#I’ll toss in some homemade pie too

[umbr33zy]

To my mutuals who reblog my reblogs (or like my reposts and posts on TikTok), I hope you know I’ve put you in my

NEVER ENDING HOLE

OF STAR

SHAPED GLUETRAPS

[bucky-fricking-barnes]

Heroes in Our Midst

Title: Heroes in Our Midst

Pairing: Steve Rogers x Reader

Word Count: 3.9k

Warnings: None, mostly fluff!

Summary: You invite the confused veteran at the grocery store to your Friendsgiving, but maybe you should’ve done a background check first.

A/N: Happy (belated) American Thanksgiving to those who celebrate! I’m so thankful for each and every one of you. I hope that everyone, whether you are celebrating today or not, is safe, healthy, and surrounded by those they love (and that love them back). Dividers are by @firefly-graphics​

The man in the baseball cap has been staring at the stuffing for five minutes now, and you’re on a deadline. You don’t really want to tell him that he’s in the way and that he’s completely blocking the bags you need for your Friendsgiving, nor do you want to reach out and force your way in. He looks lost, the poor thing, and it’s when he flinches at the pre-recorded holiday message over the PA system that you decide to intervene.

“You can’t go wrong with Stove Top,” you say, stepping a little closer. He frowns, turning to face you just enough for you to see his profile. 

What a jawline, you hum to yourself, and you, thankfully, manage not to say it out loud despite the fact that you’re running on only four hours of sleep. The holidays did you dirty this year.

“I’m sorry?” he asks.

And what a voice! You melt a little at the deep timbre of it.

You gesture at the red box to his left. “Stove Top. It’s pretty easy to make and it doesn’t taste half bad. It’s not homemade by any means, but it’ll do if you’re in a pinch.”

“Right.” He clears his throat and picks up a singular box, then sets it in his cart as if it might break if he weren’t careful.

Peering past him, you frown at his bounty. Along with the stuffing, this broad-shouldered man has selected a pitiful rotisserie chicken, a slightly smushed sweet potato pie, and a dented can of cranberry sauce. No doubt it was one of the last ones in the bin. People in your neighborhood apparently really love cranberries, much to your dismay. His isn’t the Thanksgiving dinner you would have chosen, but you remind yourself that not everyone is as lucky as you.

Some people spend the holidays all by themselves. A pang goes through your heart as the man steps down the aisle, finally allowing you to load up on the bags of stuffing you’ve been waiting on.

You toss four into your already overflowing cart and you’re reaching for a fifth when you feel the man’s eyes on you. Silently, you glance over in his direction before grabbing the bag and adding it to your bounty.

“Do you need another recommendation?” you ask, hoping that’s the only reason he’s watching you. There’ve been too many stories about creeps on the news lately and your heart skips a beat at the thought.

“You definitely look like someone who knows what they’re doing,” he replies. He nods at the cart and you grip the handle a little tighter.

“I’ve got a big family. And a boyfriend,” you add, just for good measure. “He’s waiting on me in the car.”

The man shakes his head and holds up his hands. “I’m not trying to hit on you, miss. I’m sorry if I gave the wrong impression. I’ve…” He clears his throat again and drops his hands, glancing back at his almost-empty shopping cart. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Done what? Shopped for a Thanksgiving dinner?”

“Something like that. Think you could help me out?”

Carefully, you push your cart closer so you can get a better look at his. He’s wearing dog tags, you notice, and a swell of sympathy makes your chest tight.

Of course, you think, and you could almost kick yourself. No wonder he’s so overwhelmed by all of the options.

“Well, the first thing I’ll need to know is how many people you’re cooking for. That’s a big factor,” you tell him.

Now that you’re closer, you’re able to get a clearer view of his face. He’s got kind eyes to go with the sharp jawline and beautiful voice, and you smile a little as he glances down at his purchases.

“Just me,” he says. “I couldn’t find a turkey small enough, hence the chicken.”

You frown. “Just you? That’s it?” He nods in confirmation and you purse your lips for a moment. “Honestly? You’re better off just getting one of the pre-packed meals by the deli or just going out to eat. Cooking a whole Thanksgiving dinner for yourself is a whole lot of hassle and a lot of stress for nothing.”

He shifts a little. “I’d rather cook as much as I can. This is the first Thanksgiving I’ve had in a long time. I want it to be…” The man trails off, seemingly at a loss for what he wants.

“That’s understandable,” you say, nodding and offering him a small smile. “I noticed your dog tags. Where were you stationed?”

Automatically, he reaches up to tuck them inside his shirt, out of view. “Europe.”

“And you didn’t have Thanksgiving there?”

Your poor attempt to make conversation falls flat and the man forces a tight smile. “Is my dinner a completely lost cause?”

“Not necessarily. You’ve got a good foundation, you just need some fixings to spruce it up a bit. Some mashed potatoes, green beans, a salad, some mac-n-cheese, another pie…” He nods along, as if making a mental checklist as you speak. “That’s if you’re really dead set on this whole cooking thing, and obviously that’s more than just one person can eat. You’ll have a lot of leftovers to tide you over, which isn’t always a bad thing. Of course, there’s always another option…”

“Which is?” he asks.

The song changes overhead from a newer Christmas song to one of the classics and you can’t stop the next words that come out of your mouth,

“Come to my house for dinner.”

He seems just as surprised as you do, and you want to crawl into a hole. You scramble to correct yourself before the man, a complete stranger, can run away and tell all his friends and family about the weird girl in the grocery store who invited him to her house on one of the biggest holidays of the year when all he wanted was to know which brand of boxed mashed potatoes to buy.

“Of course, I’m sure you have other plans. I wouldn’t want to make you feel uncomfortable, I’m not even really sure why I said that. I don’t normally—”

“I’d love to come, if it’s a genuine offer,” the man says, cutting you off. He smiles softly, a gratefulness shining in his eyes, even from underneath the baseball cap. “I’d hate to intrude on you and your family, though, or your fella. Boyfriend, I mean.”

You swallow thickly, looking down at your cart. “Well, it’s— I actually don’t have a boyfriend. That was more of a let’s-scare-off-the-creeps-with-a-fake-boyfriend type thing, you know?”

“I’m… familiar with the tactic.”

By the way he says that, however, you’re not really sure he is. It’s endearing that he’s trying to save face in front of you, and you smile a little. When you lift your head, he’s watching you.

“I can text you my address, and what time to be there,” you add. “No pressure if something else comes up. I’m actually celebrating later this weekend with my friends—you know, Friendsgiving—so you’ve got some time to think about it. You don’t even need to bring anything if you don’t want. I usually do a lot of cooking and everyone else just brings something to drink or their leftovers from their own family dinners. It started out as a potluck, but it’s grown into something more over the past few years.”

His posture relaxes slightly. “That sounds nice.”

Smiling a little more, you hold out your hand. “Phone?”

After a beat, the man digs into the pocket of his jacket and pulls out something you haven’t seen in years. You manage to hold back your laugh, but the surprised noise can’t be helped. He looks a little shocked at the high-pitched outburst, then embarrassed.

“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to make you feel bad, it’s just… I haven’t seen anyone with a Nokia in years. I mean, I think my grandpa probably still has one at his house… somewhere. We got him onto one of those little cheap smart phone things for senior citizens a few years ago.”

The tips of the mans ears are a bright pink as he hands the phone over to you, and you quickly start maneuvering your way to his contacts list. It takes a minute, but you finally get your name and number in, then hand it back.

“Y/N?” he reads, glancing up at you.

You nod. “And you’re…”

“Steve.” He stands a little straighter, a little taller, and you catch a glimpse of the great soldier he must be. “My name’s Steve.”

“It’s nice to meet you Steve. Send me a text so I have your number, okay? Then I can text back with the info. If you change your mind, though, there’s no need. I don’t want you to feel pressured to come, especially since we just met. I know that stranger danger is still a thing for adults.”

Nodding, he pockets his phone and grabs hold of his cart again. “It was nice to meet you, Y/N. Maybe I’ll see you soon. Thanks for the help with the stuffing.”

You can’t help but smile. He’s genuine, that’s for sure, and you watch him push his cart forward and turn the corner toward the produce section before finishing your own shopping. There’s a little bit more pep in your step as you head toward the registers.

Three days after Thanksgiving, Steve shows up for your annual Friendsgiving. He’s not the first person you’ve welcomed today, but you know for a fact that he’s been waiting outside near the bus stop for at least a half hour before he’d come up to the door.

Poor guy must be freezing out there.

“Hi! I’m glad you came!” You step out of the way so he can come in, then shut the door behind him.

Steve stands tall in the little entryway of your apartment. He’s got a bright blue tupperware bowl in his hands and he looks entirely out of place, so you decide to take a gentler, less enthusiastic approach. For someone who hasn’t had a real Thanksgiving in a long time, your cramped apartment filled with strangers, festive decorations, music, and several different kinds of cooking food is sure to overwhelm.

“Hey,” you say, coming around from behind him. You soften your smile and hope he perceives it as genuine. It is, of course, but you don’t want to seem unsure of your invitation, not after he’s made the effort to come and even bring something to share. “I really am glad you came. Do you want to put your dish in the kitchen? I can get you something to drink. Then you still have something to hold onto?”

He seems a little taken aback that you’d even noticed his tight grip on the bowl, but he nods anyway and follows you as you weave your way into your galley-style kitchen. Your neighbor is at the stove, stirring a pot of mac-n-cheese, and she smiles wide when Steve fills in the doorway behind you.

“You must be grocery store guy. We’ve been waiting for you,” she tells him.

You gape at her and whack the side of her arm. She laughs. “Gloria! Enough! Focus on the food, please! If you’re just going to gossip and spill my secrets, I’ll take care of the cooking myself!”

“No, we’re not having a repeat of last year,” she chides, still grinning. “You turn into a real mother hen when you’re in the kitchen. We all offer to help and yet you still complain that no one’s helping you!”

Steve’s cheeks are pink when you turn back to him, and you have a feeling it’s not just from the heat of the kitchen. Your own face feels a little warmer than it should and you force away the nervousness that bubbles up in your throat, instead trying to focus on clearing a spot for Steve’s contribution.

He sets the bowl down in the empty space you create and you try to sneak a peek. The silicone lid isn’t clear and your mind whirls with ways to ask him what he’d made, especially since he hadn’t seemed like the type of guy that can cook.

"Something to drink?” you finally offer, glancing up at him. “We’ve got beer, wine, juice, soda, coffee, water… Pretty much everything. There’ll be more options once everyone gets here.”

“Water’s fine, thanks.”

Nodding, you set about getting him a paper cup and scribbling his name on it with Sharpie, then making sure he gets his drink. You hand it off as the door opens and your work friends step in, cheering as the song changes to a newer favorite right as they arrive. 

“I hate to just leave you like this, but I need to go say hi to them,” you say. “If you want, there should be some serving spoons you can use for whatever you brought. You can figure out what works best since it’s your dish.” You gesture towards the drawer next to the stove as you back towards the kitchen doorway, and Steve obediently nods. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

“I’ll be fine,” he assures you, a small smile on his face. “I don’t need a babysitter. I’ll get the lay of the land soon enough.”

You try to take Steve’s words to heart as you head back to the living area. It doesn’t take long before you’re sucked into conversations and shenanigans with your friends, however, and when you finally remember you’d ditched him with Gloria, of all people, forty-five minutes have passed and you’ve finished the drink you’d poured just before his arrival. 

Grabbing the empty cup, you hightail it back to the kitchen, only to find him leaning against the counter and nodding along with one of her long-winded stories. He looks up when you stumble into the room and offers you a concerned look, but you quickly wave him off when he reaches out to help you. From the way he looks you over, you can tell he thinks you’re drunk, but you don’t know how to explain that you’re just frantic that Gloria is spilling your deepest, darkest secrets to the cutest guy you’ve met in months.

“Oh! Y/N! I was just telling Steve that story about my great aunt who worked for the USO during World War II,” Gloria says, and you glance over at her, confused.

“That’s great. I don’t think I remember that one. Did Steve tell you he was a veteran?”

Gloria’s brows furrow and she looks between you and Steve. He’s suddenly very interested in the empty cup in his hands and your stomach drops. Nerves set in as Gloria makes some paltry excuse for the two of you, then pulls you into the tiny hallway off the living area.

You wrench your arm from her grip in front of your closed bedroom door. “Gloria! What’s wrong with you? I mention that Steve’s a veteran and you suddenly start acting weird? I’m trying to make him feel welcome and you’re not helping!”

She shakes her head at you, scoffing lightly. Amusement twinkles in her eyes. “You have no idea who you invited, do you?”

The nerves are back, extinguishing any frustration you might have held with her. “What— I mean, I know he’s a nice enough guy. I didn’t exactly do a background check, but you’re starting to make me wish I had! Why?” you hiss.

“Y/N, that’s Steve Rogers.”

The name sounds vaguely familiar, but it doesn’t exactly ring any bells, so you just stare at her. “Okay? Does he work for the government or something? Is he a spy? Do I need to call the cops?”

She rolls her eyes and pulls her phone out of the pocket of her apron. You watch in silence, looking between the screen and the doorway to the kitchen. You can just barely see Steve still leaning against the counter, his shoulders slumped. Your heart clenches a little at the sight. 

He looks so lonely.

“Here,” Gloria says, shoving her phone into your hands.

You almost drop it, but you quickly right it and start reading. With every word that you’re able to process, your heart starts beating faster and faster. 

Captain America? World War II? Frozen in ice? Born in 1918?

“Holy—”

This time when you glance back at the kitchen, Steve is gone. You shove the phone back at your neighbor and hurry back down the hallway to see if he’d just moved out of your view to refill his cup, but there’s no sign of him at all. 

The living room is filled with your friends chatting, leaning into each other, snapping pictures in front of your decorations, and chowing down on the appetizers, but there’s no Steve. You’re turning in circles when you catch a glimpse of him out the window. His cap is back on and his head bowed as he walks back down the street, his hands in his pockets. He looks every bit like he’s making a run for it, albeit a casual one.

Heart pounding, you throw on the first pair of shoes you can find and race out the door. You’ve never taken the two flights of stairs faster, but Steve is still turning the corner when you finally make it out onto the street.

Curse his long legs!

You have to push your way through the early evening crowds, throwing out “excuse me’s” and apologies every which way until you finally catch up with him a few meters away from the stairs down to the subway.

“Steve!”

You grab at the arm of his jacket. He pushes you away from him on instinct, sending you flying into another passerby. His reflexes are quick, however, because he’s steadied you before you’re even halfway to the ground and the other person is only a few steps away. They grumble at the both of you and you and Steve both send them half-hearted apologies as he leads you out of the flow of traffic.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t thinking. Sometimes I forget—” He shakes his head. “Are you okay? I should’ve been paying better attention.”

“I’m fine,” you reassure him. “I’m more worried about you! Why did you leave without saying goodbye? Is everything okay?”

He drops his gaze to the pigeon scavenging around the discounted pumpkins nearby. “I’m fine, Y/N. You should be back in your apartment. It’s freezing out here, and it’s getting dark.”

In your rush to get out the door and catch up with him, you hadn’t thought to grab a jacket, but you hadn’t processed the cold until now. You shiver, and he quickly sheds his own to drape over your shoulders.

“You left your bowl,” you dumbly tell him.

The corner of his mouth crooks up, but it’s sad. “Don’t worry about it. I can get another.”

You shake your head. “Steve, I— Why did you leave? Is it because of something I did? Or something someone said? I promise that they’re all good people, it’s just sometimes when they drink, they get a little—”

“It’s not anything you or your friends did,” he says. “I promise. They were all wonderful and Gloria was very nice to me. I’m grateful that you welcomed me into your home even though we barely knew each other. Most people wouldn’t do something like that, not nowadays.”

“Then why?”

He sighs and looks up through the windows of the store behind you, watching the customers aimlessly browse the aisles for a long moment. Steve doesn’t meet your eyes when he speaks again, but you watch him fervently, searching for any sign of dishonesty or distress.

“Because I was worried that you’d be uncomfortable around me now that you know who I am,” he finally answers.

You shake your head again. “I don’t understand. Who you are? I know who you are. I mean, I already did, before Gloria showed me that article.”

His jaw clenches and you draw the jacket tighter around you when he steps away and adjusts his cap against a chilly breeze. His face and ears are pink from the cold, too. It’s not quite winter yet, but it’s rearing its ugly head.

“You’re Steve,” you continue, closing the distance between the two of you. “And you’re my dinner guest.”

“Y/N—”

“If we made you uncomfortable, then I understand you wanting to leave. You have every right to go home, if that’s the case. But my perception of you hasn’t changed now that I know more about your past. Knowing all the amazing, wonderful, selfless things you’ve done makes me want you to stay even more now, because it reminds me that it’s people like you that I’m thankful for. Who knows, I may not even be here if it weren’t for you saving New York.”

You take a beat, catching your breath a little in the cold evening air. “Steve,” you continue, as earnest as you can, “I want you to stay. Please.”

He ducks his head and you have to crane your neck to see his face underneath the brim of his hat. If the lights from the shop were a little brighter, you might be certain that there are tears in his eyes, but you’ll play it off as a trick of shadows for his sake.

“I’m more than just that guy in the article. They exaggerated things, and I am a veteran. I’ve done things I’m not proud of,” he tells you, and you nod. After a moment, you hold out your hand.

“Then it’s a pleasure to meet you, Steve Rogers. I’d really like to get to know you. All of you, not just the published stuff, if that’s okay.”

Steve stares at your outstretched hand for several moments, and you’re inwardly cringing and trying to think of a graceful way to recover when he finally shakes it. You have to hold back a relieved sigh as you smile.

“I don’t suppose I could invite you to my Friendsgiving for a second time?” you ask.

Much to your surprise, Steve chuckles. His hand is warm around yours and you shiver once he drops it. You tuck your hands into the pockets of his coat as the two of you turn and start walking back towards your apartment. He measures his stride to keep step alongside you, his body a barrier between you and the surging flow of people on the sidewalk, and you glance up at him with a smile.

“Well, I did leave my bowl,” he says, smiling down at you.

“Of course. That’s irreplaceable, so you’ll have to come back and get it. And while you’re here, you might as well stay for some dinner. I’d hate to send you home hungry.”

He holds open the door to your building and you duck under his arm into the overpowering warmth of the lobby. “Of course,” Steve replies. “That would be rude.”

“And I’d hate to have you think I’m a bad host.” You’re still smiling as you head up the stairs and open the apartment door, and you and Steve are greeted once again by your friends, most of which had never even realized that you’d disappeared. They’re none the wiser to your little escapade, and to Steve’s identity, but that’s just another thing that you’re thankful for.

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[bradshawsbaby]

Spring OTP prompts and me not sending one in? Unheard of! 😂 If you're so inclined, how about Rhett x Honeybee + "Caught in a sudden rainstorm"? Happy Spring! 🌺 🌼 🌷

Hehe, I know I can always count on you to send in some really good prompts! 💕

The picnic in the pasture had been your idea.

With spring finally here, Rhett’s duties on the ranch had doubled and you knew he was in desperate need of a break. Just the other night, he’d had to cancel your dinner plans at the last minute because he was too sore to even think about getting behind the wheel of his truck.

“I’m sorry, honeybee. I feel awful,” he apologized, his regret hanging heavy in the air, even over the phone. “I’ll make it up to you, I promise.”

“Don’t worry, baby. You just get some rest. I’ll see you soon, okay?” you responded, already formulating an idea in your mind as you kicked off your shoes.

You could hear him yawning on the other end of the line and imagined his blue eyes growing heavy as he laid down on his bed. “G’night,” he mumbled, his husky voice heavy laden with exhaustion. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

The next afternoon, you’d set out for the Abbott ranch, armed with a picnic basket full of all your boyfriend’s favorites—the fried chicken you’d learned how to make in your grandma’s kitchen, homemade mashed potatoes sprinkled liberally with bacon bits, your mama’s award-winning green been casserole, buttermilk biscuits, and a freshly baked apple pie. Cecilia, grinning all the while, pointed you in the direction of where Rhett was working for the day, while Amy begged you with her best puppy dog expression to bring back any leftovers.

Rhett was in the middle of repairing a busted fence when you came over the crest of the hill, but as soon as he saw you, he dropped everything and came running, a wide grin on his tired, but ever handsome face.

“Well aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” he smirked, taking the picnic basket from your hands and lowering it to the ground so that he could gather you into his arms and press a hungry kiss to your lips.

You’d missed him these past couple weeks, so much so that you didn’t even mind the fact that he was drenched in sweat and soaking the front of your sundress.

“I figured since it was hard for you to make our dates, I’d bring a date to you,” you told him with a teasing grin, running your fingers through the damp hair at the base of his neck. “Up for a picnic, Abbott?”

“Depends,” Rhett replied, humor winking in his blue eyes. “What’s on the menu?”

He had the picnic basket in hand and was tugging you across the pasture before you’d even listed half the items you’d packed for him.

It was a perfect afternoon. Sitting in the bright spring sunshine, Rhett scarfed down lunch before you could even finish slicing the pie.

“You really did think of everything, honeybee,” he grinned, gratefully accepting the mason jar full of sweet tea that you’d packed.

Everything except the weather, apparently.

Nothing about the forecast had suggested rain, but before you could fully register the change, dark clouds suddenly blew across the expansive Wyoming sky, blocking out the sun.

“Uh-oh,” Rhett groaned, glancing upward. “We better get—”

Your boyfriend hadn’t even finished his sentence when the sky suddenly opened up, the heavens themselves appearing to weep as the rain began falling in buckets.

“Shit,” Rhett sighed, the two of you racing to grab all the remnants of your picnic and toss them back into the picnic basket. “Come on, honeybee,” he called over the din of the downpour, taking your hand in his and leading you back across the pasture, in the direction of the house.

As the rain began falling harder, the two of you soaked through, you began running, though to be honest, you weren’t even sure why. It wasn’t like you could avoid getting wet at this point.

Just as the house came into sight, however, you suddenly felt your foot slipping on the slick grass, your free arm flinging out precariously as you felt yourself toppling over.

“Rhett!” you cried out, unable to stop yourself from pulling your boyfriend down with you into a rain-soaked heap.

The two of you lay there in the mud for a moment or two, too stunned to say or do much of anything. Sitting up slowly, you glanced down at your dress, now marred with grass stains and mud splatters. And then you opened up your mouth and laughed.

You laughed so hard, your sides ached and you found it hard to catch your breath.

Falling backward onto the wet ground, you continued to giggle as the raindrops splattered violently against your face, the onslaught only easing up when Rhett hovered above you, grinning down at you with rain trickling off the bridge of his nose.

“You alright?” he asked with an affectionate smile, brushing his calloused fingers against your cheek.

Beaming, you nodded and pulled him down for a kiss, albeit a rather damp one.

“Right as rain.”

Spring OTP Prompts 🌧️

[thebeautyoffanfics]

Hiya! I love your blog! Could I please request a platonic Akane x reader x Aoi where th reader is their best friend and they are a trio (Aoi finding reader to be one of the few people she can be herself with and also being a wingman (wingwoman? Wingperson?) for Akane) and the reader decides to make a raspberry pie for Aoi with Akane since she's been seeming down lately but none of them can't cook and reck everything so they get a mildly amused Aoi to help them despite wanting it to be a surprise

(platonic) akane aoi x gn!reader and x akane

a/n: hello hello!! Love these guys!! I can’t remember the last time i wrote for aoi, so that’s definitely fun!! Thank you so much for requesting, and thank you for the compliment!! <3

warnings:

word count: 1,583

Seeing Aoi feeling down was unusual. When you asked her about it, she told you she wasn’t sure why either. “I’m fine, (Y/N). It’s just one of those weeks, you know?”

Yes, you definitely knew. But, it didn’t make it any better. All you could do was be there for her, and rely on Akane to be the one to make her laugh- he’d be there as well, but his confessions always brought a smile to her face. When the smile she usually wore at one of his attempts was blatantly empty, Akane approached you as well.

“She’s feeling really out of it,” He sighed, looking at the school’s beauty from across the room. She was watering the plants, eyes slightly downcast, though she “cheered up” when someone took notice of her. No matter her smile and raised eyebrows, for you and Akane, it was easy to see through. All you could do was nod. He didn’t need to point it out- you both were aware. It was just him… noting it. Getting it off his chest?

“Say, Akane, do you have anything to do after school?”

“Technically, I have to do things for the student council. Teru usually takes my work load when I’m ‘not doing it properly’ or ‘getting on his nerves’, which entails simply existing, but- I can get out of duties, if you need me to.”

“I was thinking… Aoi likes sweets, yeah? What if we made her a pie or something? Dropped it by her house after we’re finished?”

Akane raised his eyebrows, nodding in agreement. “That’s actually a good idea. You know how to make pie?”

“Nnnno, but, there’s gotta be a recipe online, or in a cookbook somewhere. While you get your student council stuff done, I can run to the store quickly.”

He nodded again, telling you that it sounded like a plan.

If only that enthusiasm could have influenced the results-

“It can’t be too hard!” You had said, looking at the array of ingredients after washing your hands.

“For Ao-chan, it’ll be a piece of cake.”

“A piece of-”

“Please don’t-”

“Pie.”

Akane rolled his eyes, looking over the recipe. “Anyway, preheat the oven to 425.”

You walked over to the oven, preheating it, then feeling rather proud of yourself. One step down, only so many more to go! Easy-peasy!

Grabbing a pie plate, you reached for the pastry. “I’ll roll out the crust if you’ll work on the filling?”

“Alright… I just put everything in it?”

“Yeah. Measure the stuff and whatnot.”

Akane grabbed the ingredients, putting the necessary amount into a bowl, as you glanced at the recipe.

“Oh, but not the egg or water-”

“...(Y/N), I swear to-”

You tensed as Akane sighed in frustration, walking to the trashcan and pouring the combination of ingredients into it. He rinsed the bowl lightly, before taking the recipe and reading it over once more. After reading it, he began to make the mixture properly, not sparing you a slightly annoyed- though harmless- glance. He mixed, then pushed the bowl your way.

“I mixed, you put it in.”

It was your turn to roll your eyes, as you poured the mixture on top of the crust, then wet the outside of the crust lightly. Once that was finished, you reached for the rest of the pastry, setting a knife aside as you rolled it out.

“Are we gonna make it all criss-crossed?” Akane asked, walking over to you, and peering down as you took the knife.

“Yep, as best we- aH ouch, ouch,” You yelped, dropping the knife and bringing your hand to your mouth.

“Oi, don’t put your hand in your mouth- you’ve been touching the dough, wash it off first.”

You grumbled, walking to the sink and wincing as you washed your bleeding finger off. Luckily, it was nothing more than a knick, but it still hurt-

“You got blood in the dough,” Akane groaned, walking over to you and placing the knife and plate in the sink, then tossing the dough. He walked over to the counter, taking an extra thing of dough that he was now glad you bought, and rolling it out. He took it upon himself to slice the bits, telling you to mix the egg and water while he did so.

So, he placed the slices over the pie, and you lightly applied the egg-water mixture, smiling as he crimped the edges. You sprinkled a small amount of sugar over the top, then placed your hands on your hips proudly. Akane shoved the pie in your direction, then motioned to the oven.

“Cook for 15 minutes, then, once that’s over, we’ll lower the heat and cook it a little longer.”

“50? Isn’t that a little long?”

“15? Not really, no, not unless you have a plane to catch.”

You shrugged, placing the pie in the oven, then setting the time for 50 minutes. All that was left to do was wait.

You walked back over to Akane, then took a seat on the floor. He looked down at you, then followed your actions. “You think Ao-chan will like it?” He asked after a moment, causing you to shrug once more.

“I think so. Heartfelt things are supposed to mean more, right? Nothing gets more heartfelt than a homemade pie. Though store bought would have been easier, the trial and error just makes it better. At least, that’s what I hope-”

“That’s true. You’ve got the cut to prove it.”

“Shut it, four-eyes.”

Akane laughed, as the conversation continued lightly. Mainly talking about Aoi, drifting to how you hoped she’d feel better, drifting to how the pie smell was starting to get strong.

“I told you, Akane, I feel like 50 minutes is a little too long.”

“...HOW MUCH-”

“50?? Did you not say 50???”

“50? Five-zero?”

“Yes???”

“I SAID 15- ONE-FIVE, FREAKING-”

You both jumped up, running to the oven. You turned it off, while Akane grabbed the oven mitts, opening the oven and grabbing the pie. The brown, slightly smoking pie. The burn smell filled the room, but… at least it still smelled somewhat like raspberries…?

“(Y/N), we’re friends- but more importantly, you’re one of Ao-chan’s best friends- so I won’t say what I’m thinking. But I do want you to know, I have a few choice words that I’m keeping to myself.”

“Maybe you should enunciate-?! You’re top of the class, and for what???”

“Okay, first of all-”

“(Y/N)? Akane?”

“Ao-chan..” Akane muttered, in sync with your, ”Aoi...”

The purple-haired girl sniffed lightly, before her eyes landed on the pie resting in front of the two of you. Her expression was pure curiosity, practically asking the both of you “what’s going on?”

“Ah… Akane and I were just trying to… make a pie…”

“What for? You guys know I can cook, I would have helped.”

“Well- it was supposed to be for you, Ao-chan. We ran into… some misunderstandings though.”

Aoi’s surprised expression melted into genuine joy, which quickly melted into sweet laughter. You saw Akane’s face flush slightly from the corner of your eyes, and you couldn’t blame him- even platonically, her laugh really was purely… music. She was laughing at the two of you, you both knew that- but, the two of you made her laugh. For the first time that week, she was smiling, laughing. She was happy. You and Akane exchanged victorious glances, fist bumping underneath the counter.

“Ah, it can’t be helped then. (Y/N), Akane, are there extra ingredients?”

You nodded, grabbing the extra things of dough from a grocery bag, then motioning at the already-out ingredients.

“Great! Akane, preheat the oven please? 425 for now.”

Akane nodded, walking over to the oven and preheating it. While he did that, Aoi handed you the dough, and took over the ingredients for the filling. “Roll that out, please, (Y/N). I’ll take the filling- but, Akane, I’ll trust you to roll out the second thing of dough. I can cut it and apply it to the pie,” She ordered, placing the necessary ingredients into the bowl. The way she went about things was neat, showing off her perfectionist tendencies. Compared to the mess you and Akane had created earlier… she really was a diamond in the rough.

---

Time had passed, the pie finished and cooled off, though the sun was nearly gone. Aoi cut the pie, offering the both of you a slice, then taking one for herself. Cheerily, she took a bite, as you and Akane followed suit.

The sweet smell filled the room, so much nicer than the burning smell created earlier. The taste was just as lovely- accompanied with Aoi’s smiles, everything in the world suddenly felt right again.

“Even if it didn’t go as you two planned, I am really grateful for you both. I know the two of you wanted to try and cheer me up… I think this was a really sweet way of going about it. And, to be completely honest, I am feeling better.”

“Ao-chan… I love you so much…!”

“Hmm… 5 points! 3 bonuses for the pie.”

Akane sighed lightheartedly, taking another bite from the pie.

“Aoi, I love you so much,” You spoke, placing a hand on your chest and smiling at the girl. “Platonically, of course-”

“I love you too, (Y/N),” Aoi smiled, closing her eyes cutely.

“(Y/N), those choice words from earlier really are seeming very nice to share with you-”

[svu-ncis-criminalminds]

5 times Hotch didn’t kiss you and 1 time he did

Request : Hotch x bau reader where the reader is in her 20s and has no clue that Hotch’s feelings for her are mutual?

I decided to write this in the format of 5+1 so here is 5 times Hotch didn’t kiss you and 1 time he did. 

1. 

For once a case ended in the most favorable way possible and the mood was light on the flight back to Quantico. You sat across from Reid, a chessboard between you, and Reid sat beside Hotch, Rossi was across from him. JJ, Prentiss, and Morgan were sitting around the other table, talking and joking. You and Reid were arguing semantics, you were trying to cheat at chess.

Hotch watched you laugh and couldn’t help but smile slightly himself at your joy. It wasn’t often you all smiled, he was going to allow himself. To enjoy it.

“Chess isn’t about trying to find loopholes, Y/N.” Reid groaned and you laughed. “Rossi, tell her,” Rossi shook his head, flipping a page of the book he was reading.

“Fight amongst yourselves, don’t drag me into this.”

“I’m not trying to find loopholes,” You grinned. Your eyes lit up when you smiled like that and for once you actually look your age. “I’m just saying the rules aren’t clear. Maybe they’re intentionally vague.” Hotch chuckled and you turned your head, a smile still big to look at him. He found himself wishing you were sitting across from him instead of Reid. And perhaps you weren’t on a plane, but instead, a nice dinner sat between you. And you’d be smiling at his words like that.

You looked away from him back to the board in front of you. That was the first time Hotch ever thought about kissing your lips. He shook the thought from his head, that was inappropriate, you were his subordinate and you were so young. Hotch broke his eyes from you and looked ahead to Rossi who was already staring back at him with a knowing look.

2.

The unsub was unhinged, gun in hand and a little girl held in his free arm, keeping her between Hotch and his torso. She was crying and he was ranting and raving, and Hotch was trying to talk him down in some capacity. The unsub, a mechanic and serial murderer named Paul Crossley was too frantic to pay attention to his back, and Hotch was as you and Morgan crept up behind him, guns up.

“Crossley put the gun down!” Morgan yelled out firmly. The next events happened too quickly. Crossley spun, scared to be taken from behind and dropped the girl he was holding, finger twitching involuntarily. One-shot rang out followed immediately by a second one and two people fell.

Hotch was running before he even knew if it was safe to run because it wasn’t Morgan whose body had collapsed. Hotch ran past the unsub who was now lying in a pool of his own blood, he even ran past the child he had tossed aside. He dropped to his knees beside Morgan who was already hovering over you. There was no blood.

“I’m okay, I’m okay,” You spoke and Hotch felt relief flood him. “It hit my vest,” Then He was using his own hands to unclasp your bulletproof vest from you.

“Hotch,” Morgan warned slightly. But you were already struggling to sit, wanting out of it just as much. It’s amazing how something that could save your life could immediately become suffocating once it did it.

“Are you alright?” He finally allowed himself to ask, knelt beside you as you caught your breath. Hotch wanted to grab you and pull you to him and feel that you were solid, that you were alive and okay. But Morgan was right here, you were surrounded by a flurry of cops and he could. Instead, he settled for helping you to your feet and out of the building to the waiting ambulance.

That was the second time Aaron Hotchner wanted to kiss you.

3.

JJ had insisted and insisted for close to two months prior. She wanted to spend Thanksgiving together on the closet date to Thanksgiving that your caseload would allow. That’s why three days after the holiday you were all going to JJ’s house for dinner.

Hotch knocked, holding his store-bought pie as he allowed himself a moment of discomfort before entering. He has grown to value this time with all of you, the time where you weren’t coworkers but a group of friends too. However, it was also these times where he felt most tempted by you and that made Aaron feel guilty. The door opened and Garcia grinned, adorned in some Thanksgiving-themed outfit. Hotch couldn’t help but laugh.

Garcia ushered him in and took the pie making a joke about the label and plastic container the pie was in.

“Don’t you own any casual clothes?” You asked, appearing in front of Hotch with a glass of wine in one hand and a glass of scotch being offered to him in the other. Hotch took the drink and shrugged slightly.

“Thanksgiving was always a formal event for my family.” He responded and you nodded sipping your wine. He looked at you, he wanted to tell you how nice you looked wearing jeans and a sweater rather than your usual work garb. You were casual and effortless.

Dinner was fun, though Aaron wouldn’t use that phrase out loud willingly. You sat beside him at the dinner table, drinking wine and laughing. Your face was slightly flushed and you were tipsy, making jokes with Reid and Garcia. JJ brought out a homemade apple pie along with the now pathetic looking supermarket pie Hotch had brought. He briefly felt embarrassed, first for his pie than for being embarrassed about something so trivial.

“Okay who wants apple,” Aaron watched as most of the table raised their hand, but not you.”

“I want pumpkin,” You spoke up, reaching across the table to snag the whipped cream, “It’s Thanksgiving, you have to have pumpkin.” Hotch smiled to himself. He knew you didn’t know how much that meant to him, and he felt ridiculous that it did.

“I’ll have pumpkin as well,” Hotch responded. The pie was passed out and Hotch allowed himself to watch you fondly as you covered your pie completely with whipped cream before passing it. You were cute, whipped cream dripping down your chin, you wiped it with your hand. You turned your head and caught Hotch’s eye and he almost blushed getting caught looking at you. But you smiled like always and continued to eat his store-bought pumpkin pie.

More much more than the third time Aaron wanted to grab you and kiss you, he wanted to spend many more Thanksgiving with you.

4.

Hotch’s doorbell rang and he frowned, it was late and he wasn’t expecting anyone. He turned the burner off and left the kitchen going to his front door and peering through the peephole. You stood on his front stoop looking nervous, biting your nail as you waited for him to answer.

“Y/L/N?” Hotch asked, opening the door worried. You looked surprised and he frowned. “Y/N. What’s wrong?” Aaron wanted to grab you and pull you inside. He wanted to know what was doing this to you so he could go after it, instead, he waited in silence for you to talk. You stared ahead for a moment before taking a deep breath and looking up at Aaron with big sad eyes.

“Can I come in?” You finally asked and Hotch nodded stepping back and allowing you into his house. Aaron's house felt like an extension of him and you found it calming. “I’m sorry to come here like this, it’s late. I’m- I just..” You couldn’t find the right words but it didn’t matter you didn’t need them for Hotch to know.

“Sit,” Hotch’s voice was gentle, not his normal stern work voice. “Do you want a drink? Unfortunately, I think I only have water and coffee. Scotch if you want it.” You looked up at him then, tears welling in your eyes, and Hotch nodded, going to get the scotch bottle and two glasses. Hotch sat beside you on the sofa, placing a glass in front of you and pouring a few fingers worth of scotch. You sat and silence and drank for a moment before you signed and put the glass down, hands fidgeting.

“Talk to me, that’s why you came here.” He was right.

“Does it ever get better?” You asked, and Aaron found himself wishing you were here with almost every other question. Because while he lied to himself and you in proxy, every day about how he feels, he couldn’t lie about this.

“No.” You nodded your head looking back down at the glass in front of you.

“That’s what I was afraid you’d say.” You whispered. Hotch thought about it for a moment before placing a hand on your arm and squeezing.

“That doesn’t mean we stop.” Aaron whispered while taking a swig of his drink, “It doesn’t mean we stop, Y/N. We will never catch them all. But that doesn’t mean we give up before we can save the ones we can.” You nodded slightly, “And it won't get better, they will keep finding new ways to kill we cannot control that. The only thing we can control is how we process it.”

“What do you mean?”

“A man I respect very much once reminded me of the importance of having something to take us away from all of this. His was comedy, old Charlie Chaplin movies.” He paused to give you a small sad smile, “You have to find your thing, Y/N, your light in this and you need to let it help you heal. Because if the job ever stops hurting, it’s time to walk away.” You nodded your head blinking away one more stray tear. Hotch poured you each other drink, offering his glass out to you, you clinked yours against his.

“Cheers.” You smiled.

“Cheers,” Hotch replied, watching you take a sip. He felt sad. Maybe he should have said something else, told you that you were too young that you shouldn’t have to see the things you see on the regular. He wanted to tell you how he saw it weighing on you and he didn’t like that.

“Thank you,”

“Your welcome.” Hotch wanted to pull you to him and kiss away the pain on your face and the frown on your lips. But once again he didn’t, mentally citing to himself the exact passage in the FBI handbook that prevents him from dating subordinates.

5.

“I want Reid here to help me with the Geographic profile, take Y/N to Greene to question Poplawski.” Rossi stopped briefly to throw a knowing look at Aaron, “It’s a 3-hour drive, think of it as a gift.”

“Don’t,” Hotch ordered, voice dark and brows furrowed. “I will call when we get there.” Hotch turned and walked swiftly from the room approaching you and Reid, “Y/N with me, were going to see Poplawski.”

“On death row?” You asked, surprised. Hotch nodded and you put the papers you were holding down and grabbing the Poplawski file before following him out of the police station you were working out of. Hotch led you to an unmarked state SUV getting in the driver's seat, and you got in on the passenger side. The first part of the ride was quiet, you were rereading the file and Hotch was alternating between keeping his eyes on the road and glancing at you in the mirror.

“How’s Jack?” The question was sudden and it took Hotch off guard.

“What?” You glanced up, shrugging slightly.

“Sorry if that’s inappropriate.” you shrugged slightly, “I saw he got new school pictures, you updated the one you keep on your desk I just-” You shrugged again, “Thought I’d ask.”

“He’s good.” Hotch replied, swallowing hard and trying to relax into the conversation, “doing very well in school this year, and he’s joined the soccer team at school.” Hotch didn’t talk about Jack much besides with his ex-wife. It was nice, he smiled.

“You must be proud, he’s a good kid.” You nodded, closing the file. You made other small talk on the drive, nothing particular, nothing deep. It was one of the most calming experiences Aaron had in a while. You were surprisingly easy to talk to, maybe it was because you were a good listener or because you were always honest with your words and spoke what was on your mind. Either way, Hotch loved talking to you. He looked at you in the mirror as you opened the file again, this time reading this aloud so you could come up with a game plan.

Hotch listened to you speak and watched you as the sunlight lit you up. It was moments like this Hotch wanted to say damn it all and pull the car to the side of the road just to kiss your lips. But right now people’s lives relied on you getting there promptly so once again he held himself back.

And the 1 where he does...

You’d gotten home early from your latest case, and JJ had yet to brief you on another one. While some of your co-workers took this as an opportunity to go home early and relax, you were doing the opposite. It was a quarter after 7 and you had spent the entire day catching up and trying to get ahead on what paperwork you could get ahead on. You’d seen Hotch once or twice so you knew he was still around somewhere.

When you were finished with your last paper you looked up to his office. The blinds were closed but the light was still on so you gathered your files and got up. You knocked on the door and waited for the familiar ‘come in’ before entering.

“Y/N, what are you doing here still, we got home hours ago.” You gestured with the big pile of folders in your heads.

“Catching up and getting head while I had the chance.” You smiled and Hotch reached his hand out to accept the papers. You walked to him handing it over before lingering in front of his desk. When you were around him it took a lot for you to pull yourself away and you always found yourself looking for excuses to be near your boss. It was terrible.

“Why are you still here?” You asked, arms crossing over your chest, Hotch leaned back in his chair looking at you.

“Paperwork as well,” Hotch gestured, “If I get behind it’s an impossible task to get caught up.” You nodded.

“We had a long week, you deserve an early night.” Hotch chuckled.

“I don’t get early nights, Y/N.” You shrugged and nodded shifting your weight on your feet. There was a moment of silence and you made eye contact with Hotch. He looked at you funny for a moment. You tilted your head.

“What?” Hotch stood up from behind your desk and you remained standing with your arms crossed, looking confused. He moved so he was standing in front of you, looking at you like that still. Your heart rate began to rise.

“May I..” He cleared his throat, “May I try something entirely inappropriate?” You didn’t need to be a profile to see Hotch’s eyes flicker between yours and your lips. Your breath caught and you nodded slightly. Aaron closed the distance placing his lips firmly on yours. You unfolded your arms and allowed your hands to rest on his chest. He deepened the kiss and you leaned closer as his hands gripped your waist. You broke the kiss but didn’t move away.

“I didn’t know you.. Felt like that?” You whispered and Aaron moved a hand up to push your hair behind your ear.

“I’ve been thinking about doing that for a long time.” He murmured in return, lips brushing yours again, you smiled.

“Well now's your chance,” With that Aaron leaned in again, kissing you deeply and hoping his kiss could say what his words never could.

[440mxs-wife]

Cookies and Milk

Pairing: Sam x Reader. Other characters: Dean Winchester, Jody Mills

Word Count: 5060+

Warnings: None really, except here there be fluff

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You were on a supply run in town to restock the bunker's refrigerator and pantry, one of your jobs while the boys were on a hunt. The list for this run wasn't as long as usual, but you still had quite a bit to buy. On your list were the items to make meatloaf, spaghetti, beef stew, chili, and your famous lasagna.

As you were nearing the frozen food section and the end of your list, your phone buzzed in your pocket with a text message from Dean. They were on their way home, and had stopped at a gas station for fuel and snacks. He wanted to let you know about when to expect him and Sam home.

DW: Hey, sweetheart. We stopped for gas and stuff, but we're still about five hours from home. Wanted to let you know.

You: I'm in town now, on a supply run. How did it go?

DW: I'll tell you more when we get back.

You: Okay, Dean. Drive careful, see you guys when you get home. Over and out.

Dean's last text message had you a little concerned, but there was no sense in worrying about it now. The best you could do was be there for the boys to support them, whatever they might need. Something you'd been doing for quite some time now, it seemed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You've been bunking with the Winchesters for the past six years now, but you've known them much longer than that. Ever since Bobby sent them to help you on that wendigo hunt, you've been the best of friends.

Over the years, you had drifted in and out of each others' lives, meeting up on a hunt or taking a break at Bobby's house. It wasn't until Bobby passed away that you moved into your own room in the bunker and semi-retired from hunting. You knew hunting was important work, it was just that you felt you could be more useful in a support capacity.

The bunker's gym helped you keep in shape and maintain your fighting skills. For the most part, though, you were in charge of the bunker. Your duties mostly included supply runs, chief cook and bottle washer, research and medical service. You also fielded calls for information from other hunters, given the expansive Men of Letters' library.

You and Dean shared a love of classic rock music, action movies and baked goods. Whenever Dean needed a bit of cheering up, you knew just how to do it. Usually, a freshly-baked pie was all it took to put him on the road to recovery. Didn't matter what flavor, though you knew apple, cherry and pecan were among his favorites.

Sam was different. To you, he was the "quieter Winchester". With his warm hazel eyes, thick chestnut hair and long arms perfect for providing comfort when you needed it. The two of you bonded over books, whether for research or for fun. You didn't always see eye-to-eye on music, but he didn't mind watching a chick-flick with you every now and then.

He was particularly sensitive to other peoples' emotions, quick to offer comfort at the first sign of distress.  On the other hand, accepting comfort from those closest to him wasn't always easy for Sam. He had a tendency to want to process things on his own, away from prying eyes and concerned hearts.

With Sam, if you needed to talk, you could count on him to listen and not dismiss your feelings. You could be yourself with him, even let your inner "nerd self" shine through. As time passed, your feelings had developed to where you saw Sam as more than your best friend. You knew you had to keep those thoughts about him to yourself, though. The last thing you ever wanted was to risk a longtime friendship over what you were sure was one-sided affection.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

While you were putting away the groceries at home, your thoughts drifted back to your feelings about Sam. You wished there was some way to show him how much you cared, how you were there for him if he needed someone.

You remembered that one way you showed Dean that you cared was with a homemade pie. You wondered if something like that would work in the same way for Sam. So instead of pie, you decided to make Sam a batch of cookies. It would be your way of telling him that someone was thinking about him, like the pie did for Dean.

With a plan of action and a renewed sense of purpose, you rummaged through the cupboards and found that you had everything you needed for some oatmeal chocolate and peanut butter chip cookies. You hurried to put away the rest of the groceries so you could get started on the baking.

You got right to work mixing the butter, sugar, eggs and the other ingredients. You also made sure to sample a few of the chocolate and peanut butter chips. Got to check the quality level, you thought with a smile.

After you finished cleaning up from your baking endeavors, you still had a couple of hours before Dean said they would be home. You reached for your book that was left on the coffee table and you picked up reading where you left off. Next thing you knew, a hand was caressing your cheek, so you opened your eyes to see Dean smiling down at you.

"We're home, sweetheart," he said softly.

You yawned and stretched in your chair. "Welcome home, Winchesters," you replied sleepily. You pulled yourself into an upright position and looked around the room. "Where's Sam?" you asked.

Dean dropped his gaze. "He headed off to go take a shower," Dean answered. "This was a rough one, honey. I'm just glad it's over, though. It's so good to be home," he explained.

"I'm glad you're home too, Dean. Wanna tell me what happened?" you asked gently.

He took a seat on the couch next to your chair. "It was a lot of little things that added up to one giant mess. Nothing went according to plan, even more 'off book' than usual," Dean explained. "We both almost got clawed, but we managed to fight them off. Now they can't hurt anyone else," he remarked.

You stood up from your chair and held out your hand. "Walk with me, Dean, I have a surprise for you in the kitchen. I may or may not have made you an apple pie yesterday. You know, unless you're not interested...." you teased, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Dean jumped up from the couch as if sitting on a spring, taking your hand as he reached his feet. "Really?" he asked excitedly. You nodded, and he gave you a peck on the cheek. "Bestest best friend ever," he grinned and rushed off in the direction of the kitchen.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Later that night after a dinner of pizza and Dean having a third slice of pie, you went to your room to read to help you fall asleep. Dean's exhaustion started to take its toll on him, so he showered and after wishing you goodnight, he went to bed. Sam hadn't come out for dinner, but there was enough leftover pizza that you weren't worried about him going hungry.

As the night wore on, you started to hear talking from the direction of Sam's room. You put your book down, put on your slippers and carefully opened your door. You roamed the hallways, trying to find the source of the noise. It was at its loudest when you were standing in front of Sam's door.

You peeked into his room to see him in the middle of a nightmare, tossing and turning. A sheen of perspiration had formed on his brow. Your heart broke for him a little to see him in such turmoil when he should be at rest.

After getting a cool, wet washcloth for him, you carefully sat on the edge of his bed. You gently placed the washcloth on his forehead and reached to take his hand in both of yours. He jumped at the unexpected contact and his eyes flew open. His head swiveled frantically from side to side, taking in his surroundings and trying to figure out what was going on.

"Shh, shh, it's okay, Sam. I'm here, you're safe now. It was just a nightmare, it wasn't real," you soothed. His breathing slowly returned to normal and he started to come back around.

"Did I wake you? I'm sorry if I did," Sam rasped.

"No, I was awake, reading when I heard you in here, having your nightmare. Do you want to talk about it?" you asked gently.

"Not right now," he answered with a shiver.

You placed a hand on his shoulder and was surprised to discover that it was so wet. His clothes were soaked in sweat, as were his sheets. "Hey, let's get you into some dry clothes, you'll catch cold if you don't," you remarked. "I'll take the sheets off and put them in the laundry room to be washed tomorrow. While I'm doing that, you change," you ordered.

"Yes, ma'am," he grinned.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

After he had changed into some dry clothes, Sam wandered into the kitchen for a late snack, since he hadn't come out for dinner. He knew you and Dean had pizza for dinner, so he headed for the fridge to get some of the leftovers.

He stopped when he saw the note on the table with his name on it, next to a plate of cookies and an empty glass. Sam didn't remember you making any cookies before they left for the hunt. He loved it when you made cookies. If he had seen them, he definitely would've taken some with him.

Sam looked around to see if you were near the kitchen and were going to join him, but didn't see you anywhere. He chuckled at your instructions that he was to eat all of the cookies by dunking them in the tall glass of milk. Then he was supposed to drink all of the milk, even though it would have cookie crumbs in it. Well, if she insists, he thought with a grin. Sam poured himself a glass of milk, then sat down to attack the plate of cookies.

Per your instructions, he dunked the first cookie, letting it soak up some of the milk like a sponge. The first bite was heavenly, as it seemed to melt in his mouth. A groan of appreciation escaped his lips, not only for the taste, but for your efforts in making the cookies in the first place.

As the cookies disappeared one by one, Sam thought about how you helped him out of his nightmare tonight. You woke him up out of it, and took care of him by making sure he changed into some dry clothes. You also set up his sheets to be washed in the morning. That last hunt really took it out of him, with so much not going according to plan.

Sam welcomed any opportunity he could to confide in you about how he was feeling or just to feel your arms around him. He longed to hear your kind words and let them wash over him in your soft, soothing voice as it fell from those pouty, kissable lips. And your eyes always held such understanding. No matter what secrets he shared with you, he never saw any judgment in their depths.

Before Sam knew it he was out of cookies, so he followed your last instruction and drank all the milk. He smiled to himself because he had to admit that he felt a bit better than when he first walked into the kitchen. He took his dirty dishes to the sink, rinsed out the glass, then he headed back to his room to sleep. The only part that would've made it better is for you to have also been in the kitchen, spending time with him and talking.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The next morning, you wandered into the kitchen to start making breakfast, still wearing your pajamas. Coffee was the first order of business, because Dean was very grumpy without it. You went to the sink to fill the pot with water for making coffee. You noticed that the plate and glass you left out for Sam had been rinsed and were waiting to be washed. A small smile crept across your face, knowing that your mission had been accomplished.

Dean stumbled into the kitchen shortly after you pressed the 'start' button on the coffee pot. He took a seat at the table and grumbled as he rested his head on top of the table. "Good morning, Dean," you giggled.

He lifted his head and stared at you through half-lidded eyes. "Is coffee ready yet?" he rasped.

"Not yet, but I'll make sure you get some as soon as it is," you chuckled. You squeezed Dean's shoulder as you walked by him on your way back to the stove.

You heard someone clearing his throat and looked up to see Sam standing in the doorway. "Good morning, Sam," you said with a smile. "I hope it didn't take you too long to get back to sleep last night," you remarked.

"Good morning to you. No, I came in here after I changed clothes and had some cookies and milk that a certain someone left for me," Sam replied as he returned your smile.

You couldn't help but grin as you kept your head down and continued to prepare breakfast. "I'm sure I don't know what you're talking about, Sam," you said.

"Uh huh, yeah right," he smirked. "I thought for sure you were going to come in here to join me, but you didn't," Sam pouted.

"Oh. I thought you might want that time to yourself, so I went back to my room. Sorry," you replied.

He stepped behind you to grab three coffee cups from the cabinet, then turned to glance over your shoulder. Sam was so close that you swore you could feel his breath on your neck as you flipped the pancakes.

"Something I can help you with, Sam?" you asked. As you turned to make eye contact with the man behind you, he was so close that your lips meshed against his ever so gently. Your cheeks immediately felt blazing hot and you closed your eyes tightly to regain your composure.

Sam jumped back in surprise, then touched his lips where yours had most recently been. He took a hesitant step towards you as you flipped the last of the pancakes. You put them on the platter and turned off the griddle. You brought the steaming stack of flapjacks over to the table, then awkwardly excused yourself from the room.

Dean stared after you as you bolted from the kitchen. "What's wrong with her?" he asked.

A grin slowly spread across Sam's face as it dawned on him what had just occurred. He realized how perfect it felt to have your lips pressed against his, even if only for the briefest of moments. Sam also became aware of how much he wanted to do that again, but for longer and with even more contact. "I don't know, Dean," he said slowly.

"Dude, you okay?" Dean asked, cutting into Sam's daydream.

"Perfect, Dean. Just perfect. Can you please pass the bacon?" Sam answered.

"You know this is real bacon, right?" Dean said as he eyed his brother.

"Yeah, I know. It's okay, I'll burn the calories off tomorrow on my run," he assured Dean.

"Getting weird around here," Dean muttered.

Back in your room, you sat on the edge, head in your hands. What the hell was I thinking, kissing Sam? you asked yourself. Not like you hadn't thought or dreamed about it a thousand or more times. But with how he jumped back like he was burned, that was indication enough that he considered it a mistake.

Now it's going to get weird around here and that's my fault, you thought bitterly. You had to admit to yourself that his lips felt nice, and that you would like to do it for real and often. However, you decided your best course of action for at least today was to hole up in your room for a date with Netflix.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A couple of days after the "Kitchen Incident", as you thought of it, you decided to quit hiding out in your room. Whatever fallout was going to happen, you wanted to meet it head-on, then move forward, whatever that looked like.

Sam and Dean still went on cases, some that lasted a few days or even a week, while you stayed behind to run research. Life had seemingly returned to somewhat normal, or as normal as the hunting life gets.

Every once in a while, a plate of cookies and an empty glass for milk appeared on the kitchen table. Next to the glass would be a tented piece of paper marked, "For Sam". The usual instructions were written on the inside. He had to eat all of the cookies by dunking them in the milk, then drink all of the milk. Sometimes there would be a quote from a movie that you had watched together, or some silly knock-knock joke.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

About a month had passed and Sam and Dean were on their way home from a demon hunt in Montana. They had stopped in Sioux Falls to rest up at Jody's house and hang out with her and the girls before heading home. You asked Sam and Dean to say hi to everyone for you, and that you wished you were there.

Dean asked if you were going to do any baking, to which you laughed and asked him what kind of pie he wanted you to make. "Well, sweetheart, as long as you're offering, would you make a pecan pie for me?" he asked.

"I can do that. Um....how was the hunt?" you wondered.

Dean knew what you were really asking, but played along anyway. "It was fine, just demons being demons, causing their usual trouble. Sammy got knocked around a little though," Dean answered. "For the most part, he's okay. Sprained his wrist and has a bump on his head," he explained.

"What?!? Is he okay? Does he have a concussion, are you sure his wrist is only sprained?" you rambled.

"Shh, shh, relax. He's going to be fine. Here, talk to him," Dean said as he threw his phone to his brother, who threw him an epic bitch face in return.

"Hello? Sam, are you there?" you inquired nervously.

"I'm here. Don't listen to anything Dean says, I'm fine. How're you doin'?" Sam asked.

"Just trying to keep busy while I wait for you guys to come home. I must have done around seven loads of laundry in the last couple of days, though," you giggled. "You and Dean had at least three loads apiece!" you teased.

Sam smiled and chuckled in return. "I'm sure sorry about that, honey. I'll try not to let the clothes pile up so much next time," he promised.

Jody looked at Dean, with her mouthing the word, "Honey?" Dean just shrugged.

"Oh, it's all right, Sam. I was only kidding. I've got plenty around here to keep me busy and out of trouble," you remarked. "I miss you guys, but I know you don't get much chance to visit with Jody and her girls. So, don't be in a hurry to get home, and I'll see you when you get back," you replied softly.

"It's all up to Dean when he wants to leave, but I'll tell him you said that," Sam said. "Until then, take care of yourself and don't work too hard, okay?" he asked.

"I won't. Bye, Sam," you answered shyly. You heard a click and the call was disconnected.

Sam threw the phone back to his brother, a smile on his face. He got up from the couch and went into the kitchen for a bottle of water. Jody's and Dean's eyes followed Sam as he left the room. Once he was out of earshot, Jody and Dean were sharing their thoughts about Sam's phone conversation with you.

"Is there something going on between those two?" Jody asked. "Because it sure seems that way to me," she finished.

"Yeah, you should see them at home. They'll be sitting at the table researching or doing something on their laptops. I'll look up and see one of them staring at the other, then looking away. It's kind of cute, though," Dean replied.

"I can imagine. So, you'll have a pecan pie waiting for you when you get home, that'll be nice," Jody remarked.

"Yeah, and Sammy will probably have a plate of cookies waiting for him on the table," Dean answered.

"Wait. Mr. Eat-A-Salad-With-Every-Meal eats cookies?!?" Jody exclaimed.

"Oh, yeah, but only the ones she makes for him. It started after we got back from that werewolf hunt that went so bad," Dean explained with a grin. "At first, it was how she let Sammy know that he could talk to her about it or anything else if he wanted to. However, I think it's evolved into something more than that at this point," Dean said.

"Hmm. Maybe now it's her way of showing Sam how she feels. She might be too afraid to say it out loud," Jody suggested.

Neither Dean nor Jody had heard Sam come in from the kitchen. He heard the tail end of their conversation, the part about the reason you'd been leaving a plate of cookies out for him. "Hold on a minute. That's why she's been making me cookies?" Sam asked, taking a seat on the couch.

Jody and Dean looked at each other, debating on what to say next. Dean finally rolled his eyes and spoke first. "Come on, Sam, add it up," he started. "I've seen the two of you making goo-goo heart eyes at each other when you think the other's not looking. Then there's that phone conversation between you today," Dean smirked.

"What about our phone conversation?" Sam demanded.

"Nothing, just that if you smiled any wider while you were talking to her, your face would've split in half. And somehow, I don't think this is a recent thing for her," Jody chimed in.

"Huh? What do you mean?" Sam wondered.

"Well, remember the last time we all got together with Donna and Doug, about six months ago?" Jody asked and Sam nodded. "I noticed how her eyes seemed to follow you as soon as you entered the room. Then she looked away when you smiled at her and had caught her staring. How her face fell when you started talking and laughing with another woman," Jody finished quietly.

"H-how was she looking at me, Jody?" Sam asked, even though he pretty much knew the answer.

"Like a woman in love," she replied gently.

Sam turned to look at his brother. "Really?" he asked, his voice higher than usual.

Dean nodded. "So, the question really becomes, how do you feel about her, Sam?"

"I think I need some air," Sam said as he got up and walked out to Jody's back deck.

Once outside, he tilted his head up to see the endless array of stars shining in the night sky. Get it together, man, he told himself. This is your best friend you're talking about. You've known her for years. Do you really want to lose that if she doesn't feel the same? he silently asked.

Looking at the other side of the argument, Sam asked himself what would happen if you did feel the same, and how he would know. He loved the late-night conversations you had when neither of you could sleep. The warm towel you placed outside the shower for him after a cold morning run. Your laughter at his usually lame-ass jokes. Even that heartbroken look on your face as he flirted with another woman at the bar was enough to indicate how you felt.

The more Sam thought about it, the more he marveled at how he didn't see it sooner. It was all in front of him this whole time, the little things you do to show you care. Comforting him after he'd had a nightmare, buying his favorite veggies for snacks.....making cookies. You were in love with him.

Sam was suddenly desperate to have you in his arms at this very moment. As the two of you gazed at the stars, he knew your eyes would sparkle with amazement. Then you'd turn your focus on him and give him one of your heart-stopping smiles.

At that point, Sam knew he'd be a goner. He wouldn't be able to resist capturing your lips in a searing kiss, if your mouth moved even a fraction of an inch in his direction. That last thought was what sealed it in his mind. He was in love with you. If even half of what Jody and Dean said was true, then he didn't want to waste any more time before telling you how he felt.

He walked back through the house and into the living room, where he'd left Jody and Dean. When Sam entered the room, they stopped their conversation, because to them, it looked like he had something to say. "Hey Dean? Um....Could we...." he fumbled.

"Yeah, we can leave for home in the morning, Sam," Dean replied with an understanding smile.

"Thanks," Sam sighed with relief.

"Go get 'er, Sam," Jody remarked in support, bringing a smile to Sam's face.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

You had just pulled Dean's pecan pie from the oven and set it on the counter to cool. With any luck, it would be cooled off enough and ready to eat when he got home. There were also a few dozen snickerdoodle cookies you had made for Sam, resting on the wire cooling racks. You took out a plate from the cupboard and a tall glass. You placed about six cookies on the plate and set the glass next to the plate.

Taking out a blank sheet of paper, you folded it and tore it in half. On one half, you folded it into a tent and wrote "For Dean", then placed it next to the pecan pie. For the other half, you folded it the same, and wrote "For Sam" on the outside, then turned to write something on the inside.

Several minutes ticked by and you hadn't written anything. You couldn't think of a movie quote or line from Shakespeare to adequately express how you were feeling at the moment. You thought about your last conversation, the one where you heard he'd been hurt. Sam said it wasn't serious, but it was enough to cause you concern.

You decided you didn't want to hold back anymore when it came to your feelings about Sam. A hunter's life isn't always known to be a long one, and you were done wasting time. A smile broke out over your face as you resolved your writer's block. You wrote the three words that you felt best fit the situation, then left the note next to the cookies.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sam convinced Dean to drop him off at the bunker so he had some time alone to talk with you. Dean said he would use the time to go back to town for a pizza or something. Sam first went to the kitchen, because he smelled the evidence of your baking endeavors. He saw the plate of cookies and bit into one as he read the note. As soon as he read the three words, he ran out of the kitchen.

A knock at your door startled you enough to make you drop the book you were reading. You took a deep breath then turned the doorknob. As soon as the door was open, Sam's hands were on you, cradling your face as he smashed his lips to yours. The urgency of his kiss made you gasp in surprise, creating an opening for Sam's tongue to slip inside. As you returned the favor, you could taste the cinnamon and sugar of the cookie he ate before he knocked on your door.

You broke the kiss when you needed to catch your breath. "Wow, Sam," you whispered. "That's some 'welcome home' you've got there," you chuckled.

"Couldn't help it, I had to see you, baby," he murmured. His right hand slid behind your head, his thumb gently stroking your cheek. "Then I found the cookies and the note you'd left in the kitchen," he explained. Sam dove in for another kiss, but this one was slow and tantalizing, full of everything he was feeling at the moment. He pulled back from the kiss and guided you so you were both sitting on the edge of your bed.

Your hands slid up his chest and clasped behind Sam's neck. "I couldn't think of anything clever to put in the note this time. The more I thought about you, the less I wanted to hide how I felt about you. So I wrote the three words I believed would best fit the situation, and figured I'd explain once you read the note," you replied.

Sam grinned. "It said, 'Come find me', and how could I do anything else? I've thought about you so much these past couple of days. I don't want to hide how I feel about you, either. I love you," he declared, dipping his head lower to capture your lips with his own.

"Oh, Sam," you whispered. "I've felt this way for such a long time, but didn't know how to tell you. So, I baked," you both laughed. "I love you too," you replied softly.

You were about to pull Sam in for another kiss when you heard the bunker door slide open, which meant Dean was home. The two of you looked at each other and laughed, Sam's forehead leaned against yours. He gave you one last peck on the lips before he got up from the bed, his hand held out for you to take. You took his hand in yours and intertwined your fingers as you walked out to see what Dean brought for dinner.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

@janicho88 @akshi8278 @magssteenkamp @swiftlymoniquesblog @lyarr24 @miss-nerd95 @distefano123 @hobby27 @deanwanddamons @jessica-noel94 @wayward-mikaelson @jawritter @gabrielslittleangel @jensengirl83 @deangirl93 @ellewritesfix05 @supernatural-jackles @idreamofplaid @like-a-bag-of-potatoes @winchesterprincessbride

[alleiradayne]

Submitted for the approval of the Midnight Society, I call this story…

THE MIDNIGHT RIDE

Long is our list of ghost stories laid to rest. But when the dark rider returns thirty years after his exorcism at the hands of the Winchesters, Sam, Dean, and I are faced with the possibility that we’ve been wrong about one thing.

Some urban legends never die.

Part II - Tales From the Crypt

Summary: In Sleepy Hollow, New York, Sam, Dean, and the reader begin their investigation. Warnings/Tags: A dead body, talk of bodily harm, language, alcohol consumption, and some flirting. Characters/Pairings: First Person Female!Reader, Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester Word Count: 3,103

“We were able to identify most of the bodies, but a few are still John or Jane Does.”

The coroner led us around a table where a cadaver lay covered by a thick white sheet. She continued talking as she drew the sheet to the corpse’s waist, but I heard little and less of what she said. I barely stifled a yawn before sipping from my thermos. Coffee scalded my tongue but I’d rather deal with that than pass out on my own two feet at four o'clock in the afternoon.

Sam and Dean had insisted on driving through the night. Every time I had managed to fall asleep in the Impala, I had woken up sore and aching ten minutes later. So instead of risking another chiropractor bill, I had researched what I could of The Headless Horseman. Unfortunately, I had learned next to nothing besides boring variations on the same bullshit story from the urban legend.

Another yawn scattered my thoughts, and my vision finally focused on the exposed body before me. Headless as expected, no surprise there. Lacerations crisscrossed all over the torso and what remained of the neck, also expected. But something about those lacerations piqued my interest and so I leaned closer.

Thin black crusting outlined every cut, no matter how deep or superficial. The coroner and Dean were chatting amicably when I prodded Sam in the rib. He regarded me with a raised brow as I pointed at the lashes and said, “Look.”

Sam bowed in beside me, and the scent of his freshly washed hair filled my nose. So close, I eased into his warmth and leaned closer. “That,” I muttered as I pointed. “Aren’t those burns?”

He eyed me with a suspicious sideways glance before his smile spread across his lips, and he nodded. “Good catch, Y/N,” he started. “But the lashes alone are confusing. Since when does the Headles—”

“We’ll get back to you if we learn anything else,” Dean said loud enough to drown out Sam. “Thank you for your time, miss.”

Sam and I followed Dean’s lead and thanked the coroner for her time as well. She thanked us in return—flashing a warmer than casual smile at Dean, who blushed—and covered the cadaver as we headed for the door.

In the hallway, Dean breathed a sigh of relief. “Christ, she’s too smart.”

“What, did she reject you before you even asked?” Sam jested.

Dean tossed a tentative glance my way. “Nah, I got her number. But after that, she started asking about the decapitations and the lashes looking strange…” He trailed off as we stepped out into the cool fall breeze and pale October sun. “I don’t think she knows more, but I’ll have to be on my toes later.”

“And by later you mean after we finish this hunt, right?” I asked across Sam.

At the car, Dean popped the driver’s door open, then said, “She asked me out tonight.”

As they slid into the front seat, I eased into the back. “And you said what?”

He shot me a dark glare in the rearview mirror. “I asked her for a rain check until this weekend.”

Wow. “Okay, I’m impressed,” I replied.

“I’m… not surprised,” Sam replied. “Considering what’s going on.”

The Impala roared to life as Dean twisted the key in the ignition. When he pulled away from the curb, I leaned over the backrest and asked, “What is going on?”

Sam shot a nervous look at Dean before he took a deep breath. “Can we solve the case first?”

When he turned to look at me, I glared back. Earnest. Honest, even. But I wasn’t about to let my feelings for him cloud my judgment. “No. I need to know what we’re up against and...” I paused, my attention snared by the houses we passed. Every yard displayed a scene from the urban legend that had put Sleepy Hollow on the map. Various iterations on The Headless Horseman stood in every yard, myriad pumpkins and overly detailed horses impressively crafted. But each and every rider had a jack-o-lantern for a head or held one aloft. Not a single display had armed him with a whip or a cannonball. “Seriously, those lashes were burned into that victim. Since when does he wield a whip? And what kind of whip can do that?”

“One made from the spinal bones of human corpses,” Dean strained under his breath.

I blinked several times before I responded. “Excuse me?”

“Alright, here’s the deal,” Dean started. The Impala followed his command as it lumbered over the driveway into a diner’s parking lot. “We’re gonna eat dinner here. But we can’t talk about work. Once we’re in there, we’re FBI agents, and on-going investigations are off-limits. Got it?”

Better than nothing. “Once we get back to the motel?”

Dean pulled into a spot and slid the shifter into park. “We’ll tell you everything.”

Everything. So foreboding. As if all of their skeletons had been buried in an urban legend. Both of them turned over the backrest when I remained quiet too long. Weighed and measured, their expectant glares demanded an answer.

So I agreed.

“Deal.”

“I haven’t had a pot roast sandwich like that in ages.”

Dean covered his mouth with his fist as he held back a deep belch. “The pecan pie was damn near the best I’ve ever had.”

“And that hot cider!” I added. “That was definitely homemade.”

“Uh, you’re damn right it was homemade. Everything there was homemade,” Dean replied. “Well, except for maybe Sam’s salad.” He turned to Sam and his face fell. “Sammy?”

I followed Dean’s concerned glare and found Sam near the motel room door, eyes glazed over and staring into the middle distance. I knew that look. I’d felt it before, and I’d seen it on both of them too many times over the years. The severity of the situation sank in then, and reality returned in a rush. Forgotten was the pot roast, the pecan pie, and the hot cider. Abandoned was the lighthearted banter, and our carefree dinner.

Death stalked us in the shadows, no longer a friendly face.

“I think we should sit down,” Sam suggested as he crossed the room. When he slumped onto the bed, he said, “This story gets dark in a hurry.”

I shed my suit jacket and boots at the small table under the singular hanging lamp. “I get the feeling something pretty awful happened,” I said as I crossed the room and sat beside him.

Dean withdrew a bottle of scotch from his duffel bag. “Normally I’d save this for after we waste this asshole, but,” he paused as he popped the cork free of the bottle. “I have some doubts that’ll ever come to pass.” He pulled three short plastic cups from his bag then and poured two-finger pours into each. He handed a cup to Sam, who passed it on to me, and handed another to Sam before seating himself at the table with the third. A sip and a hum preceded his thoughts. “You got that picture handy, Y/N?”

I dug through my backpack at my feet and withdrew the article. “Right here. I saw The Headle—”

“Yeah,” Dean interjected. “He’s back there, in the field. Anything else jump out at you?”

Confused, my brow knotted as I focused on the article once more. “I mean, there’s this family standing in front of what is clearly the Sleepy Hollow museum. I recognized the building when we got into town,” I said. Another yawn reminded me I had not slept more than a couple of hours over the last twenty-four. "But I don't see anything else. No aberrations, no distortion, no orbs… other than Tits McGee up in the field there, I got nothing."

Sam pointed to the father. "Look a little closer here. You might recognize someone."

Recognize? The picture was thirty years old. Hell, I'd have been a kid back then. Probably just shy of seven years old.

Seven.

My focus snapped to the caption.

Thomas (7).

Something instinctual snapped my attention to Sam, and I saw it then. My jaw dropped as recognition crept along my spine. Boyish charm had grown ruggedly handsome, but the fear behind his wide stare had remained the same. I returned to the photograph, focusing on the older brother, and the truth settled in the pit of my stomach. A suave sense of confidence radiated from John (11). And he was the spitting image of his father, Richard Phillips (36).

He still is.

The image blurred as tears burned my eyes. I looked up to find Dean glassy-eyed and well into his cup. The start of so many thoughts stuttered on my clumsy tongue. How had I missed it back at the Bunker? Of course John Winchester would give an alias to a reporter. When I returned to the photograph one last time, I stared at their father, and the tears rolled down my cheeks.

"Every few months, John grew out his beard," Dean started. "He had this laser-like focus on hunting down the thing that killed Mary, and a time or two every year, he'd get a wild hair up his ass so bad, he'd forget to shave."

"That year," Sam said as he pointed to the photograph, "the wild hair was Sleepy Hollow. He was convinced beyond a shadow of a doubt that we would learn something important here."

Dean finished his pour of scotch and refreshed his glass. "He found nothing except for a bunch of busted pumpkins and a vengeful spirit."

I wiped at my eyes with the cuff of my shirtsleeve. When I turned to Sam, I asked, "How did he exorcise it?"

He shifted closer on the bed as he looked at the photograph. "We don't know. I was too young yet."

Dean grunted as he sat up in his seat and stood, caught his balance, then shuffled across the room to sit on the opposite bed. "Dad had just started filling me in on what he was doing about a year before we came here. But he did his best to ease me into it. Sam had hardly a clue until that day," he said as he pointed at the photograph.

"What happened?" I asked as I turned back to Sam.

A deep breath allowed him space to stall, but that same fear in his eyes returned. "I saw something." His stare glazed as it drifted off into the middle distance once more. "Bodies. Headless bodies," he stuttered. "A headless rider on a dark horse." He continued through a stream of consciousness, as though he were somewhere else. Sometime else. "Cannonballs and a whip of human spinal bones engulfed in flames."

My heart railed against my ribs as if to escape. Numb with dread, my fingers and toes burned, and fresh tears blurred my vision. "You were so young. That must have been terrifying."

He nodded and sipped from his drink. "At the time, yeah. I had nightmares for months. Over the years, I must have forgotten about it or blocked it out. But then you found this case. However you ended up with that article, it was no coincidence."

I looked to Dean then, and he clarified. "Something wanted us to come back. I think. To actually finish the job Dad didn't."

Something about that statement sparked a thought I had not yet considered. "How do you know this isn't something leftover from Chuck?"

A thoughtful look twisted his face. "We took care of Chuck and his mess. It's definitely a hunch but, I'd wager this isn't related. No, I think Dad just got this one wrong. He thought he did the job and we skipped town. But he screwed up and now The Headless Hessian is back again."

Hessian.

"What did you just call him?" I asked.

Dean regarded Sam, and they shared an equally confused look. "The Headless Hessian."

"I thought Hessians were German soldiers that fought for the Brits in the Revolution," I said.

When Sam nodded in agreement, he said, "You would be correct. And that was the original story until more retellings of the urban legend were printed."

Retellings. Talk about wild hairs. I dove for my backpack then and tore out my tablet. As it booted, I said, "I tried doing some research on The Headless Horseman on our way out here, but all I found was bullshit about the urban legend. Pumpkins and horses and heads and Ichabod Crane and crap like that. Nothing about cannonballs and whips made out of human spinal columns."

Sam propped one leg up on the bed as he turned to face me. "Regardless of what I saw as a kid, that story sounds familiar, too. I know the Hessian angle but I know I've also heard a version with a whip and a cannonball."

"Those," I started, then paused to type furiously, "I never knew. I always thought the myth was Ichabod Crane. But yesterday when I was searching for information, I think I found a website that mentioned a Hessian soldier as a part of the myth." Once I had found what I searched for, I turned the tablet to face them. "I thought it was a mistake. I know way too much about American history and its bullshit colonialism, so I wrote it off as a discrepancy. But when Dean referred to him as the Headless Hessian, it clicked."

The image on the tablet flipped through several iterations of a headless rider. The first carried a jack-o-lantern high over his head, then a headless horse with a headless rider appeared on the screen. Next, a rider carrying his own head, followed by a headless rider brandishing a sword. Then another hefting a muzzleloader, and finally a headless rider wielding a vicious whip made out of bone.

"Wait, which legend is that one?" Sam asked as he pointed.

The image of a man carrying his head under his arm while astride a horse froze on the page. "According to the website, that appears to be the dulachan. Irish folklore. The whip is a part of that legend, too."

"But our guy doesn't have his dome on him at all," Dean clarified.

"Exactly," I said, "Which was why I basically wrote this website off. Came to the same conclusion."

Sam pointed to the screen as the image changed to a giant man astride his horse brandishing his own head high above his shoulders. "That's the Gawain myth. Gawain beheaded the Green Knight."

Excitement flooded my senses as I exclaimed, "Yes! The Green Knight returns to challenge Gawain to a duel every year." The image changed again to that of a headless rider and horse. "And that's the Scottish story of the would-be chieftain, Ewen, who was decapitated at the battle at Glen Cainnir."

"And the headless man on a carriage?" Dean asked as the image changed once more.

"The Coiste Bodhar. Sometimes referred to as the gan ceann," I explained. “Damn, this website has everything…”

"But what does it all mean?" Sam asked.

I opened my mouth to reply but found I had nothing to say. A sudden silence filled the tiny motel room, all the wind sucked from our sails. It had to mean something. So many stories with their variations. Then again, they all shared a singular consistency.

“Maybe they’re all correct,” Dean mumbled.

Confusion scattered my rambling thoughts, and my focus snapped to Dean. “What are you saying?”

“Every story has the same headless dude in it, right?” he asked, echoing my idea. “Even the Hessian myth isn’t the original story. Irish, Scottish, English. They all have their own versions that are way older than the American story.”

“But a lot of Americans are the Irish, Scots, and English,” Sam added.

“Son of a bitch, we are English. I bet our forefathers fought in the Revolution,” Dean concluded and Sam agreed with a confident nod.

With the pattern weaving before my mind’s eye, I found a thread, a singular frayed end, and tugged on it. “So it’s not surprising at all that the stories are so similar. Immigrants made up the Headless Hessian based on their own urban legends from the motherland.”

“Exactly!” Dean declared.

Elation filled me for a brief moment before Sam ruined it again. “But then what is it?! A fae? A spirit? A curse? It could be anything with that theory!”

“You’re a real party pooper, you know that?” I said as I flopped back on the bed. “We were so close to something, I know it!”

Dean stood in a rush, then quickly returned to the bed. “Okay, that’s enough of the hooch,” he said as he crushed his empty cup and tossed it into the bin. “Let’s pick something and go after it. We’re never going to figure out what it actually is in a reasonable amount of time.”

“That’s a terrible plan!” Sam barked. “We’ll waste more time just trying random shit.”

Both of them fell quiet at that. My brain, on the other hand, was anything but. We had everything to handle a fairy, a vengeful spirit, even a curse. But how? How could we blindly choose? I agreed with Dean; we needed to do something and fast. And yet, Sam had a very valid point. I gritted my teeth against the frustration that supplanted my hope. What kind of spirit manifested once a year to kill a bunch of people? How, if all the stories are true, could we put down a fae-curse-spirit?

Then it dawned on me.

I bolted upright on the bed and blurted, “It’s all three.”

“What?”

Between Sam and Dean’s incredulous faces, I forced myself to grasp the last shred of confidence before it fled. “It’s all three. A spirit cursed by the fae.”

They regarded one another again, then turned away, silently considering my theory. Even I struggled to believe it. But then Dean snapped his fingers and said, “If it’s ultimately just a cursed spirit, all we need to do is roast his bones.” He pointed at the tablet as he jumped to his feet, steady as a rock. “The Headless Hessian was buried in an unmarked grave of the Old Dutch Church!”

I turned to Sam then, tense as a drawn bowstring. When his crooked, knowing grin spread across his lips, my stomach jumped into my throat. I hadn’t seen that smile in what felt like a century. And when he spoke, my heart nearly burst with relief.

“Looks like we’re doing some digging tonight.”

REBLOGS AND FEEDBACK ARE AWESOME. IF YOU WANT IN ON THE TAGS, SEND ME AN ASK OR A DM!

THE MIDNIGHT RIDE MASTER LIST

ALLEIRADAYNE’S SPN MASTER LIST

[teatime-imagines]

can you write about milo and a really bubbly and energetic s/o? If you can, could it be be nsfw?? sorry about any spelling or grammar errors! ❤❤❤

No worries hon and thank you for requesting this, hope you like some lemony Milo!

Milo with Bubbly S/O {Lemon-y}

You were so happy that Milo was able to get away today for the picnic you planned. Normally things were so busy between the farm and the gym that you both tended to sneak a few moments alone when you could but today, today he was just yours. So as a special surprise you set up a little area in the back of the orchard with all his favorites. Fresh berries and honey, cool lemonade, and a homemade pie you knew he loved topped with little peaks of whipped cream.

The look on his face when he saw what you’d prepared was enough to make you melt but you simply giggled as you gave him a quick peck on the cheek and sat him down. It was moments like this that you truly appreciated, when it was just the two of you. Though...it was almost perfect.

Milo caught you as you dropped down into his lap, laughing as you wrapped your arms around him in turn. “ Thank you sugar, you didn’t have to do all this you know.”

You smiled as you swiped the hat from his head, tossing it onto the blanket“ I know, sugar, but its been a while and I wanted to do something nice.” You tilted your head back against him and pressed a kiss to his chin, loving how easy it was to get him to blush. “ So what do you want first hon?”

Milo surprised you by slidding a hand under your shirt in answer, rubbing at the bare skin underneath. His calloused hand dragged back down to rest on your hip as he reached over and snagged a berry from its dish, “Do I have to chose or...” he trailed off as he pressed the berry to your lips, “ can I indulge?”

It appeared it was your turn to blush but you didn’t look away as you took his offering, nipping the tip of his fingers as you did. The hitch in his breath and the way he shifted sparked an idea as you turned to straddle his lap fully. You gave him an innocent look as you leaned against him, “ Oh? Do you want me to spoil you Milo? Have I been ignoring you?”

“No! Not at all I-“ Milo froze mid sentence as something cool touched the side of his neck. The sensation was quickly replaced by your warm tongue slowly lapping at the whipped cream you’d just smeared onto him. His quiet moan making you giggle into his skin as you ground down into his lap.

“No, are you sure Milo~?” You teased as you rocked your hips into his, ignoring how tightly he held onto you, “ I mean, I understand if you want me to stop~”

The mumbled reply he gave made you laugh, teasing him was just too much fun but the way he was pressing up into you... You could feel the tell tale twitch below you as his breathing sped up as he started to move with you. “Hey Milo?” You rose up on your knees, brushing aside his hands from were he held onto you to press a kiss to the top of his head, “ Let’s play a game?”

You ran your fingers through his hair, scratching at his scalp in a way that made him sigh and close his eyes. You knew his weak points , how to get him to melt and how to drag things out. Hands came up to cradle his face as you scattered more kisses across it, giggling at the sighs he gave in return. “ Milo?”

He let out an interested hum, distracted by the affection you were giving him, and reached behind you to grasp your rear. He knew he should pay attention because to you ‘game’ and ‘fun’ tended to mean the same thing as ‘trouble’. Like the time you’d convinced him to fool around in the gym locker room, or when you pulled him into pranking Kabu, or that one league dinner that... well, that one had certainly been your definition of fun. But he should’ve known better.

There was a rustle as you suddenly stood and and before he could even open his eyes he felt something land on his upturned face. He didn’t even realize that it was your shirt he’d pulled off when he saw you standing before him, stripped down to your bottoms.

“ Catch me. If you do I’ll let you indulge as much as you like.” You leaned down, smiling at the awed look on his face, “ But you have to catch me Milo~”

With that he was left to scramble after you as you took off into the orchard, laughing as you did so. Maybe you wouldn’t make him work for it too hard but he was just too easy to tease.

[desiraypark]

Apple Pie

Content: Sherri’s trying to bake...just a little domestic fluff. A few mentions of food.  Inspiration: Me sleeping nekkid last night with only a fleece blanket over me, then waking up to freakin’ AUTUMN. Also - me wanting some peach cobbler (but I changed it to apple pie for storytelling purposes lol)

Just as Sherri opened her eyes, her body jolted. The cold air hit her forehead and the thin summer blanket suddenly wasn't enough to keep her naked body warm.

“Shit,” she whispered. She pulled the blanket up over her face. She wanted to turn the heat on-- but she also didn't want to step out of the bed.

Clyde's throat clicked with every open-mouthed breath he took. His partially exposed chest moved up, then fell back down. Sherri tapped on his pec.

“Baby?” The muscle under his eye twitched. She rubbed his hair back. “Honeybunch?”

Clyde's eyes popped open and closed again. He instinctively lifted his arm, thinking Sherri wanted to cuddle. Then, he grunted.

“Mmph,” he grumbled. He pulled the blanket up over his chest.

“Baby, can you turn the heat on?” Sherri asked sweetly.

“Why you ain't turn it on?” he asked, voice deep and raspy with sleep. His eyes still closed, he scooted close to her.

“Because I'm naked.”

“You know good and well I'm naked, too, Babygirl.”

Sherri pouted and ran her finger over Clyde's nose. He opened his eyes again.

“We don't need to turn the heat on just yet,” he said. Sherri pouted again. “Don't give me that look. It's just a lil’ chill.”

Sherri sighed in agreement and threw her arm around Clyde's chest.

“Besides,” Clyde continued. “I want you to be my lil’ heater.”

Sherri chuckled and tossed a leg over Clyde's body. They sat in silence. Clyde nearly fell asleep again.

“You know what I want to make today?” Sherri asked.

“What?” 

“Apple pie.” Clyde's eyes popped open.

“I wonder if they're gonna have the farmers market out in town today…” ____________________

Sherri was excited to toss on a hoodie and some boots. Her and Clyde went out to Granby Street hoping that one of the Sunday farmer's market vendors would have apples--and plenty of them did! She grabbed Pink Lady and Honeycrisp. Then, they went to the grocery store to get some Granny Smiths and some ingredients for homemade pie crust.

“You found a recipe yet?” Clyde asked when they got back home. “For the filling?” He placed the brown paper bag of apples on the counter and Sherri placed the grocery store bag beside it.

“I'll find one.” 

She snapped her fingers. “We have bourbon, don't we?”

Clyde ran his fingers through his hair. “Yeah.”

Sherri walked to him and placed her hand on his chest. “It'll be good, baby. I promise!”

“I believe you, Babygirl. But you’ve just gotta stick to the recipe darlin’...” he said. 

Sherri rolled her eyes. “I do stick to the recipe. But it’s okay to experiment, right?”

She kissed him on the lips and walked out of the kitchen. “I'm gonna get out of these clothes!”

Clyde went back out to a chicken spot while Sherri excitedly started her pie. He grabbed some a chicken meal with mashed potatoes and gravy, dirty rice, and biscuits. After dinner, Sherri returned to glancing at a pie recipe from Pinterest, then adding ingredients her own way. Clyde peeped into the kitchen every few minutes--at one point to get a beer. Then some water.

“Think I'm gonna add a little bit more cinnamon…” he heard Sherri say to herself as he grabbed a biscuit from the takeout box. His eyebrows crinkled and he went back into the living room. Finally, Sherri came into the living room and plopped on the sofa beside Clyde.

“I think it's gonna be good, Baby. I can feel it in my bones,” she said. Clyde nodded and smiled.

“Alright, Babygirl. And if it's bad, you won't get to huffin’ now, will you?”

Sherri forced a smile. “I won't.”

Clyde looked at her face--that fake smile. He rubbed her thigh and looked back at the television.

____________________

Sherri pulled the pie out of the oven. The crust looked nice and crisp. She let it cool. About twenty minutes later, her and Clyde stood over it like it was a science experiment. Sherri grabbed some utensils and cut into it. She pulled out a slice and placed it on a small plate. Then, she tasted it. 

Sherri's body got warm. A lump formed in her throat and her heart sank into her stomach. Too much cinnamon? Not enough sugar? She glanced up at Clyde with sad eyes and noticed him stick his fork back in.

“This is good, Babygirl,” he said nodding.

“...really?”

“Mmm-hmm,” he hummed.

He kissed her on the cheek. “I think you’ve got a winner, baby.”

“You sure it's not too...spicy? Is there enough sugar?”

Clyde shook his head “no”. “Mmp-mmm. It's perfect.” He got another bite. Sherri smiled and grabbed another bite for herself. “It just doesn’t taste as swee--” Clyde wrapped his arm around Sherri’s waist. “It’s delicious, Babygirl.” Sherri smiled and took another bite, nearing the buttery crust.  “You’re just so used inhaling Little Debbie snacks like it’s the air you breath and your sweet buds don’t work no more,” Clyde joked.

Sherri pursed her lips and poked him in the ribs. He jerked back and laughed. “This is real good, Baby...” Clyde repeated.

“Thank you, Baby,” Sherri said. She cut another slice. “Now, I’ve gotta remember how much of everything I put in it...”

[eeveedel]

chubby actor louis (part 3)

hello, lovely people! we have yet another installment, and there’s lots of debauchery in this lil update. includes: weight talk, body image talk, bondage, dom/sub dynamics, stuffing, weight gain kink, and lots and lots of food. I hope you enjoy. mwah! 

part 1 I part 2

--

Bacon, eggs with cheese, and a large coffee with cream and sugar started each of Louis’s days.

He slept in every day, and woke up to his breakfast on a tray next to him. Sometimes there were additions of some changes; sausages instead of bacon, scrambled eggs instead of fried, chocolate chip muffins instead of toast. But his food was always waiting for him, and usually, Harry was, too.

Harry worked out in the mornings, so he was usually sweaty, pink-cheeked, and shirtless, sitting next to Louis in bed when he woke up.

“Morning, sunshine,” Harry greeted him with a kiss, “Are you hungry?”

That was also a now-constant in Louis’s life. Harry always asking if he was hungry, if he needed a snack, if he wanted to try something Harry had been whipping up. And unless he was already painfully full, Louis usually said yes.

He pulled himself up, fluffing pillows behind him so he could sit up and eat his breakfast, the food on his many plates slowly disappearing until he just had empty dishes and a full belly.

He slouched back, lazily sipping his coffee while Harry showered him in his usually string of compliments.  

“Look at your cheeks, sweetheart,” Harry hummed as he cradled Louis’s face, “They’re so round! You look so pretty.”

This is why they worked well together, Louis thought through his post-meal haze. He was a goal orientated person, always ploughing forward to the next task. But Harry took in details, observed both the beauty and flaws in everything, although he was so sweet he usually wanted to notice the former. He was the one who would sit back and soak in the little things, notice the changes in everything.

“I know,” Louis sighed, reaching up to touch his puffy cheeks. He folded his hands down a moment later, running his hands down his stomach and rucking up the edge of his shirt.

“But Harry, look at this,” Louis groaned, prodding at the spot under his belly button. “I have a stretch mark! Look!”

“I see it, honey,” Harry said with an easy smile.

“I have a fucking stretch mark,” Louis moaned, “I’m going to have it forever. I’m going to have to use those lotions pregnant women use. Oh my god, Harry.”

“You’re so dramatic,” Harry sighed, giving him a kiss, “I think it’s cute.”

“Of course you do.”

“What? I do. It just means you’re bursting with the love I’m giving you,” Harry said, “Twenty-three pounds of lovin’ in this belly.”

He gave Louis a little pat on his stomach, and Louis felt the morning tension and grumpiness unspool from his body. He sighed and leaned over, giving Harry a kiss as he placed his hand next to Harry’s on his own midsection.

“Well don’t give yourself too much credit, I did most of the work,” Louis huffed, “You can take more credit when you contribute seven more pounds.”

Harry offered him a wolfish grin, and kissed him hard on the cheek.

“Deal.”

--

Louis couldn’t remember a time he had looked forward to eating this much.

He vaguely remembered a time – now only about a month and a half ago – that he had eaten kale salads with salmon on top and mixed grains for dinner and washed it down with kombucha, where he had told himself that it was worth it for all the vitamins and nutrients and the bragging rights he would have amongst his industry friends for how had the most restrictive diet, but he had never been happy before, during, or after those meals. And he also remembered when he had started preparing for this role, where the thrill of eating to his heart’s desire was quickly chased with anxiety over his softening waistline, the voice in his head that said he was doing the worst thing in the world.

But those voices were gone now. There was just his tongue that craved things, and then his boyfriend that inevitable placed that craving into Louis’s hands within the hour. Poutine, with thick homemade fries, doused in orange curls of cheese and thick gravy, curly ramen noodles with eggs on top and tender pieces of beef soaked in salty broth, homemade banana bread slathered in Nutella. Before bed, ice cream with gobs of cookie dough, brownies with caramel drizzled on top, peach pie with whipped cream. If he was thirsty he was presented with ice cold glasses of grape or cherry soda, vanilla milkshakes, or homemade Frappuccinos.

He ended every day with a tight, gurgling belly, which Harry would happily rub, and in the morning, his boyfriend’s careful eyes and observant eyes put him on the scale and measured every inch of his body.

Three more pounds crept up on Louis’s frame, bringing with it the usual praise from Harry and also more and more of the minute details Louis was noticing more and more. His cheeks pressed hard up into his eyes when he smiled, and he barely had to look down or speak for the double fold under his chin to be noticeable. His biceps had softened and he soft bit of arm jiggled under each arm when he waved. He had to rock a little to get himself going before he got up from the couch, and he caught him breathing a bit harder at the top of their main staircase. More red marks appeared on his hips, stomach, and legs, and his thighs rubbed together hard when he walked through the house. Harry bought him some special powder to slap on his thighs and also a large pair of bike shorts to help the chaffing, but when Louis forgot either of them, he widened his stance a bit into a small, awkward waddle. Once Harry caught him doing it and pinned him against the nearest wall for a mid-afternoon quickie.

Harry told him things that would have scared Louis, once – “You’re going to have to go up another pant size soon” and “You know you’re overweight for your height now” and “You’re really fucking out of shape” – but he said them in a deep, raspy voice that turned those statements into the highest of praise.

Louis knew the impact his body had on his boyfriend, and he carried that with pride.

One evening, Louis half-waddled into the kitchen, delicately holding a hand on top of the curve of his stomach, and saw Harry shirtless, standing at the counter and tossing a salad. Harry turned when he saw Louis, his smile bright.

“Hey, you.”

“Can I have a snack?” Louis said, blushing a little. His stomach was just starting to gurgle again, even though after lunch he had had a whole package of sugary dried fruit.

“You’re in luck, I was about to call you for dinner,” Harry said, “Come see.”

Louis followed Harry into the dining room, his eyes widening when he got there. Harry had apparently chosen a theme of Italian and carbs for the evening, because their dining table had two big pans of lasagna, one filled with beef and marinara sauce and one with layers of cheese and a thick white vodka sauce. There was a big loaf of garlic bread nestled in a wad of aluminum foil, and a small tray with two chocolate lava cakes.

“Oh, fuck,” Louis whispered, moving past Harry to look at the food more closely. He leaned forward, the shelf of his belly pressing gently into the edge of the table, and reached towards the tail end of the garlic bread loaf. It was still a little far away, so he leaned further forward, his ass sticking out further behind him and his stomach harder into the table in a way that made him exhale hard.

Louis tore off a piece of bread and stuffed it into his mouth, and then he looked behind him and saw Harry, his eyes dark, a slight smirk on his face as he leaned on the divider of their kitchen. Louis chewed the bread and swallowed quickly.

“What, babe?” Louis asked, his voice already dropping a bit.

“Just enjoying the view,” Harry offered, the side of his mouth twitching.

“Yeah?” Louis asked. He batted his lashes and leaned further over the table. The pair of briefs he had grabbed were too small, and he could feel them wedging into his ass, showing off more of his cheeks. He bounced a little on his toes, feeling the way it made his behind jiggle, and then he reached a hand behind him, smacking his own cheek. “You like this fat ass, baby?”

“God, fuck,” Harry breathed out. He pushed away from the kitchen and came closer, grabbing Louis around the hips. He shoved himself forward, his jeans grinding roughly against Louis’s ass, and Louis gasped. He tried to stand and twist around to let Harry kiss him. He felt his sides fold into a thick roll, and just the feeling made him moan into Harry’s lips.

“You look so good,” Harry groaned as he pulled back, only to nip at Louis’s lip. “So sexy.”

He rubbed along Louis’s stomach, pressing gently into the softness, and Louis giggled.

“Thanks to you,” he said, “You keep me fat and happy, baby.”

“Mm,” Harry hummed, “You’re happy?”

The question seemed genuine, a little softer, and Louis pulled back.

“Yes,” he said firmly, “I am so, so happy.”

He set his hands on Harry’s shoulders, smoothing his hands along the hard, firm lines under his t-shirt.

“God, I don’t decided if I want to fuck you or have the food,” he groaned. “Can we have both?”

“I don’t want you to choke, honey.”

“Ugh, boring,” Louis moaned, “Always so worried for my safety.”

Harry was quiet, chewing on his lip, and then his eyes brightened.

“I have an idea,” Harry said, “If you don’t like it, we don’t do.”

“Okay,” Louis said slowly, “Tell me.”

“I get a pair of our handcuffs from the box upstairs,” Harry said, “Or rope. Or a scarf. Whatever you want. Tie you to a chair, feed you your dinner. And I’ll untie you when I think you’ve had enough.”

Louis felt a little thrill run through his belly at the idea, and his mouth dropped.

“Oh,” he exhaled, “I – okay.”

“Would you want to try that?” Harry asked. He was trying to keep his voice steady, but Louis could recognize Harry’s eagerness easily.

“Sure,” Louis said, “Sure, let’s do it, yeah.”

“Yeah,” Harry echoed. He took a step back and vaguely gestured behind him, “I’m gonna…get supplies upstairs. What do you want me to tie you with?”

“Um,” Louis said, “Rope?”

“Solid choice,” Harry agreed, “I’ll be right back.”

He seemed to sprint out of the room, and Louis heard him moving around rapidly upstairs, and then, his footsteps were going down the stairs, and soon, Harry was in front of him. He was carrying a soft length of bondage rope, thick and petal pink, and Louis smiled.

“Tell me what you need me to do,” Louis said gently.

“Sit,” Harry breathed out, his voice firm.

Louis pulled out a dining room chair and sat down, and Harry nodded.

“Scoot back, hands behind your hands…there you go.”

Harry moved behind Louis and crouched on the ground, and then tied the rope around Louis’s wrists, and then around the slats at the back of the chair, securing Louis to the chair. Harry put in a couple more ties, his hands sure and well-trained, and he gave them a tug, asking if they were too tight and adjusting the knots. Finally, he stood up and circled around Louis to go to the kitchen, and then returned a moment later with two big glasses of ice water. Then he grabbed his own chair, dragging it forward so he was sitting directly in front of Louis.

Louis watched carefully as Harry picked up a piece of garlic bread, dripping in bright yellow butter. Louis licked his lips and locked his eyes with Harry, his head already growing fuzzy.

Harry pushed his hand forward, holding the bread right next to Louis’s lips.

“Eat,” he said softly.

Louis opened his mouth gladly and bit into the bread, moaning immediately at the taste. He ate happily, swallowed down what Harry gave him and then licking his boyfriend’s buttery, crumb-covered fingers when he was done. Harry reached for another piece of bread and offered it to Louis, smiling as he swallowed it down. Another piece of bread appeared after that, bigger than the first two, and Louis once again ate it quickly, making Harry’s smile grow.

“Good boy,” Harry nodded. He paused just to wipe his hand with a napkin and to pick up Louis’s water, commanding him to take a big sip.  

Next Harry dragged forward a tray of lasagna, the one filled with meat and red sauce. He retrieved a big serving spoon and took a hunk out of the corner of the dish, then held it in front of Louis. He ate, just like he was told, his tongue savoring the soft pasta, the rich sauce, the greasy cheese. He moaned happily and ate from Harry’s spoon, then eating another spoonful afterwards. Harry pet his hair and cooed, picking up more and more for Louis to eat, until there was a big space in the lasagna pan where they used to be food.

Louis’s stomach felt warm and happy, and he wiggled a little when Harry switched to the other pan, how giving him a taste of sharp-tasting vodka sauce that made his tongue tingle.

“So good, baby,” Louis moaned as he ate. He felt some sauce drip onto his chin and Harry didn’t go to clean it up.

“Thank you,” Harry smiled, picking up another spoonful, “Only the best for my boy.”

Louis closed his eyes and kept eating, his mind a haze of cheese and pasta. He only frowned when he felt how tight his stomach was getting. He blinked, looking down. He could his belly was sticking out, perfect round, and he looked up at Harry.

“I’m a little full…” he said, but Harry just blinked at him and dug up another spoonful of lasagna.

“You stop when I tell you to stop,” Harry said simply, “Open your mouth.”

Louis blinked, and then opened his mouth and did what he was told. When he was done with the spoonful Harry smiled and reached out, smacking the side of Louis’s belly and giving it a little jiggle.

“Good boy,” he praised.

Harry’s hand was steady, doling out more pasta, and then more bread, all with little sips of water. Louis took deep breaths, pulling a little at his constraints to get comfortable. His stomach was tighter and heavy, and he opened his legs a bit to give his stomach room. He felt it sag, he felt the elastic of his underwear starting to curl at the top, helpless to the weight of his middle.

“Such a perfect boy,” Harry said, “Eating so well for me. Making me so happy.”

Louis nodded, and opened his mouth at Harry’s next command. More bread. More butter. More calories that would go straight to his thighs and belly and ass. Or maybe his double chin, or his fat arms. It didn’t matter.

His eyes drooped as he ate, and he felt grease and sauce accumulate on his face and chin. His mouth opened less eagerly, but he still ate. He let out a little burp at one point, and blushed, but Harry just patted his gut and gave it a jiggle, telling him it was okay.

“One more bite,” Harry said, holding out more lasagna, “And then dessert.”

Dessert? Jesus fucking Christ. But Louis opened his mouth nonetheless and ate the lasagna.

As soon as he had swallowed, Harry fetched a clean fork and the two lava cakes, holding him out.

“These are for you,” Harry grinned, “Both of them.”

“Both?” Louis asked,

“Try for me,” Harry said, “Come on.”

He gave Louis more water, and then gave his belly a firm jiggle, and then, there was a forkful of chocolate in front of Louis.

His belly said no. But chocolate sounded so good. And Harry was giving him a look where no was not an option.

So Louis sagged forward and welcomed the cake into his mouth.

His brain was floating elsewhere, his mouth was full of chocolate, and Harry was still staring at him, coaxing the food between his lips.

Louis moaned as he finished one lava cake and then another one floated in front of his face. His mouth opened without thought, a robotoic motion of open-close-chew-swallow.

He barely realized the last bite was gone until Harry was kissing him, one hand cradling Louis’s full, tender stomach.

“Oh, good fucking boy,” Harry breathed, “God, look at you.”

Louis could only imagine what Harry was seeing; Louis exhausted, sweating, red-faced, his face covered in food and his soft body spilling out of his briefs. Harry started to clean him, rubbing a napkin on his face, getting some water into his system, and then he untied Louis’s wrists, letting him lean forward and cradle his stomach. The skin was tight and hot under his hands, and he moaned. Harry coaxed him to his feet, and Louis widened his legs, cradling his belly and waddling to the living room, until he could collapse on the couch.

Harry sat by his hip, rubbing his stomach, soothing the aching skin and giving Louis kisses on his face and wrists as he came down from his high. His stomach was screaming, but his head was happy. He was Harry’s good boy, happy and fat, always doing what he was told. That was enough.

As Louis became more lucid, Harry grew a bit quiet, still touching Louis carefully but not offering many words. Eventually, his voice came, quiet and uncertain.

“Louis,” Harry said softly, “Are you really happy?”

“Hm?” Louis lifted his head and looked at his boyfriend, who was looking at him so gently.

“Are you happy like this?” Harry asked, “Like you said earlier?”

He kept drawing circles around Louis’s belly button, but Louis still would’ve understood his question.

“Honestly, I think…I think this is the happiest I’ve been in a while,” Louis admitted.

His skin flushed as he said it, but he was smiling.

“I don’t have to get up early to do work outs I don’t even enjoy and eat food I hate, just for a body I’ll never feel good enough in,” he said. The words were rushed, but he meant them.

“I don’t know if I was happy like that, when we were the fucking ‘fittest couple in Hollywood,’” Louis confessed, “I mean, that was your thing, and I just did it because it was expected of me.”

He blushed, reaching down to squeeze his belly.

“But I feel so…so happy like this. In this body, with you, doing this,” he said, “Like I’m enough.”

Harry nodded, his face soft and content.

“I always had the feeling you didn’t like working out that much,” Harry said, “I mean, you did it, but I always had the feeling you wanted to do anything else.”

“Yeah,” Louis said softly, “And I hated half the food I used to eat. I guess some of it was alright. But I just felt like I had no choice.”

“Well know you can do whatever you want,” Harry said, “Although I will say, I kind of miss you when I work out. I miss having you there with me.”

“Maybe I can hang out with you while you’re lifting? Or on the treadmill?” Louis offered, “I can have a snack and talk to you while you do that.”

“I would really like that,” Harry agreed.

He reached down again to pet Louis’s belly, and Louis looked down at himself, a little lump growing in his throat.

“I’m going to have to lose this eventually,” Louis said sadly, “For my job.”

“Hey,” Harry said softly, cuffing Louis under the chin. “We have four pounds to go, honey.”

He gave him a kiss, holding his lips tight on Louis’s cheek before he pulled away.

“And I plan to make them count.”

--

Ideas sprouted in Harry’s head like weeds in the middle of spring.

For the next few days, he scaled back some of Louis’s meals. Still giving him everything he wanted, just a little less. A dozen buffalo wings instead of eighteen, four red velvet cupcakes instead of six, two calzones but no cinnamon sticks to go with them. Louis questioned him, a little frown forming at each of the meals.

“I’m planning something,” Harry teased him, “Be patient.”

And then one morning Louis woke up to no breakfast platter, and instead, Harry was just sitting next to him, a giant smile on his face.

“Wear something tight for me today,” Harry said, and then got up and disappeared. And Louis realized this was the day, this was Harry’s planning was paying off. And Louis was eager to mind out what it entailed.

Louis went to their closet, rifling the section that had become his out-grown clothes. He hated wearing tight clothes, he preferred his sweatpants and pajamas now above anything else, but if Harry wanted, he could deliver.

He selected a white button-down shirt and a pair of dark jeans, and started the process of doing them up. It was easier said than done, they had been new purchases when he and Harry had visited the mall, but they were already tight. All the buttons on his shirt did up, but the buttons were tight and the fabric stretched taunt on his frame, not hiding a thing. He rolled up his sleeves to his elbows and unbuttoned the first few buttons of the shirt, something that used to show off his delicate wrists and sharp collarbones that had since thickened and softened. He yanked on the jeans, which were snug against his thighs and ass, and he had to suck in to button them and then pull the curve of his stomach out of the waistband, letting it flop over top of his pants and pushing hard against his shirt.

He knew he wasn’t that big, but in this outfit, he felt massive, and it sent a little thrill through him, especially knowing how much Harry would love to see it, too.

He made his way down the stairs, breathing a bit hard at how the buttons cut into him. Harry was waiting for him in the doorway of the kitchen, and he waved his hand towards the breakfast nook, signaling for Louis to sit.

“You look gorgeous,” Harry smiled, “And I like the white shirt, too. You’ll probably get messy today. But maybe that’s good.”

Louis smiled, his stomach fluttering a bit.

“So what are you making me today?”

“Well, just one thing, actually,” Harry said.

Louis’s heart sank a bit. One thing, for the whole day? And then Harry disappeared into the kitchen and came back with a platter holding an enormous cheesecake almost completely covered in Oreos, chocolate sauce, and whipped cream. He placed it in front of Louis with reverence, staring at it for a long moment before turning to Louis.

“I spent all last night making this,” Harry beamed, “It’s around twenty thousand calories.”

The two statements hit Louis one after the other, and he blinked.

“Oh,” Louis stammered, “Oh, wow.”

“Yep!” Harry chirped, “And you’re gonna eat it today.”

He kissed Louis’s temple as the other man just stared at the platter, open mouthed.

“Gonna get you a fork,” Harry said, “Are you hungry?”

“I, yeah,” Louis managed.

“Of course you are,” Harry said, “My baby’s always hungry.”

He disappeared once more, and he returned with a fork. He pressed it into Louis’s hand, and then kissed the top of his head.

“Eat up, gorgeous.”

Louis nodded, staring at the feat in front of him. He wasn’t tied up, like he had been the night of the lasagna, but he felt just as much under Harry’s control.

He took a breath, feeling the press of the buttons into his abdomen. He had all day. He could do this. He would do this.

He reached his fork forward, picking up a bite of the cheesecake and placing it on his tongue. It was delicious, as always, so sweet it made his teeth sing, incredibly soft, and rich enough that he could taste the butter.

He easily ate through a full slice, and then another after that. He loved sweets for breakfast, and Harry had trained him for such indulgences with Belgian waffles and chocolate muffins presented to him quite literally on a silver platter. He even managed to polish off another slice, and Harry praised him with a kiss and a hug.

And so, for the rest of the day, the cheesecake was Louis’s constant companion. Anytime he felt the smallest bit of emptiness in his belly, he was back at the table with his fork, digging into the layers of cookies and frosting, picking away at the mammoth plate. Usually Harry worked up in his studio, but he seemed to be lingering around a lot more, either on his laptop or engrossed in his sketchbook, but still taking time to look up at Louis as he ate.

At lunchtime, a third of the cake was gone and Louis’s buttons were so tight he was gasping. He shoved cake into his mouth and then moved to undo his shirt, but Harry’s voice halted him.

“Leave that,” he said firmly, and Louis’s hand dropped immediately. He went back to his cake, sugar-buzzed and obedient.

He returned only an hour and a half later, eager for a few more bites. He didn’t realize until now how much hungrier he was throughout the day, his body trained for constant snacks. He sat down and picked up his fork, Harry sitting nearby watching.

He only had to reach forward a little before he heard a rip and felt pressure release on his stomach.

Louis blinked and looked down and saw there was a very apparent rip in his shirt, right over his stomach. There was also a bit of a gap at the side seam, and when he shifted, the rip widened. He looked up at Harry, his mouth opened, and his boyfriend’s eyes were dark.

“Eat your cake,” he said, his voice deep, and Louis reached for the fork without question.

As he moved around the house, the gaps in his shirt grew, the rips audible and showing more and more of his skin. He also saw how the white fabric was staining, smeared with chocolate and greasy bits of whipped cream. He would be embarrassed by it, but Harry kept giving him the most satisfying looks.

As dinner time approached, there was still a significant amount of cheesecake left, and Harry clucked his tongue.

“I worked so hard on this,” he said, “It better not go to waste.”

Louis’s fork found its way back to the plate.

Eventually, he decided not to leave the table. His brain was a swirl of black and white sugar, his body felt sluggish. There was a new rip under his right arm, and he had to keep breathing around the buttons, which were nothing short of painful now. He groaned as he took another bite, his body protesting, and he rocked forward a little, a hand cradling his stomach as he tried to sooth himself.

He heard the sound, a pop and then a high little ping on the ground, and then felt his stomach surge. Another pop. Another ping. He moaned, moving to the space where the two buttons had flown off, leaving his pale, soft belly exposed to the cool air.

He looked up at Harry and blinked, his vision blurring.

“I think the shirt’s too small,” he said, and then, his hand scrambled for the fork. More cake passed his lips. Harry groaned.

Louis couldn’t tell the difference between the next seconds to minutes to hours. It was all cake, all Harry’s gaze, all the feeling of his shirt ripping, unable to contain his form. His mouth and hand moved on their own in rhythm, working towards the goal as his other hand rubbed his stomach.

Eventually he blinked and rocked forward, and he felt the thick button on his jeans break, hurtling towards the ground. Louis hiccupped and adjusted his hips, his stomach pushing down the zipper of his pants.

He felt Harry’s hand on his belly and he leaned back, accepting a kiss on the head. He hadn’t even known Harry was there. He was too sugar drunk to know anything.

“I’m gonna pop,” he heard himself moan, and Harry soothed him.

“But you just have a little more,” Harry said carefully, “Please. Come on. Make me proud.”

Make Harry proud.

Louis’s mouth lolled open and stayed at way. A hand that wasn’t his fed him, rubbed his belly, slipped his fingers under Louis’s ripped shirt.

“Good. Good. Perfect,” Harry coaxed, “Just a little more now.”

Louis barely heard Harry when he was done. He collapsed on the table, panting, his shirt ripping even more. He thought he felt a rip along his inner thigh, but he didn’t know. He felt Harry’s hands lifting him up, guiding him to the sofa, offering him water.

“Never make me do that again,” Louis wheezed, and he heard Harry laugh.

“Once is all I wanted,” he heard his proud, proud boyfriend say, “And God, were you absolutely spectacular.”

--

Louis expected a bit more pomp and circumstance, in all honesty.

It still the morning, although Louis had slept in so it was closer to midday. Harry had to shake him awake and Louis immediately groaned and yanked the blankets over his head.

“Not now,” he huffed.

“Up and at ‘em,” Harry said gently, “Come on, honey. Scale.”

“I’m hungry,” Louis protested.  

“I know, honey,” Harry sighed, “But we gotta weigh you first.”

“Can’t it wait?”

“If we weigh you after you eat, it might not be accurate,” Harry said, “Come on. I’ll make you whatever you want.”

Louis considered resisting a bit longer, but he could hear the eagerness in Harry’s voice. It was his favorite thing, to see the numbers under Louis’s feet rise.

So Louis rolled out of bed and followed Harry to the bathroom. At Harry’s instruction he stepped up on the scale, not even looking down to read it. He rubbed at his eyes and yawned, blinking weakly as he tried to wake up. The scale beeped under him, evening out, and he waited for Harry to read him the number like he always did.

But there wasn’t anything.

He turned to his side, seeing Harry was still, just staring down.

“Harry?” he asked, “What is it?”

Harry lifted his head, his smile brilliant.

“179.”

Louis blinked.

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“So…I’m…”

“You did it, babe,” Harry said, “Well, you went above and beyond, actually.”

“One pound isn’t above and beyond.”

“It is,” Harry insisted, “It is to me.”

He surged forward, wrapping his arms around Louis and giving him a squeeze that made Louis squeak.

“You’re perfect,” Harry breathed out, “Absolutely perfect.”

Louis could only stare down at the number below him, the reality catching up to him.

He had gained thirty-one pounds. He was out of breath, hungry, and covered in stretch marks.

And he had never felt better about himself in his entire life.

After a moment, he stepped down, and let himself be fully hugged by Harry, snuggling into his chest.

“God, wow,” Harry said again, “I’m – I can’t believe this.”

“I know, right?” Louis sighed, “And hey, you helped with the last sixteen. So you can officially claim most of the credit.”

Harry laughed, shaking his head.

“I mean, I’m kind of…sad that it’s over, to be honest,” Harry said, “This has been so fun.”

“Well,” Louis drawled slowly, “I have a whole movie to shoot. Gonna have to keep this up for awhile.”

He patted his stomach and watched how he jiggled.

“You up for helping me with that?” Louis asked, “Can’t get skinny now.”

Harry’s mouth twitched, and he gave Louis a long look before grinning once more.

“I think I would be interested.”

[skzsauce01]

3.14

Description: March 14 is both White Day and Pi Day. You're a sucker for puns, so obviously Felix has to make you a pie.

Warning: none

Word Count: 2,116

Pairing: fem!reader x Felix

Contrary to what his friends thought, Felix is not a complete idiot. Sure, he might be failing calculus, but he knows your handwriting like he knows the Pythagorean Theorem.

He knows it very well.

The note attached to the box of chocolates is not signed, but the sharp curves of your characters are a dead giveaway. He can't lie; seeing the store-bought box makes his heart sink. He hoped you had some semblance of romantic feelings for him, but he never saw an inkling. However, when he pulls off the white ribbon, he is ecstatic to see that his previous assumptions were wrong: the heart-shaped chocolate inside is hand decorated with lines of icing and carefully dotted with pink sprinkles, which means you are actually into him. He is smiling so much. He yells down the hallway filled with tired teenagers who couldn't care less about how he has a Valentine.

“My crush likes me back!” he shouts, earning him a few grossed-out looks.

He leaves the chocolate in his locker, but he tucks the note-- Happy Valentine's Day, Felix <3-- into his calculus textbook and thinks of less than 3's all the way to class.

However, last month's delight is now this month's dilemma. He almost forgets about White Day until Chan asks him what he is going to give you in return. His nervous laugh gets a sympathetic look and a well-intended but not helpful suggestion to buy an expensive box of chocolate. The two main problems with Chan's idea is that Felix has limited funds and anything store-bought just doesn’t show off what a great boyfriend he can potentially be.

Never mind that he doesn't even know when White Day is exactly.

Google tells him that it's on March 14. Felix has been stuck doing math for multiple hours per day, so his first thought is That's Pi Day.

Then it hits him.

He'll make you a pie. A pie so beautiful and delicious that it will make the relationship official. Instagram official.

He's jittery during the entire day. He has only a couple days to make sure his plan goes smoothly. The pie has to be perfect.

After school, Felix takes the bus to the grocery store and searches up apple pie recipes on the way there. His eyes grow wide as soon as he realizes how much work he has to do. To motivate himself, he opens the front cover of his calculus textbook and rereads your handwritten note from last month. This will all be worth it, he tells himself.

When he arrives at the grocery store, he heads straight to the produce section. Each recipe recommended different kinds of apples, so screw it; you are going to get an everything apple pie. Like an everything bagel, but apple pie.

Back at home, he has Chan in a Discord call with him as he dices up apples and cuts strips of pie dough. Chan's not doing much, just reading aloud pie making tips that Felix has seen over thirty times while looking up recipes. Felix tunes him out at what has to be the fifth mention of squeezing lemon juice on top of the chopped apples to prevent browning.

"I know already. I know what I'm doing," Felix says. "Why are you so worried anyway?"

Chan's voice is shrill and tinny as he practically screeches out, "Because you've never made a pie before, and you only have until tomorrow to get it done!"

"High risk, high reward?"

"That's not how it works!" There's a sigh from Chan's end. "Why did you choose pie? Chocolate would have been fine, too."

He considered just melting down and molding chocolate for your White Day gift. However, the homemade chocolate you gave him on Valentine's Day was so elegant and elaborate, a normal gift wouldn't suffice.

White Day also happens to be on Pi Day, and Felix knows how much you love a good math pun and a good apple pie. Hence why he is spending the night before White Day baking.

He tosses the diced fruit with the apple pie spice he picked up at the grocery store.The apple-and-spice mixture goes into the store-bought pie crust soon after, and then Felix searches up how to make a lattice.

Actually, why doesn't he put Chan to work?

"Chan, how do I make a lattice?" he asks, using the same tone he would when talking to Siri.

Chan grumbles, protesting that he's not his personal AI assistant, but Felix can hear him typing away. While Chan reads off a list of instructions and sends him video links, Felix wipes his flour-dusted fingers on his no-longer-white apron and checks his phone for messages from you. There's nothing new; the latest message in the chat between the two of you is still a picture of question 19 of his calc book with a big question mark drawn on. He sees that you haven't even seen the message yet, so you must be busy.

Felix picks up the strips of dough and follows Chan's instructions. It's easier than he expected, but the design still looks off.

Oh well. It's not too late to start over without ruining the entire design.

"Did it turn out okay?" Chan asks, breaking Felix out of his thoughts.

"It's… not bad," is the best answer he can give. He takes a picture and sends it to his friend.

Chan laughs at the crooked placements and the less-than-stellar job Felix has done at cutting the strips. "I can tell it's a lattice at least. Is it baking yet?"

"You're more anxious than I am," he remarks as he sticks the pie into the preheated oven.

"Well, someone has to be! It's your first White Day together! It has to go well."

"Which is why I'm making an apple pie for her!" Felix shouts. He realizes how loud it was and apologizes. "I didn't mean to yell at you."

"It's fine. I was being annoying, wasn't I?"

He says, "Yes," with no hesitation, and Chan laughs.

"She's your first girlfriend, and you're pretty much my little brother. I have good reason to be stressed out for you," he explains. Felix hears him typing again, and he has a feeling he's about to receive more unsolicited advice. "Anyway, did you put an egg wash on it? All these recipes are saying something about an egg wash."

"Chan."

"Right," he sighs. "I'll stop."

They switch topics to something not pie related. Felix complains about not understanding calculus, while Chan groans about how long his statistics problems take him. After a heated debate on whether calculus or statistics is harder, Felix phone buzzes with a message from you.

When he checks it, he sees a picture of your notes with a bright red circle drawn around a section labeled, "Partial Sum Decomp. When the Denominator's Power is Greater than 2."

His phone buzzes again, and a new message from you reads, "I gotchu babe."

He is so grateful that you pay attention in class. He sends back a heart emoji as Chan calls out, "You still there?"

"Sorry. Y/N texted me," he says as he reads another message from you.

Y/N <3: Wanna do homework together?

Me: Sure

Felix puts his phone on the counter and tells Chan the news. "I'm going to do homework with Y/N now. See you tomorrow?"

He can hear Chan smiling. "Have fun. Don't spoil the surprise."

"Stop projecting your worries onto me."

Before Chan can defend himself, Felix ends the call and starts a new one with you. He quickly gets a chat message that just reads, "Don't call me out like this >:(."

You answer the Discord call. "Hey."

Your voice is clear and sweet, a stark contrast to Chan's anxious ramblings. Felix smiles. The lilting in your voice is soothing, and he can tell you just woke up from a power nap based off of your soft tone.

"Hi," he says back. "Sleep well?"

There's a brief pause as you wake your brain up to formulate an answer. You reply, "I slept for three hours straight, but I also dreamt that I got a 47 on yesterday’s test."

He laughs because your dream is going to be his reality. "You'll be alright. You know what's going on."

"But the last question!" The sleepiness is replaced by fiery passion, and he hears the unmistakable sound of you slamming a palm against a table.

He lets you vent again and checks the pie in the oven. He thinks it's turning out well? The apples are bubbling a bit, and the crust looks more brown. He's never made one before; how can he tell? There's only a few more minutes left to bake it for.

With you still talking and oblivious to the world, he rushes to his room and grabs his textbook with his homework tucked inside. Just as he's back at the counter, you finish ranting.

"... I checked three times! Seungmin said he got something completely different! I think I got it wrong," you say.

"You'll be alright," he repeats. He knows he sounds like he doesn't care, but you truly will be alright. The last quiz you got a 92 with only half an hour of studying. He's also very worried about the pie because it is bubbling over now. "You studied for five hours."

"Seungmin has the highest grade!" Before he can retort that Seungmin isn't that smart, you let out a frustrated sigh. "Never mind that. Let's just do homework. I finished up to 25."

"Uh, okay." The apple pie won't stop bubbling, and he grabs a pair of oven mitts. He cracks open the oven door, and a blast of steam hits his face. "I'll catch up, and you can…" He trails off, trying to come up with an idea while taking out the pie. At the very least, it smells good.

"I can give you all the answers?" you joke.

"That will be great," Felix replies. He sets the pie down on the counter with a heavy thud. He then starts furiously typing into Google, "bubbling pie."

"What happened?" you ask, your voice laced with concern. "Did something happen?"

He's scanning blocks of text, so he carelessly answers, "I don't know if I messed up your pie or not since it's spilling over."

"My pie?"

His mouth drops open after realizing what came out of it. He now has two options: admit defeat and tell you the truth or lie to you and potentially make things worse.

He decides to go with the former. He presses a small section of the lattice with his index finger and watches it sink into the filling. Goodbye, hard work. He managed to screw up just like Chan predicted with a single sentence. He doesn't want to lie to you about something as silly as this. You know when he's lying anyway.

"It was supposed to be a secret," he quietly says. "It was your White Day present."

There's a moment of silence and then a burst of laughter from you. "Felix, you made me a pie? But you never baked before!" There's a softer laugh, and you sigh, "That's so sweet of you. Thank you."

His face feels as hot as the oven. The lattice section starts breaking off. "I wanted to do something special. And I know you like your puns."

"Pun?"

So, you forgot. With a grin, he says, "It's Pi Day tomorrow, too."

"Felix Lee, you're an amazing boyfriend," you declare. "I will gladly accept your pie."

He quickly yanks his finger out. "Really? Chan said it looked kind of bad though."

"You made it! Of course I'm going to take it. Felix, I will take whatever you make, no matter how horrible it looks."

He is so proud. And a little offended that you actually think his baking is hideous. He snaps a picture of the finished pie, which has cooled down a bit and stopped bubbling like a witch cauldron, and sends it to you.

He hears the notification sound from your end of the call and your nails clicking against the screen of your phone not long after. After a few seconds of waiting for the picture to load, he hears you laugh.

He loves your laugh so much, but maybe not in this scenario.

"Oh my goodness. Chan was not kidding when he said it looked bad!"

"It's not that bad!" he protests. "You said you would take it no matter what!"

The laughter dies down, but there's still a playfulness to your words. "I know, I know. You're the best, babe."

"Mmmnh. Anyway, question 19?” he asks cheekily.

~ ad.gray

[casgetoutofmyass0907]

Happy Birthday Dean Winchester

I know it’s late but here is my fic for Dean’s Birthday!

Summary: (After 15x19) Dean was able to save Cas from The Empty, but now Cas is asleep and Dean’s only wish for his birthday is for Cas to wake up.

also on ao3 :)

Dean hit the ground hard as they landed, his feet unable to keep him upright as they made contact with the loose gravel. He groaned at the sting of small rocks piercing the skin of his hands and had to swallow back the bile that was rising in his throat. Flying always made him nauseous.

“Damnit Jack you couldn’t have landed us in a patch of grass or something?” Dean asked as he pushed himself to his feet and began to pick rocks out of his palms. 

“Sorry Dean, I am still new to flying with other people. Let alone while one of them is unconscious.” Jack replied with a shrug of his shoulders. 

Cas. 

Dean quickly forgot the churning of his stomach as he laid eyes on Castiel, who was, in fact, unconscious in Jack's arms. He let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding in as relief washed over him. They had been trying to break Cas out of The Empty for months, and every time Sam had suggested they give up Dean insisted they keep fighting. This was Cas, and Dean would stop at nothing to rescue him from an eternity of suffering. 

Dean finally found a solution, but they only had one shot. A spell had allowed Jack to open a portal to The Empty that would remain open for 24 hours. If it closed while they were still inside there was no exit. Dean volunteered himself to search for Cas, if it closed at least he would be there with his best friend, the man he loved. 

Finding Cas proved itself to be difficult, the vessels of thousands of angels and demons were scattered across the nothingness that surrounded him. Three hours into his search dean caught a glimpse of Cas’s trench coat and quickly made his way to the angel. He carefully flung Cas over his shoulder and made his way back to the portal. The weight of Cas causing a cramp in his muscles was found to be more of a relief than a burden. The pain showed that it was real. Dean had Cas and he was never letting him go again. 

No spell can be simple and straightforward, especially not one that opens a portal to The Empty. The kicker was that the portal moved locations every hour. Not in The Empty itself, but in the outside world. They opened the portal in Kansas, but by the time Dean made it back, it had moved 6 times, one for each hour he was inside. It was a small inconvenience for getting Cas back, but he wanted nothing more than to get back to the bunker and have everyone back together. 

The portal let them out in Tombstone, Arizona, and Dean couldn’t help but chuckle as he remembered Cas in his cowboy hat as they impersonated Texas Rangers on a hunt a couple of years back. He had set Cas down carefully on the ground, shedding his own jacket to lay Cas’s head on. Dean had prayed to Jack as it was the easiest way to summon him to his exact location and from there Jack was able to fly them back to where the Impala was parked. 

Dean pulled the keys out of his pocket and made his way towards Baby. He unlocked the driver's side door and leaned inside to put the key into the ignition, but he hesitated on starting the car. “Hey kid,” Dean said as he turned to face Jack, “want to drive?” 

“Uh, sure,” Jack said as Dean opened the back door on the driver’s side so Jack could lay Cas across the back seat. 

Dean opted to sit in the back with Cas rather than ride shotgun. He slid into the back seat and lifted Cas’s head into his lap. He mindlessly ran his fingers through Cas’s hair as he directed Jack with driving back to the bunker. He was happy to have Cas back, but now he just hoped that he would wake up. 

~~~

“Is he awake?” Sam asked as Dean made his way into the kitchen.

Dean just shook his head. It had been a week since he got Cas out of the empty but he was still asleep. Dean was exhausted, dark circles were present under his eyes and his hair was a mess from tossing and turning all night. 

“I’m sorry Dean. We all want him to wake up, I wish there was more I could do.” Sam replied as he poured Dean a cup of coffee. 

“Thanks.” Dean took the coffee from Sam and took a long drink. The liquid burned his tongue slightly but he was grateful for the caffeine. 

They sat in silence as Dean drank his coffee, Sam had opted for a smoothie. Once he was finished Dean grabbed both of their glasses and placed them in the sink, not bothering to rinse them out. “I’m going to go check on Cas,” Dean said as he made his way out of the kitchen. 

“Okay,” Sam replied. “Hey, Dean.”

Dean stopped at the doorway and turned to face his brother. “Yeah?”

“Happy Birthday.” 

“Thanks.” With that Dean made his way back to his room where Cas was asleep on the bed. 

He gently shut the door behind him and looked to Cas. His face showed no emotion so Dean hoped that he was not having nightmares like he would be if he were still in The Empty. Dean climbed into the bed beside Cas, laying his head on Cas’s chest. 

“Hey Cas, I hope you can hear me.” He let out a breath and felt a burn in the back of his throat as he tried to hold back tears. “It’s been a week. A week that I have been waiting for you to wake up.” 

He paused and closed his eyes, letting tears fall down his cheeks onto Cas’s shirt- his shirt. “I hope that it’s okay that I’ve had you sleeping in my bed. I try to just sleep on the couch, but I’ll admit that I end up in here with you every night.” He coughed out a chuckle before he continued. “I put you in some of my clothes too, you didn’t look very comfortable and I didn’t know how long it would be before you woke up.” 

Dean shifted to be closer to Cas if that were even possible. “It’s my birthday today. I never really celebrate my birthday but ever since you came into our lives you always made it special. Thank you for that.” 

He smiled slightly through his tears, remembering all of the birthdays he had spent with Cas. The time they attempted to make a homemade pie and Cas almost burned the bunker down. When they went for a drive in Baby and stopped at a sketchy diner and Dean ended up getting food poisoning. Or his favorite, when they were alone for the night and snuggled up on the couch in the Dean Cave and watched movies. Neither of them talked about how Dean fell asleep in Cas’s arms and Cas didn’t bother to wake him up. He watched over Dean until the morning came and they never spoke of that night again, but Dean would always remember it. 

Dean cried silently into Cas’s chest as memories came flooding back. “If I could have one thing for my birthday Cas, it would be you. I want us to eat pie and laugh, and then we can come back to bed, just the two of us. We can talk or lay here in silence. I don’t care, I just want you to wake up. I need you to wake up.”

Dean felt Cas begin to stir underneath him and he sat up. “Cas?”

Cas slowly opened his eyes and bright blue orbs met Dean’s green ones. “D- Dean?” Cas said hoarsely. 

“Here,” Dean reached over Cas to grab a glass of water from the bedside table. “Drink this.”

Cas took the glass from Dean with shaky hands and took a few small sips. “How am I here?”

“Jack and I got you out, but that doesn’t matter right now. All that matters is that you are here and awake and I can finally tell you what I should have a long time ago.” Dean reached up to take Cas’s face in his hands.

“Dean you don’t have to-“

“Yes. Yes, I do Cas. You deserve to know. I kept everything pushed down, all of my feelings because I thought they were wrong and that it wasn’t real. How could I have these feelings when I have been told my whole life that it is wrong?” Dean closed his eyes for a moment and took a breath. “But they aren’t wrong. They never were, and I know that now. You showed me that it is okay to let people in and that I am deserving of love.” 

Cas just stared at Dean, his eyes never leaving Dean’s as he listened to the Winchester’s words. 

“And that I can love.” Another pause. “I love you too Cas. I’m sorry I didn’t say it before but now you will never stop hearing it. I love you. I love you. I love you.” 

Before Cas could say anything in response Dean pushed their lips together. Cas sat there for a moment in shock before he returned the kiss. When they finally pulled away from each other, lips swollen, and eyes filled with love. “You mean it?” Cas asked. 

“Yes, of course, I do.” Dean smiled at the angel, his angel. 

“Well, I’m happy to be back. Thank you.” Cas placed his lips on Dean’s once more, and Dean melted into the kiss. 

“I wasn’t going to let you rot in there. I know you sacrificed yourself for me and all but I would never let you suffer if there was something I could do about it.” Dean said against Cas’s mouth. 

Cas smiled and wrapped his arms around Dean. They stayed in silence in each other's embrace until they were interrupted by a growl. Cas quickly pulled away from Dean, eyes wide, and said “I think that was my stomach.” 

Dean let out a laugh and clapped a hand on Cas’s shoulder. “Come on, let’s go get you some food then.” 

The two of them made their way into the kitchen where they were hit with the smell of bacon and maple syrup. Sam and Jack sat at the table, Jack shoveling large pieces of waffles into his mouth as Sam nibbled on a piece of what Dean assumed to be turkey bacon. Sam was the first to notice their entrance. “Cas, you’re awake?!” 

“Yeah, I guess I am,” Cas responded with a smile. 

Jack flung around in his seat and quickly got up to hug Cas when he saw his. “Castiel! It’s good to see you. I missed you.” 

“I missed you too Jack,” Cas said as he returned the hug. 

Jack pulled away and looked up to Cas with confusion. “You’re human now?” 

“I am?” Cas questioned. 

Jack nodded, “Yeah, I think so anyway. I can’t sense your grace anymore.”

“Well, that explains why I am hungry.” Everyone burst out in laughter and Dean began making Cas a plate of bacon and waffles. He let Cas put syrup and whipped cream on his waffles while he made his own plate. 

The four of them talked and laughed as they enjoyed their breakfast, grateful to have Cas back and well. After many cups of coffee and all of the bacon was consumed Sam got up and walked out of the room without a word. Dean didn’t pay any mind to it but after a few minutes, a small pie was placed in front of him with a single candle lit in the middle. “Happy Birthday Dean,” Sam said. “Make a wish.” 

“I already got my wish,” Dean responded and looked over to Cas, but blew out the candles anyway. 

The rest of the day was spent playing games and drinking beer- lots of beer. Dean couldn’t remember the last time he had smiled this much, but he was happy. His family was back together, Chuck was defeated, all was well. He could finally relax and allow himself to be happy. 

Dean was sitting at the table in the main room of the bunker, listening to Sam tell a story about some of his adventures during his college days at Stanford, when Cas came and tapped him on the shoulder. “Dean, can I show you something?”

“Yeah.” Dean set his beer down on the table and followed Cas back to his bedroom. 

“What did you want to show me?” Dean asked, he had seen Cas’s room a million times before and nothing seemed to be out of the ordinary. 

“I guess I wanted to give you something more than show you something,” Cas responded, a slight blush forming on his cheeks. 

“Okay?”

Cas walked over to the nearly empty closet and pulled out a small box wrapped in newspaper. He handed the box to Dean “It’s nothing special, but I wanted you to have it.” 

Dean tore at the newspaper and opened the box to reveal a tie. It was dark blue with silver and white stripes, Cas’s tie. Dean smiled as he removed the tie from the box and ran his fingers over the fabric. “Thank you, Cas. I love it.” 

“You’re welcome.” Cas took the tie from Dean’s hands and placed it around Dean’s neck where he tied it. It was backward and Dean was wearing a flannel and tshirt but he smiled at the gesture. 

Dean took Cas into his arms and held on tightly, his happiness stood before him and he was excited to spend the rest of his life with Cas by his side. “I love you Cas.”

“I love you too. Happy Birthday, Dean.”

If anyone wants to be added to a tag list let me know :)

[let-me-love-you-loki]

Never Too Late to Be Elite

A/N: What started with a visit from Kenny became, through a conversation with @mox-made-me-do-it​, a crossover between my Take Me Saga and In a Day or Two.  

  “Unc’a Kenny,” Nicole said, climbing up onto the sofa next to him. She had her stuffed Mickey in her arms as she curled up against his side. Kenny tucked his arm around her and dropped a kiss onto the top of her head.

           “Hey, Bug,” he said, grinning. “What’re you doing?”

           I grinned as I watched my husbands’ best friend snuggle Nicole, tickling her and making her laugh and squeal. Besides her Dada and her Papa, Kenny was her favorite person in the whole world. Whenever we went to shows, there was only one thing she wanted—and that was to find her Uncle Kenny and stay wherever he was until the night was over. It was adorable, really. And Kenny was fantastic with her—with all our kids really—and he treated her like a princess. She got piggyback rides and tossed up in the air and got to sit in the production area with too-big headphones on as Kenny watched the matches.

           Matt stood nearby at the stove manning a pot of pasta noodles and browning hamburger. I had my hands covered in onions and peppers. It was one of the only times that all of them had free that they could get together. Kenny had flown in from Winnipeg the day before, and we were expecting Adam Page and his wife, Emily, from Virginia any time. A big dinner was called for, and I was pulling out all the stops with Matt’s help.

           Nick was on kid duty while Matt and I cooked. He was camped out on the sofa with Kenny, a Clippers game on the TV and a fussy RJ in his lap and Leo rolling around in the floor with Oreo. Mattie was in her room cleaning out Bandit and Ranger’s cages so she could bring them out to see our guests.

           “Pway,” Nicole said, grinning up at Kenny. She batted her blue eyes at him, and I watched that big softy just melt into pieces. He rolled his eyes playfully and snatched up the discarded Switch from the table.

           “What’re we playing, Nik?”

           “Ammimmawls,” my daughter mumbled, tapping the screen with her finger.

           Kenny laughed and kissed the top of her head. “Animal Crossing it is then.”

           I crossed behind Matt in the kitchen and pulled out a pan to bake the spaghetti. “Is Shaye coming?” I whispered, low enough that Kenny couldn’t hear.

           Matt shrugged. “No idea. Kenny hasn’t said anything about her for weeks.” My husband glanced over his shoulder to where his friend was thoroughly entertaining our daughter with videogames. “I don’t know what’s going on with them. But it’ll be good for him to not have to think about it for a while.”

           My heart broke for our friend. I’d seen Kenny with Shaye Walker once, and there was no denying that he loved her. It was obvious in the way he looked at her. “It’s not going to be weird for him when Adam and Emily show up?”

           “Hopefully the kids can keep his mind off it. Nikki’s not going to leave him alone,” Matt replied, “and Mattie’s going to make him play with Ranger and Bandit when she gets their cages cleaned out.”

           I sighed and leaned up to kiss Matt’s cheek. “I hope things work out for them. Kenny really loves her.”

***

           “Tea,” Matt shouted down the hall. He was standing at the front door, grinning out at the newest arrivals to the Jackson compound. I glanced out the kitchen window and caught sight of Adam Page’s sandy blond hair as he passed by. “Somebody’s here to see you.”

           “Paaaaapaaaa,” our daughter whined, sticking her head out of her bedroom door. “I’m trying to take care of Bandit and Ranger.”

           Two sets of cowboy boots stepped across the threshold. Emily King—now Emily Page—grinned and waved her hellos at everyone. Matt gave her a one-armed hug and gestured her into the house. Adam got a fist bump and a head nod at Kenny and Nick. Oreo barked at the new arrivals, but was quickly re-distracted by Lee and a squeaky bone.

           “Sounds like somebody’s got some animals in the house,” Adam said, his voice booming against the rafters. It had a warm Southern twang to it that always made me smile.

           I waited a split second, and then, from the end of the hall… “Uncle Adam!”

           I peeked out just in time to see Mattie racing toward Adam, who had his arms out. He swung our seven-year-old up off her feet and squeezed her into a tight hug, kissing the side of her head.

           “Uncle Adam,” she said as soon as she was on her feet again. She wrapped one of Adam’s hands in both of hers and started tugging. “Come look. Dad and Papa got me two hamsters. You have to see them. Come see them. Come on!”

           Adam looked over his shoulder and grinned indulgently at his wife. I watched Emily beam back at him, her eyes bright with love.

           “Don’t hurt his hand, Mattie! We’ve got a match next week,” Nick shouted after them as he stood up, RJ on his hip. He sauntered over to hug Emily hello and was highly surprised when RJ stretched out his arms toward her. “I’ll be damned. He doesn’t go to anybody.”

           Emily smiled. “Kindergarten teacher, Nick,” she replied. “They can sense it.”

           She bounced RJ in her arms as she walked over to the sofa and took up Nick’s empty spot. Kenny glanced over and grinned at her, his attention still nearly wholly occupied by Nicole. Lee hopped up between them and started telling Emily all about Oreo and the tricks he could do, all while the dog splayed out on his belly at their feet.

           Nick slipped into the kitchen and started picking apples from the bowl. I reached out and slapped him in the wrist with a spatula. “You’re not going to have any dessert if you keep that up,” I teased.

           He grinned at me and pressed a kiss against my cheek. “You know you don’t mean that,” he said against my throat. He wrapped his arms around my waist and hugged me tight.

           “Well, I can’t make an apple pie if I don’t have any apples, Nick,” I replied, grinning at him. “And then you really won’t have dessert.”

           Matt laughed and thumped his brother hard in the ribs as he went by, stopping to give me a kiss on the cheek.

***

           “Alright, let’s hit it,” Nick said, standing in the middle of the living room. He whistled and clapped a couple times. Then repeated it all over again. Mattie came tearing down the hallway, dragging Adam behind her. Nicole kicked against Kenny’s shins and wiggled out of his lap to come stand at beside her Dada. Lee turned backwards and scooted off into the floor, then crawled over to Nick. “Table it!”

           Adam, Emily, and Kenny fell in line behind the kids. The dining table was groaning under cheesy baked spaghetti, homemade garlic breadsticks, salad, and a lattice apple pie that almost didn’t make it. Matt made drinks for the kids while Emily and I got the guys set up with something. Nick got a wriggling, not very happy RJ into his high-chair.

           “Hey, Mama,” Matt said, slipping in beside me. I leaned against his side, feeling exhaustion start to slip in. He wrapped his arms around me and kissed my hair. “Go sit down. You’ve earned a rest. Nick and I’ve got cleanup tonight”

           I kissed him on the cheek and went to sit down. Kenny grinned as he filled his plate to overflowing. “Are you okay, Y/N? You look pale.”

           “I’m good, Ken. Just tired.”

           Adam passed the plate of breadsticks down the table. “You didn’t have to go so big just for us,” he said.

           “This isn’t much more than a normal dinner for us,” I replied, gesturing around the table. “At least Nicole’s eating breadsticks now.”

           Nick grinned and gestured his fork at our youngest daughter. “Only because Uncle Kenny likes them.”

           Kenny looked down at Nicole and held out his breadstick. She grinned and chomped a bite off the end. “Because Y/N’s breadsticks are the best.”

           “Uh huh,” Nicole said, nodding.

           Emily smiled as she looked around the table at our family. I watched her take Adam’s hand and lean against his shoulder. He grinned and pressed a kiss on the top of her head, lingering with his nose in her hair and a smile of sweet contentment on his face. I glanced sideways at Kenny, happy to see that he was engrossed in keeping Nicole occupied by sword fighting with breadsticks. Most of the time, I’d tell the kids not to play with their food, but it was keeping Kenny smiling I wouldn’t complain.

           Kenny looked back at me, his brow furrowed. “Are you sure you’re okay, Y/N?”

           Matt glanced over at Kenny’s words, his dark eyes going worried as he looked me over. “Nick,” he said sternly, snapping at his brother to get his attention.

           Before I knew it, both were right behind me. I felt them lift my chair and pull it back from the table. Nick crouched down beside me, his hands skimming my cheeks. “Y/N? What’s wrong?”

           I sighed. “I’m fine. I promise.”

           “Mama, you’re pale,” Matt said, stroking my hair. “You’re tired. Go lie down. We’ve got this covered.”

           “Y/N, I’m sorry if we put too much on you by coming,” Emily said, looking over at Adam. “We can help clean up. I don’t mind.”

           “I’m fine, guys,” I said looking between the two of them. “I promise, I’m fine.”

           “You’re not fine, Sunshine,” Nick added. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

           “I’m not going to pass out. I’m not sick,” I said frustratedly. “I’m pregnant.”

           For a moment, everything was quiet. I looked from Matt to Nick and back again. I forgot that Adam and Kenny and Emily were even there. The only thing that really mattered was the look on my husbands’ faces as the news made sense to them. They watched me for a while before wrapping me in a hug that completely engulfed me. I felt Nick crying against my shoulder, and Matt pressing kisses over and over against my hair.

           “You’re kidding,” Nick said through tears. “You’re kidding us, right?”

           I shook my head, afraid for the first time since the first time that this would be unwelcome news. Matt took my face in his hands and grinned, his brown eyes glittering. “That’s fantastic.”

           I glanced up and saw that Adam had his arm wrapped tight around Emily, looking down at her with nothing but absolute pure love in his eyes. My heart skipped a beat, hoping for only good things for them. Kenny smiled back at us, but I could see the sadness underneath.

           “I wanted to wait until later,” I said, looking at our friends sheepishly. “But you two can’t let something go.”

           Kenny ducked his head. “My bad, Y/N.”

           “No, Ken, it’s fine. They’d have said something even—”

           The doorbell rang. Matt, Nick, and I looked at each other, confused. “Were your parents coming?” I asked.

           “No,” Nick said, looking toward the door. He pressed a kiss to my hair and stood. Matt watched him go, a small smile on his face.

           I could hear murmuring by the door and then saw Nick come back around the corner. He was grinning just like his brother. “Hey, Ken? There’s someone at the door for you.”

           “Me?” Kenny asked, brows knitting together. He shrugged and stood up, only have Nicole latch around his waist. Rolling his eyes indulgently, Kenny hooked her around his neck in a piggyback ride and squeezed past Nick to the door.

           Silence, then the sound of Kenny’s dumbstruck voice. “Shaye?”

Tag List (tagging everyone for all the stories since it’s a crossover)

@mox-made-me-do-it​ @not-that-kinda-gurl08​ @lilred91​ @imagineall-the-fandoms​ @waywardstrong​ @lakamaa12​

[b-chansbbygirl]

Animals - Part 1

Warnings: descriptions of SEXUAL ASSAULT, asshole characters, angst(maybe?), poor language/swearing/cursing, name-calling(bad words)

Word Count: approx. 2,330

A/N: This is the first installment and I’m SUPER excited. I really hope you like it. PLEASE heed the warnings and tell me if I left any out. I am not responsible for any adverse reactions you may have to this story. Feedback is always appreciated!

——

“He’s here.”

Ana nudges your arm, nodding in the direction of the front door.

It’s like clockwork; the bell above the door to the diner rings every morning at 10 a.m. right before the lunch rush. He always takes the table in the corner near the door and always orders the same meal. He’s gone by 11, leaving behind a clean table, a generous tip, and a polite ‘thank you’ as he leaves.

“And?” you huff, scrubbing at that stubborn coffee stain on the bar counter. Your fingers hurt from the effort but it’s been there for weeks and you won’t be satisfied until the damn thing is gone. 

“And,” she starts, “you’d better get his number before I do.”

“God, will you stop?” You roll your eyes, tossing the dirty rag through the window of the kitchen and into the sink. “I mentioned it one time.”

“Still.” Ana shrugs, toeing the kitchen door open. “He’s cute. You should ask him.” She disappears behind the door and it swings after her, squeaking on its hinges. 

Sighing, you glance over at his table. He’s hunched over his menu like he is every morning, but you know he’s going to get the same black coffee and blueberry pancakes. Pulling your notepad from your apron, you approach his table.

The grin he sends you makes your face heat up like a furnace. That, and those steel-blue eyes and that one sharp canine that pokes out from under his upper lip when he smiles has you as shy as a schoolgirl and weak in the knees. Not to mention the deep timbre of his voice that washes over you like warm chocolate.

“Good morning,” you smile, doing your best to keep eye contact. It’s kind of impossible, though, with that innocent little smirk. “The usual?”

“Actually, I think I’m gonna try the breakfast platter.”

“Oh?” you grin, scribbling his order on your notepad. “Changing it up?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, leaning back in his chair as he picks at the edge of the menu. “Yeah, you could say that.”

The way he’s staring is starting to make you self conscious, but it’s not uncomfortable; he’s always been polite and respectful. He’s not looking at you like a piece of meat like some men do. It’s the type of look that makes you sweat and puts butterflies in your belly. “Alright, then.” Stuffing your notepad and pen back into your apron, you pick the menu from the table and hug it to your chest. “I’ll be back in a few.”

Turning on your heel and marching toward the kitchen, you catch Ana in the window grinning at you. She raises her eyebrows as you round the corner of the bar and stuff the menu on a shelf. “So?”

“Just make the damn food.”

Her laugh echoes in the diner as you shove the order slip in her face and force her back into the kitchen.

——

Your eyes have been dancing between the clock on the wall and John Doe in the corner for the past hour. You’ve refilled his coffee once already and you’re anxiously dreading for 11 o’clock to roll around. You’re cleaning the coffee machine when the bell above the door rings at precisely 10:52 a.m..  

“G’mornin’, sweetheart.”

The voice makes you jump, nearly knocking you off your stool. Glancing over your shoulder, those butterflies are gone and replaced with nausea. Turning around and stepping down, you wipe your hands on your coffee-stained white polo shirt.

“Good morning, Brock.”

“It sure is,” he grins. The way his eyes rove your body sends a chilled shiver across your skin, and you’re sure that nausea is going to get the better of you.“How’s my favorite girl?”

“If you aren’t going to order anything, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

“Easy, I just stopped by to say hello.”

“Well, you said it.” Avoiding his eyes, you pulled a slip from the register and slid around the corner of the bar towards the man with the blue eyes and slicked-back hair. 

A cold hand wraps around your arm, spinning you until your spine clashes with the edge of the counter. Brock is on your front in the next second, caging you in with his arms and thick chest.

“I take time out of my day to stop by and this is what I get?” he questions, tilting his head as you turn away. “I missed you.”

“Please, just go away.”

“Don’t be like that, sweetheart.”

“She said back off,” a voice barks, tone deep and aggressive, straight from the chest. You vaguely recognize it, but it’s sharp and demanding, not the soft velvet that you’ve been crushing on for weeks.

Brock’s eyes rake your face as his tongue presses irritatingly at the inside of his cheek. He spares a glance over his shoulder and grins, pushing himself off the counter. “Did she?”

“She did.” Blue Eyes is standing behind him, tall with his chest out and head high. That warmth in his eyes is gone, the blue now as cold as ice as he stares daggers. “Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it, Barnes?”

“Do you really wanna find out?”

They’re chest to chest, staring each other down. You’re frozen, waiting for the first punch to be thrown with a white-knuckle grip on the edge of the counter. The tense silence between them is almost deafening as the other few customers quiet their conversations.

Instead, Brock nods. “Alright,” he surrenders, taking a step back and glancing at you over his shoulder. He sends you a toothy grin. “I’ll see you later, sweetheart.”

You watch as he sidesteps around Blue Eyes towards the door, their eyes on each other until Brock is on the street and out of sight. 

He watches through the window for a moment before releasing the tension in his shoulders and turning his gaze back to you. It’s soft, now; the cold stare he gave to Brock is gone, now only replaced with concern and a furrowed brow, his head hung low. “Are you okay?”

His voice pulls you from your shocked state. His eyes are watching you, searching for any bumps or bruises.

“I- yeah. I’m okay,” you nod, sighing and rubbing your clammy hands unconsciously on your apron. “Thank you.”

His lips quirk at the corners. “You don’t need to thank me.”

Nodding again, you run your fingers through your hair. “I, um, I have your bill.” You look down to your hand where the paper is crumpled and the ink is smeared.

“Is it alright if I stay a while?” he asks, his eyes flicking to the clock. A few more minutes wouldn’t hurt. “I’d like to try the pie special.”

“Of course,” you smiled, toying with the ruined paper in your shakey hands as you move behind the counter. He sits at the bar this time, his hulking form of muscle and leather in plain view of the street outside. 

“I see you in here all the time,” you say from behind the counter, kneeling to pull the pies from the cooler. “What’s your name?”

“Bucky,” he replies as you rise to your feet. You hold out the pies for him and he nods to the blueberry, silently watching as you cut a slice and set it in front of him. “Yours?”

You smile, your cheeks once again on fire as he takes his first bite, the altercation with Brock now at the back of your mind. “Y/N.”

Bucky sits at the counter the next day. And then the next, and the day after that. He’s left that lonely table in the corner behind in favor of keeping you company. He stays past 11, now, too. Sometimes he’s here even when you lock up in the late afternoon.

If you’re being honest with yourself, you enjoy his company. Ana teases you about it relentlessly, claiming he’s your ‘lost puppy’. You just roll your eyes and serve his daily slice of homemade blueberry pie. 

——

The key clicks in the lock when you close the diner at 5 p.m.. A shiver takes over you at the cool chill in the air, autumn finally setting in as the sun sets. 

Bucky had left an hour ago, speeding out of town on his one-of-a-kind Harley-Davidson. The two of you have gotten close in the past few weeks, but it’s not like you’re complaining; he’s charming, sweet, and he’s got the prettiest eyes you’ve ever seen. 

Sighing, you tuck your jacket tightly around your chest and prepare for your 2-mile trek home as the sun fades. It’s not a bad night; the sky is clear enough to see the stars, and it’s not yet cold enough for your toes to freeze. Which is a good thing, really; you’ve yet to get your furnace fixed.

The back road you walk is quiet and dark, save for the gravel underneath your feet and the light of the moon. The road isn’t traveled often at this time in the evening, so it’s odd to see a set of headlights and an old-fashioned Ford 4x4 twisting around the windy road and through the trees. You step off to the side as it passes, paying it no mind.

It pulls over, he doors creaking open and slamming shut as two sets of heavy boots crunch the leaves along the side of the road. Your gut turns with intuition and you don’t dare look over your shoulder, quickening your pace and taking larger strides.

“Hey, sweetheart,” a voice slurs as it moves closer, “where you goin’?”

A chuckle and a second voice slurs behind the first. “I don’t think she likes you, Don.”

They’re obviously drunk. Even from their small distance away you can smell the rancid scent of stale beer and cheap liquor. It’s a wonder they can drive that rust bucket they call a truck.

“Hey.” A hand grips your upper arm, pulling you back midstep and twisting you around. “I was talkin’ to you, dollface.”

Even in the dark, you recognize them; they’re occasionally at the diner, only there to ogle at you and Ana. They’re disgusting and rude, and you’ve had to ask them to leave multiple times because of it.

“Let me go,” you hiss, tugging at his hold on your arm.

“C’mon, honey,” the other man coos, coming up on your back. His fingers ghost as the hem of your coat before slipping under and crawling up the expanse of your back. “We’ve had a long day. Can’t you cut us some slack?” 

“Don’t fucking touch me!” You jerk your elbow back into his face and he yelps as his nose snaps. He stumbles back, gripping his face as blood begins to drip down his lip.

“You fuckin’ bitch!”

The hold on your arm throws you onto the road. Suddenly, your coat is being ripped open and drunk fingers are fumbling with the buckle on your belt. “You’re just askin’ for it, aren’t you?” Don’s weight on top of you is heavy as you kick and shove, his hot breath nearly making you gag. “A pretty little thing like you out here all by yer’self, then you go an’ hurt my friend. What’d you think would happen?”

Your cries and pleas fade into the dark scenery as he chuckles sickeningly in your ear. His fingers pull at the buckle of his belt, and it jingles the light from the moon is suddenly shadowed.

A deep,  guttural growl comes from just behind the treeline, branches and leaves snapping under heavy yet careful footfalls. Both men freeze, slowly turning to glance over their shoulders. There’s a beat of silence with them still on the ground, one hovering over you and the other still bleeding from his face, before a loud vicious snarl rips through the trees.

They’re off the ground and stumbling across the road on drunk feet in a flash, shouting profanities at each other. The truck is barreling down the road before the doors are slammed shut, tires squealing on the old pavement as the taillights fade out of sight.

You’re too distracted to notice they’re gone. 

Just a few feet away, the moon is blocked by a towering figure. Grey-white fur is illuminated by the soft glow of the moonlight. Ice-blue eyes glow in the dark and stare down a long pointed snout at your form on the road. Its claws scrape the pavement just inches away from your shoes, and it seems as it’s as tall as the trees.

You don’t dare move. The rational side of your brain is telling you it’s a hallucination from adrenaline, and the other is trying to haul your ass off the ground. Either way, what you’re seeing isn’t possible. You’re suddenly thrown back into your childhood with stories of monsters in the woods that aren’t real. 

Whoever wrote that bullshit was wrong.

Your breath hitches in your throat as it lowers its head down to your level. Any malice or aggression it had shown moments prior had disappeared; its eyes are gentle and warm as it watches you, but there’s hesitance in its body language. The crease in its brow is almost human-like.

You blink up at the beast, still as stone and holding your breath. Its claws scratch against the road as it shifts its weight. It raises back to its full height and turns, giving you a last glance over its shoulder before its tail is whipping through the cold air and into the dark. 

Your breath comes out as white smoke when you finally release your breath. It’s quiet, now. No crickets or wind, just you and the moon. It’s almost as if nothing had happened. 

Had it happened? The bruises, scrapes, and cuts are real. But was that thing real? Either way, it doesn’t matter.  You don’t sleep that night; you’re too busy nursing your injuries and watching the woods from your bedroom window.

—— Like it? Let me know!

Tags: @iheartsebastianstan​ @plums-and-peaches​

[artisticestheticreads]

Summertime Magic VII.

A/N: IT’S N’JADAKA DAY. In this chapter, Y/N and Daka discuss their past during a nice dinner at her place and her dad invites him to the annual family reunion on her mother’s side. Does he have what it takes to get on pop’s good side? 

WARNING: none...well, alcohol, drugs, and some tear jerkers here and super short. SAWWY. ):

SONG RECOMMENDATION: Hold Me By The Heart by Kehlani

 Y/N woke up back home and her hair freshly washed. She grew tired of her locs and decided to make it a wash day. She walked around with her hair wrapped in a red towel and a big t-shirt on in the kitchen. She had a taste for some seafood soul food so she decided to make some seafood mac and cheese with a sweet potato pie for dessert. As the dinner began baking, she went into the bedroom to detangle her hair and put some creams in to make her curls pop. Afterward, she put her hair in a high ponytail like a pineapple style before washing her hands and heading back to the kitchen.

  She looked over at her phone on the coffee table and got an idea; she began typing at her keyboard. Thirty minutes later, she heard a knock on the door and when she opened it, she saw N’Jadaka. He wore a burgundy v-neck with jeans and his Timbs. He had his dreads tossed to the side and his chain on like usual. She watched him walk to the kitchen with his hands behind his back. She turned back to the food as he wrapped his arms around her waist. “Hey, baby,” she said when he kissed her cheek. “What up girl? I see you let your real hair out and all. Damn, you got a lot of hair.” She giggled until she heard she heard the timer. 

   N’Jakada walked up to Y/N and kissed her cheek, wrapping his left arm around her shoulders. “Daka, I’m tryna cook, baby”, he held her close and kissed her temple. “Don’t be denying my love, woman. You better take my love and better like it.” He started to kiss on her as she giggled and shooed him away. “So, Daka. Since you in here being all lovey-dovey, then you can help me with the cornbread.” He raised his brow and nodded. He started to help with dinner and she tricked him into making iced tea as well. 

  Soon, dinner was ready and everyone made their plates. They sat in comfortable silence until her phone vibrated. She looked to the screen and let it ring but after that, a message popped up. When Y/N rolled her eyes, N’Jadaka asked if she was okay. “I’m fine.” He lifted her chin up to look at her. “Who is it”, he asked with a stern look. She felt looked to the side then to his eyes. “Rodney.” He let her chin go. “Baby Girl, wanna talk about it?” She shook her head and he kissed her neck. “We gonna have to talk about it soon it or later, Y/N.”

“Fine. Rodney cheated on me..badly. We had our own place together and were together for years. I was at Leslie’s house doing hair and when I went home...he was fucking another woman. He, he didn’t hear me come in either so he kept going at it. I was frozen. I couldn’t move. My heart told me to run and hide but my feet wouldn’t let me. I’m not sure why I just stood there but when he turned, all he could do was ask ‘why I was home so early’? He never said sorry, nothing. I sent my younger brother, CJ, and Monte to come to pack my stuff while I stayed with my parents for a while. I tried taking my own life and all. I was on suicide watch, couldn’t eat or sleep like I wanted. I just don’t wanna let that happen again.” 

  He looked over at her and saw a single tear falling down her cheek. He wiped it away before he brought her closer. “Baby Girl, I would never do that shit. You mean a lot to me, and I mean that shit. I know it feels to be hurt, trust me. I lost my folks at a young age, had to go back to Wakanda with my family. Since I was a kid from Oakland, no one wanted to be around me. Then, when I graduated from high school out there, I moved out for college and met a girl. She made me feel like I had someone in my corner but I guess I couldn’t give her what she wanted. I was with her until I went off into the Navy and she said she wait for me but when I come back..” He stopped to clear his throat before continuing. “When I came back, she was six months pregnant. I knew for damn sure, it wasn’t mine. She had fucked a dude from my old basketball team, I was gonna kill him but I couldn’t. I felt like it was all my fault. Like I wasn’t good enough. Until I met you.”

  They looked at one another with small smirks before he said “you ain’t gotta worry about me, princess. When I say something, I really do mean it. Aight”? Y/N nodded and kissed his cheek as he held on to her. “I got you, baby and you got me. No matter what. Now, I’m ready for that pie and I hope you got some ice cream, too.”

“Ya know it.”

~ 

   The next day, Y/N was at the bank putting more money in the bank as one of her daily errands. She decided to go to her future shop for a while. She stepped out her car in a pair of jean shorts, white tank top, and slides that her man bought her. She used her hands to cup her eyes from the sun to look inside for a better look. She had five more clients that week which meant she would be able to get her shop in less than a week. Afterward, Baby Girl decided to drive to her folks' house which was thirty minutes away from the shop. She knocked on the door and patiently waited until a tall 6′2 young man with a faded style hair cut came to the door. He wore a black polo and jeans with tube socks on. “Hey, little sis.”

“CJ, I’m the oldest remember?”

“Yeah, but you the shortest too.” Y/N hit his arm and he hit her back softly. “Ima hurt you”, she said before he gave her a huge bear hug. “Where ma and pa”, she asked as they headed to the kitchen. There stood an older woman who looked like she worked out on her downtime but still a plumpy woman. Her hair was in a low bun and glasses sat her face. “Hey, ma.” The woman turned around and smiled big. “There’s my best friend. My baby is here”, she said walking up to her with open arms. Y/N looked at her mother’s outfit and said “ya think ya grown, huh”; she wore a pair of leggings and a white crop tee with their last name on the back. 

  “Girl, hush. I just slipped in this. We had just got back from the gym and I took a quick shower before I started to clean.” Y/N looked around and asked “Ma, where pa at?” Her mother pointed to the back door and said “where ya think? Him and that damn Lincoln again.” Y/N laughed, kissed her mom’s cheek and made her way to the back. She opened the door to see her father in the car, vacuuming the ground. He was a bigger man but he didn’t let that stop him from working hard for his family. His bald head shined like he had just shaved and his beard had touches of grey. He wore a pair of navy blue slides that Y/N gifted him years ago, basketball shorts and a basic tee. “Hey, pa.” He looked up and said, “Hey, baby”. He struggled to get up but she hurried to him before sitting him back down. “I see you cleaning, Doll again.” He patted the dashboard and said “yeah, got make sure she looks good at all times, baby girl. What made you stop by?”

“I went by to my future shop and I was just out running errands.” She placed her hands in her back pockets watching her dad clean. “How you doing, pa?” He cleared his throat and told her “fine” but not looking at her. “Pa, look at me.” He did with him leaning on his elbows. “I’m will be fine. I got some weight to lose and some more money to get but I hope the surgery will make everything better. I won’t be hurt anymore.” She nodded looking around. She thought about how her father was everything she looked up to. No matter if he was feeling down or fighting the stomach flu, he got his ass up out of bed and got to work to provide for his family. She hated seeing him like this, always have and always will.

  “So, baby girl. When am I gonna meet this nappy head muthafucka you thinking about”, her dad asked and she looked to him with a smile. “I was thinking about you, dad.” She sat on the back steps and he said “yeah yeah. I wanna meet this little nigga. Got you all googly eye and shit. Wanna make sure this little punk ain’t gonna hurt my baby’s heart.”

“Dad, I’m not gonna get hurt again. Promise”

“Mhm, well bring him to the family reunion. Ya uncles, grandma, and every other muthafucka gonna be there.” She rolled her eyes with a smile and laughed. “Okay, but let’s make a bet. If you like him, you gotta make me a whole strawberry cheesecake and if you win, I will make you your own pan of my homemade chocolate cake.”

“Deal.”

  It was the day of the reunion and N’Jadaka was on his way to Y/N’s house since he was spending the night. He grabbed his gym bag, knocked on the door and she opened it with a smile. “Hey, come on. I’m still getting ready.” He stepped in and followed her to the bedroom. They decided to wear jean bottoms with dashiki print tops and some Nikes they bought a couple days ago. She let put her hair in a low ponytail, grabbed everything she needed including the food and drinks they were bringing and were off. In the car, she told him “N’Jadaka, I should let ya know that my family is a little protective. They might give you a hard time but they are all really sweet once they get to know you.” N’Jadaka took her hand as they pulled up to the huge park as Rocky Steady by The Whisperers. “I’ll be fine. I’m a big boy.” He opened her door as a tall guy walked up to them. He wore a Laker Jersey, jeans and some Airforce ones. “There go my big legs”, he yelled out with a chuckle and she turned in excitement. “UNCLE ANDREW”, she hopped in his arms and he knelt down to hug her. “Lord Jesus, I haven’t seen ya in a while. Lookin’ just like ya mom every damn day. How you been?”

“I’m good. How is Vegas?”

“Ugh, baby girl. It’s great. They know how to treat a brotha out there.” She laughed with him and turned to N’Jadaka. “Unc, this is N’Jadaka. My boyfriend.” Andrew held out his hand and shook his as he pointed to him. “The Navy vet?”

“That’s right, sir.” Andrew nodded and patted N’Jadaka’s shoulder. “Good, good. I was actually apart of the US Army back in the 80′s. It’s good to meet ya son.” Uncle Andrew got all the stuff out for them and when they walked to their section, he saw the huge family that Y/N called her own. N’Jadaka looked around to see a group of men playing cards at the park table, hooping and hollering. Little kids ran all over the place with water guns and balloons, and some woman sat at the park benches talking and gossiping. A woman with curly long hair and tan skin walked pass Y/N and can notice that sweet, natural smell anywhere.

“Y/N!”

“Lana”, Y/N said in an excited tone and her cousin ran in her arms. When they separated, Lana saw N’Jadaka and smiled big. “Are you the new man in Y/N’s life?” He nodded with his hand out and said: “nice to meet ya.” She looked at his hand said “I don’t do handshakes. I do hugs.” She gave him a big bear hug and he chuckled. “Daka, this is Lana. Lana lives in Michigan, married and her twin boys are over there playing.” Lana smiled and said “yeah, I missed you so much, cuz. Michigan is okay but it’s not like LA at all. When it’s cold out there, it’s cold as fuck. I’m just glad to be here for at least a week.” Andrew kissed his daughter’s head as they all began walking. Y/N’s dad had a cigar in his mouth with cards in hand with her uncles, Michael, Chad, Winston, Donnie, Richard, and Anthony. Her mom was on the park bench with the women of the family including her grandma and when the women looked over to them, an aunt said “sweet black baby Jesus. Is THAT the man baby girl is dating?” Tasha looked and said “my baby is here and yes, Chanel. Don’t be a perv or Ima cut you.”

“You wouldn’t cut ya own sister.”

“I would for my babies, I will.” Their mother laughed a little as Tasha whistled for Y/N; Y/N saw them and smiled big. “C’ mon, you can meet the Glass Ladies. But real quick, be careful with my aunt, Chanel. Her hands like to wander, my aunt Kendra is a sweetheart and my grandma can be a little bit pushy but she means well.”

“Which one is ya mom?”

“The one in the sundress.”

“That’s ya momma. Thought that was ya sister?”

“Ha, very cute.” They finally were closer to the group when her mom ran to her for a hug. “My baby. How was the drive”, she asked and Y/N said “good. Everyone, this is N’Jadaka. My boyfriend.” Tasha stood back and looked up at him. “Damn, another tall one. Got me feelin’ all short and whatnot.” N’Jadaka chuckled and said, “it’s nice to meet you Mrs. Y/L/N.”

“Boy, call me, Tasha. So, N’Jadaka what do you do?”

“Well, I’m a Navy Vet but I’ll be helping with my family business. We kinda got a lot of money so we opening a few youth centers. I’ll be in charge of the ones out here.” She stood back and said “well, check this out. A brotha helping out the community. The Marathon Does Continue.” He agreed with her as they kept talking and the men heard them laugh. Chad looked up from his deck and said “hm, that must be the young buck.” The men look up with raised brows and her dad took out his cigar. “Mhm, there he goes. Lemme call them over. Y/NNNNNNNNNN.” Y/N turned to him and the guys and he pointed at Daka. She was about to walk over but her dad stopped her with “JUST HIM”. She looked to him and said “don’t get killed. My dad is the hardest one.”

“Baby, I’ll be fine. Ya pops gonna fuck with me at the end of the day.” He kissed her forehead as she went back to the ladies. He stuck his chest out slightly with his hands in pockets. When he got there, the men all looked to him. “What up, cat”, her dad, Thomas said. “I’m good, sir.”

“Have a seat. Join us and grab a drink.”

“I’m good on the drink. I drove but I can still sit.” He sat across the way from Thomas as they handed out the new cards. The men started putting out their small bets and looked to Daka in shock when he said “$20″. Thomas took out his cigar and said “bold but do you know how to play Spades.” N’Jadaka insured him that he can; they began. “So, young brotha. I hear a lot about you. You really from Africa?” N’Jadaka looked at his cards still as he spoke. “I was born in Oakland but my unc took me in when my pops passed.” Thomas looked up to him and realized he had something in common with N’Jadaka. He was also taken in by family when his parent’s passed away. “I see. How you meet my daughter?”

“We were at the liquor store. I was picking up stuff for my homeboy’s crib and I saw her. Some dude was tryna push on her but I had to stop that dude. He was trying get at her and put his hands on her.” The men all looked up at him and Thomas said: “what you mean?”

“Well, Mr. Y/L/N, the dude was trynna get at her, she said nah and before ya know it, he grabbed her arm.”

“And what did you do?”

“Anything a man would do. I got in the middle of it. I could have broken his nose, easily but I wasn’t feelin’ it. Wouldn’t be a good look for any of us. So, I pretended we was a couple. The brotha fleed the scene. Y/N and I talked and that’s how it happened.” The men looked to them and saw Thomas with a start face as the continued. “Look, young man. Ima let you know now. I don’t fuckin’ play when it comes to my family especially with my baby over dere. Ya understand? Ever since she was little, I have always made sure she was good. She, my whole family is my responsibility. So, when a nigga comes into her life. I get a little protective, a little violent if anything happens to her. I take that you heard of Rodney.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Well, Rodney hurt her badly to the point she wouldn't eat. Couldn’t sleep at night. When my baby girl gets hurt, that’s when I want war. Y/N is my first AND only girl. She is my baby. You got any kids, son?”

“No, sir but I got a baby cousin I always watched over.”

“Then you kinda know then. As a man, we gotta protect who we love. By any means necessary.” He sipped his beer and looked back his cards; N’Jadaka had something to say. “Mr. Y/L/N, I know how you feel but I also know that things happen for a reason. Rodney was a pussy for what he did but maybe it happened because he couldn’t handle her. Y/N got a big ass heart and she smart as hell too. She got ambition, talent and her being beautiful is just a plus. Y/N got a lot of drive, something that 80 % of women ain’t got. Rodney couldn’t handle a strong, black woman but I damn sure can. I care about her way too much to even think about steppin’ out on her. I would be a dumb ass to do that. ith her, I can see so much more. I am very proud of her for being the woman she is now. I’m not tryna kiss up or anything but you did a great job, Mr. Y/L/N. Real talk.”

  Thomas looked up to him then at the others. He nodded and looked back to his cards; still no expression. After they all ate, the kids ran up to N’Jadaka to play with them as Y/N watched. She noticed how well he was with the kids and it warmed her heart so much. She can just imagine how he would be as a father.  At the end of day, they popped fireworks and said their goodbyes. When they got back to Y/N’s place and wore something to sleep in. “So, did ya pops talk to you about us?” She spat out her toothpaste and turned off her bathroom light. “Nope, we talking about my shop, his surgery and all. But nothing about you.”

“Yeah, I ain’t sure if he like me or not. In all my days in the navy, I can’t read him.”

“Baby, no one but my mother can. Don’t worry. He’ll warm up to you eventually.” They kissed a little before laying down and talking some more, falling asleep. All of a sudden, Y/N’s phone vibrate against the end table.

IOU a whole cheesecake, Y/N. Goodnight. 

*𝒯𝒜𝒢𝒢𝐸𝒟 𝐿𝒪𝒱𝐸𝒮*

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[gem-quest]

[ QUEST 01. — I N F E R N A ]

taglist: @ayzrules​ @bebemoon​ @atimefordragons​ @armadasneon​ @now-on-elissastillstands​ @interluxetumbra​ @pulltheskydown​

Inferna was hanging out in her favorite spot in Yue City - the lousy excuse of a Chinese restaurant, because it was just so easy to market her Inferna Sauce and sriracha to players who came away disappointed by the Asian dishes with absolutely zero seasoning - when the announcement popped up in the sky.

[  . . . T O U R N E Y . A N D . F A I R . I N . W I L D F L O W E R . M E A D O W . . . L E V E L . O N E . . .  ]

"Well, shit, that's just right around the corner," Inferna said out loud, putting away her sauce for the time being. She wasn't sure if she was going to compete - she'd prooobably get distracted by the free food - but it might be fun to just watch for a little bit.

So, with one over-dramatic whoosh of her hooded black capelet (which was decorated with intricate gold embroidery, because Inferna didn't wear things that were plain, thank you very much), Inferna was off.

When she got to the meadowlands, the entire place was filled with stalls and throngs of players eager to watch the tournament. Inferna decided that she'd watch the tournament after some refreshments, and immediately headed for the food stalls. She stocked up on some chicken pot pies and mead, nibbling on an apple turnover as she browsed. Eventually, she came across a wyvern being turned over a spit, and tossed the NPCs roasting the thing a coin in exchange for a hunk of meat, which she drizzled her homemade hot sauce over before biting into.

It tasted just like chicken. Then again, most meats that weren't pork or beef also tasted like chicken, in Inferna’s opinion.

Rats, for example; Inferna had been dared to eat a rat skewer in the City of Magic, once. She did it, and got a whole blueberry pie in return. Easy peasy, lemon squeezy. And that pie had been good.

Inferna wandered around for another thirty minutes, snacking on the wyvern kebab, before finally making her way over to the lists. She frowned when she noticed that there were almost no seats, instead hopping up onto the balustrade after shoving all the dumb meatheads out of the way.

There. That’s a perfect view, she thought, satisfied. She was taking in the sight of the Moonstone player with the pretties armor she’d ever seen facing off an Obsidian player in all black, just as she felt someone flick her calf.

“What the f-” Inferna’s muttered profanity was cut off when she noticed who it was.

"Hey, what’s up? You’re Neddy, right?" she asked, grinning widely. Inferna had met Neddy back in Level Ten, AKA Finvarra’s Gardens, and honestly, Inferna thought she was the sweetest thing. And her dragon, ugh - Inferna would never! Get! Over! Jack!!!!

The other girl looked up. "Inferna?" 

Inferna beamed down at her and offered her a hand up instead of answering. 

Neddy took her hand, and Inferna pulled her up onto the balustrade with her. “View’s better up here,” she told her with a wink, grinning her usual shit-eating grin.

Inferna was about to go back to watching the action - the Obsidian player had easily unseated the Moonstone one - when she noticed...was that Jack?!?! Riding in a basket on Neddy’s back?????

She gave an excited half-squeal, half-exclaimation. “God, Jack is so freaking adorable! Does he still like sugar cubes?" she fired off, pulling out a sugar cube she’d gotten from the Tearoom, as well as a tiny bottle of Inferna Sauce (she’d decided that she was going to make mini bottles to carry around outside of her inventory, just for convenience). She dunked the sauce onto the sugar cube.

"How are you faring out there?" asked Neddy.

“It’s been pretty chill on my end,” Inferna replied, giving the Moonstone player a cheeky grin. “Haven’t really done anything exciting, besides get some blueberry scones from the Tearoom yesterday; they’re amazing. I was at Level 39 the other day too, but fighting the dragon is so much work, so I fucked off after a few minutes.”

Her attention strayed back to Neddy’s dragon. “Ooh, fuck, Jack is so cute. Here, you’re a good boy, aren’t you?” she said, gently tossing the sugar cube in the air and clapping with delight when Jack caught it in his mouth.

“What about you? Got anything fun going on?” she asked Neddy a moment later, tearing her eyes away from the miniature dragon.

"Nothing quite as exciting as thirty-nine," Neddy replied. "I've just gotten through floor twenty-nine by the skin of my teeth. Mermaid Cove won't be easy for me since I'm currently, you know, on my own."  

Inferna nodded, grimacing. “Oh, yeah, that level’s a pain in the ass if you don’t have a party. I think I got through it by just finding a group that needed an extra person who didn’t care about Angel’s Breath. Aydina - that’s the NPC you go up against - is kind of a cunt, too. Like, I get that it’s just pre-written dialogue, but the lady could be nicer while trying to fuck us over with that dodgeball of hers, you know?”

Inferna rolled her eyes at the thought of the pirate queen. Really, though, she was a cunt, she mused to herself. Everything she said, just - ugh! So unnecessary. 

It was a known fact that Inferna talked so much shit about any and all of the NPCs in the game. She was a bit infamous for it within the Obsidian Guild, actually, which was something that Inferna was immensely proud of.

"I’m not very good at dodgeball," said Neddy.

Inferna shrugged. “It was my favorite thing in gym, when I still had to take that bullshit class. All I did was dick around and throw balls at the annoying people in my grade, even if they were technically on my team,” she said, in the most solemn voice she could muster. 

She continued. “I thought that level was pretty fun, besides Aydina’s totally unnecessary commentary. So I can help you, if you want,” she said, “if you bribe me somehow. Since I don’t see how helping you with dodgeball helps my Guild, after all.”

Neddy seemed surprised. "Bribe?" she managed to get out. "I don't have much in the way of coin. . . . I'm not formidable by any means. Surely, it won't hurt Obsidian any if you help little old me move through a lower floor."

Inferna narrowed her eyes, skeptical. “Little old you and a dragon,” she pointed out, gesturing towards Jack. As cute as Jack was, both miniature and at his full size, he was still a, you know, dragon.

Neddy nodded, slowly. "Yeah. Okay- well, I can give you all the apricot tartlets in my inventory if you help me out."

Inferna bit her lip. Apricot tartlets? That was...that was a tempting offer. Plus, dodgeball was really fun, and plus, Inferna sort of owed Neddy, because Neddy had saved Inferna from being eternally trapped in Level Ten with that insufferable faerie prince (but the sweets on that level all looked absolutely divine, so could you really blame her?).

“Alright fine, I’ll do it,” Inferna agreed, flipping her red hair over one shoulder. “Just tell me when, and I’ll be there. But don’t make it before noon, or I’ll probably sleep straight through it. Like, I’m not even kidding; last semester I somehow slept through ten alarms and missed a 12:30 PM lab. So don’t make it before twelve.”

She narrowed her eyes, again. “Now hand over those tartlets.”

After Neddy had given her the tartlets, Inferna lingered for a little while, then decided to go find some other food to eat, nibbling on one of the tartlets as she went. She bought a steak and mashed potatoes dish, stowing it away in her virtual inventory for the time being.

A commotion by the lists caught her attention, about an hour or so later. Intrigued, Inferna crept closer, just in time to see a fellow Obsidian player wearing a flowy dress win a duel. Inferna cheered with the rest of her Guild, elbowing closer for a better view.

Hey, she thought, suddenly. Isn’t that the girl I saw yesterday?

Inferna let her gaze follow the blonde girl as she collected her prize money and went off towards one of the open areas. She took off after her, finding that it was extraordinarily easy to follow the other player when she was wearing a pretty flower crown - all she had to do was look for the flowers in the crush of people.

Once Inferna reached the grassy field, she scanned the area before finally locating the girl she met at the Descend the day before.

“Oh, hey,” Inferna said, trotting over. A quick glance at her profile said that she went by ‘Morningstar’. “I saw your duel, by the way. Congrats on winning.” She grinned.

Morningstar gave her a scathing look. Inferna ignored it and flopped down to sit on the grass next to her, dragging out a bottle of Inferna Sauce from her inventory, as well as as the steak and mashed potatoes dish she’d just purchased. She all but drenched the food with her hot sauce, because everything in the game was so damn bland - to someone who’d grown up eating spicy food, anyway. 

“Do you want some, by the way?” Inferna asked, glancing up at Morningstar and grinning again. “It’s hot sauce. For when the white people food in this game gets too boring.”

She paused, for a moment. “I’ll trade you a bottle for a potion that makes me feel like I’ve just smoked some weed, if you have any. Or if you have anything like vodka? This mead and ale and stuff is fine, but jesus fucking christ, sometimes I just want to take two shots and be done.”

The two of them talked for a bit. Inferna mentioned that she’d be doing dodgeball with Neddy soon, and asked Morningstar if she’d want to join in. Then, once Inferna was hungry again, she got up and went searching for more food.

I should probably also get something if I’m going up against Aydina again, she thought. God, but she’s such a fucking cunt.

As such, Inferna found the marketplace and bought herself a few propugnatio potions, knowing that she’d need them to up her defense for the underwater dodgeball game; as a fire-mage, she was more vulnerable in aquatic environments. She also stocked up on fortissime potions, just to make sure her fiery attacks would pack an extra punch.

Satisfied with her haul, Inferna tossed the items into her inventory and went towards one of the stalls selling pastries. God, but they smelled good.