would most surely perish. However, you might want to think about who I could take with me before you push me to that point. Take stock of who you can't afford to lose before you threaten me."

He took another step forward, but before Ursula could even reach for her stun gun he rudely shoulder checked her on his way out of the cafeteria and down the hall. Outwardly stoic, inside he was fuming. And, unfortunately, still quite hungry.

What a waste of good blood.

The one bad thing about his comfortable, clean existence now- there were very few outlets for rage. In nature, perhaps a vampire would take this out on a victim. It would certainly make him less hungry. On the rare occasion his temper flared before, he had worn himself out with the destruction of trees, and on one occasion- an SUV. Here, he had one outlet, and that was the gymnasium. It was a far cry from 11:00, now his routine had been upended, only serving to deepen his frustration.

In the gymnasium, there was equipment one might expect to be used as enrichment by a grizzly bear in a well funded zoo. Strauss made his way to a "sparring dummy" that would have to be the target for his misplaced aggression. He wasn't wearing his gym clothes. Oh well, no time to spare.

He marched over to the placid beige foam dummy, curled his hand into a claw and in one clean swipe knocked its 'head' off its metal skeleton. He continued with his other hand, gouging deep lines into the poor substitute for flesh over and over till he could feel the metal braces on the other side. Pity the dummy didn't bleed. It would be more fun if it could bleed. He began to maul it further by biting it. The lack of heat and fluid only seemed to frustrate him, as he bit it again and again looking for catharsis. An uncharacteristically uncouth snarl seemed to have formed in the back of his throat.

"Herr Strauss?"

He froze. Slowly he turned to meet the eyes of the speaker. He brushed himself off and spit out the bits of foam stuck in his teeth.

"Frau Van Helsing. Excuse me. I was in the middle of an episode."

Artemis tilted her head to look behind him at the shredded and now slightly bent dummy.

"I can see that. You seem to have some things you need to get off your chest."

He winced slightly, and involuntarily curled one arm defensively over his heart at the word 'chest.'

"What are you going to do to me?"

"Excuse me?"

"I threatened the lives of the head of security and everyone in the building. I don't suppose that's something that will go unpunished."

"Oh, that. Well, I know you and Ursula don't really see eye to eye, but I'm not actually mad at you Strauss. Luther." She was being a little overly familiar with his first name. It made him look up and face her again.

"I'm not angry. I'm worried. I thought we were settling in to... if not friendship then at least a sort of professional partnership. I just need to ask. Is that really how you feel? Do you want to hurt anyone here?"

He sighed heavily and turned his face away from her. It was always so oddly difficult to look at Artemis when he was talking. "No. I said it because I was angry. I felt... like a circus tiger, like a dangerous animal that was now caged for amusement. I wanted to frighten her. I wanted to remind her that I still had fangs." He looked down at his clawed hand, and quietly curled it back up.

"There is no one here I wish to harm. Not Ursula, not the security team. Especially not Troy. And despite you being the catalyst for my imprisonment here, for lack of a better word, not even you, Frau Van Helsing, could convince me to kill you. Despite a kaleidescope of flaws, not one of you deserves death, and I am not eager to give it to you."

Artemis smiled a genuine smile. It was the sort of smile that made him feel better and worse at the same time.

"Good. I had to be sure. Now, about your outburst. We will have to do something about it. I've put in an order for a fresh ration, but it seems like you have a lot of pent up hunting instinct that isn't being adequately addressed. I'm going to order more physical activity."

He grinned slightly. "Physical activity? You may need a new dummy."

She tilted her head. "What do you feel about something that requires a friend to play? Like, I don't know... tennis? I'm good at that."

He nodded. "Yes. Tennis will do."

#long post #writing #wayward souls

56 notes · View notes

calaofnoldor · 4 years ago

Text

What’s Mine

Characters: Sam x F!Reader, Dean

Words: 7,595

Summary: The secret you and Sam are hiding from Dean is threatened by your inability to keep your hands off each other.

Warnings: 18+ no actual smut but plenty of implied smut, pre-smut, and smut adjacency lol, secret dating, enemies to lovers, jealousy and possessiveness (exhibited by both sam and reader), slight obsession with sam’s big ass hands (i blame this largely on @walkerboy290‘s glorious hand porn gif sets), and language

A/N: inspired by and written for @thinkinghardhardlythinking bc she’s been bugging me to write smut and using her birthday as a bargaining chip, so i hope you’re happy sai. happy (belated) birthday babe! i suppose in my subconscious need to truly honor you, this became the longest one shot i’ve ever written... that and this is now also a little birthday gesture for the brilliant and beautiful @sams-sass (damn your close birthdays!) even though she never asked for smut (if you hate it, i’ll write you something else!) happy birthday to you too, darling!

also written for @superbadassnatural‘s 333 badass followers celebration with the prompt “___ and I are together.” “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa.” and @writethelifeyouwant‘s 300 follower fic challenge with the prompt “All the pretty girls like Samuel” (both prompts are bolded in the fic) i’m sorry i’m so late! congratulations to both of you and thanks for letting me enter your challenges!

[basically i have a lot of people to blame for this disaster 😂]

Square Filled: Secret Dating for @spnfluffbingo and Enemies to Lovers for @girl-next-door-writes Make Me Feel Bingo

MASTERLIST

The waffles on your plate are surprisingly good for a sketchy, 50’s-themed diner, but unfortunately your attention is elsewhere. In fact, the two distinctly masculine voices behind you have been obnoxiously impairing your ability to savor the buttery, syrup-doused carbs since their owners sat down in the adjoining booth. It’s the topic of their discussion that disturbs you, and nips at your conscience until you realize you can no longer take off without imparting a few words to your oblivious colleagues.

Turning your head subtly to the side, you try to catch a glimpse of the men you’re about to confront in your peripheral vision. From what you can see, they’re both rather burly, a little rough around the edges, and from what you’ve heard, recklessly cocksure. You know the type all too well. Being a lone hunter of the fairer sex for most of your life means you’ve long since learned that the best way to combat their kind is with a steadfast façade of thick skin and unwavering confidence.

So you sigh and put on your best smile before turning around, crossing your forearms along the top of the booth seat, “Listen fellas, I hate to interrupt, but I really wouldn’t bother with the bamboo dagger and Shinto priest if I were you.”

“And who the hell are you?” the one with shorter hair demands. He’s a bit stockier than his companion and has a face that looks like it was designed by Abercrombie and Fitch - well that explains the arrogance.

“I’m the person who’s about to save your asses evidently,” you respond with a smug grin, trying not to let their absurdly good looks deter your act.

Abercrombie’s partner, the Fabio wannabe, releases a quiet scoff, “And how are you gonna do that?” he questions dubiously.

“By letting you in on a little secret…” Throwing him a tight smile, you lean forward and lower your voice, “That ōkami you’re after? It’s not an ōkami, it’s a ghoul.” Sitting back, you await the outrage.

“What?! But that’s not possible, I checked the lore. And it’s obviously got a type.” Fabio’s glossy chestnut locks fall across his delicate features as he shakes his head in disbelief, and you almost snort out loud. How did this amateur expect to hunt with hair like that?

You look him over, taking in the broad shoulders and muscled arms, as well as the obvious height advantage he’s got over Abercrombie even whilst they’re both seated. To be honest, you’re surprised he’s referencing lore at all. Guys his size always assume they can either outman or outgun whatever obstacles cross their path, and they almost never take women like you seriously, despite your ample years of acquired knowledge and invaluable experience. It’s this experience that surmises a bit of antagonism here is inevitable, so you might as well get a head start.

“Yeah well maybe you should check again, big guy,” you glance down at his hands, your first mistake as their sheer size render you speechless and subsequently agitated at yourself for the momentary lapse of visceral lust, but the show must go on, “Make sure those giant, lumbering hands of yours don’t fumble over anything important or you might miss the connection to Isabelle Harding. You see it’s not ‘a type’; it’s revenge.”

“Wh- Bu- I looked through the files. I wouldn’t have missed that,” Fabio insists.

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you type ‘Isabelle Harding’ and ‘1987 school bombing’ into your search bar and see what comes up?” you gesture towards the laptop on their table with a raised brow. Minutes later, both men are dumbfounded by the revelation on the screen, staring between it and you with their mouths agape.

You chuckle silently at their faces, “Don’t worry, there’s no need to thank me. Although you rookies might wanna go home and let the more experienced hunter finish up here.” As you’re about to bid them farewell, you dip back in to add, “Oh and a word of free advice, maybe don’t discuss supernatural monsters quite so loudly in public spaces next time. It might invite unwanted attention.”

With that, you turn around and slap some cash down next to your unfinished waffles, before grabbing your jacket and strutting out the door.

Sam is left in utter confusion. The sudden animosity you had spouted his way seems completely baseless and unwarranted. Had he somehow offended you? Sam generally considers himself a highly respectful and fairly easy-going guy, not quite as hot-blooded as his brother, and thus not as likely to provoke such antipathy from a complete stranger. To make matters worse, he certainly can’t deny that something about you had registered within his subconscious as inexplicably attractive, despite the way you’d embarrassed him. In his flustered and slightly aroused state, it had been all he could do to remain awestruck in his seat and stare blatantly at your ass as you walked away.

The next time Sam sees you is only twelve hours later and no less humiliating. You’re mid-swing in the killing blow against what you had accurately predicted to be a ghoul as he and Dean tumble in. Despite the low lighting, Sam is once again stupefied by your raging beauty, augmented by the incredible skill you’re displaying in a much more physical sense this time around. Before he can drag his eyes away, there’s a collective shout of “watch out!” and suddenly you’re right in front of him. In a blur of events, you somehow manage to push Sam out of the way and successfully decapitate the unexpected second ghoul that had been sneaking up behind him, with only a slice across the arm to show for it.

“Didn’t I tell you two to go home?” You’re panting from the exertion and Sam’s gaze lands on the neckline of your shirt, skewed from the fight and revealing a good amount of cleavage. He quickly averts his eyes. What is happening? Sam can’t remember the last time anyone had evoked such a staggering reaction from him. He feels as if he’s a mere spectator in his own body.

Across from him, you press your hand against the wound and curse when it comes back covered in blood. At your groan of pain, Sam finally finds his voice again, “Shit. I’m so sorry! I don’t know how I missed that other one. I- that normally doesn’t happen.”

“Yeah, I bet that’s what you say to all the girls, huh?” you reply offhand, still a bit out of breath.

It’s easy for Sam to dismiss your mocking given that he feels terribly guilty for being the cause of your injury. From where he’s standing, the cut looks deep. “Here, at least let me stitch it up for you. It’s too awkward a position for you to do it yourself,” he offers, holding out his ginormous hands to you like he’s waving a white flag.

“I think you’ve done enough damage for one day, haven’t you, big guy? At this point, I’d rather Abercrombie over there be the one behind the needle.”

“Who- what?” are the first words Dean speaks since the action has died down.

You turn to face the shorter guy, “Oh don’t look so surprised. You might as well be the model for a slightly older Ken doll. Are you up for it or not?”

Dean’s mouth hangs open as he tries to determine whether he should feel flattered or insulted.

“Uh- actually, I’m better at stitches than my brother,” Sam butts in.

“With those jumbo, fumbling hands? Yeah, sure you are, big guy,” you decline skeptically.

“It’s Sam,” he states through a clenched jaw.

“OK, Sam. Since I just saved your life, you mind making yourself useful and burning those bodies while your bro puts my arm back together? You know, as a ‘thank you’ perhaps?”

Sam is stunned for the third time that day. No one has ever belittled him (whilst gratuitously attacking his size) insofar without any apparent reason. It seems as though his very existence upsets you and the arbitrariness of your contempt has caused an anger to stir beneath him, but beyond that lies bewilderment and irritation. How had he managed to accomplish two such massive mistakes in front of you in the span of so short a time? Perturbed and bitter, Sam silently sets to work on the bodies.

Meanwhile, you’ve come to a surprising realization as Dean begins to cut the fabric of your flannel away from your damaged arm, the name ‘Sam’ and the words ‘my brother’ resounding in your head, “Wait a second- there’s no way… you’re not… the Winchesters, are you? Sam and… Dean?”

“The one and only, sweetheart.” He sends you a dazzling smile that is as perfect as you’d expect, but within his eyes is an underlying poignancy that you recognize as clear as day: an indication of a traumatic past and a lifetime spent plastering on tough veneers. You notice as well how gentle his touch is and how his stitches are practiced and prudent. Perhaps you had judged him too hastily.

Through an incredulous chuckle, you retort, “Well I can’t say I didn’t expect more from you, but at least this’ll get me a free round of drinks at the hunters’ pub tonight.”

Dean laughs with you before sobering at the thought of how his baby brother must be feeling, “Hey listen, take it easy on Sammy, alright? I don’t know what’s gotten into him today but he’s not usually like this. He’s actually the smart one, believe it or not.”

Scoffing, you can’t help but smile back at Dean and soon find an easy rhythm with the older Winchester, despite your awkward introduction.

From several yards away, however, Sam looks wistfully back to see you smiling lightheartedly at something Dean’s said, the two of you huddled in close proximity as his brother’s hands drift across your bare skin. Something akin to envy bubbles within his chest although he’s aware it makes no sense, so with a frown, Sam does his best to shake it off and get back to work.

But it’s not easy to forget you. And just as Sam is beginning to think he’s rid that awful day from his memory, you pop back into his life three months down the line.

“Well, if it isn’t the overgrown hunter extraordinaire Sammy Winchester.” The sarcasm that oozes from your otherwise beguiling voice has him gritting his teeth in no time.

“It’s Sam.”

“So you here to mess up my hunt again, Sam?”

Although he wishes he could have been the bigger man instead of surrendering to the resentment you roused within him, after a couple repeated hatchet burying attempts fall through, Sam just can’t resist the little game you’ve started.

Over the next few months, you and Dean form a fortuitously close bond and the older Winchester develops a habit of calling you up when faced with a troublesome hunt, and vice versa. Despite Sam’s fabricated displeasure, a show he puts on mostly for Dean (since any other emotion would seem illogical given the way you treat him), Sam is peculiarly and begrudgingly excited to see you every time. But the match never ends. In fact, Sam lets it intensify each time you work together, always astounded by how you manage to get him so worked up.

“I’m telling you, it’s a rugaru!”

“Right, because the last time we listened to you, things worked out so well,” you remark sardonically.

“The lore says-“

“Ooh, quoting the lore again now are we, Mr. Know It All?”

At this point, Sam is about as huffy and puffy as the big bad wolf and if he were a cartoon character, there’d surely be steam erupting from his ears. “Look, Y/N, this isn’t about who knows more or who’s right; this is about saving those people’s lives!”

“You think I don’t know that? Was I not the one who saved your life the first time we met?”

“OK, alright, just shut up you two!” Dean finally shouts above you, “Would it kill you to just get along for two seconds?”

“No,” Sam admits.

“Probably,” you say at the same time, causing Sam to shoot you his overly perfected bitch face.

SIX MONTHS LATER

“What the fuck?!” Dean’s booming voice echoes throughout the bunker and moments later you and Sam come flying into the kitchen to answer his call, guns at the ready.

“What? What is it?” you ask while Sam scans the room.

A whimper is the only the way to describe the sound of Dean’s reply, as he points toward an unseen object on the floor. Edging toward him, you lower your gun in the direction of his finger until you discover the source of Dean’s distress.

With a sigh, you look toward Sam who is also exhaling in relief at the sight of the entity in question. The two of you share a moment of wordless conversation before simultaneously dropping your guns with a conclusive nod.

“Why does this feel like déjà vu?” Dean’s tone is still timid and appalled, and you nearly laugh at the idea of a grown-ass man looking so aghast because of a used condom.

“Because it kinda is…” you supply unhelpfully, earning yourself a small glare from the man beside you.

“Dean,” Sam begins with a deep breath, “There’s something we have to tell you… Y/N and I are together.”

The snort that escapes Dean is full-bodied and borderline psychotic, “Yeah, right, and I’m Santa!”

You wait till his snickering subsides, “No, it- it’s true.” Your voice is hesitant yet hopeful, “We’re not joking. We’ve kinda become… a thing.”

“A thing?”

“Yeah, well you know, I don’t wanna have to put a label on it or-“

“Y/N’s my girlfriend,” Sam declares with conviction as he reaches out to curl his long fingers around your waist and lasso you towards him.

“-Buuuut, that is the one I’d use if anyone asks,” you quickly affirm with a stiff pat to your boyfriend’s abdomen, wincing at the unversed attempt of PDA and missing the dimpled grin that crosses Sam’s amused features.

“Well, I don’t buy it. I don’t believe either of you.” Dean’s sturgeon face comes on strong as he shakes his head and points a challenging finger at you, “Kiss him, right now,” he dares with perked brows.

The eye roll you respond with is so dramatic your entire head moves with it. But then, without a moment of pause, you turn your body into Sam’s, reach up to grab the back of his neck and pull him down for a searing kiss. Now this is something you’re well-versed in. The reunion of your lips starts off relatively slow, but it doesn’t take long to escalate into something more fiery that involves tongue, the eager push and pull movements of your bodies, and Sam’s enormous hands cradling your head.

After a moment of shock, Dean objects, “Alright, alright, I get it! That’s enough of that!”

Unwilling to recede just yet, you linger in the kiss for a little longer, delaying your separation by nibbling down on Sam’s lower lip and tugging gently, only releasing it as you pull away torturously slow. When the two of you finally open your languid eyes, it’s to stare into each other’s dilated pupils and ponder the moment for an indiscernible minute.

“What th- I said, I get it! Now could please stop ogling each other before my lunch comes back out the wrong way?!”

But the way Sam’s smiling at you is addictive and you can’t bring yourself to look away until he forces a break by leaning in to plant a tender kiss upon your forehead before tucking you into his side as he faces his brother again.

Dean’s face is covered by his hand, “I’m gonna need a minute. I just-“ His features leap through a range of expressions as he tries to find the right words, “When the hell did this start anyway? I thought you two couldn’t stand each other?”

“Yeahhh, that was mostly an act. Although we bought it at first too,” you explain with a shrug.

“We weren’t pretending the whole time. It just kind of happened and we didn’t really know how else to act around each other by then,” Sam adds.

“Right, basically it turns out there’s a fine line between love and hate... and that line is hardcore yearning.” Your words bring a chuckle to Sam’s lips but his brother still looks out of sorts.

Shaking his head with closed eyes, Dean sighs, “Alright, can someone just explain to me exactly how this happened, because I’m still not computing here. But spare me the details and try to keep it PG-13,” he emphasizes with adamant hand gestures.

“How do you know it’s not PG-13?” you inquire with a held-back laugh.

“Ha. With the way you two were playing tonsil hockey just now, I can tell you’ve been around the bend way more than I wanna know. My little brother doesn’t kiss like that on the first date.”

It’s impossible to hold back a giggle at the memory of your ‘first date’ and the way Sam had kissed you, “OK well, that would be hard, considering the story involves a lot of sex... You wanna give it a go, big guy?” you pass the ball over to Sam with a quirked brow and lowered voice, to which he responds with narrowed eyes and pursed lips, a little warning glance that you’re well aware means ‘save it for the bedroom’ but you simply smirk up at him.

‘Big guy’ used to be a term you called Sam in contempt, but when the feelings between you evolved and a sexual relationship developed, it became an innuendo, such that calling him ‘big guy’ in front of Dean or in public almost always results in glorious sex. In fact, sometimes you believe the nickname has held a slightly obscene connotation for you since the beginning.

Afterall, your carnal longing for him has been present from day one, although at the time you had believed it to be purely physical. Sure, you had dreams about having him in various positions in your bed, but you figured those were merely betrayals of your subconscious mind. That was until one day, a heated argument in a rare moment alone had ended up in a violent make out session, after which the two of you had just barely gotten the last of your clothes back on before Dean walked in. One look at your worked up and frenetic states alongside the disordered condition of your surroundings, and he immediately assumed you’d been fighting again (which wasn’t terribly far from the truth), chortling as he asked if you would have killed each other had he returned a bit later.

With a clearing of his throat, Sam begins to recount the tale, “Uh, well it started in that motel in South Carolina, while you were out getting food…”

“Look, all I’m saying is there is no way he’s using the hospital as a dump site! It’s just not feasible!”

With complete disregard for the peace and quiet of the other residents within this thin-walled motel, you and Sam once again find yourselves in a shouting match.

“Oh right, I forgot! You’re Sam Winchester! How could you POSSIBLY be wrong?! Mister ‘look at me, my IQ and LSAT score match my fucking height! Oh and I also happen to have the physique of an Adonis without even owning a gym membership!’” you roar bitterly, gesticulating with your hands to help better communicate your pent-up indignation.

“Right and you’re Y/N Y/L/N, so how could YOU possibly be wrong? Miss ‘look at me, I never went to college but I’m a genius AND I can kick ass! Oh and I also happen to look effortlessly stunning through it all!’” Sam suddenly seems bigger than ever as he towers over you, that panty-soaking deep voice emanating from his diaphragm and infusing itself throughout the entire room until all you can see, hear, and breathe is Sam.

The fury takes over and you don’t notice your feet taking you closer to him, “Oh yeah because you don’t make EVERYTHING you do look so unnecessarily hot and make me wanna rip your clothes off all the damn time!”

“Fuck! And you don’t always drive me crazy when we have these stupid arguments and your chest starts heaving and you look so insanely delectable I just wanna pick you up and fuck you against the closest surface!” By now, the distance between you is essentially nonexistent and your brain is no longer run by reason.

“So why don’t you then?” are your famous last words, prompting Sam to grab you wildly by the back of a thigh, lifting slightly and driving you to climb up him like a spider monkey fleeing from a grounded predator, while his other hand pushes your hair aside to gain better access to your face. Your mouths clash in a fierce battle and before you know it, Sam’s huge hands are cupping your ass as your legs wrap around his waist and you rut into him, hands flying from his shoulders to his hair. Those divine chestnut locks that you’ve always dreamed of running your fingers through. They’re somehow even softer than you imagined and the revelation, in conjunction with the way Sam’s tongue is becoming increasingly aggressive causes a fresh surge of libidinous energy to rocket through you. As a result, you give his silky strands an irresistible tug and drink in the moan he makes, the sinful sound reverberating straight down to your core as you clench around nothing.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Sam groans as he grudgingly forces himself to pull back as much as he can, “Are you sure? Is this what you want? Cause I can’t- Y/N I won’t be able to stop myself if we keep going.” His eyes squeeze shut as if the notion of stopping or the act of keeping his lips away from yours is causing him genuine pain, and the entire gesture moves you.

“Fuck, you really are the opposite of everything I thought you would be,” you make a quick mental note to apologize later for your initially presumptuous behavior although you can’t find it within yourself to feel any remorse right now, “Yes, please Sam, fuck me. I want you so bad… I think I have since we met and I saw those gorgeous hands of yours,” you confess, biting your lip lightly.

Sam breathes out a low incredulous laugh, “What, these?” he asks, removing one of the aforementioned hands away from your butt to bring it into your line of vision.

“Yes, fuck they’re so big and beautiful and strong and-“

“Alright, I don’t need to know about your weird hand fetish!” Dean hollers abruptly, rubbing his fingers across his eyes as if he could somehow erase the image of you and his brother together out of his retinas. “OK, but that was like… four months ago. You mean you’ve been sneaking around behind my back this whole time?”

“Well at first we didn’t want to tell you because we weren’t even sure what it was ourselves,” you divulge.

“Yeah, we didn’t want to try to explain something that we didn’t understand yet,” Sam supplements, hoping his brother will understand the motive behind your secrecy.

You nod along, “But then… it got a little harder to hide.”

The apprehension behind Dean’s emerald eyes is unmistakable as he reluctantly inquires, “That’s why this felt like déjà vu?”

It’s with a grimace that you reply, hesitantly, “Remember the time you found those panties in the backseat of the Impala?”

Dean’s eyes grow comically wide and Sam ducks his head in preparation of what’s to come.

“Yeah, there’s a story behind that…”

The click of her heels against the porcelain-tiled foyer irritates you as the three of you stride through her front door. You’re posing as detectives sent to question this overdressed young woman about her late husband, but the moment she lays her eyes on Sam, you reckon she’s forgotten her beloved’s damn name.

“Oh my… lord and savior. Well aren’t you a tall drink of water?” she beholds breathlessly with a seductive bite of her painted ruby lips.

You cough loudly and Dean sniggers, thinking you’re annoyed about Sam getting such commendation and attention during a serious case.

“I know this might be the grief talking, but I would climb you like a tree,” she purrs, sauntering up to Sam with an exaggerated sway of her hips. With her half-lidded doe eyes adorned with dark, fluttery lashes and low, sultry voice, you have to admit she’s quite attractive.

Grinding your teeth as your nails dig into your palms, you glower at the woman unreservedly. She, however, takes no notice, running her hands along Sam’s forearms before gripping at his bicep to lead him toward her living room. “Please, come have a seat, detective. You can ask me whatever you want.” The wink she appends is somehow the final nail in the coffin.

It’s with zero hesitation that you feign the reception of a notification on your phone before declaring, “Oh would you look at that, the uh… Sheriff needs us back at the station, Sam. He says it’s urgent.” You try to keep your tone even, thankful that you all maintained your real first names for these aliases, “Dean, you’re good to conduct this interview on your own, right?” Without waiting for an answer, you trample over to snatch Sam’s other arm and ignoring the horny widow’s gaping mouth, proceed to haul him away.

Dean sends you a strange look but relents, “Uh, yeah I guess, OK.”

As soon as the door closes behind you, your hand shifts down to lace your fingers with Sam’s, marching him towards the Impala with a staunch and mighty purpose. Even Sam’s elongated legs stumble to keep up.

“So uh… when did you give the Sheriff your number?” There’s an edge in his voice that normally disappears when it’s just the two of you.

“Wha- I didn’t. Sam, I just made all that up,” you tell him as you reach the car and open its back door. Pushing Sam inside, you climb in swiftly after him, wasting no time as you straddle his thighs and begin to undress him, only pausing when he looks up at you in adorable, puppy-like confusion.

“Wait, what? Then what are we doing?”

That’s when it finally dawns on you, “Hold on a sec, were you… jealous?” You can’t help but smile, finding it amusing that he’s stewing in his own envy after what you just witnessed.

“No, I just- He was kinda all over you this morning.”

“You mean like the way Mrs. My-Husband-Just-Died-But-I-Wanna-Climb-You-Like-a-Tree was in there?”

“Oh, that’s what this is about?” Sam perks up, the hint of a smug grin ghosting across his lips.

“She was practically holding your hand!”

“That’s what bothered you the most?” He dips his head to catch your eyes and those variegated irises burn into you with an intense, questioning gaze, alight with mischievous curiosity.

“They’re my hands to hold,” you contend with a pout, subconsciously clenching your thighs around his as you seize one of his large hands with two of your much smaller ones, “Just like you’re my tree to climb.”

Sam’s head falls back in bright laughter, “I thought you said they were ‘oversized’ and ‘ungainly’?” he teases, quoting your previous slights.

“You know I only said that cause Dean was there.”

“I’m pretty sure you called them ‘fumbly’ and ‘lumbering’ the first time we met.”

Staring at his fingers as you play with them, you shiver at the memory of how they feel all over you. “That was cause I used to think all hunters with a Y chromosome were cocky, misogynistic assholes who needed to be knocked down a peg or two.”

“But I proved you wrong, right?”

“Fuck yes you did. So, so wrong. And now you’re mine, and I don’t like seeing other people touch what’s mine,” you growl before returning to your earlier task of removing his clothes, pouncing on him when your fingers finally land on bare skin. You kiss him fiercely, swallowing his surprised grunts with glee, and as his hands start travelling from your hips up to your back, holding you tight against him, your lips move down to his pulse point, sucking, licking, and nibbling, “Mine.”

“Fucking Jesus Christ on a cracker! You goddamn rabbits!” Dean squawks in protest as he begins to pace the floor, “Have you no decency?! And in my poor Baby! While I was busy doing all the work, saving lives!”

You roll your eyes at his melodramatics and can feel the tension in Sam’s abdominal muscles as he attempts to restrain his laughter. As if Dean had never taken a break during a case for a stress-relieving quickie before, or hadn’t been at least somewhat grateful to be left alone with a beautiful woman.

His next comment confirms your point, “Although, if I remember correctly that lady was a fox.” After a brief pondering pause and an introspectively appreciative smirk, Dean’s whining resumes, “But seriously! I can’t believe you two! Here I was feeling bad for forcing you to work and live together, hoping you’d eventually learn to get along when this whole time you were shacking up like animals and casually defiling my Baby just because what? Some girl touched Sam’s hand?!”

Feeling emboldened by the catharsis of this long-overdue airing of your dirty laundry, you decide to add to Dean’s exasperation, “Yeah and in the spirit of honesty, that might’ve happened more than once.” Sam tries to hold back his snort as he gives your hip a playful cautionary squeeze while Dean’s feet come to a full stop as he turns to give you a death glare. “Hey, it’s not my fault all the pretty girls like Samuel! And I’m pretty sure we wiped her down after.”

“I don’t even-“ Dean purses his lips and quirks his head with a dynamic expression of unbearable vexation, “You better be getting me pie every day of the week for what you did.“ He takes a deep breath before circling back, “Wait, OK so you’re telling me that a used condom ended up in our kitchen because- what? You two couldn’t keep it in your pants long enough to find a bed? You know what, forget I asked. I don’t wanna know. Did you at least sanitize the place after?? No, of course you didn’t, you left a fucking condom on the floor… I think I’m gonna throw up.”

But you hardly hear Dean’s rambling because you and Sam are far too wrapped up in each other, smiling as you recall the events of that morning.

Your eyes slowly drift open to find the most exalting sight in all the world: Sam Winchester’s sleeping face, blissful and serene. Lifting a hand to gingerly cup his cheek, the corners of your mouth curl up when he leans into your touch. It’s moments like this that make you wish you could wake up next to him every morning.

Only after you’ve traced his every feature and planted a soft kiss where his dimple would be if he were awake and smiling, do you carefully peel yourself from his side, slipping out of his hold as you quietly climb out of bed. Sam rolls over a bit and you freeze with bated breath, watching as his big arm extends out in your direction as if trying to reach for you in his sleep, before stilling again.

Mornings like this are rare and you want him to soak up all the restful sleep he can. Once you’re sure you haven’t woken him, you scan the room for something to cover your naked figure, until your eyes land on the flannel he’d worn the night before. Picking it up, you bring it to your nose and inhale deeply to revel in the residual scent of Sam. Another glimpse at his peaceful, sleeping form has you smiling fondly. God, you are such a goner for that man. It’s becoming hard to reserve your soft looks toward him for private moments alone.

You can barely remember how it happened, but over time, you’d come to learn that Sam is nothing like you originally imagined him to be. He’s kind-hearted and open-minded, the type of soul that can find hope and beauty in even the darkest of places, a far cry from the shallow macho man silhouette you’d expected him to fill. In fact, Sam routinely defies the expectations others have enforced upon him, proving his worth time and time again as he’s persisted through some of what must be the toughest challenges to ever face a single human. Yet through it all, his spirit remains intact, never once yielding to cynicism or resentment or apathy or even the building of walls as you and Dean have resorted to. He is truly the bravest man you know and infinitely more competent than your first fluke of a hunt with him had mistakenly suggested, both in the field and in bed.

Shaking the thoughts from your head, you wrap yourself in plaid and head out the door. Dean never questions your use of Sam’s shirts because ever since Sam firmly insisted on giving you his flannel after your second encounter with them resulted in Dean cutting your own top apart, you’ve grown into a habit of borrowing Sam’s clothes. You always claim they’re more comfortable than your own and Sam’s feigned annoyance over you ‘stealing’ his belongings tides Dean right over.

Half an hour passes before Sam approaches the bunker kitchen to find you with your back towards the entrance, busy prepping breakfast in nothing but his plaid. He pauses in the doorway to stare at you for a minute, licking his lips with an irrepressible smile. For some, this may seem like a stereotypical morning after, but for a couple of hunters, it feels like a dream come true.

After finally returning to the bunker last night following the completion of a series of successful hunts, you’ve got no solid obligations and very little on your to-do lists today, although Sam’s got more than a few ideas about how to pass the time, and a couple more come to mind when you stretch up on your toes to reach for something, causing the hem of his shirt to glide up until its corner reveals just slightest hint of your incredible ass. Sam can’t suppress his little grunt of approval, which catches your attention and makes you turn your head, peering back at him over your shoulder.

You smirk at the blessed view of him standing there in nothing but the pair of thin grey sweatpants you’d bought him a month ago when you discovered the viral online phenomenon, “Hey, big guy. You just gonna stand there and gawk or do you wanna make yourself useful and grab another plate from the top shelf?”

Chuckling at your false animosity, Sam stalks toward you, “Good morning to you too.” One of his vast hands falls upon your hip as he presses the maximum possible length of his body into your back side, while his other hand reaches up over your head to snatch the plate you’d asked for.

“Good morning indeed,” you concur with a silent gasp when you feel the generous bulge in his pants.

“Oh that’s not morning, baby girl,” Sam husks into your ear, “That’s all you.” His powerful arms slink around you and his lips find their way down the side of your neck, lingering in that tender spot just behind your ear whilst you tilt your head and close your eyes, contentedly surrendering yourself to the moment. “I ever tell you how good you look in my shirts?”

Wiggling your butt back to tease him a bit, you’re pleased with the hiss it elicits. “No, but you made it very clear how bad I look in Dean’s,” you counter playfully.

The man behind you scoffs, “I didn’t say you looked bad; you could never look bad. I just… don’t like seeing you wear his clothes.”

“Oh, I know,” you turn around in his arms, “I just don’t understand how Dean doesn’t know yet. I mean, I think you’ve been very obvious.”

“And you haven’t?”

“I’m not the one who leaves hickeys in very visible places all over your body!”

Sam’s eyes glaze over in lust, an idea clearly forming in his head as he glances down at you. “Dean’s a hot-blooded guy; he needs to know you’re off-limits,” he alleges before attacking your throat with his mouth.

“So why don’t we just tell him?”

Without pausing his efforts, Sam reminds you, “Because you said you thought it was kinda hot, all the sneaking around. Mmpf, and because you said you wanted to see how long it would take him to figure it out.”

You nod while running your fingers through his silken strands and leaning back to give him more purchase, “That’s true. But in my defence, we always have this conversation when we’re doing stuff like this and I can’t think straight when your hands and mouth are on me.”

“Kinda like how I can’t think straight when you’re wearing nothing but my shirt?” His kisses travel down from your neck to your collarbone and shoulder as he slides his loosely buttoned flannel off to one side, “Fuck, you’ve got me so hard.”

Without warning, Sam seizes your waist and hoists you into the air as if gravity were an absolute joke, before plopping you down on the edge of the steel counter, his thumbs digging lightly into your ribcage.

“Sam! This is where we eat!” you protest with a laugh.

“Exactly. Which is why I’m gonna devour you here.” He dives back into your neck, continuing his work on a little pink mark that’s already beginning to form.

“Oh fuck… Wait, what if Dean walks in?” It’s through a great struggle that you manage to push him back an inch.

“He’s got a date with the Impala. He’ll be in the garage all day, trust me.” Sam’s gaze sweeps over your body suggestively, “Now are you gonna let me taste what’s mine?”

With an equally lewd survey of his extensive frame, you reply, “As long as you let me impale myself on what’s mine later.”

His eyes darken and the way he’s looking at you like you’re the only person he’s ever wanted ignites a confidence within you, so in a rather swift motion, you grasp him by the shaft through his sweatpants – the delicious groan he emits at your touch is enough to turn your pussy into a slip and slide – and pull him back towards you until the clothed length of him is resting against your folds and your noses brush, while his hands settle naturally on your thighs.

Shivering, your breath stutters and for an instant you can do nothing but bask in the closeness of him. Sam seems to enjoy it too because he closes his eyes as he rests his forehead against yours with an elated sigh. For the second time today, you marvel at his beauty, whispering a string of gasping kisses along his lower eye socket and exquisite cheekbone, simply dying to breathe him in. All of him is so immaculate and sublime. Each time the two of you reconvene, you want to savor every fucking inch of him, but there are a lot of inches, so the task often overwhelms you. Still, you must try. Locking your ankles behind him, you use your legs to pull him even further into you and the friction makes you lose your mind.

“Fuck, baby girl, you keep that up I’ll be making a mess in my pants,” Sam grunts with his lips upon your cheek.

Your breathless laughter fills the air, thinking of the stain you've undoubtedly already left on his charming grey sweatpants. Nimble as he is, Sam takes advantage of your open mouth and plunges his tongue inside. After so much preamble, the kiss is heavy and full of need. When the pressure of his lips pushes your head back, your hands fly to his wrists for the sake of your balance.

From there, they journey upward across his vascular forearms to his bulging triceps, fondling his massive shoulders before sliding along his traps and up the gorgeous length of his perfect neck, until you finally reach the treasure trove of his impeccable locks. You tangle your fingers into the lush mane and yank, gently but zealously, making Sam growl into your mouth. His voice is the hottest thing you’ve ever heard and the sounds he makes always drive you insane.

Never breaking the kiss, Sam’s colossal moose paws roam up to your back as he slowly lays you down on the counter, his member somehow still notched at your entrance and the new angle rousing a quiet moan from you. When he ultimately pulls away, you pitch forward to chase after his lips, but Sam only grants you a devilish grin and a quick peck to the corner of your mouth before moving down to your jaw and neck. While one palm kneads at your breast through his shirt, the other begins pushing and pulling at fabric to uncover more of your skin for his wandering lips.

“Sam! Augh!” you cry out as your head falls back.

“I got you, baby. I’m all yours. Gonna make you feel so good.” As if to attest his words, he rolls his hips into yours and a needy whimper escapes you. With your fingers still twisted in his hair, Sam leaves no part of you untouched as his mouth travels down your body. But upon reaching your navel, he pauses, those vivid, color-changing eyes peeping up at you to check for any signs of discomfort or objection. Finding none, his thick tongue pokes out to lick a deliriously winding path from your belly button to your exposed clit. Then, pushing down tenderly on the insides of your knees to open you up to him, Sam directs you one last look that is both hungry and reverent, “I still can’t believe this is mine.”

Dean had stopped you halfway through your recollection, but it appears that was still too much for him, “What did I do to deserve this?! I feel like I need to go bathe in holy water for a week.”

You and Sam both open your mouths to respond but Dean cuts you off vehemently, “Ba-da-da-da!” His vocalized outcry is complete with animated gestures featuring an accusing index finger. “OK, before you two tell me another traumatizing story, that’s enough of the who, what, when, where, and how… I just need to know why. I mean, is this- are you- …?”

Sensing the protective wheels turning in his head, you decide to put Dean out his misery, “I’m not just with Sam because he’s an incredible lay if that’s what you’re wondering. We can skip the fatherly ‘what are your intentions’ talk. Yes, Dean, I am in love with your little brother… although ‘little’ is not exactly the word I’d use to describe him.”

“Sammy, could you please control your woman?”

“My woman?” Sam sounds mostly amused but you’re almost certain you can hear a hint of pride in his voice.

“Yeah, I admit I’m surprised I didn’t see it until now. You two are kinda oddly perfect for each other, you know, in a weird, kinky way.”

“To be honest, we’re pretty surprised too. I mean, he doesn’t look it but this guy is kind of territorial,” you quip whilst cocking a thumb in Sam’s direction.

“I don’t need to- Wait a minute, so all those bruises you told me were from hunts?” Dean’s eyebrows soar towards his hairline.

Chewing on your lip, you confirm his hypothesis with a miniscule nod.

“Yeah well that time you saw my back,” Sam chimes in vengefully, casting you a handsome grin full of mischief as he reveals, “that wasn’t a werewolf, that was Y/N.”

With eyes as round as dinner plates, Dean frantically shuts you both down, “OK, that’s it. Torture Dean time is over. I don’t wanna hear any more about your depraved sex lives! Look, I guess I’m happy for you guys, although mostly cause I don’t have to play referee anymore, but I’m gonna need you to follow some ground rules around here. Like rule number one! No sex in public places!” he starts counting with his fingers, “Always put a sock on it when you’re busy! And most importantly, no sex in Baby!”

Your laughter follows Dean as he wearily saunters out of the kitchen, an exhausted expression on his face. Turning to your newly outed boyfriend, you petition excitedly, “Does this mean we can have shower sex now?”

“Not while I’m around!” comes Dean’s snappy answer.

In contrast, Sam gives you the same look he did on that dreamy morning, “Oh trust me baby girl, I’m gonna get you wet somehow.”

“Still within hearing distance! I think I liked it better when you guys were at each other’s throats.”

As you’re giggling, Sam leans down to whisper in your ear, “For the record, I’m in love with you too.” And just like that, you’re tempted to re-enact your previous kitchen escapades.

TEAM IDJITS: @mrswhozeewhatsis @carryonmywaywardbucky @swiftlymoniquesblog @moosewinchester @sams-sass @thinkinghardhardlythinking @jotink78 @winifrede @writingforthelonelysoul @turtletaylor98 @lyarr24 @deanwanddamons @peridottea91 @tvdspngirl314

TEAM MOOSE: @paulaern

if you’d like to be added (or removed) please let me know!

#sam winchester x reader #mads300madones #333 badass followers #spnfluffbingo2021 #Girl Next Door's Make Me Feel Bingo #sam x reader #sam winchester x female!reader #sam winchester smut #enemies to lovers #sam winchester fluff #secret dating #sam winchester x you #sam x y/n #spn #supernatural fanfic #fanfiction #my writing #text

806 notes · View notes

fangirlovestuff · 4 years ago

Text

Going Public - Chris Evans x reader

a/n - hey lovely people!!! i’m sorry for the lack of updates on here, i’ve just been occupied with life lately and haven’t been able to write properly in a while. but here’s this headcanon idea i just had to write:) i missed writing so much, but i can’t say i’m gonna go back to updating frequently yet, so i hope you enjoy this<3

Summary: you and chris were keeping your relationship private, and when you finally decide to go public there’s a particular post that catches your eye... (it’s scott’s, and he’s a goofball).

Warnings: none:)) it’s just a really fluffy fic

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

when chris asked you out, you were ecstatic

but, you did have one request

no publicity

you were a normal girl, and you wanted a normal life, no paparazzi harassing you or jealous women talking shit about you on the internet

and chris had absolutely no problem with that

in fact, he was happy you asked him to try and keep it quiet, since he's such a private person as well

and surprisingly enough, it worked really well

you rarely went on fancy dates, and if you did chris would call ahead and ask they respect your privacy

sure, you couldn't go to bars, or festivals, or shows, and you did feel like you were missing out sometimes

but not really

you and chris were both more introverted, homebodies, and you were both extremely content with just staying at home, or going to the occasional escape room double date with scott and his boyfriend

(you all got progressively more and more competitive with each one, trying to solve them in less and less time, but it was really fun)

it worked so well and for so long, you and chris had just sunken into that comfort zone so much and you were now getting married, without the world knowing

the option of going public with your relationship didn't even come up when you got engaged

chris was happy with it, because he got to keep you all to himself, but mostly because he knew how much you didn't want to go public and how happy you were being a part of his life without the craziness of hollywood

but now, when you were coming back home from your honeymoon, you couldn't help but wonder if that was the right thing to do

sure, you didn't want your potential kids growing up in the limelight

but you also didn't want them to miss out on stuff because of you

plus, you were ready, have been for a while

it couldn't be something you maintained forever, that just wasn't realistic, and that fact that no one found out in the last 3 years was pretty much a miracle

and when you talked about it with chris, he agreed

so, the next week, you both posted the same picture to your social media, tagging each other

it was a beautiful picture from your wedding, slow dancing and gazing lovingly into each other's eyes

it was cheesy, but you both loved it

your accounts were still private, and you were keeping it that way, but chris' fans would know

and so will the rest of the world

chris squeezed your hand reassuringly, and you pressed the post button in unison

you had the urge to throw your phone across the room so you wouldn't see it again, but you took a deep breath, shut it down, and put it away on the table

chris pulled you into a tight hug

"i can't believe we finally did it," you chuckled into his chest as his arms pulled you impossibly closer

"i can't believe i'm gonna have to share my beautiful wife with the rest of the world from now on," you could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke softly

indeed, as you lifted your head to meet his gaze, a soft smile was drawn across his face

you leaned your chin on his chest and looked up at him

"i love you," you said.

"i love you too," he pressed a soft kiss onto your lips, "now do you wanna watch a movie?"

you both didn't look at your phones until the next day

you received hundreds of messages from colleagues, acquaintances who didn't know you well enough and had just found out

you replied to some, and then logged onto instagram

you felt like a kid watching a scary movie, covering their eyes with their hands but leaving room between their fingers to see it anyways

the first thing you saw was chris' post

he posted it with the caption "my everything" and a blue heart

you couldn't resist the temptation and scrolled through some of the comments, and to your relief most of them were supportive or surprised

"cHRISTOPHER WHAT THE FUCK"

"jahfbsapf😭"

"how the hell did he get a wife,,, what"

"okay but he literally married a disney princess LOOK AT HER"

"she's living the dream omg"

you chuckled at the last two

at that moment, chris came up behind you, nuzzling his face into your neck

"good morning," your smiled, turning your head to peck his lips

"morning," he smiled. "have you seen scott's one yet?"

"oh, did he comment? i didn't-"

"oh no, he made a whole post," he chuckled.

you shook your head and opened your phone again, looking up scott's instagram, and sure enough there was a new post

"since these dorks are done being stealthy, i figured i'd share some of my favorite pics of my favorite sister-in-law and my brother whom she so magnificently tamed😜. i love you guys, congrats💖"

you giggled as you read the caption, and only then your eyes lifted to the first photo

it was of you and chris in a halloween party, wearing, how could you not, a disney couples costume

chris was looking at you with a smile, his cheeks slightly tinted, probably from the beers he had that night, while your head was thrown back in laughter

you remembered that night, mostly because of the ridiculous amount of candy you and chris devoured and it made you feel bad until the next morning (still worth it though), but you didn't remember that this picture existed

the next one was a selfie you, chris, and dodger had sent them one afternoon, just because it was so darn cute

dodger was licking your cheek, and you and chris were both laughing

the next was another pic you didn't know he had taken, of the both of you when you were all at a picnic

you were leaning back against chris' chest, and he was pointing at something outside of the picture, gentle smiles on your faces

the next was one of the both of you at your wedding, but it wasn't the nice one of you and chris slow dancing

because scott clearly couldn't leave it at that

it was a picture from later that night, as was seen by your hair, which was more tousled, and it was a picture of you raising your hand high and twirling chris around, clearly laughing

the last one was a picture that was taken in lisa's house, where you were both sitting on the couch

one of chris' hands was on the back, holding you, and the other was on his chest, his face thrown back on laughter

it was the look in your eyes though, that made a grin spring onto your face

because you looked exactly how you felt

so completely in love with this puppy of a man

you felt chris smile behind you

"awww, look at your face," he said, "you like meee," he drawled teasingly

"well, i did marry you," you shrugged, feigning indifference.

he kissed your nose, "i like you too."

"gross," you scrunched your nose at him before you both erupted into laughter

and you at that moment, you truly knew you did the right choice

because everything was okay, and you knew as long as you had chris by your side, it's always going to be

he's the person who made you feel safe, loved

and that was never going to change, no matter what

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

tell me your thoughts!! till next time lovelies<3

Taglist: @horny-nd-bored @shannon124 @perfectlyharolds @wintersoldierslut @iceebabies @sleepingpapermouse @steverogerswasalwaysworthy @holtzkinnon @angelicl-y @stydia-4-ever @thatoneperson5000 @fangirlfree @kaitcordx25 @bequeening @steve-barry-damon-logan @itscrazycherryblossomcollection @hollandxmarvel @stargazingfangirl18 @readsreblogsfics @onetwo3000 @beritmetal @harrystylesholland @jazbot2000 @anobscurename @xxxtwilightaxelxxx @peggycarter-steverogers @evansphnx12 @starlightcrystalline @procrastinatingsapphictrash

if you wanna join / be removed from a taglist, comment/message me! much love <3

#chris evans x reader #chris evans x female reader #chris evans x wife!reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x y/n #chris evans headcanon #chris evans fluff

750 notes · View notes

asset35-maya · 3 years ago

Note

I am sleepy but I gotta make a request before the busy tomorrow so 2 things on my mind! Sleepy and the 'oh my god they were roomates' vine xD with any characters and aus I love everything you write anyways xD Happy timezones and best vibes your way >^<!! 💖💞💕💕

Oh my god, they were roommates…

“The rental market in Detroit is absolute shit! How dare these bloodsuckers charge such high rates for the most under-developed properties! This city’s going to the dogs!”

“Uh-huh.”

“You have to pay your own weight in gold just to live in a shoebox for a year. Nonsense!”

“Uh…”

“Are you even listening to me, Tina!

Tina?

Goddamnit Tina!”

Gavin thumped his fist on her desk, but Tina’s eyes barely flicked up from her phone.

“Oh my god, you sound like my grandpa…”

Gavin turned red and his brain buzzed with a thousand colourful retorts. He was just about to pick one when Tina stopped scrolling and turned her phone screen towards him.

CYBERSCALIA @ NEW JERICHO

The suburban paradise for executive androids and humans alike. Located 25 minutes drive from downtown Detroit, with a full amenities.

Gavin’s eyes widened to the size of dinner plates. He balked at her.

“You’re joking? How could I possibly…?”

“Get with the times, boomer…”

Tina lazily skimmed her thumb over the screen. The webpage promised plenty of greenery, good infrastructure and modest but spacious rooms. The extremely reasonable price tag was Gavin’s dream come true. He’d spent weeks apartment hunting in the wake of an early lease termination by his cantankerous landlord. Gavin knew he’d never find a better deal.

“Shit, this is so good, T! Why the phck does it have to be in that- that place!”

His friend arched a sceptical eyebrow.

“What place?”

“The Tincan ghetto!”

Tina smacked him on the arm. None too gently.

“It’s subsided public housing located in an android-friendly estate… because they’re the ones that need it most right now. And frankly, you seem to be in just as much need, so you should really get off that high horse.”

“Fine, fine. You’re right. I should seriously consider this place, even if my neighbours are gonna have more in common with my car than me. But damn, it seems a little too good to be true. There’s probably some fine print, hidden costs that’ll come out later.”

“Hmm… let’s see…”

Tina scrolled further and then let out a half-laugh. She held her phone up again.

“Nothing shady about the rates, but there is something you should know…”

At the risk of being called old again, Gavin squinted at the screen and read aloud.

“Bearing in mind the founding principles of New Jericho, all human occupants may only apply for tenancy in co-habitation with at least one android citizen of the United States of- JESUS PHCKING CHRIST! Absolutely not! I am not going to live with a plastic prick!”

Gavin had to get through half a bottle of wine before he could bear to scroll through the rental listings. Unlike other humans who had happily moved into New Jericho with their android friends or partners, he had to find an android who was also looking for a flatmate.

Some listings came from ardent supporters of Markus. These were the androids who wanted to ease the post-revolution transition by reaching out to humans. Some listings were put up by the android equivalent of frat boys. These individuals were clearly looking for someone on the fringes of human society, someone who could show them a good (if not illegal) time.

Other posts came from eccentric androids who craved company but had likely been rejected by their own kind. Gavin felt a strange twisting sensation, almost like pity, when he came across a post written entirely in third person by someone called Ralph.

He had almost given up hope when he came across a simple little listing for a two bedroom apartment in Cyberscalia.

RK900 #313 248 317 - 87: Seeking a neat, self-sufficient co-renter. Human or android, no preference. I spend most of my time working and will be out of your way for the better part of the day. I only ask for silence during my nighttime stasis cycles, timely payment of dues and upkeep of cleanliness.

Gavin sighed in relief.

“Your room is the first door on the left, mine is the second. The bathroom, laundry and kitchenette are shared, as is the living room. I scarcely find use for the latter, so you need not worry about my intruding on any of your social gatherings, or vice versa. As long as you adhere to the terms of the agreement, our paths will not cross much.”

The tall, stiff-necked android dropped a set of keys, both mechanical and digital, into Gavin’s open palm.

“Er thanks.. RK… sorry I forgot your full model number…”

“You may call me Nines. Although, I’d rather you didn’t call me much of anything. Now if you’ll excuse me.”

In a swish of black fabric, the android turned on his heel and disappeared into his room. Two rapid clicks indicated the shutting and locking of his door.

Gavin sighed and looked around the open-plan living room. It was nothing fancy, but it was far beyond any of the other properties he’d viewed in weeks of unsuccessful house-hunting.

He sat down on the simple black couch with a huff and contemplated his situation. He’d ended up where he’d truly never expected to go, but objectively speaking, things were good… barring the high-handed manner of his robot flatmate, but who gave a shit about that.

He pulled out his phone to text Tina his thanks.

“I can’t! I refuse to! It is a violation of my personal ethics and I will simply not take this assignment any further. Good day to you sir!”

Gavin nearly dropped his bowl of cereal one morning when his roommate burst out of his door and rushed into the open balcony.

He hadn’t seen Nines in days, which was perfectly normal. The android came and went at odd hours and made hardly any noise. It was almost like living alone. The only reminder of Nines’ presence was the sight of several dark shirts and trousers regularly hung out to dry on the rack above the washing machine.

Gavin set his bowl down and watched the android tightly grip the bars of the railing and take several unnecessary breaths to calm down. He’d seen deviant colleagues express emotion many times before, but this was the first time he witnessed such a potent mixture of rage and sorrow from a synthetic being.

Out of empathy, but mostly curiosity, Gavin approached cautiously.

“Hey Nines… is everything alright…?”

There was no response for several moments. Then Nines turned around with a grimace and hands held upwards in a placating gesture.

“I apologise for the disturbance. It was hypocritical of me to disrupt the very peace and quiet I demand of you.”

“Uh… no worries…? Are you okay?”

There was a flash of steel blue eyes.

Gavin kicked himself mentally as he realised too late that he’d broached uncharted territory. Their interactions didn’t extend beyond curt nods on the rare occasion they found each other in the same space. It was almost as if Nines engineered the lack of contact, which wouldn’t surprise Gavin at all if it were the case.

“I’m fine. I merely experienced some frustration with my work.”

Perhaps it was boredom, perhaps it was his usual lack of self-preservative instinct… Gavin threw caution to the winds.

“What do you actually do?”

Nines’ expression remained stoic but his LED went through a spectacular series of colours and flashes. His next words were reluctant.

“I’m a private investigator.”

“Oh shit! I’m actually a cop.”

Gavin pointed dumbly at himself and then let his hand drop when he saw absolutely no surprise cross the android’s face.

“I know. That’s why I let you stay with me.”

“For safety?”

“Certainly not for your fashion sense.”

“Wow okay, I didn’t think I’d be much protection for a big scary droid like you.”

Nines hummed dismissively and started to move out of the balcony, body language fully indicating the end of the conversation.

Unable to help himself for some strange reason, Gavin blurted out another ill-advised question.

“What pissed you off so much?”

Nines paused halfway through side-stepping the human. A thrill went through Gavin at the shards of ice he observed for the first time up close in Nines’ irises.

“If I tell you, will you promise to stop asking pointless questions?”

Gavin nodded earnestly, and frankly… rather foolishly.

“I helped a client gather evidence to initiate divorce proceedings on the grounds of infidelity. I provided ample photo and video evidence for his lawyers to work with. Now they want me to keep following the spouse to capture more details that could gear any future settlement in his favour.”

“So what’s your problem?”

“They’re offering me an incredible amount of cash to follow her 24/7. To stake out her workplace, her gym, her parent’s home. They want me to crouch under the window of the bedroom where her children sleep. I can do a lot of things, but not that. It’s deeply insulting that they even asked. That’s why I was so… pissed.”

Nines slipped past and was nearly back to his bedroom when Gavin spoke.

“I respect that.”

“I didn’t ask.”

“I know, but for real though, I think ethics are important in our line of work. Not just because of we need morals or a sense of right or wrong blablabla, but because we need… clarity.”

Silence floated through the hallway as Nines paused with a hand on his doorframe.

“Clarity?”

“Yeah, like a sense of direction. We don’t just take cases right-left-centre because they make us money. I mean, we could, and people do… but they never become specialists or experts of any kind. You gotta strategise if you want a career. Ethics helps with that. I think…”

Gavin wasn’t sure what made him say any of that. He was neither one for small talk, nor a man of many words… but something about Nines prompted that unusual level of introspective discourse.

“Sorry that was weird. Never mind.”

“That was actually… very astute.”

Their eyes met and Gavin could’ve sworn he saw the hint of a smile.

“It’s good to see that not all humans are as one-dimensional as I thought.”

The door clicked shut, but there was no locking sound.

Since the morning of Nines’ uncharacteristic outburst, the frequency of their encounters in the common areas of the apartment increased. Wordless nods became hellos, and hellos eventually became full sentences.

Not that he’d admit it, Gavin actually looked forward to enquiring about the android’s day and the cases he was working on. It was utterly fascinating to hear about legal investigations without the constraints of police procedure.

For his part, Nines would share as much as he had the patience to, before disappearing into the confines of his room. Though the time he spent outside steadily increased every day.

Another morning, while Gavin was making his coffee, Nines emerged from his room, still in his pyjamas and looking as livid as he had the time before. Gavin had never seen him in anything but crisply ironed businesswear. Before he could voice any concern, Nines stiffly asked Gavin to keep a lookout for a homicide suspect.

He nodded and immediately reached for his phone to text the sergeant on duty at his station. By midday, there was an arrest.

That evening, when Gavin settled in front of the TV with his usual glass of wine, he heard the familiar sound of Nines’ door opening. The couch dipped beside him.

“Thank you.”

“Just did my job. I should thank you for the tip.”

“Hmm.”

Gavin chanced a glance at his roommate, and found him looking right back.

“What?”

“Nothing… I just had the realisation that much of my work is impotent without the authority and means to take any kind of action.”

The sitcom began to play and Gavin thumbed the remote to reduce the volume.

“Takes all kinds to keep the streets clean. PIs can do things cops can’t. We rely on guys like you for intel all the time, you know.”

“I know.”

No words were exchanged for a while thereafter. Gavin found himself unable to focus on the TV show with all the brooding energy emanating from his right.

“If you feel like being a private eye doesn’t make enough of a difference, then why didn’t you… um… you know…”

“Join law enforcement?”

“Yup.”

“Plenty of my fellow androids have done so. I know for a fact that my predecessor model chose to remain there. You might know him.”

“Connor? Yes. Very annoying.”

“He is, isn’t he?”

“Totally. But why didn’t you join too? You’d be brilliant on the Force.”

“My skillset is certainly well-suited, but I didn’t want to become another puppet of the state.”

Gavin really didn’t know what to say to that. He nodded uncertainly and looked back at the television. He wasn’t sure why Nines was suddenly this social.

“What are you… watching?”

Androids could scan and detect just about anything in the world, so there had to be something else to the question. Gavin, strangely, was happy to oblige.

Nines made an appearance every evening, without fail. He would sit through the TV shows if they were of interest, or he would bring his case material and notes to the coffee table to work in silence beside Gavin.

Sometimes Gavin liked to work on jigsaw puzzles on the dining table. Nines would sit beside him, pretending to read a paperback novel, but actually scanning the puzzle and passing the right pieces over from time to time.

Against all odds, an evening ritual and a tentative friendship developed. It was simple, but it was warm. Comfortable. Like nothing Gavin had ever had before, even with humans.

He awoke one morning with a slight crick in his neck but the feeling of being very well-rested.

His eyes flickered open and fell upon the window. Familiar greenery came into view… but wait… had everything slightly shifted to the left? And was that the New Jericho Capitol building? He couldn’t see that from his room! There was a tree in the way! A tree that was now a few feet away from where it used to be.

Gavin sat up in alarm as he realised that he was not in his own bed. His heart flew into his throat as Nines walked through the open doorway. Shirtless and carrying a mug of blue liquid.

“Oh good, you’re up.”

“Wha-what happened!?”

Nines frowned and sat down on the edge of the bed. He set the mug on the floor and pulled on a plain black t-shirt.

“You passed out on the couch last night. I think you finished a whole bottle waiting up for me? Sorry, I was out working later than expected.”

Gavin looked down and sighed in relief as he found all his clothes still on him.

“I didn’t want you to injure yourself sleeping at an odd angle so I brought you here. Your door was locked.”

“You could’ve easily opened it.”

“Yes, but that would’ve been an invasion of privacy. I reserve that for working hours alone.”

Gavin looked deep into the sparkling blue eyes and as usual found no trace of humour.

“Thanks…”

“Don’t mention it. Now get out. You’re ruining my silk sheets.”

Against his best efforts, Gavin could not keep the thought of being carried to bed and tucked in safely out of his mind. How many years had it been? Since something like that had been even remotely possible for him?

He knew that Nines was just being kind in his own pragmatic little way… but Gavin found that he wouldn’t mind the prospect of waking up in the android’s bed in a wildly different context.

He realised he had it bad when Tina caught him smiling to himself at work one day.

“Why so happy?”

“Oh… nothing. Just remembered something my roommate did… He’s a… funny guy.”

“Huh. Well, look at you getting along so well with androids.”

“Android. Singular. Just him.”

“Wowwww… he sounds special.”

“Who did this?”

“Gavin, the damage is merely superficial-”

“Who phcking did this??!”

He reached forward and gingerly touched Nines’ split cheek. His synth skin was smeared with blue blood and glitching in and out. Nines winced at the contact.

“Shit, sorry. That must hurt like a bitch.”

“Androids do not feel pain.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’m merely experiencing a surge in sensory input wherever my chassis is exposed. I’m fine.”

“Shut up and give me your first aid kit or whatever toolbox equivalent you tincans have.”

A shade of embarrassment appeared over the android’s features.

“I… actually don’t have one. I didn’t think I’d ever need it.”

“Didn’t think anyone could kick your ass, huh?”

“No… I didn’t think anyone would ever spot my hiding place.”

“Huh. How’d that happen?”

Nines’ eyes dipped, but as always, he answered the question.

“I was… distracted.”

Something in the air solidified and both of them felt it. Gavin cleared his throat and slapped his knees like an old man about to stand up.

“Right. Let me go check if the neighbours have anything that might help with your face.”

“So who’s this dapper young gent you’ve brought to the party, Gavin?”

“Er… he’s my uh… roommate.”

Captain Fowler nodded and winked.

“That’s what they called it in my day too.”

Nines shifted beside Gavin and cleared his throat.

“He’s a PI. But I think he’s wasting his talent taking pictures of cheating spouses. He’s quite interested in police work. Maybe we could get him to assist on a couple cases now and then?”

Fowler put down his drink and extended a warm hand to Nines.

“Oh thank RA9!”

Nines came running to the cluster of police cars and enveloped him in a giant hug. Gavin laughed as he patted him weakly on the back.

“Watch the ribs, big guy.”

“I was so worried.”

“Why? Your info was good. No chance of error.”

“I meant about you.”

Gavin pulled back and regarded Nines with confusion. The flashing red and blue lights of the cars made it hard to read his LED.

“Why?”

“I can’t believe you have to ask.”

The android pulled him into a bruising kiss. The officers standing nearby broke into wolf-whistles and applause.

“What the-”

“Oh I take full credit for that, sir.”

Fowler glanced at Tina.

“The case, Chen?”

“Oh of course. I solved the whole thing. But I mean that specifically.”

She waved a hand in Gavin and Nines’ direction. The two held each other tightly and seemed unlikely to come up for air anytime soon.

“Like I helped Gav find an affordable place in New Jericho and then he met this handsome investigator droid and they were roommates.”

“Oh my god, they were roommates…”

“Yeah legit.”

\\\

Thanks so much for the request @jude-shotto

This ended up being a lot longer than expected, but I couldn’t help it. Your prompt just took me on a whole journeyyyy <3

#maya bday ask event #reed900 #rk900 #gavin reed #dbh gavin #dbh nines #gavin900 #gavin x nines #gavin x rk900 #dbh fanfic #dbh rk900 #dbh #dbh writing #my writing

115 notes · View notes